The Hunter's Moon Read Free

glass like a shadowy Alice.
    “Isn’t that why you’re here?” Findabhair said. “Aren’t we heading off on a magical mystery tour?”
    Gwen felt as if she might burst with happiness. Despite outward appearances, it seemed nothing had really changed. She had been so careful in her correspondence, afraid that Findabhair would think her childish. They had talked about traveling and various places to visit, but never about the true heart of their journey. Yet here, all along, her cousin had taken for granted what Gwen had been nursing as a secret dream.
    Findabhair spread a map of Ireland over the floor.
    “Listen, we’ve got to get our story down pat. I’ve promised the parents we’re taking bus tours all the way and staying in An Óige youth hostels. But no way are we doing this. We haven’t the hope of an adventure if we stick to the straight and narrow. We’ve got to go the road less traveled.”
    Gwen did her best to hide her anxiety. She was not at all happy about lying to her aunt and uncle. She was also wondering just how far from the path they would have to go. The map of the Thirty-Two Counties shimmered before her like the green-and-gold flag of an enchanted land. A thrill ran through her. What her cousin said was true. If they played it safe, how could they possibly find what they were looking for?
    “Our first stop is Tara,” Findabhair announced. “Loads of buses go there. Da will be happy to put us on one. After that, we can thumb our way around.”
    Gwen was dumbfounded. “I thought we were going to start at Newgrange? Didn’t we agree to leave Tara till the end? Save the best for the last?”
    “I know what’s best, I’m the one who lives here,” her cousin stated. “All roads lead to Tara, the royal center of Ireland. The sooner we get there, the better.”
    “I can’t believe you’re doing this!” Gwen spluttered. “It’s not fair. The trip belongs to both of us. You’re not the boss of it!”
    A major fight seemed inevitable, with every possibility that the journey might end before it began. Though Gwen rarely stood up to her strong-willed cousin, she could stand her ground when pushed too far.
    Suddenly confused and uncertain, Findabhair relented. Something nagged at the back of her mind, something she needed to tell Gwen if only she could remember. Her cousin was right. It was unfair to change their plans and insist on her own way. And yet …
    She rubbed her forehead.
    “Sorry,” she conceded at last. “I’m being Ms. Bossy-Boots. Fine, then, no need to come to blows. We’ll leave Tara to the last. But we’re not doing the tourist trail. Agreed?”
    “Agreed,” said Gwen with relief.
    They bent over the map once more.
    “Newgrange it is,” Findabhair said, tapping the ancient site on the River Boyne. “The Brugh na Bóinne .”
    “The fairy palace of Aengus Óg,” Gwen said dreamily.
    “The young god of love,” her cousin sighed.
    They both giggled.
    “We’re hopeless romantics,” said Findabhair.
    “Hope ful ,” Gwen corrected her.

 
    he summer sun warmed the gray highway that traversed the Plain of Meath. Gwen pressed her face to the bus window as the countryside flew past her like wings. Despite the occasional spire of a town or village, the land had risen to claim its ascendancy. This was the Ireland she dreamed of: silence falling over sage-green fields, hedgerows scarved with mist, clouds rising behind the hills like pale hills themselves.
    Beside her, Findabhair was less enchanted with the journey. On a coach filled with tourists from America, Japan, Germany, and France, they were the youngest passengers.
    “By decades, if not centuries,” Findabhair had muttered when they climbed aboard. “We’ve joined the Blue Rinse Brigade.”
    Their fellow travelers were chiefly pensioners laden down with food parcels, cameras, maps, money belts, and guidebooks. Most wore big woolen sweaters to ward off the damp Irish air.
    “They’re very nice,” Gwen