Orla and the Wild Hunt


 
 
 
 
 
 A MESSAGE FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
 
 Anna Hoghton is really rather special – as you’ll know if you read her Venetian-set debut, The Mask of Aribella. In this novel, she mixes Celtic mythology-inspired peril with real-life drama as a brother and sister face up to the Wild Hunt, a terrifying host of dark creatures who feed on grief. Luckily, they have a touch of supernatural help! But their fantastical journey across Ireland will teach them something about loss, too. After all, myths and legends are there to help us with all the hard stuff about being human.
 
 
 B A R R Y C U N N I N G H A M
 
 
 Publisher
 Chicken House
 
 
 
 
 
 Contents
 
 From the Author
 Chapter 1: Too Good to be True
 Chapter 2: Gran’s House
 Chapter 3: Outsider, Again
 Chapter 4: Eyes in the Bushes
 Chapter 5: Telling Tales
 Chapter 6: The Stray
 Chapter 7: Connecting the Dots
 Chapter 8: Bumps in the Night
 Chapter 9: Into the Woods
 Chapter 10: Gran’s Strange Friends
 Chapter 11: A Late Start
 Chapter 12: The Secret in the Shed
 Chapter 13: The Pooka
 Chapter 14: The Boy on the Doorstep
 Chapter 15: Making Promises
 Chapter 16: A Giant Hunt
 Chapter 17: Fionn McCool
 Chapter 18: The Trouble with Endings
 Chapter 19: The Broken Bridge
 Chapter 20: The Giant’s Causeway
 Chapter 21: A Leap of Faith
 Chapter 22: The Water Sprites
 Chapter 23: The Banshee and The Burren
 Chapter 24: Swimming Lessons
 Chapter 25: A Day at the Beach
 Chapter 26: The Sunken City
 Chapter 27: The Merrows
 Chapter 28: It’s Never That Easy
 Chapter 29: Queen Coomara
 Chapter 30: A New Plan
 Chapter 31: A Truth Comes Out
 Chapter 32: Lost in the Woods (Again)
 Chapter 33: The Fairy Kingdom
 Chapter 34: The Wild Hunt
 Chapter 35: Too Late?
 Chapter 36: The Battle of Wings
 Chapter 37: The Harp’s Music
 Chapter 38: When the Fairy Dust Has Settled
 Chapter 39: Profoundly Dull and Ordinary
 Acknowledgements
 Copyright
 For my Granny Ireland, who still inspires me every dayAnd for Bo, who we will love and miss for ever
 ’Tis better to have loved and lostthan never to have loved at all.
 Alfred, Lord Tennyson
 
 Also by Anna Hoghton
 The Mask of Aribella
 
 From the Author
 
 This story has been inspired, in part, by my own Granny Ireland’s tales. I’ve brazenly plucked and blended creatures from Irish mythology with other favourite myths and legends from my childhood, as well as taken liberties with my own artistic interpretations.
 I hope readers enjoy and forgive these embellishments and modifications. After all, myths have long been living, breathing things, shared and shaped from person to person, evolving with each iteration. In the end, what matters isn’t the accuracy of the details, but how these stories connect us; to our grandparents and theirs, and theirs before them.
 
 The Wild Hunt rides in the dead of night,Spreading terror, misery and fright,
 They’ll feast on your despair and pain,Whatever you do, don’t say their name.
 For speak it three times and you will call,Clouds black as coal, a hideous squall –
 Birds, horses, beasts – who’ll break your soul apart,Sorrow hunters who once had mortal hearts.
 
 
 Orla had already lost Apollo.
 When they’d landed at Belfast International Airport, Orla had nipped to the loo, and by the time she’d returned Apollo was nowhere to be seen. She eventually spotted her ten-year-old brother’s blue hair in the confectionery section of WHSmith.
 ‘Why do you have to run off like that?’ she growled, shoving him towards the exit doors of the arrivals terminal.
 ‘I didn’t run off! I was only gonna get a Mars bar. I’m starving,’ retorted Apollo, pulling away so hard that several people wheeling suitcases had to dramatically change course to avoid colliding with him. They eyed Apollo and Orla disapprovingly, clearly wondering where their parent or guardian was. Orla bristled and felt even more cross with Dad for not coming.
 Instead of being here with his children, Dad was on his way to France to drink cocktails in the sunshine with his new fiancée, Penelope Toogood, and her too good sons, Charles and William. He’d barely even entertained the idea of coming to Ireland instead. They’d all only been to visit Gran once since Mum died. Once. In two whole years. Dad always made some excuse about work or school or flight prices, but Orla knew it was really because he’d found the last visit to Gran’s too hard. Gran’s house was inextricably tied to Mum, and Dad seemed to be doing his best to erase Mum’s entire existence from his life. He was such a coward.
 Orla had always enjoyed going to Gran’s. Gran was a champion of life – warm and kind and exactly how a grandma should be. Orla had loved their last visit for exactly the same reason Dad seemed to have found it difficult. Everything had felt so strange and different since Mum had died, except for Gran’s house, which had felt the same as always: a time warp, with photos of Mum everywhere. Dad might be content sailing off into the sunset with the Toogoods as if everything was hunky-dory, but Orla wasn’t going to play along. It was bad enough that they all had to live together in a new house – she couldn’t bear to go on holiday with them too.
 Orla had nagged and nagged until Dad had finally been forced to give in and say she could go to Ireland.
 It had been a surprise to everyone when Apollo had insisted that he wanted to go with her. Orla knew Apollo adored Gran and missed her a lot, but she’d thought he would have liked to go on the expensive beach holiday. While Orla could barely stand to be in the same room as the Toogoods, Apollo annoyingly got on with them all