“Someone’s coming,” Donal said. “Is that the girls?”

Donal ran to the window to greet the sound of a wagon approaching from the east. The trees and untended meadow on Murrough’s property obscured anything on the road. He looked to the opening through which the wagon would enter the yard. His eyes drifted up to the sides of the mountains on Horn Head. What little sunlight broke through the pearl-colored clouds descended from the three highest peaks.

“It can’t be them,” he said. “It’s too early.”

“We have, all of us, much to do,” Murrough said. “And there are some things that are better acquired before prying eyes flood the market. Come back and finish your meal.”

Donal slid past Finn without a word. He glanced at his brother’s pillow and blanket lying in a corner. Sometime in the middle of the night Finn climbed into the loft to grab his bag and a pillow. He chose an uncovered floor over a shared bed with Donal. Finn finished his meal, grabbed his bag and left the cabin with a nod to Murrough.

Donal shoveled the remainder of his bowl into his mouth and gulped it down. He climbed into the loft to get his bag.

“Don’t forget your bowl,” Murrough said. “You can’t leave it up there.”

Donal dropped his bag to the floor below. His eyes lingered on the dinner bowl Murrough brought to him after he and Finn finished their meal in the main room. He descended from the loft and left last night’s bowl on the table. He palmed a piece of buttered bread and shoved it into his mouth on his way out the door. He trusted Murrough understood the grain-hindered goodbye he shouted over his shoulder as he pushed through the grass.

The clearing of the yard’s entryway revealed Niall’s largest wagon as it slowed to a halt. Siobhan loosened the reins and smiled at Finn as he circled around the back. Donal waved to Maeve in the other front seat. She dipped her chin toward him and scanned the road ahead. He threw his bag in the back and walked up to Maeve.

“You know, I’ve never ridden in the front of a wagon before,” Donal said.

Maeve rolled her eyes at Siobhan’s smirk.

“Told you,” Siobhan said.

“What’s that have to do with me?” Maeve asked Donal.

“I don’t know, I was just hoping you’d let me ride in front,” Donal said.

Maeve’s face wasn’t moved. He widened his smile.

“At least on the way to town, please?”

Maeve closed her eyes and exhaled.

“Sure, boyo.”

She placed her bow in her lap and swung her legs around the outside of the wagon until they pointed toward the rear. With a slight push from her hands she hopped over the supplies secured behind the front seat and squatted across from Finn. Siobhan leaned a hand over the side to pull her new seatmate up into the front.

“Where are we going first?” Donal asked Siobhan.

“The market square by the harbor,” she said. “So long as it meets your approval?”

“What if I said otherwise?”

Siobhan shook her head. She looked past Donal at Murrough stepping out of his cabin.

“Can we give you a ride back to Niall’s first?” she asked. “I still don’t understand why you three walked down here last night.”

“Reatha had a more comfortable night in Niall’s stables than I had in my own bed,” Murrough said. “And there’s nothing like a morning walk along the bay this time of year.”

“Grand. We’ll be back in a few hours,” she said.

“You remember how to get to your last stop?” Murrough asked.

Siobhan pointed a thumb toward the back of the wagon.

“I do,” she said. “And even if I forget, I know someone that can track him down.”

Murrough laughed. Maeve glared at the back of her head.

Siobhan fanned the reins and the group rolled west. The bay crept up to the road once they cleared Murrough’s property. Donal watched the white wisps of fog that floated westward down the bay, gathering in a cloud that clung to the water near its head. Only the tops of two-story buildings were visible across the bay.

Siobhan’s eyes fixed on the road ahead but her posture was one of ease. Behind Donal there were sounds of shifting and squirming, but he wasn’t eager to check. He wasn’t ready for even accidental eye contact with his brother. Yellowhammer trills and the grey heron croaks were the only conversations had during the first mile of the trip. The silence within the wagon now was awkward; it was a matter of minutes before some broke it.

“Sure look, Maeve,” Finn said. “I’ve been wondering about something.”

“Have you, now?”

“O’Connor—you’re from Connaught?”

“Bold guess,” she said. “My parents were from Roscommon, yes, but I was raised near Buncrana.”

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Which town near Buncrana?”

“I didn’t say ‘town’ now, did I?”

“Sorry,” Finn said.

Donal stole a glance at his brother. Finn’s flushed face searched for a distraction in any direction away from Maeve. He settled on the road behind. Siobhan pursed her lips and dropped her brow. She gestured with head and made fleeting eye contact with Maeve before her eyes returned to the road ahead. Maeve cleared her throat.

“I didn’t mean to snap,” she said.

“I was prying,” Finn said.

“I don’t mind sharing, I just don’t see much worth sharing. We moved away from Roscommon when I was too young to remember. I grew up in a cabin near Lough Turk, a few miles away from Buncrana. My mam and da taught me how to hunt and track. Da taught me how to lay as still as a stone for hours waiting for the right moment to loose an arrow. My mam could track anything nearly anywhere—even across some rivers.”

“Let me guess,” said Finn.

He muttered to himself before Maeve let him off the hook.

“Flidais,” she said. “The huntress. That’s on my dad’s side. My mom’s side comes from Oisín.”

Finn’s voice rose with excitement.

“None other?” Finn said. “Son of Finn Mac Cumhail?”

“And Saiv. It’s from herself my mam thinks her magic comes. My dad wants to believe I’ve got a bit of both of them, like Oisín.”

“I didn’t know she had magic,” Finn said.

“Not naturally,” Maeve said. “The dark druid that cursed her transferred to her some magic by accident.”

“Oh.”

The smell of salt water filled Donal’s nostrils as the road curled around the bay head and headed back east. They were less than a mile from the middle of town. Donal grew bolder with his looks to the back seat, risking potential eye contact with Finn.

“How do you know our uncle?” Finn asked.

“Through Niall,” Maeve said. “Niall and that dog were hunting around our lake seven years ago. He had a bit too much of the drink and found himself beset by a pack of wolves. I dropped three of them before he knew I was there. He’s called me in to help dozens of times over the years.”

“Doing what?” Finn asked. “If I’m not overstepping.”

“A bit of ‘come hunt this,’ a bit of ‘come help me track that.’”

The wagon rolled between two rows of homes and buildings that crowd the street. Above them the clouds coalesced into a monotone grey. Extra light broke through a distant gap in the buildings on the north side of the road. They neared the harbor and markets.

“Sounds like you’re being modest.”

“That’s just how I see it,” Maeve said. “Modesty’s got nothing to do with it. Siobhan, we’re close, yeah?”

Ahead of them people stirred in front of homes and stalls though nobody traveled the streets on foot yet. They passed one person on horseback since crossing into town.

“Four hundred feet and maybe fifty more,” Siobhan said.

“Grand,” Maeve said.

“You must be fierce with a bow,” Finn said.

With a flicker of a glare toward him, Maeve climbed to her feet and looked at the street ahead. She knocked an arrow and in one second aimed and loosed it down the street. Taking no time to examine the result, she collapsed into a seated position and pointed at Finn.

“No more questions,” she said before checking her reddened forearm for cuts from her bowstring.

Those that witnessed Maeve’s shot gasped and grumbled. One lady scolded all four of them as they passed.

“Listen, I know you don’t like sharing,” Siobhan said, “but could you try not murdering the innocent folk?”

“I’ll do better next time, Mam,” Maeve said with a sneer and an eye roll.

They arrived in an open area reserved for the market fair. Siobhan pulled the reins and Maeve slid out of the wagon before the wheels came to a halt. Siobhan hopped down and secured the horse with apparent difficulty. Her arms jerked back and forth until they lurched away from the post. She caught up with Maeve and returned the arrow back to its hunter.

****

“Maeve just returned from her granddad’s land,” Niall said. “The news is not good.”

Murrough stood at the window of his friend’s house, his hands clasped behind his back. He watched the fog from the bay overtake Horn Head as his old friend debriefed him from the table on things they weren’t ready to tell their younger cohorts.

“She says the blight’s already south of Lough Erne and Sligo town. They think it could reach Galway and Athlone within two months.”

Murrough whipped around to face Niall.

“That’s a hundred miles!” Murrough said.

“It’s moving slower towards the east,” Niall said. “But it could reach Carrickfergus and the sea by the same time.”

“Any panic or tension?”

“She didn’t say, but it won’t be long before it gets down to Longford and Meath. It won’t help with the clan infighting and the Normans there. Don’t get me started on those earls in the south. Between picking sides in the English civil war and looking over their shoulder for the return of the plague, they’re too wrapped up in themselves to realize what’s happening up here. They won’t know what’s coming until it actually hits ‘em—and then the real fighting will begin.”

“In the meantime Breaslin lies in wait, ready to sway any petty chieftains that get desperate to keep their land,” Murrough said.

He walked over the table and sat next to Niall, who pointed to an empty glass on the table. Murrough raised a hand to decline the offer.

“Any more from the abbey near Gartan?” he asked.

“As of last week the cauldron was still secured with no signs of tampering about it,” Niall said. “Locals say strange people are still slinking around the villages there, but none of them have stepped foot within the abbey since that close call.”

“Still, the five of you should go there and look around,” Murrough said.

“And yourself?” Niall asked.

“It would serve us well to keep someone with magic here in the north to keep an eye on Tory and stop any further attacks.”

Niall scoffed. “You’re so well-versed in magic yet you volunteered to be the wagon driver back at Ards Beg. It didn’t occur to you that they could have used your help against the dullahan?”

Murrough leaned back and ran his fingers through his beard.

“Of course I could have helped,” he said. “But it was something they needed to solve on their own, and they did. Better than I could have hoped.”

“One lucky throw and now they’re ready to hunt Fomori,” Niall said. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

Murrough dipped his head down and examined Niall from under his eyebrows.

“If you’re finished being glib, Mr. MacRannell,” he said, “I’ll remind you that Maeve was younger than either of us when she fought her first creature from the Fomori. Dairíne MacSweeney has been training Siobhan since that girl could stand on two legs.”

“So I have to assume that it’s the lads you’re worried about,” he said. “And you’d be right to do so. Donal’s never been trained to fight. Finn knows all the lore but has never cast a spell. But do you not sense that Donal’s soul has ached for a purpose like this, even if he is raw? As for Finn, he is coming around. The world’s beaten too much common sense into him, and he’s grown callouses. They can be worn down.”

“Just like that?” Niall asked.

“We’ll give the boys a lesson when they return from town,” Murrough said. “I’ll take Finn out to Marfagh, and you’ll take Donal out and show him some basics. They’re both capable of it, I have no doubt.”

Niall raised his glass but chose a question before a sip.

“How is Finn going to learn from you if you’re not coming with us?”

“Siobhan will train him,” Murrough said.

Niall choked on his ale. A smirk spread across his mouth after he recovered.

“Sure, she’ll love that,” Niall said.

“What about our friend in town?” Murrough asked. “Is he ever going to commit and help us?”

“It’s not for the lack of trying,” Niall said. “The only direction he can be pushed is away. He is helping us, just from afar.”

“It’s not enough,” Murrough said. “If he won’t join you, then we have to bring Finn and Donal up to speed faster than they—or we—are comfortable with.”