CHAPTER FOUR

Dr. Parker’s napkin cowered in a crumpled heap on his plate, soaking the beef broth up through its white linen. He’d dismissed himself loudly from supper when Liam’s mother inquired after the letter he’d received in the evening post from Oxford. The echo of his boots hung in the air as Liam’s mother murmured, “Then I suppose their answer hasn’t changed.”

Dr. Parker pushed his head back into the room. “Grace,” he growled, “in my own house, I expect the courtesy of granting some distance between my work and personal affairs.”

“Don’t wait up for me tonight. I’ll make my bed in the study. I’ve work to prepare for tomorrow’s shipment, and I won’t be sleeping much.”

Liam’s heart fell. Tomorrow’s shipment. So Dr. Parker had ordered more dogs already.

Liam excused himself from supper and stole into the garden. Twilight dusted the leaves with a fading glow. The moon rose halfway clear of the trees. A trail of circular stepping stones ran through a patch of violets. Liam curled himself so that he fit atop one of the stones, the tips of his boots brushing the flower clusters.

A twinkling flash over his shoulder caught his eye, then three little glowing dots drifted above his head, gaining strength in their brightness as the sun shifted behind the trees.

A rough voice chuckled and said, “I wonder if we’re both thinking of the same thing.”

Liam found his feet, certain he’d just heard the blind gardener’s voice, though he knew he’d no way to recognize it.

Sure enough, the man shuffled around the end of the path and stood facing Liam on the farthest stepping stone. A firefly hovered over one shoulder and seemed to brush against the man’s earlobe.

The man leaned forward, half crouching, his eyes turned perfectly on Liam’s face. “To this wee bug who has been hovering about you and then coming to me and then returning to you and so on with such a great deal of excitement, I can only think it takes you for a close match to someone from the old tales.”

Unable to answer this, Liam pointed at the glowing bug. “Is that a firefly, then?”

Michael’s teeth flashed a grin, and the tiny bug flew in an arc from the man’s shoulder onto Liam’s, settling on Liam’s shirt collar. Liam smelled cinnamon again. His heart fluttered. He thought of the cinnamon in the cave, and the egg beneath his bed. The next moment, he feared that Michael’s white eyes could read his mind.

“These little things have been called fireflies before,” Michael said. “But—”

Michael rocked his head in a nod. “Come and take a cup of tea in my cottage, Master Finley.” He gestured for him to follow. “I’ve a story you need be hearing.”

“Talking to your stepfather. They’ll be busy for at least another half an hour.”

Michael cleared his throat as if he’d been insulted. He broke into a sure-footed stride toward his cottage. “A lad such as you isn’t sired by a man the likes of him. Some truths are plain enough to smell as rain a-coming on the wind.”

Liam held his tea cup in both hands and sipped cautiously. The tea was strong and spiced like Christmas apple pudding. Benson had moaned so loudly when Liam tried to leave him behind at the house, he’d let the dog follow him to the cottage. Benson now lay snoring at his feet beside the fire, one leg twitching in a dream.

Michael’s home, though small, was comfortable. A large bed occupied half the space of the single room. A squatty table and two armchairs squeezed in front of the hearth. On a massive hook above the foot of the bed hung a green dressing gown embroidered with rich designs in gold thread. This and the books on the shelf behind Michael were the only fine things in the room. The rest was rough, in the handmade way that Liam had noticed in the country.

“Ordinary fireflies don’t live here. You’d be right about that much,” Michael told Liam, offering a tray of almond biscuits. “But these bugs are ancient beacons, born from the first flames of a dragon. They’ve crossed over from another land to seek after someone.”

Liam bit his tongue and tried to tell if the man was joking. Then Michael said, “Do you believe in magic, Master Finley?”

Liam swallowed. He imagined his mother’s eyes flashing in consternation, but he still forced the words out of his mouth. This wasn’t a secret he could keep to himself.

“There’s a large egg under my bed. I found it in a cave last night. The firebugs took me there. I can’t explain it. I was afraid anyone I told would think I was spinning a lie.”

“Great men of history were often told they were liars, or worse, that they were away in the head.” The gardener plucked a leather-bound volume from the shelf by his chair. It had green binding and gold stitches across its spine. “But perhaps nothing of what you say is madness.” He cracked open the book, blew dust from the pages, and made as if to give it to Liam, then stopped, holding it open in his lap.

“Of course,” Liam said. “All children hear stories of it. It’s an enchanted island where the fairies, elves, and all sorts of magical creatures live. Time passes differently there.”

Michael nodded. “One year in Tir Na Nog is fifty years in the mortal world. And that bit about the island is mostly right. It’s quite large, for an island, and there are great swirling currents that surround it, but it drifts. Not like a boat on the sea, but like stars in the sky, for its drifting follows a pattern. Every five years, according to the calendars of this world—the mortal world that is—a path opens. There are many paths in this mortal world that lead to Tir Na Nog, but you and I are only interested in one. The place it opens is quite near here, running through these woods. The path strings a bridge between this world and Tir Na Nog itself for five days every five years, as we’d count it from this world. More accurately, the path runs between this forest and a part of Tir Na Nog called the Far Country.”

“The story you’re about to read takes place in this Far Country, Master Finley. It is a pocket of tangled woods and stone cliffs. The seven kingdoms of the fairy kings and queens do not much fancy this land. They’ve used it for generations as the banishing grounds for the unwanted human population. How did humans arrive in Tir Na Nog, you’ll be asking me?”

Liam shut his mouth, surprised, and again suspicious that Michael might be reading his mind.

Michael chuckled. “The number of men in the Far Country grows each time the path between worlds opened, for the charm of Tir Na Nog always beckons some mortal soul to come experience it. It comes once every five years in the mortal world, but once every thirty-six days for those in Tir Na Nog. Well, after several batches of wandering humans came into Tir Na Nog and were banished to the Far Country, the humans found they had no desire to return to the mortal world, but instead, to start a new colony of sorts. The villages grew into cities. They elected their first king. And all the while, the fairies confined them to the Far Country and did their best to ignore them.

“The fairy monarchs had other troubles, you see. These troubles went by the name of Gold Breathers.”

Michael tapped the book in Liam’s lap. Across the pages ran a drawing in embossed gold ink of a dragon reared onto its hind legs, head thrown back in a roar that spilled tendrils of fire to the very edge of the page. Above its head floated the caption:

Liam tilted his head. “I haven’t. But it seems right to me. Fire can look like gold.”

“The trouble for the fairies was a dispute in leadership. The Gold Breathers had made it clear as day that they thought themselves co-rulers with the fairies. They did not seek to rule over the fairy courts, but seemed to think themselves possessed of superior knowledge when it came to authority over the other magical beasts. The fairies had no intention of sharing their rule. With the use of powerful trickery and terrible manipulation, the fairy army stole and hid the eggs of the Gold Breathers, then exiled them to the Far Country.” Michael’s eyes took on a hint of rage. “If you ask me, the fairies had ulterior motives. They knew the histories of Gold Breathers and men, rife with countless stories of men killing the Gold Breathers in the name of public safety. Likewise, there were stories of Gold Breathers turning villages into blazing piles of fire. England’s patron saint is a dragon slayer.” Michael snorted derisively. “The fairies meant to rid themselves of men and dragons in a war that, based on mortal history, they thought would be inevitable. They sat in their cold palaces and waited.”

Liam leaned forward. “Did they kill each other, then? The men and the dragons?”

Michael grinned so wide, the firelight glistened on his teeth. “Not at all. The dragons and men formed an alliance, to the surprise of all. The men allowed the Gold Breathers to govern alongside them. The dragons showed the men the abandoned cliff dwellings of an old fairy palace, carved into a tall hill of stone. And together they rebuilt the palace for the Far Country’s kings. They called it Whitecliff.” Michael tapped the book in Liam’s lap again. “This is the Far Country in which your story of the Prince and the Guardian begins. You should know that many men call these histories ‘fairy tales’ in order to break their power. ’Tis a vain attempt, but has deceived many a man. Now, you may read.”

Liam sensed that he was supposed to read aloud. He took a gulp of tea and steadied his voice.

“When the Far Country’s kingdom was at last founded, and a throne raised again in the shining halls of the palace Whitecliff—though this time it was a throne of Men and not of Fairy—the wisdom of the Council of Men wrote a decree to bind them forever in friendship and understanding to the Gold Breathers.

With each generation there would be born a pair of friends, decreed at birth and joined by faith. These friends would be the Royal Prince and the Guardian of the Gold Breathers, born of two families, but raised as one blood. The first, an heir to the throne, the second, a son of the common people. Reared together as Brothers.

This Brother Bond would do more than simply mingle the rich and poor as comrades. It would weave the love of man and the love of Gold Breather into one cord. For the arrangement, the common-born Guardian passed half his year in Whitecliff and wore his very own crown, while the Prince in turn passed half his year in the humble home of his brother in one of the surrounding villages. This arrangement began with the birth of the two boys, and ended when their seventeenth year completed.

The Prince learned to love his people, beginning his life in their modest home. The Guardian learned to respect and serve the Prince and was trained in the keeping and caring of the Gold Breathers. Both brothers learned together that friendship is a great eagle that soars above all barriers.

Generations rose and fell, and with each one, a new pair of Brothers grew in strength and wisdom, devoted to one another, to their people, and to the wellness of the Gold Breathers.

Then arose the pair of Brothers surpassed by none. This Guardian loved his Gold Breathers with a love greater than all histories told. And this Prince earned more affection and respect from his people than any other. Some said that such a pair of Brothers could only be destined for ruin, for luck had made some mistake.

By the time the Guardian had reached his fifteenth year, he spent scanty time with his Brother the Prince, for he loved his Gold Breathers with deep devotion and gave his days to them. The Prince was absorbed in courtly details as he prepared to take up the mantle of rule. His father the King was deathly ill.

One bright summer’s day, the Guardian followed a she-dragon, who was heavy with a clutch of eggs, into the black woods that fringed his country’s borders. He had forgotten to tread carefully, for it was the time when the path lay open between the Far Country and the mortal world. The Guardian and dragon lost their way. Days passed without sign of either, and the path between worlds fell closed.

The Prince mounted his finest horse and searched through every shadow and glade. He waited the thirty-six days for the next opening of the path and leapt through it at the nearest moment. He searched, but found no sign of his Brother, though he knew he should not hope for it. In the short time he had been forced to wait in the Far Country, five long years had passed in the mortal world, and by now his Brother had wandered to some unknown corner of that world. The Prince, now the King of the land since the death of his father, searched for the Guardian in this mortal world as long as the path remained open. He returned at last to Whitecliff, despondent without his Brother.

He resumed his seat as King with a black countenance and ordered the Guardian’s belongings burnt. He then decreed that all Gold Breathers would be hunted to extinction. He blamed the beasts for his Brother’s vanishing.

And with one terrible choice, the alliance between man and Gold Breather was riven in two.

On the moonless night when the last Gold Breather lay dead in its own blood, the stars overhead wept for shame. But, in the smallest bed of the poorest house, a young girl prophesied that a new Guardian would one day return to his people, and his coming would be a sign of the land’s redemption.

The blood that loved the dragons would quicken in another heart among the sons of the mortal realm, she said. This blood would summon the heir to the Guardian’s legacy, and this new Brother’s feet would find the time of the opened path, and tread the way from the mortal world back into the Far Country where he would rejoin his Brother the King, who waited for him.

This new Guardian would also bring with him the eggs laid by the lost she-dragon, and upon his return, the reign of the Gold Breathers would be reborn, the trust between man and Gold Breather would be forged anew, and the Brotherhood of Prince and Guardian would be restored.

All would hinge on the coming of this new Guardian, for without his return, the Far Country could never hope to flourish again.”

“Those creatures you called fireflies are pledged to serve those who champion the cause of the Gold Breathers,” Michael said. “They’re no mere fireflies. They’re here to find someone, like I told you. They’ve come from the Far Country.”

Michael turned the book to a section near its middle. It was crowded full of neat, handwritten text columns in a language Liam couldn’t read, with small illustrations set into the columns. One depicted an egg with a web of cracks down its side. It sat atop a pile of branches. Another illustration showed a long sharp tooth, hooked slightly at its tip. There were more diagrams: an ornately carved scepter or staff, a round metal hoop that leaned against a stone wall, and a lidded wooden box.

Michael waited in silence as Liam scanned the drawings, but as soon as Liam raised his face, Michael leaned closer.

“If you are indeed the next Guardian, which the firebugs believe you are, you must prove you’re right and worthy.”

Michael said, “You must hatch the dragon and recover the lost tools of the Guardian. He hid them here in this mortal world, for he never found his way back, and knew they must be kept safe. The heir to the Guardian’s legacy will show by these tools that he has proven his character. Without these proofs, anyone who enters Tir Na Nog and claims the role of Guardian will be treated as a threat to the kingdom. They’ve a history of learning this the hard way.”

Michael proceeded with his speech. “This egg you found is a dragon egg, more precious than emeralds. You must hatch this egg and shelter the youngling as if it were your own kin. This done, you’ll resurrect the Guardian’s staff, the first of his tools. Later, you will fetch his other tools. There will be four tests in all. On each one, you be made to show the character of a true Guardian. I was entrusted to oversee these tests. I’ve waited long for it.” Michael paused, then said, “The hatching of the egg will test your powers of bravery and protection.”

“You’ll need a fire, to begin. Dragons breathe fire and are born inside of it.”

“But why a test? If the Guardian is the Guardian, would he not be destined for it? Why is there anything to prove?”

Michael sighed and waved his hand as if Liam’s question were impertinent. “Years ago, a wicked fool crossed into Tir Na Nog, masquerading as this same Guardian. He caused great harm to the country and its people. The tests are here so that no mistake like this is made again.” He cleared his throat. “Now, for the second test you must demonstrate cleverness and discipline while you recover the Guardian’s crown, and for the third, obedience and caution when you snatch back his precious medicine box from where it is guarded.” The wind shrieked for a moment outside, and Michael frowned. “I’ve more to be telling you, but I cannot waste the time now. You must hatch the dragon before the connection grows stronger between the worlds, before the goblins and troll gain more power.”

“They’ll not harm you as long as you hold the Guardian’s staff,” Michael said, too casually for Liam’s taste.

“The fourth test,” Liam insisted as the gardener dragged him to his feet. He’d do anything to delay the beginning of his task. “You did not mention what it would test. And where is this staff that gives me protection?”

“The fourth test, should you reach it, will test everything you know.” Michael’s voice deepened, and his mouth gave a mysterious twist. “But now listen, for you have only mind enough for one test at a time. This is how you must go about the hatching: Build a circle of round stones, as dark-colored as you can find. Kindle a fire within the circle and let the fire heat the stones until they glow.”

Couldn’t the gardener have found an ostrich egg and slipped it under Liam’s bed, as some strange prank? Was any of this story real or true?

Then again, Liam had never seen an egg like the one he’d held, and the dream with the cave and the wood had felt more real than any he’d had. And there was no simple explanation for how Michael seemed to see and not see at the same time. The gardener might have read the book before he went blind, but that still didn’t explain how he’d turned to exactly the right page. Was he lying about his blindness? Then again, how could anyone see through the obviously damaged surface of those blank white eyes?

“You’ve gone silent as sleep, Master Finley. I feel your doubt.” Michael stroked his beard for a moment. “There will be many moments of doubt that you must face. Learn to trust yourself and your dragon. All else must be called into question.”

Michael shook Liam’s shoulder with a firm grip. “When you arrange the wood for your fire, place this branch near the bottom where the fire will heat it.”

He gave Liam a straight, solid branch of wood with a knobby swelling on one tip. Liam gripped it with both hands.

Michael said, “Once the stones round your fire have been properly heated, runes will appear on two of the smallest. By this time, your staff will have formed itself from that branch I gave you. Hold of the staff in both hands whenever you can, but when the time comes, take hold of the rune stones in your left hand.”

Excitement pushed on Liam’s chest and something moved, like a toppling wall inside of him. Liam felt as though he’d plunged suddenly over the brink of a cliff. As his heart raced, a flickering idea rose inside him, a belief that he would witness the birth of a dragon.

Michael said, “The dragon has many enemies, and more so a wee baby dragon. You’ll need the staff to protect him. If a creature that would oppose you sees that you hold the glowing staff, it will know you are to be feared.” Michael gave a great sigh. “You just might be the hope I’ve waited years to see, Master Finley. Your progress through the tests will prove it so. Only a true Guardian will find all three of the old tools and use them to open the gateway to the Far Country. But first things first: Once the hatchling has broken free of its shell, it will know you by the marks made by the fire rune stones on your skin, and will learn by these marks to trust you. Keep the dragon safe. Tomorrow you must nourish the hatchling on raw meat and hot-spiced broth. I can fetch you the broth if I convince Hannah that I’ve caught a chest cold.”

Relief brushed Liam like a soft down pillow. “Does she know, then? About the dragons and the firebugs?” If he could talk to Hannah about these things, he’d be braver; he felt sure of it.

Michael’s broad shoulders slackened. “Alas, there was a time when once Miss Mallory did, but no more.”

Liam opened his mouth to ask more, but Michael shushed him with a sweep of his hand. “Master Finley, you must free this dragon from his egg and quickly. The paths between the worlds are passable, but not for long. They opened the very day you came to this house. This overlap will only linger for five days’ time, and already this is the night of the second day. These are the days when the enchantment of Tir Na Nog reaches its fingers into this mortal world. This will make your tools hold power, but it will likewise enhance the strength of the beasts that will oppose you.”

“It is time to take action, Master Finley. You arrived on the first day the worlds touched. I think it not a coincidence. Dragon hatching is best done by night, so the smoke draws no curious eyes. I’ll tell the house that I’m burning weeds, and they’ll think nothing more of it.”

“Have you cared for any creature before?” Michael interrupted, steering Liam toward the door. “And by ‘cared for’ I mean ‘kept from harm,’ Master Finley.”

Liam’s neck grew hot. He looked away from the gardener as his ears clouded with deafening jeers and shouts. As the memory surfaced, Liam’s eyes burned around the rims. He saw in his mind’s eye a twitching, broken, bird wing.

Michael laid a hand on Liam’s arm. Liam looked at it in the firelight. Michael’s fingernails were filled with dirt. Liam’s chest relaxed as he buried the horrible memory. He swept his eyes onto Benson.

“I cared for my dog,” Liam whispered. “At first, when he came to us, he was my best mate. My father told me I could keep him as long as I did not burden my mother. I knew I couldn’t take food from our home, so I made friends with some fish sellers. They’d give me scraps to feed him whenever they could. I also helped Saturdays at the butcher shop in exchange for scraps. Sometimes Benson was my chaperone or guard dog. He looked after me when my father had to work and my mother couldn’t come along on an errand. He’s a bit like an older brother.” Liam tried to loosen his tight throat. “When he got on in years and his joints pained him, I took my turn again to care for him. It was never any trouble. Not to me.”

Michael nodded. “Then the dog trained you for this dragon, who will be a greater test of your skills. I cannot help you with the hatching, Master Finley. It must be yours alone. Keep the staff close. I’ll be watching you. I perform much of my work after sundown. Remember, that dragon mother from long ago is trusting you with her wee baby. Do your best.”

Michael pressed the green book into Liam’s hand and shooed him, the book, and the knobby branch out the door. As he shut the door, Liam realized his mouth was full of unasked questions. “Why me?” “Why now?” and “How will I know what do to?”