Devil's Mountain by Bernadette Walsh Read Free Book Online Page B

course you’re not.”
    “What did she mean, Mammy?”
    She pulled me onto her lap, and to this day I can still almost feel the pressure of her soft hands as they encircled my waist. She kissed the top of my head. “The people in the town don’t understand us, love, or what an important job we have up here on the Mountain. We serve Slanaitheoir and we keep them safe.”
    “Whores keep people safe?”
    “We’re not whores, love. You will hear that word again, I’m afraid. You’re a very special girl, Mary. And when you’re older I will explain it all to you.”
    Over the years, my poor mother gradually shared her knowledge. As a child I’d traipsed after her like a puppy as she gathered herbs and roots from the Mountain. She showed me how to make her special tea. She guided me when I had my visions, when I knew Mrs. Rafferty was going to be hit by a car a week before it happened, when I felt a pain in my own head as I held the O’Connors’ baby and it later died of a tumor. She told me how to turn it off, how to blend in, and she encouraged me to leave the Mountain, go to Dublin. To have a life, at least for a little while.
    It wasn’t until that day she arrived on my doorstep in Rathfarnham and announced it was my time, my turn, that she finally told me about Slanaitheoir and how I’d need to serve Him until my death. My birthright. The Devlin legacy.
    The woods were chilly and I was glad of my heavy cloak. As I approached the clearing, my arms tingled with that familiar feeling, half dread, half anticipation. But the clearing was empty, the entrance to the cave dark and Slanaitheoir nowhere in sight. Had I misunderstood?
    Had He not summoned me?
    I stopped for a moment and opened up my mind, searching for some sense of Him. Often, as I walked alone along the lanes of the Mountain, I would feel a buzzing and would know He was near. Cloaked as a bird, a fox, a goat, He would follow me, observe me. Love me. I walked away from the cave, drawn to the cliffs.
    Slanaitheoir stood on the cliff overlooking the Feale River, shirtless, His arms stretched out. His black hair danced in the breeze.
    “My lord?”
    He said nothing.
    “My lord?”
    Without turning around He growled, “What do you want?”
    “I thought-- I thought you beckoned me.”
    He spun around. “Why would I beckon you, old woman?”
    “Bobby and Caroline left, so, I, uh...”
    “I know they left. Do you not think I know all that happens on my Mountain? I know all.
    Remember that.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    He reached over, grabbed my arm and dragged me to the cliff’s edge. He shoved His face in mine and took a deep breath.
    “Death. The smell of death is upon you. If you’d had the sense to produce an acceptable daughter you would’ve joined your mother in the river long ago.”
    I said nothing. I looked into His angry eyes, as turbulent as the roaring river below. “I am sorry that I displease you, my lord.”
    He smiled then. A leering, mischievous smile. “Last night I tasted young flesh, you know. Firm. Supple. Sweet.”
    I said nothing.
    He touched my cheek and in a smooth and seductive voice cooed, “How can I go back to mutton now that I’ve tasted lamb?”
    I brushed His hand from my cheek. “She’s going home next week.”
    He smiled. “Maybe.”
    “No, my lord. She is going home next week. She is my son’s and she is not a Devlin.
    Caroline is not yours. You’ve no right to her.”
    He laughed. An unearthly sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Right? Who are you to tell me my rights?”
    My mother had always told me not to bait Him. Not to contradict Him. But for my son, I would withstand any punishment. I forced the panic out of my voice. “You agreed. You agreed to let them all go in exchange for the Devlins.”
    “That’s when the Devlins produced the most beautiful women in the county. You have to admit, Mary, your bloodline has gone thin. You’re lovely, or at least you were, but you’re nothing compared to