Scamp spent the rest of the morning walking in a trance. The cliffs were as tall as Upthog had said, but he noticed them only in passing. His mind was full of the sound of the waves. The crashing, incessant noise they made battering the cliffs. The same noise they had made in his dreams when hammering the rocks beside the Bull’s Head, above the Arena housing the portal to Tech Duinn. The rhythm of it sang to him about how he was destined to create a bridge between them so the Lord of Darkness could be unleashed on the world. Upthog had told him his dreams were not dreams but messages. He’d not believed her until they reached the cliffs, and he heard the sound of the sea for the first time.

  Only it wasn’t the first time.

  Before arriving at the cove of Camas Clochaí, he turned it around in his mind every way he could. He had no solution to the problem of his new reality. He loved who he’d been; loved the flames; loved creating mischief; loved himself in every sense, but he was no longer that person.

  He was born to be a monster, born to be Dhuosnos’s disciple.

  And discovering it hurt.

  “Have you ever seen anything like it, boy?” Upthog asked.

  Scamp had been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed they’d arrived. Upthog was pointing into a circular cove with walls smooth enough to have been built by human hands. He had no doubt it should be fascinating. Still, he couldn’t summon any interest, which was ironic considering what he’d just learnt about himself.

  I’m a Summoner who can’t summon.

  “Where’s The Bull’s Head?” he asked Upthog.

  “What? Where’d that come from?”

  Scamp shrugged and gazed into the hole. He could see stairs carved into the face and would typically wonder how much work it had taken. Now, though, all he saw was how deep the hole was and how he could easily solve the problem of his new reality. A hop, skip and jump, and it would be over. But then, would it? As he was the last Summoner, wouldn’t Dhuosnos rescue him somehow? Send a winged demon to catch him halfway to the rocks? Maybe there was already someone watching over him, like Upthog. The thought caused a knot to tighten in his gut.

  It can’t be.

  Turning back to the cove, Scamp could see the entrance to the cave. “I think the tide’s out,” he said, heading for the top of the stairs.

  Upthog ran to catch up.

  “Whoa, there, horse,” she called as Scamp set off down the stairs without hesitating.

  What use was hesitating after learning the truth about himself? He’d been fretting after a solution all morning. Maybe the best solution would be to run towards his destiny with open arms. Perhaps he could avoid his fate by slipping on a loose pebble and crashing into the rocks hundreds of hand spans below.

  “Slow down, Scamp. Never mind the danger of falling; smugglers are wary of strangers.”

  “Don’t they know you?”

  “Me, aye. Ye, not so much. They might pepper ye with arrows before yer halfway to the cave. I’ll go first.”

  Scamp stopped and repeated his question, “Where’s the Bull’s Head?”

  “Ye said it yerself; no one knows.”

  “So, if no one knows, how will they take me there?”

  “Well, it’s not really no one. The Four know, and whoever is working for them knows. They will lead ye there using yer dreams and their acolytes, their familiars.”

  “They never told me where to go.”

  “They’ve been building yer confidence.”

  “I haven’t had any dreams since… well, since the granary. And I’ve never seen an acolyte.”

  Whoever is working for them knows.

  “Aye, I know. Nothing to worry about, so.” But her words were belied by her eyes. “Now, stand in so I can pass.”

  Whoever is working for them.

  Scamp took off his pack and stood as close to the cliff face as he could get. Upthog edged past him, and he realised how trusting she was. One nudge, and she’d be flying. While he thought about it, she was past. He sighed. Despite that momentary temptation, her trust in him made him feel better somehow.

  “Ye coming?” she asked from where she’d walked on.

  Picking up his pack, he followed, saying nothing.

  When they reached the bottom, he was surprised no one had come from the cave to demand what they wanted. The cove had a strip of sandy beach between rock and wave, which Upthog jumped onto with a little squeal of delight. She was like a child on her first visit to a new and exciting place. Scamp trudged after her with a shake of his head. From above, the cave entrance appeared big. From below, it was like the hole of some great worm or the legendary arched doorway to the land of Balor, where the monstrous Fomorii resided.

  And then another thought struck him. Does it mean Balor and the Fomorii are also real?

  “What brings you back?” called a voice as they neared the cave entrance.

  “You still hanging about in this hole, Eogan?” Upthog called back. Although her words sounded playful, Scamp detected an edge of something in them. She was pretending to like whoever was in the cave.

  If she loved it so much, why did she leave?

  “Aye. What choice do I have? It’s this losán or out in the real world.” With the words, a short and massively broad man walked out of the cave. He had a shock of red curls both on his head and face. The shape of the curls around his mouth showed he was grinning.

  He stopped ten paces from them, placing his hands on his hips, surveying them as they approached. Cocking his head, Eogan repeated his question. “What brings you back?”

  “We need a crossing.”

  “Aye, that’ll be a tough one,” he said. “There’s rumours abounding, so there are. You’re wanted fer murder, they say. Four Guards and some innocent old man.”

  “They exaggerate.”

  “Exaggeration, not exaggeration, matters little. White Cloaks are hunting the cantons for you. So long as I don’t overstep, they leave me and the ship be. Giving youse passage would be classed as overstepping. I bring you; I’ll have that cnapán Volt after me.”

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

  “What d’you know about Volt?” Upthog asked.

  “I carried the witches caught in the other four kingdoms ‘cross the Narrow Sea so Connavar could ‘ang ‘em,’ he said, pulling on his beard. “Volt was the leader of the ‘unters, as he is this time, I ‘eard.”

  Scamp saw a flash of anger on Upthog’s face at the news, which she hid quickly, anger and something else he couldn’t place.

  “I’ve silver.”

  “And I’ve no use for your silver, Upthog.”

  “What then?” she asked, with a resigned sigh.

  “You know what, girl.”

  “You still on that tack, Sailor Man?”

  “Always.”

  “What’s going on?” Scamp asked, confused by the conversation.

  “And if I agree, ye’ll leave us at Muirbheach and tell no one?” Upthog asked, ignoring him.

  “Agree to what?” Scamp persisted.

  “Never mind,” Upthog snapped, not taking her eyes off Eogan.

  The smuggler nodded once and strode back into the cave. “Sailing on the next high tide,” he called without turning.

  Upthog followed him. Scamp watched her for a few moments before following them with a frown.

  Arriving inside, he saw the sand continuing at the base of a handmade wall with a glossy slime of wetness. Several paces along the wall, he saw an iron ladder fastened to it, rusted from constant submersion. He watched as the soles of Eogan’s boots disappeared over the top. Although he couldn’t see anything of what was up there, he could hear the noise of many people hard at work. Across the water, he could see a shape in the deeper shadows and hear the sound of the surf washing against whatever it was.

  Must be the ship.

  Upthog put her hand on the ladder’s lowest rung before turning to him and saying, “Be careful in here, Scamp. This lot are unpredictable at best. Keep yer head down and yer mouth shut.”

  Scamp nodded, wondering at her anger. Walking together after leaving Cúip, he thought she’d taken control of her strongest emotion. She had been less angry, less ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Something in the exchange between her and the smuggler returned her to the old Upthog. The angry Upthog.

  Climbing the ladder and reaching a broad shelf, Scamp hissed in an awed breath. He could see where the natural light didn’t penetrate because hundreds of sconces with burning torches lined the wall. Several dark tunnels led off the shelf, where men and women were stacking barrels in anticipation of the tide lifting the ship bobbing in the underground sea many hands below where he stood.

  The water was a glassy blackness, not touched by the torchlight except for the occasional orange reflection. However, Scamp could still see the silhouette of what appeared to be the worm of his imagination when outside the cave. He walked to the edge of the shelf and squinted down at the massive ship. It seemed like an enormous dragon bathing in the sea, only the head wasn’t quite the right shape. He got an impression of sharp teeth and pointed ears, and red eyes seemed to be glowing in the torchlight.

  Scamp felt Upthog arrive at his side.

  “I thought ships had a mast?”

  “Some do. The Narrow Sea’s winds are nearly always northerly and high. Sails ain’t much use when crossing south to north. Sea Wolf has three banks of oars, so Eogan sails in whichever tack he wants and is never becalmed. Besides, when high tide comes, there ain’t room here for a mast.”

  Ah, she’s a wolf.

  And with the realisation he could see the figurehead more clearly, the pointed ears, the teeth, and the eyes took shape as if Upthog’s words caused some spell to uncloak them. Scamp stood entranced by the sleek lines and beauty of the vessel. The limited light made it difficult to tell, but he thought the ship’s hull was black. He watched her rising quickly with the tide, saw the hawsers fixing her to the shelf loosen as she rose, and sailors untie them in readiness to pull the ship to the ledge when the tide was fully in.

  His enchantment was broken by the words, “Move on,” punctuated by a whip crack. Turning out of curiosity, he watched a group of men and women shuffle out of one of the tunnels. They were shackled ankle to ankle, their hands were tied, and their heads bowed.

  “Are they prisoners? What’s their crime?”

  Upthog grimaced and said, “Their crime was being in the wrong place. They’re destined for the markets in East Kingdom. Taken by reavers, I’d say. Ye dealing in slaves now?” she called to Eogan, who was watching his ship rising with the tide.

  “Always. It’s where the silver is.”

  “Is that why ye don’t need me silver? It’s a bit barbaric, no?”

  “Never marked you as squeamish. You decided to join this sailing then, Nechtan,” he called to the slaver.

  “Nor human, it seems,” she said, too quietly for the captain to hear.

  “Pull her in. Get the gangplank over and get loading,” Eogan called as the ship came to rest against the wall, protected by inflated pig’s bladders hanging over the side. As the hull struck, the bladders made squeaking noises bring to mind the pigs that had died to provide them.

  As soon as the gangplank was in position, the man with the whip gave it a crack, and the people shackled together shuffled across it onto the deck. As the slaver passed where Scamp stood, he stuck out his tongue and leered at him with the eye not covered by a patch.

  “Like a nice set of tight buttocks,” he said with a wink, made all the more grotesque by the eyepatch.

  “Ignore him,” Upthog said, taking Scamp’s shoulder and steering him towards the gangplank.

  “Youse two in the aft cabin,” Eogan said as they reached the deck. “And stay below until we’re underway. Can’t have youse under feet.”

  Upthog led him down the deck and down a ladder at the rear. She took the lantern off a hook at the bottom of the ladder. Scamp followed her to the aft of the lower deck, conscious the lantern light didn’t penetrate far into the deep dark. As the deck narrowed, she threw open a door and ushered him into a cramped space, hardly big enough for one.

  “There’s only one cot,” Scamp said.

  “There’ll be a hammock under it,” she replied. “The crossing ain’t that long, and I’ll be out for most of it.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “Never mind. Now, sit there and be still. I’ve some thinking to be done.”

  Scamp sat on the cot and listened to the tramp of boots on the deck, the call of the sailors loading, and orders from Eogan. After a short time, he felt the rocking motion become one of forward movement. Someone was striking a drum rhythmically, and the Sea Wolf surged with each beat. Soon afterwards, a rising and falling motion made him queasy. Never before had he felt like getting to his feet would make him puke.

  “I feel sick,” he said.

  Upthog opened her mouth to answer him but was interrupted by a knock on the door and the words, “Captain be ready for yuh.”

  Heading for the door, she said, “Tuatha, ye’re green around the edges. If ye wanna get sick, go up on deck. Can’t be sleeping in a puke-covered cabin.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve to sort out Eogan. It won’t take long. Now, puking happens on deck,” she reiterated. “And make sure ye’re downwind.”

  As the door closed, Scamp gagged and swallowed a mouthful of bile. The acid taste started to rise again, and putting his hand over his mouth, he fled the cabin, searching for the ladder that would lead him up to the deck. Once out, he found the darkness complete. He couldn’t see anything, and the cabin’s door had already closed, so there was no light.

  I just left. It must be right behind me.

  With the thought, the ship lurched, and he stumbled. Rising to his feet, he thought he had stumbled forwards, and the door would still be right behind him, but turning slowly on the spot one hand before him, he felt nothing. Another lurch of the deck below him caused Scamp to take several steps and come up hard against what he thought to be the ship’s hull. Whatever chance he might have had to find his way back was now truly gone.

  With his hand firmly over his mouth and the bile still sitting in his throat, he stood and listened. He thought he could hear voices whispering in the darkness, a sibilant hiss under the ship’s noise: the drumbeat, the creak of timbers, the sailors shouting banter or encouragement. It was coming from his left. When he stared hard in that direction, he thought he could see a lightness begin to develop in the dark. Unsure of what he could do other than stand and wait for Upthog to return, he started to edge towards the sound, and what he could now see was a little light.

  As the small light grew, so did his confidence. When he realised it was coming from under a door, he was almost striding towards it. He could see the darker shadow of a handle, and grasping it, he turned and pulled the door open, saying, “Can you tell me where the…”

  He stopped mid-sentence. He’d seen her naked shoulders before, in the first hideaway when she’d been drying her clothes. However, he had not seen her sitting on the midriff of a red-headed man with his eyes closed so tight it was causing his beard to curl up at the edges.

  “Sorry,” Scamp managed before stumbling back the way he had come.

  He thought he heard her call his name, but he didn’t stop to listen.

  Stumbling anywhere his feet would take him, not even sure what he was running from, he blundered blindly into something that caused him to trip and land on the solid deck. Putting his hands out to break his fall, he felt splinters tear the skin of his palms and yelled more in frustration than pain. Climbing to his knees, intent on finding his way to the open air, someone uncovered a lantern, which bathed the deck in a wan light.

  “Sorry, Upthog, I didn’t mean...” Scamp started to explain but stopped when he felt a hard hand grab the scruff of his tunic and someone hauled him to his feet.

  “Well, now, if it ain’t the little cutie with the tight buttocks.”