Reaching a sheer rock face that she supposed marked the start of the Western Wall, Bee hissed in a breath. Whatever she’d expected, this was not it. She followed the path with her eyes and saw at its end, a cave entrance. Dropping her horse’s reins and walking to it, she saw the cave was a perfectly formed half-circle that receded at a downward angle until it was forced out of sight by a gradual curve. It was tall enough for them and their horses to walk comfortably. The tunnel walls were pocked by what looked like burst mud bubbles, causing Bee to imagine the intensity of the heat when the lava was erupting and creating a way for them to travel. She guessed that the circle would be almost perfectly round under the layer of mud that had formed over millennia to provide the tunnel’s floor. Bee hissed in a breath at the sight. She’d been riding in this area for hundreds of summers and never once suspected the existence of this tunnel.

  “Can we bring the horses?” she asked.

  “Yes. It is like this for most of the way,” Dorn explained. “The dangerous part is in the centre when it skirts a molten lake. The ledge is narrow, and we must walk in single file, hoping the horses can keep their footing. If not, we are going to get a very hot bath. The only consolation is it will be very short.”

  “Where ye were going to push Finn off?”

  Dorn grinned sheepishly, which she found a strange response from someone who’d recently brained a man with a hammer. Shrugging, he said, “We must make torches before we enter. A goodly part of the way is lit by the lava, but most is not.”

  “How long will we be in there?”

  “It is about eight leagues. Our pace will be slow. Last time I used the tunnels, it took me two full days to cross. I suggest we rest for now and start in the morning. We can take the time to make torches and collect firewood. We will use Finn’s horse to carry the wood.”

  After cutting several staves and finding suitable material to burn for torches, Bee sat listening for Bheara to make a call. She felt relieved when the hoot didn’t come. It didn’t wholly convince her, though, that death was not waiting in the tunnels under the Fiery Mountain. She thought the only way she would be convinced would be on leaving on the eastern edge of the mountains. It wasn’t only the legends of lost adventurers, either. There were other tales surrounding the mountain range. Tales of strange happenings and even stranger emotions.

  “You sleep, and I will keep watch,” the ring fighter said.

  Nodding her thanks, Bee wrapped herself in her blanket but couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t rid herself of the image of Finn’s head cracking like a hard-boiled egg. The more she thought about it, the more it didn’t seem to fit with what Bee knew about The Three. And then there were the inconsistencies that Dorn seemed to think she’d missed, like his saying he watched her while she waited for the tracker, but also that he listened to Finn and Bren talking in the Boiled Cock. As far as she knew, not even the Greater Gods could be in two places at once. He’d given a lame excuse about her not having arrived, but he had no idea when she would arrive, so that didn’t make sense.

  I’m safe for now. If the ring fighter meant me harm, I would be dead already.

  Despite being sure it would not happen, Bee must have succumbed to sleep at some point because she felt Dorn shaking her shoulder. “Come, Bee. It is time. It is still dark, but in the tunnels, we will not know the difference.”

  As she led her horse into the tunnel, trailing Finn’s horse behind, Bee’s fear was palpable. She considered herself a brave person, but sometimes the gap between courage and stupidity was too flimsy to be noticeable. For Bee, entering a hole in the ground that murmurs between roundhouses claimed no one had ever returned from was on the idiotic side of the divide.

  Mother, watch over me, she prayed as darkness enveloped her, and Dorn lit the first torch. She wasn’t clear whether it was her own mother, or Danu, the mother of all Tuatha, but suspected it was Upthóg, the witch who reared her and trained her in the arcane arts.

  When was the last time I thought of Ma? Bee wondered with a pang of guilt. Or, better yet, prayed to her. “This is beautiful,” she said, watching the torchlight dancing on the myriad mineral seams. She found it ironic that something so beautiful could be so deadly.

  Dorn nodded, and whistled as he led them further under the mountain. Usually, Bee would find that type of unconscious tic irritating, but his skill was intriguing. At times, he sounded like he was playing a flute. The tune he whistled conjured images of times long past; of battle and death; of love and loss. She had to shake her head to prevent herself falling into a trance.

  He does it on purpose, she realised, and tried to ignore the beautiful sounds.

  Bee was unsure how long they’d been walking when he called a halt, and they lit a fire.

  “Do you have any problem sleeping in the dark?” Dorn asked.

  “D’ye think me a child, perhaps?”

  “No, Bechuille, but our torches are few. We need to preserve them, so I suggest we sleep with firelight only.”

  “I can use a heat hex if we need sudden light. I'll cook us some oats, too.”

  “I did not know you cook.”

  “Not as well as...” she trailed off, not sure she wanted to conjure memories of seeping head wounds.

  “Good. I will sleep. There is no need to keep watch, so I suggest you sleep as well.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Nodding, Bee wrapped herself in her blanket and lay down by the fire. It wasn’t cold under the mountain, but she found the warmth of the flames somehow comforting. As soon as Dorn began snoring, and Gods could he snore, she sat up against the tunnel wall and stared morosely into the darkness.

  I will close my eyes for a moment.

  Bee had no idea how long she’d been sleeping when she felt a hand touch her thigh and opened her eyes. The fire had burned low, so all she could see was the outline of a shape silhouetted by the embers. Dorn was still snoring against the tunnel’s other wall, so the shadowy figure was not him, although it did appear to be male. The crack of a log brought a burst of sparks, which created an orange glow. In the fresh light, she saw his eyes were white, and his head was lopsided, as if it had been crushed under something heavy. Something like the Smith’s warhammer.

  “I’m dead, I reckon,” the shape said matter-of-factly, in a tone made difficult by the grotesquely shaped maw that used to belong to a handsome face. Finn. How is that possible? “Surprised you left me to the wolves, Bee. Always thought you’d do the decent thing.”

  “I’m dreaming, so I am.”

  “Aye. Won’t deny it.”

  Bee felt the realisation should offer her some solace, but it didn’t. Over recent days, her dreams seemed to be as much a part of her existence as her reality. She no longer felt it was right to say dreams were not real. The Smith had visited her dreams and was with her now. At least he claimed to have visited her dreams. Using them to push her in the direction he wanted.

  He manipulated me, she realised. And he never said he was Goibniu, just didn’t deny it.

  As if reading her thoughts, the dream’s apparition said, “I’m here to warn you. That,” nodding at the snoring bundle, “ain’t The Smith.”

  “If he’s not The Smith, then who?”

  “Now, ain’t that the gold question,” Finn said, grinning from his lopsided face. Bee felt a surge of hatred twist her gut, trying to force a way free of her rigid control. She’d never liked the not-tracker, but she hadn’t wanted him killed.

  “Seems like none of ye can be trusted,” she hissed.

  “So, you’re getting it. I knew you would.”

  “What do ye want, Finn?” she shouted, unable to maintain her control.

  “To warn you. He’s not what he—”

  “Bee. Bee,” Dorn said, shaking her less than gently.

  Opening her eyes, she saw him crouching, one hand braced against the wall, the other vigorously shaking her shoulder. Much like in her dream, his outline was silhouetted by ember light. “What is it?”

  “You were crying out. Visited by an incubus, perhaps.”

  “What was I saying?”

  “I do not know. The words were indistinct, like you were underwater.” Or perhaps ye heard but don’t want to admit it. “What had you so agitated?”

  “I can’t remember anything about the dream,” she lied. Except it wasn’t ye visiting me.

  “Well, no matter. Let us be thankful that dreams are just dreams.”

  Except when they’re not. Listen to the ring fighter. Never mind the ring fighter, listen to yerself. Ye’re acting the fool. If he meant you harm, ye’d be dead already, but not if he needed ye alive for some reason. It was a dream.

  “How long did we sleep?”

  “Long enough. It is time to go.”

  As they packed away their meagre belongings, Bee watched Dorn surreptitiously. Somehow, if she was to survive, she had to be canny. It wouldn’t take a druid to realise her position was fraught with danger. There was no doubting that her companion was a Higher Tuatha, nor that she was in the company of a being capable of squashing her like a cockroach.

  Watch for an opening, and take it if it comes.

  Bee was glad to be moving again, away from her dreams and fanciful encounters. As they went, the darkness began to lose its edge, and an orange light crept up the walls from the floor. At the same time, she began to get a sulfurous odour, which grew as the light grew and the air became warmer. Dorn started to whistle, and she felt her mood lighten. They should have called him The Whistler, she thought.

  When they passed out of the tunnel and arrived on the edge of the enormous cavern, Bee’s breath caught in her throat, and she stopped to stare into the abyss. She had no way of knowing how deep it was, but the molten lake, moving and broiling in never-ceasing motion, seemed close enough for her to reach out and touch. Molten geysers spouted every few moments far higher than she would have thought possible. The noise was deafening and constant.

  “A wondrous sight, is it not?” Dorn shouted.

  “Aye. It is.”

  “That, though, is more daunting than wondrous,” Dorn said, nodding to Bee’s left. Turning, she saw something else that made her breath catch. Running around the edge of the abyss was a ledge that was only slightly wider than their horses. One wrong foot would mean a fiery death. Following it, she saw a dark circle almost directly opposite where they were standing.

  “That’s the way out?”

  “It is. We need to cover the horses’ heads. They will never start on the path otherwise.”

  Listen to the ring fighter.

  Briefly, she considered doing to her guide what he’d wanted to do to Finn. She gazed at the molten morass writhing not far below them. Using a simple lifting hex, it would be easy to rid herself of an immediate danger. What stopped her in the end, was not a sense of morality, but the knowledge that the tunnels under the mountain were legendary. She would more than likely never find her way out.

  “Let’s go,” she said with a sigh. “If we’re to help Bren, we can’t dally here.” The look that clouded Dorn’s features was so fleeting that Bee nearly missed it. As such, it was gone too quickly for her to get a sense of its meaning. The smile he gave when he told her to go ahead was warm, and she moved before she could think better of it.

  Ye fool, she hissed to herself as she led the two horses onto the narrow path. From behind, he could do to her what he’d planned to do to Finn. But then he could have killed her at anytime, so why wait?

  In the end, they skirted the molten lake without incident. Bee was surprised at how quickly they got around. In what felt like no time, they were climbing up the opposite tunnel and soon had to light a torch because the orange glow from the magma lake was gone. Dorn led them unerringly through the natural labyrinth. The stench of rotten eggs followed them, but that was all. When they left the tunnel on the eastern side of the Western Wall, the sky was a deep blue, and stars were alive with twinkling light. The clearing before the tunnel was bathed in silvery moonlight, casting everything in a palette of different shades of grey.

  “We will camp here tonight and continue for Breslech in the morning,” Dorn said.

  “Should we not just go on?” Bee asked.

  “Nay, we need a good night’s sleep.”