“Oi! Donal!”

Finn slapped his book shut and slid out his bed. He stepped on two rungs before leaping from the ladder and onto the floor of the guest quarters. Donal and Maeve were sitting on one of the lower beds talking with Niall resting in the other.

“Go get Siobhan,” Finn said. “Things have changed.”

Donal looked up at the loft entrance and then back down at Finn, his nose wrinkled and mouth open.

“How?” he asked. “When?”

“Just bring her here,” Finn said. “She needs to hear this, too.”

Donal looked at Niall and received a shrug in response.

“Fine, but I hate trying to go in that tower without her with me. Feels like I’m walking around half-dressed.”

“Do you not wear clothes when you go places?” Maeve asked. “Is what you’re wearing right now a service to us?”

“Whisht!” Donal said. “Imagine walking through a forest without your bow. That tower just makes me feel uncomfortable.”

“I’ll thank you for going anyway,” Finn said. “Quickly, please.”

Donal nodded and left the room.

“What’s all this about, lad?” Niall asked.

“I know why Breaslin is making his move now,” Finn said.

“You learned that from Murrough’s bard book?” Niall asked.

“What? No, this is a different one that he lent me when we slept at his place last.”

“Exactly how many books have you been lugging around Tyrconnell?” Niall asked. “We’d cover a lot more ground if we weren’t hauling a bleedin’ library around.”

“I’m a bard now, Niall. There’s a lot I have to commit to memory. Now do you want to hear this, or do you want to talk about travel weight?”

Niall smirked and gave an exaggerated flourish of his hand.

“By all means, Master Ollav. Enlighten us poor common folk.”

Maeve extended her arms and dropped her head in a bow. When her face lifted, a smirk subverted her expression of fealty.

“A couple of melters, you two.”

Maeve placed a hand on her chest and looked at Niall with a dropped jaw.

“Such language! What would the other nobility say if they heard it?”

“Ah well, I’ll just tell it to myself before you scuts make me forget it.” Finn said

He took a breath to reset himself.

“July’s ending soon, right? That means we’re coming up on Lughnasa.”

“Lad,” Niall said, “this isn’t the time to take in a fest—”

“—Enough! Why do people mark it? And on the first of August?”

“Because their grandmas told ‘em so?” Maeve said.

Her smirk was gone, replaced by a sigh and disinterest at Finn’s professorial tone. Niall shot Maeve a look from under his brow.

“For the harvest,” Niall said.

“For the harvest,” Finn said. “We spend every July waiting for the grain to grow. We have the other things we do during the festival, sure, but the first grain harvest of the season could be reason alone to have it. But! We didn’t always mark this time of year with Lughnasa, did we?”

Niall’s head shook by fractions.

“Before the Tuatha Dé landed, this time of year was only marked by one day: Crom Dubh Sunday,” Finn said. “Families would pick the bits ready for their first meal of the harvest season. But they’d also have to leave offerings to Crom Dubh out of fear of his wrath.”

“Why would Crom Dubh want flowers so badly that it would cause folk to fear him?” Maeve asked.

“The tales say it wasn’t just flowers back then, or milk and honey,” Finn said. “Crom Dubh was considered an important figure to these people. Among other things, they worshiped him as their god of farming. They’d leave crops, even livestock, as offerings for him.”

“So he’s real?” Niall asked.

Finn stepped backward and canted his head.

“Given everything you all have told me, shown me and everything we’ve seen, that is the last question I’d expect from you.”

“We don’t hear much about him—in sílrad circles, I mean,” Niall said. “The Gaels lay their flowers, and the Normans allow it where they hold land. But I can’t remember any Fomori descendants that claimed lineage from him.”

“Crom Dubh’s ties to the Fomori are murky at best—I’ll grant you that,” Finn said. “If he’s not Fomori, we’ve landed in a whole new heap of trouble. But if he is, and if he wants to influence our world, does he have to do it through a sílrad? Why couldn’t it be the man himself?”

Niall held up his healthy arm and showed his palm to Finn.

“For all we know, and all the things we can do because of our ancestors,” Niall said, “we don’t have any record of our ancestors coming back to this world. We can only assume they’re still alive in the otherworlds because no sílrad of any sort has even fibbed about coming back from any otherworld.”

“We’re past the point where we can limit our options, I think,” Finn said.

“Perhaps you’re right, lad. Go on.”

“In addition to farming, he was considered by some, perhaps many, of our ancient Gaels to be the god of death. The tales say Crom Dubh was a cruel thing, miserly with his crops. He called the people who left too small an offering “wind farmers” and shriveled their lands. People who left no offering at all received a fate much worse. He would send out a rider to collect their souls.”

Maeve leaned backwards on her bed, resting on her hands.

“A dullahan,” she said.

“Indeed. I say it doesn’t matter whether Crom Dubh is Fomori at this moment, because his goals align too well with Breaslin’s. The significance of his celebrated day has dwindled while the importance of Lughnasa—named after one of the Tuatha Dé—has grown. Some of the tales say Lugh himself defeated Crom Dubh and drove him from this world.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Careful, lad,” Niall said. “I’ve read a tale that said St. Patrick did the same.”

“As have I. For the moment let’s go with a version involving two opponents that aren’t separated by several centuries.”

Niall dipped his chin in a single nod.

“So Lugh banished him from our world and essentially stole his festival,” Finn said. “As for Breaslin, not only is he Fomori, but his kin were driven from their own land east of here by the MacSweeneys, descendants of another member of the Tuatha Dé. Allegiances have been formed over weaker bonds.”

Niall looked at Maeve, who pursed her lip and shrugged. He turned back to Finn.

“You’ve done good work here, putting this all together,” he said. “Your uncle would be insufferable with pride. But you came down here saying things have changed. You’ve told us why things are different, but not what’s changed in the past hour.”

“Our timing,” Finn said. “This year, Crom Dubh Sunday is on the 31st of July, the day before Lughnasa. It’s a year with the opportunity of spiteful timing. If they’re going to do something, it’ll be within the next five days—if not on the day itself. Breaslin is going after the cauldron again, if he’s not already on his way.”

“I thought we knew that,” Siobhan said.

She brushed a thin layer of evening rain out of her hair with her hand and pushed farther into the room. Donal eased himself in behind her, paying his wet hair little mind.

“Why did you call for me?”

“Things have changed,” Finn said. “Can your family help get us ready in time to leave before dawn?”

“Of course,” she said. “But is Niall ready? He looks better, but not better enough. Roads get rougher down by Gartan.”

“We don’t have the time,” Niall said. “I’ll have to heal on the run.”

****

“Think this will hold?” Donal asked. “The whole thing looks arseways.”

He climbed out of the tent he assembled in the back of the wagon and eased himself onto the ground. He drew the hood on his mantle over his head in time to prevent the rain from soaking his hair.

“We’re not trying to put on notions,” Maeve said. “We just need it to keep Niall dry while he rests.”

“I’m starting to think Niall shouldn’t be the one riding back there,” Finn said.

“Is Master Ollav scared of a little rain?” Maeve said with a grin.

Finn flattened his mouth and looked at Maeve.

“Are the two of us ever going to have a talk where your side isn’t just taking the piss out of me?”

“Someday,” Maeve said. “Doesn’t look like it’s today, though, does it?”

Donal giggled. He hoped that day was a long way off.

“Finn’s right,” Niall said. “I’m not in full form, but aside from the aching it was a good night of sleep. My concern is with the one who helped me get it.”

Finn scanned the gatehouse entrance and the windows of the tower house.

“I could go get her,” Donal said.

“She’ll be along,” Faelan said.

Faelan stood inside the gatehouse, flanked by Nectan and Saerlaith. The hem of his leine was soaked, as were the breeches under it. Donal wondered at what age jumping in rain puddles became unappealing. Dawn was approaching, but the overcast sky kept the approach to Doe Castle as dark as its interior most evenings.

“I was so looking forward to Lorcan sending us off,” Donal said.

He felt his brother’s glare but chose not to meet it.

“More than he was, clearly,” said Faelan. “He left before dinner last night, in spite of the rain.”

“I’ll be sure to turn up at his house after this business in Gartan is done,” Donal said.

Faelan laughed.

“A joyful reunion, that.”

“I hope you covered the gear before you started this faffing around,” Niall said.

Donal pursed the side of his mouth and nodded to Niall.

“Truly, though,” Donal said to Faelan, “thanks for crawling out of bed this early to see us off in this mess. You should head back in.”

“Not at all,” Saerlaith said. “Watch yourself out there.”

Siobhan’s voice rang out from an unknown location near the front of the castle.

“Sorry, I’m coming!”

She jogged into the gatehouse and hugged her relatives. With a last pat on her uncle’s arm, she turned up her hood and joined the rest of her party in the downpour. Finn held up a hand before she climbed into the wagon’s front seat.

“Siobhan, I think you should rest in the back to start the trip,” Finn said.

“You’re a gas,” she said.

She sidestepped him and hopped into the seat, adjusting her cloak for the rain. She scoffed once she noticed Finn had remained on the ground.

“You’re serious.”

“I am.”

She hopped down and pointed her hands to the sky.

“Our leader’s still on the mend and you want him to sit out in this?”

“He’s right, lass,” Niall said. “I’ll be fine enough, and I have you to thank for it. You were up all night healing me and tending to me. We need you at full strength, too. If the rain starts lashing, I can squeeze in back there, while you rest.”

“And Finn could sit back there with her in the meantime,” Maeve said.

Maeve stared at Siobhan with her eyebrows halfway to her hair and a toothless grin on her face. Siobhan shook her head and turned back to Niall. Donal missed something through the curtains of rain that fell between the group.

“What’s all this talk about rest, anyway?” Siobhan asked. “The dead couldn’t sleep while riding these backroads to Gartan.”

Finn took off his mantle.

“Please try,” Finn said.

“Is this meant to be my blanket?” Siobhan said.

Finn’s eyes darted to the ground and rotated his face away from her.

“A pillow, I was thinkin’,” Finn said. “For the rough ride.”

She shook her head and smiled. She reached up and put her hand on his face, wicking some of the rain off his cheek with her thumb.

“You are a dote, I’ll grant you that,” she said. “But I’ve never met a learned man with less sense. Put on that cloak or all three of us will be riding up front.”

Finn complied with a smile. Siobhan turned to the rear of the wagon, winking at Donal on the way back. Donal was officially clued in.

“Niall!” Siobhan yelled.

The elder winced at his name.

“You’re sitting next to me under the tent,” she said. “Now.”

“I’m certain I heard you tell the rest of ‘em that I was the leader.”

“Get in here or I’ll start a mutiny.”

“I will, boss,” Niall said. “I trust you know the way, Maeve?”

“Head back like we’re goin’ to Creeslough, but turn south at the first bridge. Take the road through the edge of the Derryveaghs and follow it until we get knackered.”

Niall cast a covered eye above him.

“That’s it. I think the rain is softening. Let’s not waste the chance.”

Maeve led Scáth past the wagon.

“We’re leading today, Donal,” she said.

Donal kicked his legs and urged Airgid ahead. He bounced a finger at the tent as he drew even with his brother and grinned. Finn smiled in spite of himself and pointed to the road ahead, holding it there without a word until Donal moved ahead.

The road out of Doe held up well under the rain. Puddles formed wherever old wheels cut especially deep into the ground.

“Are you sure I won’t get the wagon stuck in the mud?” Finn asked.

“Keep your wheels out of the flooded ruts and on the high parts,” Maeve said. “You’ll be fine.”

“What about these larger puddles down the middle?” he asked.

“Those are flooded hoofprints. Not quite as dangerous, but bad for your passenger’s beauty sleep.”

“Must be from Lorcan’s horse,” Donal said. “Unless one of these other two sets along the edges are his.”

“The rain makes it difficult to tell without stopping—and I’m not stopping,” Maeve said. “Judging the lack of water that’s collected, they were either left within the past two hours, or they’re much older and worn thin. I don’t know anyone but us that had a reason to be out in this weather before dawn, so I’m guessing they’re older.”

They turned left towards Creeslough. The puddles created by Lorcan’s horse, however, led straight ahead until the road disappeared from sight to the north. The only hoofprints that accompanied them clung to the right shoulder, heading to town. Maeve led the group south toward the bridge after forty yards along the main road.

There were no marks on this new path, only soft mud from thicket to thicket. Finn’s posture was tense. His eyes never strayed far from Maeve, as if she was the one willing his wagon forward and the wagon would sink into the muck if his eyes broke connection with her.

The bridge over the Dunfally River appeared before them with little warning. The tree cover broke open above them as they rounded a bend. Wagon wheels bumped on the stone as they left the mud behind. Niall let out a soft grunt when the back of the wagon landed.

To Donal’s left, the Dunfally ran into Sheephaven Bay. Droplets on his sleeves and mantle were the only evidence that they rode through mist and not fog. Patches of blue sky provided hope that the worst of the rain was finally over.

Maeve veered left as they cleared the bridge.

“This feels off,” Donal said. “We’re going toward the sea.”

“Not for long,” Maeve said. “We’re following the flattest path over this part of the Derryveagh Mountains. It rounds back east on the other side. We’ll have a wider vantage and less company on the road. The best part: if the maps at Doe are accurate, there are no portal tombs, passage graves or circles near the road. It will be miles before we risk intervention from Breaslin, Crom Dubh, or anyone else looking to ruin my day.”

“It’s not so bad, though,” Finn said. “At least the road on this side of the bridge is a bit more solid. I think Siobhan might have overstated the roughness of it.”

“Do you, now?” a female voice called from the tent behind him.

“I’m merely going by the looks of it so far.”

“You’ve been on it for five minutes,” Siobhan said. “You can tell me I’m wrong after we’ve traveled it for a full day.”

“That long?” Donal asked.

“It’s for the best,” Maeve said. “As your brother said last night, we need to get there quickly and unscathed, if possible.”

“Oi, Finn,” Donal said. “Remember up north when you were talking about every trip having at least one mind-numbing stretch?”

“What of it?”

“What do you do when that stretch covers the entire trip?”

“Try your best not to complain about it,” Finn said. “Lest you make it even longer.”