an end to his insolence. Some even step out of the shade of the trees and lunge at him, risking the burning rays of the sun.
Run Fast dodges them all, leaps here, darts there, dancing all the time. He sets off on a circuit, the demons following him. He comes within range of those who’ve been standing their ground, keeping an eye or three on the rest of us. As he passes, they lose interest in everything but the dancing boy and join with the rest of their inhuman clan, giving chase, lashing out, spitting poison.
Within minutes every demon is focused on Run Fast, stumbling after him, clashing with each other, fighting among themselves. Demons are never the most logical of creatures. Now they’ve lost their senses entirely and only care about destroying this dancing thorn in their side. They’ve forgotten the rest of us.
“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it,” Goll says, stunned, watching the show with a wide, incredulous eye.
“Look at how he dances away from them,” Fiachna murmurs. “He slides through their fingers like smoke.”
“There’s more to the fool than we thought,” Connla says, a hint of disapproval in his expression. He doesn’t like surprises, even when they work to his advantage.
“Come on,” Orna says. “He’s created a gap for us to slip through. Let’s not waste it by giving the demons time to regain their senses.”
“What about Run Fast?” I ask.
“He’ll be fine,” Goll laughs. “He’ll catch us up later. I think it would take more than all the demons of the land to snare that boy!”
I don’t like the thought of leaving Run Fast behind. I study him as he continues to dance around the rim of the circle, teasing and tormenting the demons. As I’m watching, I notice that one of the demons isn’t chasing Run Fast. It’s standing by itself, ignoring the commotion, gaze fixed on the ring of stones… on
There’s something especially disturbing about this Fomorii. It’s not like any other demon I’ve seen. But before I can move forward for a closer look, Goll slaps my back and points me in the opposite direction, where the trees stand unguarded. “Run like the wind, Little One,” he says. “And for Neit’s sake, don’t stop or look back!”
Then, before I can draw his attention to the floating demon, he barks an order and we’re breaking for freedom, heads down, feet kicking up clouds of dust. In the heat of the moment all thoughts, except those of escape, slip from my head and blow away on the cool morning breeze.
THE CRANNOG
Run Fast joins us nearly an hour later. I thought he’d be quicker than that, and was worrying, thinking about going back for him. When he appears, I see why he was so long—he stopped to pick flowers and weave a necklace out of them.
“Turnips!” he shouts happily, waving the necklace at us.
There’s a big group cheer and we surround him, laughing, hugging, exclaiming at the same time—
“That was amazing!”
“I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“You must be a son of the gods!”
“The demons thought they had us dead but they didn’t count on Run Fast!”
Run Fast smiles hazily, unsure of what all the fuss is about. In his head, I don’t think leading demons a merry chase counts for much. He’s far prouder of the necklace of flowers.
When we’re through congratulating Run Fast we set off again, anxious to cover as much ground as we can before nightfall. It’s a showery day and we’re soon soaked. But that’s a minor inconvenience. We’ll take any amount of soakings after our unexpected escape from the demons.
Early afternoon. I’ve been discussing the ring of stones with Fiachna, wondering how old it was, who built it, what its original purpose might have been.
“A pity they didn’t have ogham stones back then,” Fiachna says. “They could have told us who they were and lived on through their writing.”
“Can you read ogham?” I ask.
“A bit. I learnt it from a bard who couldn’t pay me for my work. Can you?”
“No. Banba didn’t like ogham. She said magic shouldn’t be recorded, that history should be kept alive by word of mouth.”
“Perhaps,” Fiachna says. “But many stories are lost forever that way. I think…” He stops, eyes narrowing. “Connla!” he calls—the young would-be king has been leading for the last couple of hours. When Connla looks back, Fiachna points to a spot off to the right. “A large, strange hut. I think it’s a church.”
Everyone gathers around us. I can see the tip of the building now that Fiachna’s pointed it out. It’s not like any I’ve seen before but I’ve heard of its type. A Christian church. I didn’t know they’d built any this close to our tuath.
We advance on the church. My insides are tight. It’s a feeling I always get when I hear of the upstart religion.
Christians are new to our land, but already it’s hard to imagine a time when they weren’t here. They’ve spread as fast as rabbits, bringing their churches and unnatural ways into tuath after tuath, converting everyone they encounter. I’ve never met a Christian but from what I’ve heard they’re powerful and persuasive, with no tolerance for other ways of thinking. They believe all people should follow their faith, that no gods are real except their own.
The threat of Christians was a major worry for us before the Fomorii came. Even though we were far removed from any of the infected tuatha, we knew we couldn’t hope to avoid them forever.
From what we heard, they’d converted all of the north and east. It was only a matter of time before their priests came—maybe their high priest, Padraig, would come himself—and then…
Would they convert us too? Would Conn grant them his backing, as so many other kings had, and order us to follow their ways, abandon our gods, adopt their customs? It didn’t seem possible. Our religion is old. Our gods are sacred, as real to us as our ancestors. We lead our lives based on ancient, just laws, handed down from father to son, mother to daughter. How could we turn away from all that within a matter of days and become another people entirely?
I’d have said it was impossible, except I knew from the reports that it isn’t. While the Christians don’t have our understanding and control of magic, they have strange powers of their own. They’ve come from far across the world, winning over most of those they met along the way. Common sense suggested we’d be no different, no more immune to their persuasive spells than any other clan.
We thought Christianity was the worst disaster that could befall us. Then the demons attacked and we realised there were far greater enemies in the world than the followers of the god they call Christ.
Creeping up to the door of the church. I sense power within. A dark, throbbing, painful power. It gives me a headache. This church doesn’t have the natural feel of our own holy places. It’s a building of power but not magic.
We stop at the door of the church, unwilling to enter in case demons are inside. I thought a church would be protected from the Fomorii, like the ring of stones. But as powerful as they are, Christians lack the skills of the Old Creatures, because it’s obvious this church has been attacked and demons have been at play.
We can see the mess through the open door. Blood everywhere. Bits of human bodies. A man’s head— maybe a priest’s—stuck on the tip of a spear set in the centre of the church. Eyelids ripped off, eyes gouged out, demonic symbols scrawled in blood across his forehead and cheeks.
“I’ve never seen demons do this,” Goll says, scratching the flesh over his own lost eye. “They usually strike and kill, make off with the bodies they want, leave the others just scattered around. This is different.”
“It’s like what we do with our enemies after a battle,” Fiachna agrees. “If you add this to the trap they built around the ring of stones, there’s only one conclusion. Tiernan was right—they’re becoming more intelligent.”
