“What’s that mean?” Scamp asked.

  “There’s no time, boy. Trackers will be here soon. Ye have to run. Now.”

  “I ain’t going nowhere ‘til you tell me.”

  Upthog glowered at him, mouth pressed into a thin line. Crossing his arms, he laid back on her cot and stared at the roof’s rushes and the wall. The wattle poking out of the daub was hard and sharp, as though hundreds of blades had been woven together, and the mud couldn’t keep the sharp reeds in check.

  Like her mind poking through the cracks.

  It was all Scamp could do not to laugh at her. The only thing holding him back was her strength—her will. Normally, he would win in a battle of wills like this. Nearly always. Kathvar invariably won but no one else, at least until now. Her eyes once more bore into Scamp, but he was determined to get answers.

  “Not ‘til you tell me,” he repeated.

  Sighing, she relented, “Ye know what a Summoner is?”

  “Aye. Village peacekeeper. Lawgiver. Those who summon offenders to face King’s justice. All round pain in my hole, if I’m to be honest.”

  The one who sends for Drombeg’s Champion and his guards with no call.

  “No, boy. Humankind believes…” She hesitated, gathering her thoughts. “Humankind believes there’s a catastrophic event every thousand summers or so. An event that closes the cycle—”

  “Like the flood,” Scamp interrupted, once again fighting to keep his laughter on the inside.

  “Aye. Like the flood. Only humankind is mistaken in this belief. The cycle ain’t time-based. The Creator unleashes the catastrophe to cleanse the world when humankind has reached the limit from which there is no return. At this time, someone frees Dhuosnos and his demon horde to wreak havoc. Ye’ve heard of the Lord of Darkness. Well he’s the scourge. The real Scourge, not like those recent Witch Hunts.”

  Frequent? That was ten summers gone. Nothing frequent there. Scamp thought, unable to look at her. Mothers throughout the kingdoms used the Lord of Darkness to threaten their offspring into good behaviour. Unless he was misunderstanding Upthog, she was saying the time of the catastrophe was on them—the time of Dhuosnos’s release. The time when faerie stories come to life.

  How can I misunderstand? It’s as plain as the scar on her cheek. No wonder she’s out here on her own. Mad as a bag of starved rats.

  “What’s any of this to do with summoners?”

  “The Lord of Darkness is imprisoned in Tech Duinn, under the Bull’s Head, beyond the Void. To release the catastrophe on the people, he needs to be freed—the Void needs to be spanned. To escape, he needs a coven and a summoner: a coven of witches to open the way through the Void and a summoner to guide them through to the portal. The witches, Dhuosnos creates—at least most of them—but the summoner is born when the time approaches and always in North Kingdom, where the old ways hold true. They are the summoners. Ye’re a summoner, Scamp.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Cac on that. I’m just a boy likes lighting fires.”

  “Why’s that, d’ye think?” she asked. The look she turned on him seemed to show that she thought the argument to be won.

  “What?”

  “Why a fascination with fire? What draws ye to the flames?” Scamp opened his mouth to answer, but Upthog didn’t allow him time. “Have ye seen faces in the flames?”

  He thought of the burning eyes, the arrogant curve of mouth, the face before the fire collapsed. “Sometimes I see a face. It’s just something that I imagined. Everyone sees things in a fire.”

  “And ye’ve seen others,” she said, as his mind conjured his dream’s about red eyes and a ruby in a strap. A dream he’d had more than once. A thought rose as he considered her words.

  She’s inside my head. How’s that a thing?

  Lying back, he closed his eyes and asked, “Why is Kathvar called a summoner if he ain’t?”

  “Which others, boy?”

  “Dreams; nightmares nearly, but not quite. Just strange dreams.” Red eyes and rubies. Burning faces. Near naked beauties. Towers of black in crashing waves.

  “Listen to yerself. Dreams ain’t ever just dreams, Scamp. They’re messages with a meaning.”

  Starved rats held over a fire. “What about Kathvar? Why’s he doing it?”

  “Kathvar is a witch. Dhuosnos gives the coven that frees him untold powers, riches, and more. The witch hunts ten summers ago—ye’ve heard of them?” Scamp nodded, “—were Kathvar’s doing. Some call them the Scourges; mistakenly, scourges come from the Creator. The witch hunts came from Kathvar. He was removing any threat to achieving his goal.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Kathvar isn’t a summoner. He created a counsel of so-called summoners to help convince the King. He wanted to destroy The Coven with legitimacy. He then recommended Connavar send one of his cronies—his false summoners—to each village to act as peacemaker but really to watch for yer coming. Each of the false summoners is a servant of Kathvar who will help to bring ye to the Arena under Bull’s Head.”

  Something crossed her face at those words. It looked like fear, but that couldn’t be. Who would be afraid of old fisher wive’s tales except infants. Infants and the mad, he allowed.

  “Kathvar’s a witch who wants to bring me to—”

  “The Bull’s Head to begin the Scourge, aye, I got it.”

  “So, yer not as ignorant as ye seem, then.”

  “No one knows where it is. It’s just a stupid story me Ma used to frighten me with.”

  “Ye’ve seen it.” Scamp laughed and shook his head. “Ye think I lie?”

  He looked at her face: the tight mouth and hard eyes. Not wanting to voice the words, he shrugged.

  “It doesn’t matter what ye think, boy. Ye’re wanted for murder. Ye have to run or hang.”

  Despite the shrug, he was tempted to say there was no word other than hers. She could be making it up. Judging by the madness in some of it, she probably was making it up. He was starting to regret coming here. People hide in secluded forest glades for a reason, and he should have seen it coming.

  How does she even know this?

  As another thought came, he asked, “So, if he’s to bring me to Bull’s Head, why have me hanged for murder?”

  “I was asking myself all the way back from Caer Scál...” Hesitating again, Upthog glanced out of the roundhouse door as though she’d heard something. She turned back with more deeply furrowed brows. “There’s no time, Boy.”

  “See. You’re making it up as you go.”

  “Ye ran. He needed ye back…” She stopped and stared through the door before saying, “What quicker way to catch ye than to send trackers?”

  “Ain’t that sure as rabbits in a meadow.”