The air around Donal expanded and contracted. His ears popped from the pressure change. He reflexively shielded his face with his free hand even though this room was darker than the one he left. Fragarach’s glow, faded as it was, was the only light source other than the portal itself.

  “No torches,” Brigid said.

  “At all?” Donal asked. “Or are they unlit?”

  The boat lifted with her shrug before it shoved them forward. Donal checked the ground for circles and patterns before stumbling forward.

  “Can’t stop,” Niall said as he emerged from the portal. “We have to make way.”

  The crew pushed toward the front of the room. The doorway was in the same location as it was on their own plane.

  “There,” Brigid said. “Brace the boat for a moment, would you, fellas?” She bent over and rustled something on the ground.

  “Torch,” she said. “Now we just need a free hand or a lock of magic to light it.”

  Maeve led her boat to the left upon exiting the portal, giving Siobhan enough room to find the last remaining gap between the chamber entrance and the portal.

  “Brother!” Brigid said, waving the torch above the glowing sword in the currach. “Give us a flame.”

  “Not even a moment to reflect on my wondrous works?” Brendan asked. “You’re standing in a place very few have.”

  “And we’ll stand here for quite a while longer if we break our boats against the side of this cave in the dark,” Brigid said. “Finn’s sword is dimming on us.”

  Brendan sighed and shifted his end of the boat onto one arm and flicked his free hand. “Oibell,” he said. A single tongue of flame sparked over his palm. He stared at it for several seconds.

  “Brendan?” Brigid asked.

  Brendan shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “Something seemed off… Hold that yoke still.”

  He brought his hand behind the flame and pushed his hand forward. “Glúasid.”

  The flame arced toward Brigid. She batted the flame with the torch and it lit upon contact.

  Everyone in the room now understood what had distracted Brendan. The flames on the torch did not flicker, they rolled as if they were liquid. It wasn’t cinders that rose above the torch, it was drops of varying sizes that floated and dissipated into the dark.

  “Brigid, are you fine to hold that?” Siobhan asked.

  Brigid tilted and rotate the torch. Her widened eyes topped an otherwise blank expression. “I suppose so,” she said. “Follow us.”

  It wasn’t the dying light of a spring day which greeted them outside the cave. Fog blanketed the land, reducing the visibility to no more than twenty yards in any direction.

  “Let’s walk back to that shore,” Niall said. “We’ll sort out everything there.”

  Donal noticed little difference in the rock formations between home and Mag da Cheonn. He stepped over and around many of the same rocks he encountered on the way to the portal. The most obvious difference here in Mag da Cheonn was that all the rocks appeared… blue. He assumed it was a trick of the interaction between fog and advancing twilight.

  He drew in a deep breath to replace the stagnant cave air in his lungs with fresh sea air and choked. The air felt dense in his throat and heavy in his chest.

  The group rested their boats on the shore and spread out. Several members stretched their arms and backs. Siobhan and Finn, having traveled all day in different currachs, found each other and distanced themselves from the group. Brigid and Fergal found their own private corner of the isthmoid shore.

  Niall didn’t leave much time for loitering. “We shouldn’t go far,” he said. “And I’m not merely speaking of this moment. Maeve, go to the southern edge of this shore and tell me if you see any signs of a Norsemen village on this plane. Brigid, Fergal, Brigid, keep an eye out for animal tracks or dens. Brendan, Ciara, scrounge up whatever you can for a fire. The air is damper here; we might need some of your tricks to keep a fire going. Siobhan, you take the lads and see if you can find the slightest bit of turf on this shore.”

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  “You mean for us to set up camp?” Siobhan asked.

  “Hai, I do,” he said. “As much as the fog tries to hide it, night is still coming.” He projected his voice to reach the scattering teams. “Are your coats holding up?” His comrades answered him with grunts and nods. Niall squatted next to the right side of his boat and examined the hole in its side.

  Donal jabbed his brother with his right foot. “Up, you two!”

  Siobhan rolled off of Finn’s chest and rubbed her eyes. She groaned at the sight of the mist. “I dreamed we had a long sail on a sunny day.”

  “Hai, that was yesterday, Shiv,” Finn said, curling to a sitting position.

  “I know,” she said, her eyes scanning the seashore to the north. “I just forgot for a moment how nice it was to see the sun.”

  Donal shifted his weight and folded his arms. “As the man said, it was yesterday. How was watch?”

  Finn pinched his face and looked up at his younger brother. “I’m not sure you get to ask that question,” he said. “Seeing how you managed to avoid your turn.”

  “It was fine,” Siobhan said. “Much more boring than I expected. Not a soul or animal seen or heard. Brendan and Niall told us the same when we relieved them.”

  Niall dropped a pail full of water at Siobhan’s feet. “Do what you must,” he said. “Food’s in the currachs.”

  “Did you catch anything?” Siobhan asked. “Or did the fish disappear as well?”

  “We… thought better of eating anything out of the ocean for now,” Niall said.

  “D’ya mean by that?” she asked.

  “See for yourself,” Donal said gesturing to the sea.

  Donal led the couple the north shore and stopped ten yards short of the water’s edge. “Right here is fine,” he said. “Have a gawk.”

  At first glance the ocean appeared calm but the water near the shore drew their attention, as it had Donal’s when he first laid eyes upon it. The waves were thicker and moved slower. There was no violence in their crashes, no water flung in odd directions, no foam skimming the water towards the shore. The waves deadened until a larger force pushed them along.

  “That is odd, I’ll grant you that,” Siobhan said. “But it’s still water, isn't it? Are you telling me nobody tried to catch us a meal?”

  Niall shrugged. “Fergal tried twice. Both times the line snapped as soon as the fish put up a fight. We decided that anything that had the strength to swim these waters should be left alone for now.” He grinned. “At least until we can find something stronger than horsehair and cowgut for a line.”

  Siobhan turned back to the boats and examined the bags. “Eventually we’ll have to live a light amount off of the land,” she said. “We planned on doing so when we supplied ourselves for the journey.” She looked twice at Niall’s boat. “Why is your currach empty?”

  “We took an arrow in the fight yesterday,” Niall said. “I didn’t want our supplies soaked if we took on water because of it.”

  Siobhan nodded and scratched her chin. “Grand. What else do we need to get going?”

  “O’Cahans are clearing what little camp we made,” Niall said. Maeve is reviewing some notes provided by Mur—some notes we brought to help us find the entrance to Tír Tairnigire. And a few things to mind once we cross over.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a look at that myself,” Siobhan said.

  “Here you go, then,” Maeve called out as she approached from the south. “I got what I needed from it.”

  Maeve handed Siobhan the stack of loose parchment, bound by twine, and examined the boat furthest on the right. “Can we go? I’m tired of staring at all this grey.”

  “You assume it’s going to change once we launch?” Finn asked as he rearranged his equipment in Maeve’s boat. “My working theory is that everything is heavier here. Everything moves slower here. The clouds here might simply hang this low all the time.”

  “I don’t feel slower,” Maeve said. “Or heavier. It’s a bit harder to breathe but I don’t feel like I’m suffocating—almost the opposite, if that makes sense to you.”

  “I did say it was a theory,” Finn said. “We’ll get to test it out today. We were so weary from yesterday’s long journey and battle that we couldn’t judge if we wanted to.” He pointed behind her. “Your friends are back.”

  “And isn’t it about time?” Maeve said, squinting at Brendan from over her shoulder. “If you’re ready, get to your boat.”

  Brendan gave a dramatic bow and averted his face. “Yes, boss.”

  “A reminder before we stumble into the water,” Niall said. “Hy-Brasil is part of an island chain well off Ireland’s west coast. Our charts aren’t specific as to its location within the chain or how many dozens of islands surround it. With our currachs, however, we won’t need to rely on charts.”

  “I’d tell you to prepare yourself for anything,” he said. “But we have nothing to compare this to. Keep your gear handy. Donal and Brigid, I stashed yours in Siobhan’s boat. Mine is in Maeve’s.”

  He studied the water as it slid onto shore. “No sense putting it off,” he said. “Time to get our feet wet.”

  Donal lifted his side of the bow. His entire body jerked in response to the cold water surrounding his lower legs. The difference in temperatures between the two planes was staggering. Others hissed and whooped as they eased in. Ciara slapped her mouth to curtail a scream.

  “Missing your cell yet?” Brigid asked her.

  Ciara's hand muffled what Donal assumed was a string of curses hurled at Brigid.

  “I know it’s cold,” Niall said, “but make sure you’re clear of the bottom before jumping in, people.”

  Everyone else abandoned their decorum as they climbed over the gunwales and as a result the boats wobbled on the water like driftwood in a gale. Niall, Siobhan and Maeve traded glances once everyone was aboard.

  Noting the nods from the ladies, Niall leaned forward and rested is hands on the bow. “Take us to Hy-Brasil.”

  The boats eased forward and banked to the right. Once they reached a safe distance from shore the trio of captains increased their pace.

  The mist thickened and thinned in different areas, but it never relented. Donal had nowhere else to look but the hole in the side of his boat, never more than three inches from the surface of the water.