Am I doing the right thing? Bee asked herself, glancing at Ruirech’s butt as he climbed in front of her. Eogan thought not, shown by his vociferous objections, laden with many expletives, colourful even for a sailor. Eventually, the captain had shrugged and walked away. Bee read more in the movement of his shoulders as he walked away than his choice words. The only positive she could take from their short sojourn in Camas was those objections hadn’t stretched to denying them horses or supplies, which they’d sent up on the lift while climbing the stairs cut into the cliff face. Bee would have gone with the horses, except the pulley system was limited in the weight it could lift. Limited and slow, driven by a capstan and a donkey walking in an endless circle. Ruirech and Bren were surprised when they arrived at the top before the lift, but Bee knew better. When she was younger, she would run up the stairs and shout obscenities down at whoever had been too lazy to climb. No longer. Now, she wished there’d been room for her beside the three horses and the operator.

  When she arrived, just behind Ruirech, Bee stood, dragging in ragged breaths, with her hands on her hips, which, along with her thighs, were burning with the effort. When her breathing eased, she stood looking over the calm sea and considered their route: either take the cliff path towards Indber Colptha’s headland or cut across Mag nAi. As Eogan said, the easier way doubled the distance, but it wouldn’t double the time. The plains of Mag nAi were rocky, rugged terrain, which would mean multiple detours. Bee thought the thirty leagues as a dragon flies would take four or five days. Going by road would be five or six, depending on how much butt pounding she could stand in a day and how far the horses could travel. Tayvir was sixty leagues by road, and she thought they could ride somewhere around ten leagues a day. A little more if the horses were as fit and strong as they looked.

  Four or six days, she thought, running a finger along her scar.

  “We’ll go along the coast,” Bee said, deciding they had a greater chance of meeting Dorn if they went by road. On Mag nAi, they could pass each other with a hundred paces between them and never know. Besides, the sea air would help her to clear her mind and think. She could have done without so many days in the saddle, but there was not much difference between four and six. Walking would take far too long. Something told Bee that she needed to get to the capital as quickly as possible.

  “Are you sure about this?” Ruirech asked, swinging into his saddle. Bee pulled herself up on her horse and looked at Bren, already mounted, gazing out to sea with a pout.

  “Aye,” she eventually said. “As sure as I can be. I think Dorn will stick to the road, because he’ll know it’s our only chance of meeting.”

  “Won’t he expect us to wait here?”

  “No. There’s no time, so there isn’t.”

  Bren obviously disagreed as he tutted, dug his heels in, and rode ahead of them.

  “He seems a little stressed,” the rebel said, nodding after her brother. “Is he always like this?”

  Bee shook her head. “I’ve no notion. In truth, I hardly know him.”

  “You’re twins and you don’t know him?”

  “They separated us at birth. I know Bren about as much as ye do,” Bee said, even though it was far from the truth.

  She might not have spent much time with Brenos in Fae terms, but she had been with him for many of Ruirech’s lifespans. As such, she had a fair idea about what made her brother leave his cot each morning. When they had learned of each other’s existence and lived together after Danu and Dagda became close, his cloying reliance on her, despite his seniority, laid the foundations for their future relationship. She’d only learned that seniority was half a day when Dorn told them of their birth mother a few days before. That said, the revelation did nothing to alter her feelings about him. Somehow, he had always seemed much older, notwithstanding his puppy dog behaviour. Bee had been glad to return to the Kingdoms just to be rid of his fawning. All that had happened when they were young, long before she took on the mantle of Dagda’s High Priestess and slept between Scourges, a side effect of channelling the coven’s draíocht to protect Whitehead’s warriors.

  “Come, we’d better catch him before he manages to ride off a cliff,” she said, frowning.

  “Have you always been so hard on him?” Ruirech asked.

  Bee turned to look at the rebel and considered ignoring him. How the human felt he was entitled to ask her questions was beyond her. And not only ask her questions but judge her. He was very young and knew neither her brother nor her.

  Is now the time for a fight?

  In the end, she said, “Ye don’t understand. He’s been a thorn in me toe since before Eterscel was king.”

  Ruirech whistled. “You’re that old? I knew you were old, but not that old.”

  Bee turned, intent on giving him a mouthful of the same expletives Eogan had used earlier, only to see him grinning at her, his eyes twinkling. She felt a jolt of something she hadn’t felt for quite some time. She wasn’t sure it was a welcome sensation, even though it was pleasant.

  “Let’s catch up,” she said, digging her heels in.

  They spent the rest of the day in comparative silence, each engulfed by their own thoughts. When the shadows lengthened and Bee called a halt, Ruirech had to ride ahead and bring Brenos back to the fire Bee had already lit.

  “Is that wise?” the rebel asked, swinging down from his saddle.

  “There’s a sea between us and any danger,” Bee said. “In North Kingdom, there’s more threat from wild animals than anything, so there is. Bears can be an awful pain in the hole in these parts. A fire’s our best defence.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Ruirech said. “I’ll cook; you tend the horses.”

  “And what’s he going to do?” Bee asked, nodding at Bren’s back. He was sitting on a rock, gazing at the sunset that was slashing an orange spear across the nearly still sea.

  “Sit and mope.”

  “Aye. Nothing new there, so.”

  It seemed no time before Ruirech called Bren over and handed him a steaming bowl of oats and mutton. Bee’s brother nodded thanks and moved back to his rock to eat alone. He’s like a child, Bee thought, scowling at his back.

  “Talk to him,” Ruirech encouraged.

  “I don’t want to. He needs to learn to stand alone.”

  “Do you think now is the time for lessons?”

  Bee shook her head and finished her food. Sighing, she walked over to stand before Brenos.

  “You’re blocking my view,” he said, the most words she’d heard from him since sailing from Ceathru.

  “What’s on yer mind?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t say nothing Bren. Ye’ve something eating at ye. If ye don’t tell me, I can’t help.”

  “And what makes you think you can help? When have you ever helped?”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “A man I know once told me talking things through helps—”

  “All right then, Sister, we should have stayed with Eogan and waited for Dorn. If we don’t go back, she will kill us. Without him, we’ve no chance against her.”

  “Have ye seen her?” Bee asked, realising that Rhiannon could have been visiting Bren in the same way she visited her. In fact, why would she not? It was arrogance telling her otherwise. Even so, the Goddess offered no threat as far as Bee could tell. Why would she threaten one and console the other?

  He’s definitely afraid, so he is. In truth, her brother had always been afraid of something, but this was different. Bee was once again sensing something primaeval in it.

  “What did she—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Bren interrupted, before walking to the fire and lying on his bedroll with his back to them.

  Bee turned to Ruirech, who shrugged. She had no answer to what Bren was feeling, so she rolled herself in her bedroll and decided to shut out everything except her birth mother. Rhiannon told her not to trust Dorn. But now, with Bren’s behaviour, she was also wondering whether Dorn was not the only one she couldn’t trust.

  But why threat and nurture at the same time.

  ***

  Rhiannon came to her as soon as she closed her eyes.

  “You must stop running and come to me,” the Goddess hissed, which immediately made her think about Bren’s fears. Just because Rhiannon wasn’t known as a violent Goddess, it didn’t make it true. Bee looked at her mother and wondered why she was so agitated. One thing was sure: Rhiannon was not happy with the way things were going.

  “Why, Mother? What’s so important that I must find ye?”

  “Not just you, Child. Both of you must come back. I will wait for you at Breshlech in the Maiden’s compound. It is important, Bee, or I would not ask.”

  “Why? Ye say it’s important, but ye won’t tell me why.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you?”

  I don’t know, Bee wanted to scream at the Goddess. She had no notion what to believe. Whatever was happening confused her to the extent that she wanted to climb down the cliff and bury her head in the sandy beach below. The only thing she was sure about was that she didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of a war between the Gods.

  “Why’s Bren afraid of ye. He says ye threatened to kill us.”

  “I do not understand where he came by that notion. I have not visited his dreams as I visit yours.”

  No. Ye just go to him and threaten murder.

  “Who’s me father? Tell me that, and I might believe ye.”

  Rather than say anything, Rhiannon crossed her arms and gazed into the night. When she turned back, she nodded across the fire and asked, “Do you trust this human?”

  Ruirech was sitting with his back to them, seemingly frozen in place as he had been the first time. The question focused her mind on the rebel. Did she trust him? Bee couldn’t be sure, except she thought her enemies were likely to be from the Fae, and the rebel was a human. She’d told herself she needed someone. Why not this rebel, but she hadn’t yet accepted her own advice.

  “Aye, I think so,” Bee finally said, still not committing.

  “Good, because you will need support for what is coming.”

  “What does that even mean, Mother?” she asked, turning her back, sure a human would be incapable of offering her anything.

  “Emotional support is important in times of stress.” Bee snorted. It sounded like her mother was matchmaking. In truth, she had found the rebel attractive but didn’t think she would be jumping into his bedroll in the near future, nor even in the distant future. Not even for some emotional support.

  “Are ye here?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “No, Child. Where are you, anyway?”

  “But ye were there on the plains the first time,” Bee said, gripped by a sudden feeling that Dorn might be wrong.

  “I have visited your dreams. The first time I saw you was sailing away from Ceathru.”

  “So, who was that on the plains, and what about the direwolf?”

  “You have seen a direwolf?”

  “I killed one in the grass. It attacked Brenos.”

  “And you thought I sent it,” Rhiannon said. Bee turned back in time to see a fleeting expression of pain.

  “I’m sorry, so I am,” she said, suddenly sure their mother meant them no harm.

  “I will not harm either of you, Bechuille. You are my children. Tell me of this apparition on the plains.”

  When Bee finished describing what she’d seen, her mother stood silently for many moments before she said, “It was dark, misty, and the sight of this Goddess was brief, you said. I think many Tuatha would fit the description, me included, except for the sense of evil and the red eyes. I do not have red eyes, and hope I am not evil.”

  So do I, Mother, she thought. With a sigh, she asked, “Dorn said it could have been theatrics?”

  “That metalworker has some magairlí talking about theatrics in others. I have warned you, Bechuille, you cannot trust him. Come to me. I will wait at Breshlech. Bring your brother.”

  “Why not Sliabh Cuilinn?”

  “Dagda must not know I am here.”

  “Goibniu has already told him.”

  “No. The Smith is Danu’s vassal. Who you saw before Caisel might have been Danu, and The Smith knows that.”

  “No, it wasn’t Danu. I’d know her, so I would.”

  “But Goibniu does not know that. Whatever he was doing in the Realm, it was not reporting to Dagda. Come to me, and do not forget…”

  ***

  A cawing crow awoke Bee.

  Stretching her arms above her head, she admitted to feeling better than she had in aeons. Indeed, including her sleep, the last time she remembered feeling this well was more than three hundred summers before.

  The sun was already above the horizon. Sitting up and shading her eyes, Bee gazed around their little camp. Ruirech still had his back to her, sitting with his knees drawn up, his forearms resting on them, gazing over the sea, making her wonder if he’d been there all night. Her brother was still wrapped in his bedroll with his back to the fire.

  He moved in the night, she realised. He must have been lying on a stone, so.

  “Good morning,” she said, poking the embers to coax a flame.

  Neither of the men said anything, and Bee frowned as she put more wood on the fire. Her mood was dampened only briefly by their lack of response. The one thing that lightened her humour above all else was that her mother hadn’t sent the direwolf; Bee hadn’t killed her brother with a red bolt. Rhiannon might have been lying except for the expression of pain Bee caught when she turned suddenly. Even the best storyteller would not have expected her to turn in time to feign the hurt. It did have a negative in that she would need to consider Dorn’s role and who sent the wolf. But not now, with a weak winter sun trying to warm her.

  “Up, up, up,” she called, clapping her hands together. “We’ve to get moving, so we have.”

  After a frugal breakfast of hard biscuits, they were on the road by the time the night shadows had withdrawn. Bee’s mood remained light because, despite the attempt at matchmaking, she felt she could trust Rhiannon, and it came as a massive relief. Even with the questions on the edge of her mind, like what was the sensation when the naked Goddess materialised in the mists? It was a connection she thought afterwards, but what did it mean? If it wasn’t their mother, then what was Bee connecting to? Was it the evil that attracted her? And why was Dorn so adamant that it was Rhiannon, when it so obviously was not?

  “Ye can’t trust The Smith,” she whispered.

  “What’s that?” Ruirech asked, pointing at the sky above, oblivious to her whispered words.

  Shading her eyes, Bee looked up at the sky and saw a black cloud weaving and darting, heading towards them. “A flock of birds,” she said. Because of the distance, she couldn’t tell what type of birds, but she had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her gut that the black cloud presaged nothing good.

  “A murder of crows,” Brenos hissed, even though the birds were still too far away to see.

  “Get off your horses,” Ruirech shouted, as the birds formed into a vee and dived towards them.

  “Are they attacking us?” Bee wondered aloud.

  The question was soon answered when the birds swooped into their midst, screaming, pecking at them with their black beaks. Bee covered her head with her arms and ducked down, trying to keep the pecks away from her eyes. Ruirech drew his sword and started to slash at the birds. Some fell to his blade, but not enough. The screaming, the shouts, the flapping wings: it was all a chaos of sounds and sensations, and Bee could feel herself starting to panic. She saw Bren from the corner of her eye draw his dagger.

  What does he think to do with that?

  As he lifted it in front of himself and turned towards the rebel, she grabbed his wrist. Her gut convulsed. Whatever she felt when channelling the coven’s power, it was nothing to the surge burning through her veins, an uncontrollable force making her want to fall to her knees. The last time she grabbed Bren, a bolt of red power shot out from her brother’s hand. This time, a red dome spread out from them, which incinerated each of the birds it touched. It seemed like it had taken forever from Ruirech spotting the cloud to when the last crow exploded in a flurry of charred skin and feathers. However, Bee knew it had been moments only. She dropped Bren’s wrist and put her hands on her knees, bending forward, fighting for breath.

  “Are you well?” Ruirech asked, putting a hand on her back. She nodded, too breathless to answer him.

  The sound of a horse galloping made them both turn in time to see Bren ride into the rough terrain of Mag nAi.

  “What’s the fool doing now?” Bee called as he vanished behind a rock.

  “Do you want me to go after him?”

  “No. Leave him. I’m sick of looking after him,” Bee said, and meant it. She had more important things to consider, like who sent a murder of crows and, more importantly, how had they known where to send them?