The Whitest Flower. Brendan Graham

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       7

      When Michael awoke a few hours later, his first act, as always, was to reach for Ellen. He was unconcerned at finding an empty space beside him, for Ellen was often the first one to be up and about. But when he heard Mary call, ‘A Mhamaí, a Mhamaí, what’s wrong?’ he leapt up from where he lay immediately.

      Ellen was in a crumpled heap beneath the window, her shawl partly covering her. She was deathly pale. He shook her by the shoulders as the children gathered round, sensing that something was amiss.

      ‘Ellen, a stór, wake up,’ he said, fear in his heart for her and the child she was carrying.

      Ellen opened her eyes dazedly, struggling to focus on Michael’s face.

      ‘What is it, what ails you?’ he asked. ‘Why are you here with the shawl over you?’

      Ellen made a great effort to see the faces crowding around her – trying to pick them out one by one. When she saw they were all there, she smiled faintly at them.

      ‘See, she’s all right!’ said Katie.

      Now Ellen could see Michael’s face. It was strained with worry and the confusion of not knowing what was wrong with his wife. Weakly she reached out one hand to him. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute. A drink of water from the rock, and I’ll be fine,’ she said wanly.

      Patrick was first up to fetch his mother a cup of spring water. As she sipped it, Ellen felt the cold strength of the water bring her round and fortify her. She put her hand to her stomach, afraid the fall might have done damage, but to her relief everything seemed to be all right.

      ‘The baby is grand – thank God – and so am I,’ she said, more strongly now. ‘Now, don’t be worrying all of you, and making an old woman of me before my time.’

      ‘Did you see something last night, a Mhamaí?’ It was Mary, perceptive as ever. ‘Did the wandering soul come into the house?’

      ‘No, of course not, Mary. I just got up a while and I must have dozed off,’ Ellen replied, smiling at her child.

      Mary was far from satisfied with this response. She looked over at the table settings. Nothing had been moved since last night. Nothing had moved, yet something had come into the house, or tried to come in. It must have been a bad thing. Mary knew her mother didn’t frighten easily.

      As the day went on, Ellen tried to gather herself back together. Gradually, her physical strength returned. Michael and the children were very attentive, but every time one of them approached or touched her she couldn’t help but think: Is this the one marked out by last night’s visitor? She studied them anxiously, looking for any sign – a weakness, a dizziness, the start of a fever. But nothing could she discover, no tell-tale sign, no flaw or failing that might prove fatal.

      At last, unable to bear it any longer, she went to the lake, declining the children’s company when they offered to walk with her.

      The late afternoon was crisp and bright, and the Mask calm and peaceful in the sunlight. Ellen wondered whether the Banshee’s visit had been nothing more than a dream. Perhaps she had dozed off by the fire and had dreamed the whole thing, and while in her sleep had been drawn to the window. But surely a dream that terrible would have awoken her, as the earlier nightmare had done?

      And what was the connection between the nightmare and the apparition of the keening death messenger? Ellen set about unravelling the dream: Pakenham, she had recognized, and Sheela-na-Sheeoga. The road could be any road, but it must be leading to the sea because of the tall ship at the end of it. But why was getting to the ship so important? She and the children had been fleeing from something, but their escape had been blocked … all those ghouls trying to stop them – why weren’t they, too, trying to get away to the ship? And where was Michael?

      She had been carrying the baby – a baby too small to walk. Her baby was not due until May, so the dream must be set after May, but sometime within the year …

      Ellen looked around at the mountain-valley world she lived in. Nothing in this wild and beautiful place was remotely connected to the world she had inhabited in her dream. Yet it was over these waters that the death messenger had floated …

      She shuddered, recalling her terrifying ordeal. She needed Michael’s comforting arms, but how could she tell him what troubled her?

      Slowly it dawned on her where her thoughts were leading: the visit of the Banshee; Michael’s absence … It was Michael the night visitor was crying for, Michael’s death she was keening. Michael – her love, her dark-haired boy – was to be taken, and taken before this baby could walk. Oh, God, no – not Michael!

      Ellen buried her face in her hands, her grief and tears spilling out into the silent Mask.

      Michael could be taken at any time – today, tonight, tomorrow, next week, Christmas … It took all the СКАЧАТЬ