“You have to understand, MacDavett,” Rory said. “We truly meant no offense.”

  “It’s fine,” Fergal said. “No reason for anyone to take offense at being told they’re a disadvantage on every battlefield they step on.”

  “I never told you that.”

  “That’s a distinction cheaper than the person I took you for,” Fergal said.

  “I apologize if it was overly harsh.”

  “S’alright,” Fergal said. “I’ll prove you wrong soon enough.”

  Finn smiled and resolved with himself not to miss that moment.

  A company of nine—Rory called them a catha—escorted their group across the flattest terrain Finn had ever seen. The only contour to the land lay in areas of shaggy grass between farms and mottes of ash and hazel. Not an area in sight was barren yet the colors in the fields flowed between green and muted yellow. Sea air filled his nose and lungs with no shores on the horizon.

  Finn shifted in his saddle to quiet his stomach’s cries for food. It growled louder. An hour ago they turned west at the only major crossing for miles, away from the smoke rising above the town of Shúiledearga, “Red Eye,” no doubt named for the portal through which they entered Tír fo Thuinn. The red pupil of a liquid eye, peering into the world he left behind. His stomach continued to lament the meal left behind by the company’s detour.

  “Not to sound ungrateful for the escort,” Finn said, “but are there plans to stop for lunch? I find myself starving with the hunger.”

  “Of course!” Rory said. He pointed to the sky. “At midday.” The sun had traveled two-thirds of its journey from the eastern horizon to its zenith. Lunchtime wouldn’t arrive for at least two more hours.

  It can’t be just me, Finn thought. Niall rode ahead of him, making it impossible to read his face. His demeanor showed no signs of struggle. Maeve traveled between Finn and Fergal, her dour expression and occasional stomach scratch betraying her pangs of hunger. Fergal sat resolute, stoic, eager to prove Rory and Oisín wrong at every opportunity.

  “We warned you all to eat more at breakfast,” Rory said.

  “Hai, you did,” Niall said. “We’re still adjusting to the difference in time passage here. Didn’t want to weigh ourselves down.”

  Rory glanced over their shoulder at three and smiled. “We thought as much. We brought a wee bit extra for you. This road runs over the River Grúagach in the woods ahead of us. You can water and rest there for a bit. We’ll scout ahead while you do and come back for you.”

  Finn’s stomach growled and pinched for another hour before they reached the forest’s edge. Aspen and birch lined either side of the road. Past the slender trunks on the north side of the road the husks of dead oaks laid about the forest floor.

  Maeve flinched and stared into the woods on their left.

  “What are those?” Fergal asked, pointing to a series of depressions leading toward the dead part of the forest.

  “They’re old, but look how they’re tapered,” Maeve said. “Smaller imprints in the front. Something large left these tracks many years ago.”

  “You called this the River Grúagach?” Finn asked. “The name fits.”

  Maeve knitted her brow. “Dya’mean by—" She twisted her torso to survey the forest behind them, a move so exaggerated others in the catha did so for themselves. “Nevermind. I’m not going to care, am I?”

  Finn shrugged. “Probably not.” He used to bristle at her jabs regarding his knowledge. Over time he realized they were more a reflection of her instead of himself.

  The dead and mangled portion of the forest yielded to healthy oaks and a few other types Finn did not recognize. The birdsong above him was as mesmerizing as it was unfamiliar. Their chirps, whistles and beats carried overtones so pronounced and so unnatural, their calls sounded like a two-part harmony.

  “That’s the river up ahead?” Maeve asked Rory.

  “Good eye on you,” Rory said. “Just across it is the road up to Uargal. My people will head north to check in.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Maeve asked, squinting into the northern woods. “Thinning our numbers?”

  “Didn’t take you for a worrier,” Rory said.

  “She’s really not,” Finn said.

  “Do you want to stop to eat or not?”

  “We’ll be fine,” Niall said. “Make your run. Don’t faff around.”

  Rory smiled. “You heard the man. Let’s move.”

  The Fianna urged their mounts forward past Maeve’s group. One member tossed a sack into Fergal’s lap as he rode past and the warriors disappeared over a far hill. The hoofbeats faded into a dull rumble that drifted north. The remaining foursome continued toward the River Grúagach where they dismounted and led their horses off the roadside for a drink.

  “Odd,” Fergal said. “Not a soul on the road so far.”

  “This isn’t exactly the land for traipsing about on a sunny day,” Niall said. “Not with those ladies roaming around.”

  “Didn’t Cathal call them Dearg Due?”

  “He did,” Finn said, “but much like our ávertach friend from last year, they likely were bestowed with similar features to the original Dearg Due.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Maeve’s head whipped east. She squinted at the road behind them but resumed eating her bread after a few seconds.

  “Will you stop that?” Finn asked. “You’ll turn me into a worrier.”

  She grinned. “You already were.”

  “Dry up,” Finn said.

  A twig snap pulled away Maeve’s attention.

  Finn sighed. “Maeve—”

  “Weapons!” Maeve yelled, removing her scian from its sheath. She ran to her horse and jerked her bow and quiver free of its saddle tie. She ran to bridge and jammed a handful of arrows into the turf next to the road. “Get up here!”

  Niall unsheathed his sword and pulled another from his saddle and sprinted toward Maeve. Finn held Fragarach and ran toward Fergal, who was struggling to untie his poleaxe and remove the leather guard covering the blade.

  A rapid succession of breaking branches and crunching grass approached from behind. Finn stepped away from Fergal toward the sound. A frail figure raced at him, leaning forward with her white hands hanging behind. Black hair flapped behind her head.

  Finn advanced to make himself a moving target and swung at the creature from his shoulder. It tilted and twisted its body to avoid his swipe and slid sideways to a stop behind him. Finn turned his back to her and pulled his left hand to his chest. He flared his arm outward at the completion of his spin. “Bocóit!” he shouted.

  A translucent circle of pale yellow light appeared in front of his arm in time to absorb a swipe from the ghastly creature. His arm warmed as the conjured shield bounced against him with each attack from the undead woman. She glanced to her left and shoved his barrier with both hands. The force sent her backward, avoiding the poleaxe that dropped and struck the ground where she had just stood.

  Fergal wiggled the lodged poleaxe to free it from the turf. The dearg due recovered from her maneuver and raised a hand to claw at him.

  “Drop!” Finn yelled.

  Fergal fell forward and flattened his body.

  “Lía?rit teine!” Finn yelled. A fireball erupted from his left palm and burst against the creature’s exposed chest. It fell backward with a scream and rolled into a prone position. It hissed as it pushed itself up and scampered north at a pace rivaling most horses.

  “To the bridge!” Finn said to Fergal. Finn jerked on the axe handle until Fergal was standing and left the rest to his oversized friend.

  Two more of the undead creatures threatened Maeve and Niall. Maeve pinched her face after a missed shot. Niall swung furiously after his faster foe. He swung his silver fist out of frustration and it sent the dearg due flying upon contact.

  “The beasts move so fast,” Maeve said. “I’m not sure even I can lead these targets.”

  “Why do you insist on making this difficult for yourself?” Finn asked. “Remember what Oscar talked about.”

  Maeve furrowed her brow and glared at Finn from the corner of his eye. She shook her head and threw down an arrow and flicked her hand forward. “Clibeáil seo!”

  Grey light washed over the creatures’ eyes and radiated from their sternums. Maeve picked up two arrows, nocked one, then looked at Finn and raised an eyebrow.

  “Why not?” Finn asked with a shrug.

  Maeve grinned, nocked the second arrow on top of the first and let fly. Each arrow struck a dearg due in the chest. The creatures stumbled from the impact but resumed their advance.

  Finn approached the bridge from Maeve’s left. He swapped Fragarach to his left hand and pulled back his right. “Gáe? nert!”

  A small gale caught the undead from the side and launched them off of the road. Finn and Fergal took advantage of the lull by joining their friends on the bridge.

  “How many did you fight off?” Niall asked.

  “Just the one,” Fergal said. “It ran away when Finn threw fire at it.”

  Maeve pointed to their left. “To get help, it seems.”

  Two dearg due approached from north. The creature covered in scorch marks lagged behind the other.

  Maeve landed another arrow in one of the dearg due that Finn had knocked over. “What’s working?” she asked.

  “The one on the left is the only creature struggling,” Fergal said. “I’d say fire. It’s the only thing causing actual injury.”

  “I’ve got something, but it only works on swords,” Finn said. “Maeve do you have anything for the hammer side of Fergal’s weapon? Or do you have fire?”

  “I’ve got him, you help Niall,” she said.

  “Hold ‘em up, Niall,” Finn said. He held Fragarach next to Niall’s swords and gave the planes a push. “Lasa? lann.” Flames traveled up each sword blade from crossguard to tip.

  “Nertaid,” Maeve said, easing her hand toward Fergal’s polearm and causing the weapon to glow in amber light. She held her longbow on each side of its grip, pulled it to her chest and pushed it forward. “sai?eta teine nél.” Amber light spread across her bow from grip to tip.

  “Time to test this out,” Niall said.

  Maeve’s next arrow caught fire as soon as it cleared the bow. The arrow struck one creature in the chest. It clutched the arrow and fell forward, clawing at the dirt to reach Maeve.

  Fergal brought the hammer side of his weapon down and ended the creature’s crawl.

  Niall swung both of his swords at the remaining dearg due. The creatures merely danced outside the reach of his fiery blades. The undead injured by Finn’s fireball stood behind its cohorts and sneered at Finn, baring a dozen jagged teeth.

  And then it smiled.

  The creature held its claws against its chest. It spread both arms wide, tracing two horizontal semicircles. When its claws met, arms fully extended toward Finn, it jerked the claws back.

  Finn dropped his sword and grasped his chest with both hands. His head bobbed forward, an involuntary attempt to corral what had left him, but it was futile. The dearg due stole his breath.

  Finn climbed onto his hands and knees. Clutching his throat wouldn’t make his breath return.

  How can I cast if I can’t breathe? he thought.

  The greatest druids and wizards of history were so powerful, so in control of their emotions and skills that they could summon magic from the other planes without speaking a word. Finn assumed he wasn’t on their level, that he’d never reach their level.

  But maybe this is how I reach it, he thought. In the Otherworld with the periphery of my vision darkening from the suffocation—a last attempt to survive.

  Finn closed his eyes and pulled his right hand back. He pictured in his mind the lake Oscar described to him. He imagined fire. His lips moved as he concentrated on the words.

  “Lía?rit teine!”

  His hand didn’t even warm.

  Figures.

  Niall and Fergal swung violently at the two dearg due advancing toward Maeve, but the creatures dodged every attack as they drew closer. The scorched undead kept tracing wide circles, pulling on an invisible rope once her hands met. She backpedaled from the bridge, careful not to draw attention to herself or Finn.

  They don’t realize yet.

  Finn sat back to free hands. The areas near the top of his head and behind his eyes now tingled. He couldn’t pound the stone bridge loud enough to attract his comrades’ attention even twenty feet away. He had one move left.

  Finn cupped his hands and slapped them together, over and over, as if the creature’s suffocating spell was the greatest performance he’d ever seen.

  Fergal looked first. He ran and stooped next to Finn. “What’s happened?” he asked. “What can I do?”

  Finn raised a shaky finger and pointed it at the scorched creature.

  “Got it!” Fergal said, standing up.

  It’s going to dodge him, just like the others, Finn thought. He pulled at Fergal.

  “What?” Fergal asked, his face pale and eyes wide. “I’ve got to save you!”

  Finn twitched his head toward Maeve.

  Fergal smiled. “I understand.” He pointed at Finn’s attacker and screamed. “Maeve! You’ve got to hit that one now! Right now!”

  Maeve’s panicked face was the last thing Finn saw before his vision went dark.