“Get off me,” Scamp squealed.

  His captor’s strength was astounding. With a one-handed grip on Scamp’s tunic, the man hoisted him almost off his feet, laughing as he did it. The odour of mead and sweat with an underlying stench of old urine made Scamp gag. The man’s beard tickled his ear as he whispered, “Aye, very fond of a pair o’ tight buttocks, so I am.”

  Stinks like Dah after too many in the hostel.

  He couldn’t see who held him, but by the words, Scamp knew it was the slaver. The orange glow of lantern light—light he could have used earlier—showed that he’d tripped over a piled rope, thick as his wrist, attached to a large, wet stone, which he assumed to be the ship’s anchor. The ladder he’d had so much difficulty finding was within a few arm spans of where he dangled in the hand of a monster.

  “Cac on you, bundún.”

  “Cac on me, is it? Don’t ye wanna have some fun?” the slaver hissed in his ear. “Down in the cargo hold with me chattel, where no one will disturb. If’n yer good might let ye have a taste of the boys.”

  Scamp tried to struggle free; however, the man’s grip was too tight. He would have stamped on his assailant’s foot, but, being held so high his toes were only just touching the ground, and he couldn’t get sufficient force to stamp. Grabbing the slaver’s wrist, he tried to wrench it free of his jerkin, but it was like a piglet trying to free itself from an eagle’s talons. And like a piglet, he squealed his frustration at being so firmly held.

  And all to no avail.

  The harder Scamp struggled, the more the man laughed, causing a stink of bad breath to join the stench of crusty piss and stale sweat.

  His teeth are rotten.

  “Let go of me, you great cnapán.”

  Rather than let him go, the man cuffed him with his free hand. “Or what, sweet cheeks?”

  “Or I’ll set a demon on you.”

  “A demon.” The man’s second guffaw was louder than the first had been. Cuffing Scamp again, he said, “Ye’re a feisty little dailtín—”

  For some reason, the man stopped what he was going to say, and Scamp heard him hiss in a breath.

  “No need for haste, now, so there isn’t,” he said just above a whisper.

  “Is that so? Let him go, or I’ll do what they should’ve done the day ye first squalled.”

  When the slaver let him go, Scamp dropped in a heap, turned onto his back and scrambled out of anyone’s reach. Upthog was behind the man, with one hand on his throat and the other out of view. Judging by the beads on the man’s forehead, he guessed where the other hand was and what it held.

  “Just a flick of me wrist, and ye’ll be singing high as a chaffinch.”

  “Nothin’ hasty now. Was a bit of fun, is all.”

  “Was it so? Scamp, did ye think it fun?” Scamp shook his head. “I’ll have yer cudgel and whip. Give them to the boy.”

  The man handed them over with a string of expletives and promises of where it would lead. Glaring from his good eye, he said, “Last thing you want is to anger me. I ain’t nice when forced to anger.”

  Upthog laughed such a deep throaty laugh that it sounded like she was enjoying herself.

  “You ain’t nice at all,” Scamp said. “And you stink like a losán.”

  “I’d get ye gone before I have a change of heart.”

  “You’ll pay, so you will.”

  Instead of answering, Upthog pressed two fingers into the side of the man’s neck. Scamp watched fascinated as the sailor’s legs folded under him and he collapsed to the floor in a heap.

  “That’s how you knocked me senseless,” he realised.

  “Aye, just a trick I know.”

  “Can you teach me, sometime?”

  Upthog ignored him, hiding her wicked-looking knife somewhere in the folds of her jerkin and helped him to his feet. She guided him to the ladder and followed him onto the upper deck.

  As soon as he reached the open air, Scamp stopped and drew in a ragged breath. He could hear the rhythmic drumbeat and feel the pull of the oars in answer. Despite the gathering night, he could see the seabirds and hear their cawing. He could hear the sailors below, shouting banter and encouragement. These noises, he supposed, hadn’t stopped at any moment, but all the while he’d dangled in the slaver’s grasp, he’d heard none of them.

  “Come, Scamp. A bit of sea air,” Upthog said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, although he was not sure for what: interrupting her tryst with Eogan, thinking of pushing her off a cliff, or just for being a burden she didn’t need? All he knew was that he was sorry. Upthog nodded but said nothing.

  “How did it happen?” she asked as she came to stand beside him at the rail. “I left ye in the cabin.”

  “I needed to puke but forgot the lantern,” Scamp blurted. “It was so dark.”

  “Aye, on the first deck, when night’s falling, can be as black as a peat bog. Lower decks are worse.”

  “How many decks are there?”

  “This one’s the upper deck for livestock. Five more then: the first for passengers, where the cabin is. Three crew levels, where the rowers are at either hull, storage between them. Then the cargo hold, where the contraband and slaves are kept.”

  “Big ship.”

  “Very big. Eogan learnt early size matters when it comes to ships.”

  “What are you going to do with them?” Scamp asked, nodding at the whip and cudgel.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Umm,” she mused before tossing them overboard.

  “Shouldn’t a done that,” the slaver said from behind. Scamp swivelled to see his erstwhile captor and three rough-edged cronies. He’d not seen them before and assumed they’d boarded after Scamp and Upthog went below. The leader stood with his feet apart, arms folded, and fists clenched. The others stood a pace behind him, their expressions hinting that they would prefer to be elsewhere.

  “Look at me, woman, ‘afore I drag ya down to my domain and have me fun with ya.”

  Upthog turned to the four men and snorted in disdain. “Thought you preferred boys?”

  “Boys, girls, no never mind to me.”

  “Ye think the captain’ll let ye carry me off to the cargo hold?” she asked, grinning. “Eogan, my lover.”

  “Cap’n. Don’t see any cap’n, lover or no,” the slaver said, returning her grin.

  “Because he’s behind ye, bundún.”

  “Aye. And that ruse ain’t been used ‘afore.”

  “Maybe it has, maybe not. She ain’t wrong though, Nechtan,” Eogan said. “Her an’ the boy have my protection. Anyone meddles with ‘em will find theirselves swimming to Middle Kingdom, or back north, whatever takes their fancy.”

  Nechtan’s face flushed as he turned and saw Eogan. Several sailors stood behind the captain armed with cudgels and grim faces.

  Holding his hands up, the slaver said, “Come on, lads,” and backed away towards the ladder. The slavers returned into the ship’s depths, grumbling, cursing, and whispering to each other, no doubt promising their upcoming revenge.

  “Thank you, Eogan,” Upthog said keeping her eyes on the ladder below.

  “Youse two, stay in yer cabin ‘til I send for ye,” Eogan said before heading for the tiller.

  “Come,” Upthog said. “Or d’you think yer gonna puke again?”

  Scamp shook his head, realising the slaver had driven his queasy gut right out of his mind.

  Before starting down the ladder, Upthog took another lantern from a hook on the ship’s gunnels. Reaching the bottom, Scamp could see the cabin’s door and felt foolish at how close it was. He’d felt like he was in Tech Duinn—never-ending darkness—but now realised it was pure foolishness, born of inexperience. He felt tears of frustration pricking his eyes as Upthog held the door open for him.

  Putting the lantern on the floor, she got on her hands and knees and pulled a dusty lump of canvas out from under the cot.

  “Told ye there’d be a hammock,” she said as she unfolded it. Scamp nodded. He had no idea what a hammock might be, at least not until she strung it on two hooks, one on either side of the cabin, and he realised it was a bed.

  Swinging herself into it, she asked, “Now, you gonna tell me what’s been eating ye?”

  “How so?” Scamp asked, unsure whether he wanted to discuss his fears. He thought he’d done well at keeping them to himself, at least until now.

  “Give it up, Scamp. Ye’ve been like a bear with a bad tooth since we reached the coast. I know it ain’t seeing me an Eogan, cos ye were upset before we got to Camas Clochaí, so spill it.”

  “Were you paying for passage with your… you know, your—”

  “No, Scamp. In a past life, we were lovers. When I need passage, Eogan tries to rekindle the flame.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  He listened to the creaking timbers and the thumping boots. He listened to the seabirds’ caw and the oarsmen’s banter. He heard Eogan shouting orders and sailors running to carry them out. Finally, he felt the tears start to flow. Wiping his eyes with the back of a hand, he sobbed a laugh and said, “I’d wager you think I’m soft, always crying.”

  “No. I thought ye strong in the face of that ansmachtaí.”

  “Well, I was scared. Nearly cacked me triús.”

  “But ye didn’t. And ye fought back.”

  Scamp nodded. He thought it was maybe the second time she’d paid him a compliment, and he enjoyed it. It gave him the feeling he wasn’t a total loss, even if she didn’t mean it but was only trying to encourage him. No woman would think a boy was strong if he blubbed whenever something terrible happened.

  “What’s on yer mind, Scamp?” she asked, so low he only just heard her.

  “It’s the sea, well, the sound of it, anyway.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “When we reached the coast this morning and heard the sea, I realised I’d heard it before.”

  “I was there, and ye told me, but I’m still not following.”

  In frustration, Scamp lay down on the cot and stared up at the deck. It was hard enough to admit his fears but having to admit them when she wasn’t picking up on his clues, didn’t make it any easier.

  You’re being unfair. She’s no mind reader.

  “How could I know what the sea sounds like when I’d never been near? The dreams of the Four, down by the tower, I heard the sea, and it was just like this morning.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, actually, no, I don’t. Why are ye upset? I told ye the dreams were messages.”

  “Aye, messages to tell me I’m Darkness’s disciple. Messages to tell me I’m on the side of evil.”

  “The side of evil,” Upthog said, shaking her head. “Haven’t ye listened to anything I’ve told ye? Dhuosnos’s an instrument of the Creator. Do ye think the Creator’s evil?”

  Shrugging, Scamp wondered how she might believe him to be not evil. A being that could be responsible for the deaths of so many people wasn’t a force for good. “He created the Four, so how can he be good?”

  “The Lord of Darkness created the Four.”

  “That’s like saying the egg must have come before the chick because Dhuosnos couldn’t create the Four if he hadn’t already been created.”

  “These are arguments for thinkers, Scamp. What’s more important is for you to realise the history behind summoning. So you can understand who you are.”

  “What d’you mean?” Scamp asked, thinking she would tell him more lies to make him feel better.

  Upthog didn’t say anything for a long while. She lay in the hammock, staring at the deck, obviously not seeing weathered wood but something else—something from her past. Finally, she said, “Summoners existed before Dhuosnos. They were the reason for the Creator’s flood.”

  “Is that meant to make me feel better?”

  “Sorry. I’ll start at the beginning. Every village had a Summoner. Like Kathvar, they were the peacekeepers and lawgivers, but, unlike Kathvar, they could summon. Summoning was done when a village needed defending. Summoners called demons, and the village witches controlled them—”

  “I thought Dhuosnos created the witches,” Scamp interrupted.

  “Now, he creates them. The Coven is his creation. Before, they were like summoners and were born. Now, stop interrupting. Where was I?”

  “Summoners and the village witches…”

  “Aye. Summoners called demons, and the witches controlled them, but only when there was a dire need; they called them to defend their lives and the lives of their villagers. But humans, true to their nature, realised they could call demons at any time. They began to call them for attack instead of defence. Summoners began calling ever larger and more ferocious monsters. Kings began to demand their summoners create armies of them, calling them and never releasing them—”

  “Demons can be released?”

  “Of course. Otherwise, humans would be overrun. So, there were great battles, demons pitted against demons, and the Creator’s world was beginning to disintegrate. He was not pleased and so caused the great flood. Before the flood, he told the most leal of his Summoners and witches to move to the top of Mount Solitude, taking only the most stalwart villagers. The rest were left to drown or live at the whim of the Fáithes.”

  Upthog hesitated, and he watched her gently rocking in the hammock. She had a faraway look in her eyes as if she was recalling something in which she’d played a part. In all the time he’d known her, Scamp had never heard her speak so clearly and passionately. It was as if she was a different person from the herbalist who’d lived in seclusion in the forest. Even her voice changed.

  “So, what happened?” he finally asked.

  “What? Oh. The usual happened. One of those the Creator thought he could trust was anything but trustworthy. The cycle began again. He created Dhuosnos and formed a pact with the children of Danu, the Tuatha De Danaan, which gave birth to the scourges. Each time humankind goes too far now, a summoner is born and the demon horde is released to wreak the Creator’s havoc on them. But that, you already knew.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “You need to realise that just because you are a summoner, it doesn’t mean you are necessarily evil. None of the first summoners were inherently evil. The thirst for power came later, and to only a few.”

  This doesn’t make sense. If I am created to free the demon horde then surely, I am evil.

  Scamp opened his mouth to say something—he didn’t know what, anything—but a banging on the cabin door stopped the words in his throat.

  “Cap’n says to come aloft. We’re at the beach and have to put youse overboard.”