Connla takes aim and hurls a spear at the beast, down its maw of a mouth. The spear sticks deep in its throat. The demon chokes and slams its head downwards, trying to spit out the spear.
Goll darts forward, grabs the shaft of the spear and drives it further into the Fomorii’s throat, twisting savagely. The demon spasms, then weakens. Suddenly the warriors are all over it, hacking away like ants trying to bring down a badger. Fiachna, Run Fast and I watch from nearby.
“Do you think I should help?” Fiachna asks, fingers tapping the head of an axe which hangs from his belt.
“They’re in control,” I tell him.
And, moments later, the battle’s over and the eel demon lies at their feet, covered in the grey blood which previously pumped through its veins, torn to pieces, jaws stretched wide in a final death snarl.
Goll grasps the handle of the spear, yanks it out and hands it to Connla. He laughs and claps the younger warrior on the back. “A master throw!”
Connla smiles sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to hurl it down the beast’s throat,” he says with untypical modesty. “I aimed for the top of its head. But it moved. I got lucky.”
“I’ll always take luck over skill,” Goll says, clapping Connla’s back again. The pair grin at each other like lifelong friends.
“I’ve never fought a water demon before,” Orna grunts, wiping her knives clean on the grass. She dabs at the final few drops of grey blood with her middle finger, then rubs it into the centre spots of her spiral tattoos, one after the other.
“They’re rare,” Ronan says, studying the demon, turning it over on to its back with his foot. “We’re lucky it’s not night or it would have been stronger.”
“Come on,” I mutter, glancing around uneasily. “It’ll be sunset soon. More will be coming.”
That silences everyone. After a quick check to make sure the second dugout is free of demons, we’re in the boats and crossing the river as swiftly as possible, everybody keeping one eye on the water, wary of attack from beneath.
THE STONES
Nobody emerges from the huts as we dock. When we’re on dry land, we stare at the huts suspiciously. You’re not supposed to enter a tuath without announcing yourself and being guided by one of your own rank. But times have changed. Many of the old laws no longer apply.
“You in the huts!” Goll bellows, in case anyone’s alive inside.
Silence.
“Should we go see if anybody’s there?” Fiachna asks.
“They’d have answered if there was,” Connla says.
“Unless they’re scared or sheltering underground,” Orna notes.
Ronan points silently at a spot to the left of the huts. My eyes aren’t as sharp as his, so it takes me a few seconds to focus. Then I see it—a small arm, probably a child’s, lying in the dirt.
Goll sighs, draws his sword and moves to the front of the group. “Let’s go,” he says gruffly, and we proceed at a forced, nervous jog.
There’s nowhere to shelter, so we don’t stop when the sun sets, but keep going, hoping to outpace any demons which catch our scent. I try to persuade myself that we won’t be noticed. Only a fool travels at night in these troubled times. The Fomorii won’t expect to find anyone out in the open. Maybe they don’t even look any more.
A silly, childish notion. But for an hour it seems as though it might hold true. We don’t sight any demons and hope begins to grow.
But then we hear a howl of inhuman vibrancy far behind us, but not far enough for comfort. We pause and listen as the howl is answered by others. In my mind’s eye I see a group forming, demons and the living dead. They gather around the one who found our trail, sniff the air, lick the earth, quiver with excitement—then lurch forward, to run us down.
“They might be after someone else,” Connla says but his words are hollow. We’ve been discovered.
“Let’s pick up the pace,” Goll says, expression stern.
Run Fast’s head shoots up. “Run fast?” he asks eagerly.
“Aye,” Goll says, then grabs the boy as he starts to shoot off. “Not
We can hear them, a pack of demons crashing through the woods, snapping off branches, knocking over smaller trees. I’ve never known demons so excited. I guess, when they attack a fort, it’s hard work. It must be frustrating, the scent of prey thick in their nostrils, having to fight their way through, often failing. But out here, in the open, they have only to hunt us down and we’re theirs for the taking. They’re like dogs after a fox.
We’re looking for a place to make a stand, somewhere we can defend. A cave would be perfect. We could squeeze in and fend them off, maybe keep them at bay for the rest of the night, then escape in the morning. But there are no caves, or at least none that we can find.
Goll comes to a halt in a small clearing. Trees have been felled here some time in the last few years. Somebody probably planned to graze animals or build a hut, in the days before the demons came. Goll looks around, assessing.
“Not here,” Connla wheezes, face dark from the strain. “Too exposed.”
“There’s nowhere better,” Goll gasps. He points to a mound of logs covered in moss. “We can start a fire. Fell more trees, stake them in the ground and sharpen the tops. Make it hard for the demons to strike all at once.”
“But…” Connla looks to the others for support, but Ronan, Lorcan and Orna are already drawing their weapons, preparing for battle. Fiachna has his axe out and is studying the trees. They know it’s hopeless, that we’re going to die. But what choice do we have? There’s nothing to do but draw our lines, wait and face those who will most certainly destroy us. Die as warriors, with pride.
I’m thinking about what spells I can use when a small hand slips into mine. I look round. Run Fast is smiling at me. “Run fast?” he whispers.
“Not now,” I sigh.
The boy frowns. “Run fast,” he says more firmly.
I shake my head. “We have to stay and fight. Can you fight? Do you know how to—”
The strange boy’s fingers grab mine tightly and his face hardens. “Run fast!” he hisses, then points with his free hand. “Worm pups!”
I start to snap at him to be quiet. Then pause. There’s a tingling sensation in Run Fast’s fingers. Some sort of magic. I look down. His hand is glowing slightly. The boy looks at it too, then up at me. “Worm pups,” he repeats, softly this time.
“Goll!” I shout. The old warrior glances at me. “We’re leaving.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue!” I move ahead with Run Fast. “We’ll die here. But I think, if we carry on, there’s…” I stop, not sure what might lie beyond, but sensing in my heart that it’s better than this.
Everybody’s looking at me now, torn between hope and suspicion.
“This place isn’t much,” Fiachna says, “but it’s defendable. If we’re caught on the run, we’re finished for sure. Are you certain…?”
“Yes,” I growl. “We have to go. Now. We’re dead if we don’t.”
“But we’ll live if we do?” Connla asks dubiously.
“Perhaps.”
It’s not enough. They don’t trust my instincts. They’re going to stay. I open my mouth to argue afresh, but then Orna lowers her knives and comes to my side. “I’m with the girl.”
“Why?” Goll asks—not a challenge, just curious.
Orna shrugs. “A feeling.”
Lorcan taps a few of his earrings with a knife tip. “I don’t feel like we’ll live if we go, but I’m sure we’ll die if
