Nory Ryan's Song by Patricia Reilly Giff Page A

small that his feet grazed the ground. “I’ll pull it,” I said.
    The climb was almost a dream, the rocky road under my feet, the road rising. The wind was just a breath at first, and then it tore at my face. There was a blast of it as we reached the top. I am Maeve , I thought, remembering the day I had twirled over the rocks singing, with nothing to worry about, with Maggie still home and the potatoes growing green in the field.
    We sat near the well and rested, watching the birds soar over us, screaming back and forth to each other. Then it was time. I stood up, bent because of the wind, shivering, listening to Patch crying. “Cold, Nory, cold, cold.”
    I went back and put my face against his, my arms around him. “You will build great stone walls someday.” I fluttered my eyelashes against his cheeks, rubbed his back. “Soon we will go back to Anna’s. I will cook you an egg, two eggs, Patcheen with the blue stone eyes.”
    I reached under him with my arms and tugged him out of the cart as Sean began to uncoil the rope, using his arms, butting his head under it so it looped around his neck.
    “It will be warmer back among the rocks,” I told Patch, “out of the wind.”
    Patch shook his head. “Not there.” Someone had told him about the gray smoke men who lived in the rocks, I knew that.
    I put my hands on his cold little cheeks and tried to think of what I could tell him. And then I said in my loudest, fiercest voice, “No gray smoke men will dare. No sídhe , no bean sídhe . I am Nora Ryan and I come from Queen Maeve and Mam and Granda and Da. And you, Patrick Ryan, are safe with me.”
    And then I saw Sean Red and stuck my chin out so he’d know too that I meant what I said.
    I turned back to Patch. “I’ll take a bit of rope, twirl it around you.” I tried to make it sound like a game. “You’ll be warm, Patcheen, you’ll dream of building a wall with blue stones.”
    He was crying again, tears from the blue stone eyes.
    I kept moving with him, trying to find a space to wedge him in. The place I found was almost a bowl, rocks curved up and around with just enough room for one wee man, I thought, or one small boy. But after I had wedged him in, I knew there was no way to tie him. Too loose and he’d slip out, too tight and he wouldn’t be able to move.
    “You have to stay here, Patcheen, stay still, don’t move. It’s a place to fall. Will you stay?”
    Sean was calling me now. “Hurry.”
    I could see the shadows falling across the cliffs. My legs ached, and my arms. It was hard to think. “Sleep,” I told Patch. “I’ll be back, back in a moment, back in a while.”
    I slipped down off the rocks, onto the bare ground of the cliff where Sean was waiting, the rope curled around his shoulder.
    “Listen, Nory,” he said. “You have to turn into the rope as the wind spins you. Test each rock with your foot before you rest on it. You have to be quiet, be quick, and watch your face, your eyes. The birds will fight to save their nests.”
    I put up my hand. I didn’t want to hear any more.
    “There’s a ledge,” he said. “I don’t know how far down. But we’ve seen it from the shore. There are chinks and cracks and messy nests.”
    “With eggs,” I said, reaching for his cap. “I’ll fill this, you’ll see. But we have to hurry.” My lips chattered. “Patcheen will be up.”
    “I’ll watch him,” he said, but I knew he’d be holding the rope, watching me. If Patch wandered onto the edge …
    Stop , I told myself, and in my mind, Celia .
    I couldn’t think about that. Instead I’d think of the eggs round and warm in my hands. I’d think of opening them, one for me and one for Patch. Think of spooning a warm egg soup into Anna’s mouth. Think of Sean.
    Sean kept talking as we sat ourselves on the ground and wound the rope around our waists, wound ourselves together. His face tightened as the rope touched his hands.
    It was beginning to rain, a soft slanting rain that