The Light-Bearer's Daughter Read Free Page B

left into the parking lot, Gabriel drew up the Triumph under a banner strung between two trees. NO MOTORWAY HERE. Dana was out in an instant. They were already inside the forest, surrounded by tall beech, birch, and oak. Only a few yards behind them, the road was hidden by greenery. The susurrus of the speeding cars blended with the soughing of the wind in the trees. The understory was lush with nettles and purple foxglove. It had rained earlier and the air was rich with the smell of loam.
    Dana loved the glen. She and Gabriel often hiked its trails. When the protest began they had joined up immediately, helping with petitions, supplies, and fund-raising. Though many locals viewed the eco-warriors as hippies and troublemakers, there was widespread support in the community for “the tree people.”
    GIVE TREES A CHANCE .
     
    THE EARTH DOES NOT BELONG TO US
WE BELONG TO THE EARTH.
     
    IN WILDNESS IS THE PRESERVATION OF THE WORLD.
     
    THE DEATH OF THE FOREST IS THE
BEGINNING OF THE END OF OUR WORLD.
     
    The banners and signs were everywhere, hanging from the trees like gigantic catkins. Dana raced past them and into the clearing where the eco-warriors had set up their central command. The area was surrounded by Scots pine, with a carpet of brown needles and cones that crunched underfoot. Here the protestors gathered around the campfire for meetings and meals, and companionship when they weren’t on duty. Though legal action was being taken to evict them, they were using the time to build support for their cause.
    After weeks of living and sleeping outdoors, the eco-warriors looked a little rough, as if gone to seed. In muddy boots and soiled clothing, with straggly hair and unshaven faces, they sat around the fire on old chairs and a burst sofa. Dana thought of them as a gang of outlaws, like Robin Hood and his Merry Men. Big Bob was the leader, a broad-shouldered bear of a man with laughing eyes and a booming voice. His hair was sandy-colored and so was his beard, and he wore faded dungarees tucked into his boots. An organic farmer from County Monaghan, he had left his farm in the hands of his wife and grown children in order to lead the protest.
    “Seems right to go when you’re called,” he would say.
    The moment he saw Dana he hurried over to give her a great hug.
    “How’s the youngest eco-warrior in Ireland?” he roared.
    “Ready to fight the good fight!” she shouted back, as always.
    “That’s my girl! Got a barman joke for me?”
    “I do!” she said, delighted. She had been saving it. “A priest, a rabbi, a minister, a blonde, and a dog went into a bar. ‘What’s this?’ said the barman. ‘A joke?’”
    Big Bob laughed loudly and clapped her on the back.
    “Goodgeon!”
    The others made room for her at the fire. A blackened kettle sat in the flames, boiling water for tea. Cracked cups and mugs were passed around. Everyone smelled of burnt wood. Though occasional breezes caused clouds of smoke to billow around them, no one moved. Instead, they sat like ghosts in a fog.
    Dana smiled over at Billie, an English backpacker with piercings in her ears, nose, lips, and eyebrows. The tattoo of a blue serpent ran up her arm. Next to her was Murta, Big Bob’s lieutenant, a wiry man who rolled his own cigarettes and was always talking on a cell phone. Several new arrivals introduced themselves to her, but it was a while before she noticed the other stranger, the one who hovered in the shadows of the trees, leaning against an old oak. He wore a black wide-brimmed hat with green leaves tucked into the band. His jacket, jeans, and T-shirt were also black. He didn’t join the circle but seemed to be watching them from under the rim of his hat. The others ignored him, but Dana kept glancing in his direction. Something about him made her uneasy.
    The talk around the campfire concerned the illegal dumps found in the Wicklow Mountains.
    “Tons of toxic waste,” Billie said, shaking her head, “polluting the