we stay.”
Goll looks around at the others and asks the question with his eyes. They answer with weary glances and resigned shrugs. “So be it,” he says, sheathing his sword. “Bec—lead us.”
We run.
Sweat. Terror. The sounds of chasing demons. Almost upon us. A minute, maybe two, and we’ll be forced to stop and fight—stop and
The trees are thick around us. Impossible to see far. It’s dark.
My stomach sinks. This is a trap! I was wrong. Run Fast
We burst into the open and come to a surprised halt. There’s a clear circle around us and at the centre—a ring of giant stones. Most are taller than me. Some even tower above the lanky Ronan and Connla. Set in the ground at regular intervals. Ancient, covered in moss and creepers. A place of magic, but magic from a time before ours, the time of the Old Creatures, when this country was the playground of the gods.
The demons are hot on our heels, surging up behind us, their stench foul in the air. “Come on!” Fiachna screams. We fly forward at his call, rushing to the stones, readying ourselves for battle.
We spill past the stones, into the middle of the ring. The stones won’t provide much cover but they’ll make it slightly harder for the demons to get at us and buy us a few seconds. They won’t make a real difference, but you’ve always got to live in hope. Before you die at the hands of a Fomorii.
Lorcan jumps on to a stone which fell on its side many years ago. He waves his sword over his head, screaming a challenge at the demons which are emerging from the cover of the trees. Dozens of twisted, hideous monsters. One has the body of a bear but the head of a hawk. Another looks like a wolf but its inner organs hang from its limbs. Claws, fangs, blood-red eyes. Nightmares everywhere I look.
The demons advance slowly. I assume they’re relishing the moment, prolonging it, toying with us. But then they stop and howl with anger.
As we stare at the demons beating the ground with their fists, or tearing it with their claws, cursing us in their own garbled language, Run Fast steps up behind me, lays a hand on my shoulder and says with a confident little smile, “Worm pups.”
The Old magic is too strong for the demons. They can’t come within striking distance of the stones. A few try, over the course of the night, making darting runs, heads low, howling their defiance. Each comes crashing to a halt or is thrown back as if they’d run into a wall.
I wish we knew the magic of the Old Creatures. We could build stone rings like this around every fort. Make the land safe again. But those secrets are long lost. Banba often spoke of the ancient magicians but she knew little about them, except for the tales and legends which she herself was taught as a child.
When we’ve finished laughing and cheering, we examine the stone circle in greater detail and what we find dampens our newly elated spirits.
The bones are more recent than the stones. Many are still dotted with scraps of flesh and hair.
“They must have been brought here after death,” Orna says. “To keep the Fomorii from bringing them back to life.”
“Perhaps,” Fiachna says. “But why not just burn them?”
“Maybe the bodies are part of the magic,” Ronan suggests. “The stones might need the power of the newly dead.”
“Even if they did,” Goll says, “what purpose would it serve? Why drag bodies here just to keep demons from overrunning a ring of stones?”
The mystery puzzles us through the night—nobody can sleep with all the screams of the demons—but it’s solved early in the morning. As the sun rises the demons retreat. But they only withdraw as far as the trees which encircle the ring. There, under the shade of the rough shelter, they stop and leer viciously at us, pounding the earth with a terrible, steady, threatening rhythm.
“They worked on the trees,” I say, a sick feeling in my stomach. “The people in this area must have sought the protection of the stones every night. It made the demons mad. Then they had an idea. They built a shelter in the trees around the circle. When it was finished, they let the people in one night, then stood guard the next day, trapping them. There was no way out. They died here, slowly, of starvation and thirst.”
“Most of the bodies don’t have weapons,” Goll sighs. “They probably got so used to coming here, they grew lazy. Didn’t bother with weapons, since they were safe within the ring. They couldn’t even try to fight their way to freedom.”
“And now we’re trapped too,” Connla says bitterly, shooting me a dirty look.
“It’s not Bec’s fault,” Fiachna snaps. “We’d be dead already if not for her.”
“Aye,” Connla admits grudgingly. “But I’d have rather died fighting in the open than of hunger and thirst, trapped like a fox in its den.”
“You can die any time you like,” Goll says. “The demons are waiting. Go pick a fight with them if you want to die quickly.”
“Maybe I’ll pick a fight with you instead,” Connla snarls.
“Men are so childish,” Orna snaps before the insults escalate. “Instead of being grateful for this extra day, you’re bitter and scrap with each other like dogs.”
“What do we have to be grateful for?” Connla shouts. “We’re surrounded! We’ll die like the others who lie here and our bones will rot slowly, unburied, ignored by the gods.”
“Not necessarily,” Orna disagrees. “The demons haven’t built a wide shelter. And we’re not weaponless. If we break through their ranks, they won’t be able to chase after us.”
“That won’t be easy,” Ronan says, studying the lie of the land. “There’s a lot of space between this ring and the trees. We can’t surprise them. They’ll see us coming and converge at that point.”
“So we separate,” Orna shrugs. “We pair off and dart at them from a few directions at once. I doubt if everyone will make it through but some of us should.”
“The strongest,” Fiachna notes softly, looking at Run Fast and me. “What about the smaller ones?”
“We’ll take our chances,” I say stiffly, not happy with Fiachna for slighting me. I’m no warrior but I know how to fight and I’m not afraid to die. I want to be treated equally, not as a helpless child.
“If we’re going to try that, we need to do it soon,” Goll says. “If we can put a full day’s march between us and these monsters, they’ll never catch up. But if we leave it until later, they’ll just wait until dark and give chase again.”
“I don’t see that we’ve any choice,” Lorcan says. “Hit hard, run fast and—”
“Run fast!” Run Fast shouts. We smile at him but he doesn’t see the humour in it. “Run fast!” he yells again. “Run fast!”
“Easy,” Goll says, reaching out a hand to soothe the agitated boy.
Run Fast ducks away from Goll. “Run fast!” he insists. Then, before we can stop him, he darts past the safety of the stones and races towards the trees—and the demons.
“Run Fast!” I scream. “Come back!”
He ignores my cry but draws to a halt short of the trees. The demons in that area have bunched together, snarling and drooling, reaching out towards Run Fast, each wanting to be the first to snag him and feast on his flesh.
Run Fast dodges the hands, paws and claws of the demons, then starts to… to… No! I can’t believe it. But yes—he starts to
It’s crazy. Incredible. Ridiculous. But he dances anyway. It’s not a graceful dance, or a dance of magic or power. He just hops from foot to foot, clapping his hands, waving them around, grunting a series of off-key tunes.
The demons go wild, infuriated by the display. Run Fast is taunting them, dancing around within their reach, mocking them. They fall over one another in their fury, clutching, grasping, desperate to drag him down and put
