If there were worse conditions for traveling down one road for an entire day, Donal dared not dream of them. The buckets of rain above had emptied themselves but the early-morning signs of a clear sky were nothing but a tease of radiance that would not come.

The group paused to eat and water at the crossing of the Owencarrow River less than two hours ago. With the heaviest rain now east of them, Niall and Finn tore down the tent in the wagon during their rest—an encouraging development for most. Donal’s focus, however, remained with the soft mist that fell from a sky of monotone grey.

He squinted at the road ahead from the front seat of the wagon as they rounded yet another bend bordered by hills too flat for beauty but tall enough to inhibit the wide vantages promised by Maeve. The road forked ahead, and twenty yards beyond it a thick cloud clung to their intended path.

“And now there’s fog,” he said. “Grand.”

“No surprise with how wet we are today,” Finn said.

His brother didn’t open his eyes to confirm. He sat with his back leaning against one of the walls of the wagon’s cargo area. The expression on Maeve’s face remained unchanged despite the fact she now held the wagon’s reins. Donal couldn’t determine if it was out of disinterest or distraction.

“Don’t often see fog roll like that,” Siobhan said.

The fog thickened in front of them, but only in front of them. It didn’t creep in all directions and collect in the lowest-lying areas, which in this case would include the other path. This fog drifted left-to-right, and now that it obscured the road it drifted away from them.

Maeve’s back stiffened below her neck. She pushed her head forward, squinted her eyes and found something worthy of her interest.

“Oi! Stall it!” she said.

She didn’t whisper but she did take all of the throat out of her words.

“I see somebody. Hang on, two people.”

“Where?” Niall asked.

“Sixty yards past the turn, thirty yards off the road.”

Siobhan tilted her head from side to side.

“How did you see that?” she asked.

“How did you not see it?” Maeve said.

“Are they carrying weapons?” Niall asked.

“I can only see their head and shoulders,” Maeve said. “No visible helmets or armor. They look odd, though.”

“Odd, how?” Donal asked. “More fear gortas?”

“Doubt it. These look more formidable.”

Finn stood up in the back of the wagon.

“We don’t have time for this,” he said.

“I don’t think they’re concerned about that,” Maeve said.

“Why isn’t the fog covering the other road?” Siobhan asked.

“I don’t know,” Niall said,” but “I’m thinkin’ that we should make the turn for now. See how far west this fog stretches.”

“It could be clear for a reason,” Maeve said. “Maybe they want to lead us into a trap.”

“Sure, or they just want to lead us away,” Niall said. “Every other path between us and the abbey is at least twice as long as the road in front of us. Siobhan?”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s a trap or a detour,” Siobhan said. “Either way we have to deal with it. I say we poke around and see if we can’t clear the air, so to speak.”

“We’re agreed in spirit, then,” Niall said. “Turn left and suss it out. Same speed as we were, though. Try to act casual as we pass them.”

“Nothing more casual than a group of people seeing you, pointing and staring at you and then slowly going a different way,” Finn said.

“Better than jumping to a gallop,” Niall said. “Siobhan and Maeve, let’s get you in your proper positions and go.”

Siobhan kicked her legs and drew Scáth even with the wagon. The ladies climbed down and changed seats. Siobhan fanned the reins and led the team the final forty yards before the turn left.

Apart from the supernatural fog that clung along the ridge on the right, this stretch of road resembled all the rest Donal traveled this side of the Derryveaghs. Shaggy grass climbed over bumpy ground on both sides of the road, broken intermittently by either small ponds or large puddles—Donal couldn’t decide which. Shrubs covered the ground higher up from the road, surrounding large misshapen boulders that stuck out like teeth from a skeleton’s jaw.

“I don’t see anyone else up there,” Donal said.

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“They’re up there. Likely over the ridge,” Niall said. “We should find a path up there once we reach a point where the fog thins.”

That point took its time to reveal itself. They passed no houses or travelers and found no paths to tread up the uneven ridge. Finn swayed and tapped his leg as he scanned the road ahead. He climbed to his knees at the site of the dilapidated house on the right just past a small creek.

“There,” he said. “Turn in there.”

“Let’s get closer first before we decide,” Niall said.

A large hole had formed in the thatch roof. The door was missing and the only shutter that remained hung from its bottom hinge. Something had knocked several holes in the walls near the ground. Several patches of exposed wattle dotted the rest of the structure. The stench of mold carried all the way to the road.

“Nobody’s here,” Niall said. “Let’s take the horses off the road and tie them behind the house.”

Horses secure and weapons in hand, Niall led the group along the creek next to the house. Donal stared at the fog to the north, straining to see shapes or movement. He checked with Maeve and Niall after every few steps to confirm he was looking in the proper direction.

“What’s that?” Siobhan asked.

She pointed to an area of raised ground left of the creek, 150 yards where they stood. The team approached the patch beside each other in deliberate steps. Smells of mold and rotten wood gave way to those of rotten cabbage and fish. Wide ankle-high shadows darkened and revealed themselves as large stone slabs intentionally laid on the ground. Niall raised a hand to halt their advancement.

“It’s a graveyard,” he whispered. “An old one.”

“Is this the source of the fog?” Donal asked.

He kept his voice quieter than his elder’s.

“I don’t think so,” Finn whispered. “It would have been thickest here. Listen!”

The sounds of ten feet crunching grass had faded. Hollow hisses and the sounds of faint footfalls emerged from their right.

“That has to be the people—or things—we saw earlier,” Maeve said.

Siobhan’s pulled her leaf blade from its scabbard.

“Ahead of us!” she said. “Tréanáil!”

The head of her staff emitted yellow light. A similar light ran across her sword from pommel to tip and faded.

The remaining four looked back to the graveyard and all but Niall stepped backward from what they found. Five figures now stood before them both in and around the graveyard, the nearest a mere fifteen yards away.

“Did they come out of the ground?” Donal asked.

“If they did, it wasn’t from digging,” Finn said.

“Did they apparate?” Siobhan asked. “Finn, did you see a door open?”

“They’re coming over,” Niall said. “We can wait and ask them if you all are so curious.”

Maeve knocked an arrow.

“Let’s not,” she said.

She loosed the arrow and struck one of the figures on the far side of the graveyard in the upper body. The creature groaned as it fell to the ground.

“Finn, you and I will take the left side. Donal and Siobhan, go right. Maeve, cover us from the rear.”

Donal squeezed the oaken handle of his spear and stepped toward the nearest shadow that approached from the right. This was nothing he’d ever encountered. The group had the numbers in their fight against the ávertach—and better visibility. Neither advantage applied here. For a fleeting moment Donal forgot all of his training. For a fleeting moment, he forgot how to swing a spear.

Two creatures walked toward him. Broad shoulders tapered down to a waist that should not have supported their seven-foot frames. Elbows hung even with stomachs, the tips of their elongated claws ended just above the knees. Their heads were hooded yet no cloak flowed behind them. A large raven’s beak extended from under their hoods.

“These things have beaks?” Siobhan asked.

“They’re sluagh, I think,” Finn said. “Demons possessed by souls of corrupted and tormented people.”

The closest sluagh was within arm’s reach of Donal. He felt a surge of dread and helplessness that would make his Shadow jealous as the creature towered over him. It reached back and brought down its claw at Donal.

The glowing head of Siobhan’s staff streaked upwards in front of Donal’s face as she blocked the sluagh’s strike, exposing its torso to her blade. She struck with a backhanded slash that sent the sluagh backwards with a wince.

“Don’t let their size fool you,” Siobhan said. “You’ve trained for tougher fights than this.”

She stepped in and clubbed the monster’s other claw and followed it with another sword strike, sending her opponent reeling.

Donal doubted the assertion, but the simple act of searching for a memory to disprove her cleared the logjam in his mind. It was flooded with memories of Niall’s and Faelan’s training sessions.

The second sluagh neared Siobhan. Donal sprinted toward it and spun his spear overhead. It struck both claws of the creature multiple times but the creature did not recoil from him as sharply as the first one did from Siobhan’s leaf blade.

That’s it, Donal thought to himself.

He stepped in front of the sluagh and rapped its claws from above with the wooden handle. He brought the handle high to push the claws upward. He swung the spear around and stuck the silver tip into the sluagh’s chest. Elongated bony fingers clutched at the wound as the creature collapsed.

Donal’s fog of war expanded with each deep breath. The first sluagh dropped to its knees in front of Siobhan. Maeve loosed another arrow at a target on the right twelve yards in front of him. Alternating thuds and slices from Niall’s weapons echoed from his far left.

Finn struggled the most. His sword lacked the reach of Donal’s spear and to this point he found little purchase with his magic. The sluagh swung the back of its hand at Finn’s sword, knocking him off-balance. The creature raised its other arm.

Donal charged and caught the monster unaware. He drove his spear into the creature under its left arm and then pushed the handle upwards, leveraging it to the ground.

“Thank you,” Finn said.

His eyes widened and focused on something over Donal’s left shoulder.

The creature wheezed behind him, but it was too late to turn and reposition himself. He shoved his brother backwards and dropped to his right. He wanted to roll into a position that faced the new opponent. Something whistled above his head. Donal twisted his body to face the creature and saw an arrow sticking out of the sluagh’s chest.

“Was that all of them?” Siobhan asked.

“I hear more in the distance,” Maeve said. “But I don’t see any nearby.”

“Let’s push ahead and get out of this graveyard,” Niall said. “Before we do, though, I have to ask: how did you two defeat yours so quickly? I had to batter mine properly until Maeve dropped it.”

Siobhan grinned.

“Natural talent and flawless technique?”

She dropped the grin and held up her right hand.

“Calm down, old man,” she said. “Bring your weapons in.”

The men approached her and did as instructed.

“Tréanáil,” she said.

A yellow glow ran across each of their weapons from base of their handles to their tips. Donal and Finn held their weapons aloft while they twisted and examined them.

“Let’s move,” Niall said. “Keep the same formation. The source of this corruption has to be where the fog is at its thickest.”

“Give me time to retrieve my arrows,” Maeve said. “These silver broadheads Gavin gave me are savage.”

“Siobhan and I will help,” Niall said. “Lads, ease up to the creek only as close as you need to see how many of those things are ahead of us.”