Bec

that would change. This could be the making of him.

And if the quest goes poorly and he dies? Well, that will be the decision of the gods. You can’t fight your destiny.

While Connla blinks stupidly at his father, the teenage twins, Ronan and Lorcan rise. “We’ll go too,” Ronan says, brushing blood-red hair out of his eyes.

“We want to kill more demons,” Lorcan adds, tugging an earring, excited.

Conn growls unhappily. The twins are young but they’re two of our finest warriors. He doesn’t want to let them go but he can’t refuse without insulting them. In the end he nods reluctantly. “Any others?” he asks.

“Me,” a woman of the MacCadan says, taking a step forward. “Orna MacCadan. I’ll represent my clan, to repay you for your hospitality.” Orna is the female warrior I spotted earlier.

Conn smiles. “Our thanks. Now, if that’s all…” He looks for any final volunteers, making it clear by the way he asks that he thinks six is more than adequate.

But one last hand goes up. A tiny hand. Mine.

“I want to go too.”

Conn’s astonished. Everybody is.

“Bec,” Goll says, “this isn’t suitable for a child.”

“I’m not a child,” I retort. “I’m a priestess. Well, an apprentice priestess.”

“It will be dangerous,” Fiachna warns me. “This is a task for warriors.”

“You’re going,” I remind him, “but you’re no warrior.”

“I have to go in case there’s a smith in this village, who can teach me to make better weapons,” he says.

“Maybe I can learn something too,” I reply, then face Conn. “I need to do this. I sense failure if I don’t go. I’m not sure what good I can do—maybe none at all—but I believe I must travel with them.”

Conn shakes his head, troubled. “I can’t allow this. With Banba gone, you’re our only link to the ways of magic. We need you.”

“You need Fiachna too,” I cry, “but you’re letting him go.”

“Fiachna’s a man,” Conn says sternly. “He has the right to choose.”

“So do I,” I growl, then raise my voice and repeat it, with conviction this time. “So do I! We of magic live by our own rules. I was Banba’s charge, not yours. She lived here by choice, as do I—neither of us were of this clan. You had no power over her and you don’t have any over me. Since she’s dead, I’m my own guardian. I answer to a higher voice than any here and that voice tells me to go. If you hold me, it will be against my will and the will of the gods.”

Brave, provocative words, which Conn can’t ignore. Although I’m no more a real priestess than any of the cows in the fields, I’m closer to the ways of magic than anybody else in the rath. Nobody dares cross me on this.

“Very well,” Conn says angrily. “We’ve pledged an ex-king, our smith, two of our best warriors, a guest and my own son to this reckless cause—why not our young priestess too!”

And so, in a bitter, resentful fashion, my fate is decided and I’m dismissed. With a mix of fear and excitement—mostly fear—I trudge back to my hut to enjoy one final night of sheltered sleep, before leaving home in the morning, to face the demons and other dangers of the world beyond.

THE RIVER

There are no attacks during the night—an encouraging omen. We depart with the rising of the sun, bidding short farewells to relatives and friends. I want to look back at the huts and walls of the rath as we leave—I might never see them again—but that would be inviting bad luck, so I keep my eyes on the path ahead.

It’s a cloudy day, lots of showers, the coolness of autumn. Summer’s been late fading this year, but I can tell by sniffing the air that it’s finally passed for certain. That could be interpreted as a bad sign—the dying of a season on the day we leave—but I choose to overlook it.

We march east at a steady pace, staying close to Sionan’s river. Our boats were destroyed in a demon attack some months back, so we can’t cross the river here. We have to go east, cross where it’s narrow, then make our way west from there.

The earth is solid underfoot and there are plenty of paths through the trees, so we make good time. Ronan and Lorcan are to the fore of the pack. I’m next, with Orna and Run Fast.

He’s eager to move ahead of the rest of us but we hold him back—otherwise he might disappear in the undergrowth like a rabbit. Connla and Fiachna are behind us. Connla’s sulking and hasn’t said a word since we left. Goll brings up the rear.

I brood upon my reasons for leaving the rath as we march, feeling uneasier the more I think about it. Mostly I chose to leave because of the vision of my mother. But there was another reason—fear. The rath seemed to grow smaller every day. I felt so confined, I sometimes found it hard to breathe. I had nightmares where I was trapped, the wall of the fort closing in, ever tighter, squeezing me to death. If our worst fears come true and we fall to the hordes of demons, I don’t want to die caged in.

Is it possible I created the vision to give myself an excuse to leave? I don’t think so. I’m almost certain it was genuine. But the mind can play tricks. What if this is folly, if I’m running away from my fears into worse danger than I would have faced if I’d stayed?

If it wasn’t a trick—if the vision was real—why would the ghost of my mother send me on this deadly quest? She wouldn’t have urged me to risk my life if it wasn’t important. Maybe she wants to help me unravel the secrets of my past. I’ve always longed to know more about my mother, where I came from, who my people were. Perhaps Run Fast can help me find the truth.

If that’s just wishful thinking, and my past is to remain a secret, maybe our rath is destined to fall. My mother’s spirit might have foreseen the destruction of the MacConn and acted to spare me.

Whatever way I look at it, I realise I left for purely selfish reasons. The MacConn need me. I shouldn’t have abandoned them because I was afraid, to hunt down my original people or save myself from an oncoming disaster. I should go back. Fight with them. Use my magic to protect the clan as best I can.

But what if there’s some other reason my mother appeared, if I can somehow help the MacConn by coming on this crazy trek? Banba said we should always follow the guidance of spirits, although we had to be wary, because sometimes they could try to trick us.

Ana help me! So many possibilities—my head is hurting, thinking about them. I should stop and give my brain a rest. Besides, there’s no point worrying now. We’re more than half a day’s march from the rath. We couldn’t return to safety before nightfall. There’s no going back.

Everybody was quiet during the morning’s march, thinking about those we left behind and what lies ahead. We stopped to rest and eat at midday. Ronan and Lorcan caught a couple of rabbits, which we ate raw, along with some berries. After that, as we walked slower on our full stomachs, the talk began, low and leisurely, with Fiachna asking Orna a question about the three-bladed knives she favours.

There were lots more questions for Orna after that. Those from our rath know all there is to know about each other. Orna and Run Fast are the only mysteries in the group, and since Run Fast simply grins and looks away when you ask him anything, that leaves Orna as the focus for our curiosity.

She’s had four husbands, children by three of them. She says she likes men but has never been able to put up with one for more than a couple of years. Goll laughs at that and says the pair of them should marry, since he won’t live much more than a few years.

“I wouldn’t have a lot to leave except memories,” he grins. “But they’d be good memories. I had three wives when I was young and didn’t disappoint any of them!”

“Except when you lost your eye and kingship,” Connla smirks, sending Goll into a foul mood.

“You shouldn’t provoke him like that,” Fiachna whispers harshly.

“He’s an old wreck,” Connla retorts. “My father’s a king and I plan to follow in his footsteps. I’ll speak to the old goat any way I like.”

“We’re not in the rath now,” Fiachna says. “We’re a small, isolated group and we need to rely on each