They left soon after sunrise and continued to ride towards the Dún Ailinne road.

  Scamp had always wondered why a road should be called a highway. Approaching the route from north to south answered his question. Instead of being invisible on the grass plains until you were standing on it like a road would be, the highway was on top of a dyke visible from more than a league away, standing like a wall. It was straight as far north and south as he could see. Too straight to be natural. Living in Caer Scál where the feast hall was the most incredible feat of building, he’d never dreamed of seeing the like. This highway made his home primitive at best.

  “Is it man-made?” he asked, making sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

  “Aye,” Upthog said. “Impressive, no? There’s no chance of ambush. From up there, ye can see for leagues.”

  “Who built it?”

  “King Eterscel. It’s known as Eterscel’s Dyke. He was king in Middle Kingdom ’bout a thousand summers ago. He liked to build. Dún Ailinne has stone walls and tall towers because of him. All built to his design.”

  “And they’re still standing?”

  “Aye. Tall and proud, just like when they first went up.”

  “How’s that even possible?” he wondered aloud.

  “Aye, it seems magical, right enough.”

  Shading his eyes with a hand, Scamp stared at the highway, which appeared to be moving. He thought it was a trick of the haze until Upthog said, “Never seen so many people on it.”

  Leaning forward, he realised what he’d taken to be a shimmering through the haze was a throng of people moving north up the road. It was as though they were trying to escape the pestilence by running from it.

  “They’re in for a surprise,” he said.

  “How so?”

  “The pestilence got there before them.”

  “I reckon they’re searching for food rather than running from the teidhm,” Upthog said. “Cúip said Eochaid confiscated all the grain, no.”

  “There’s no food north, either.”

  “We know that. They don’t. All they know is to move or starve.”

  “I s’pose.”

  By the time they reached the dyke, the crowd had thinned to a few stragglers. They climbed a narrow path without incident, despite the treacherous footing, and stopped at the top to get their bearings. Turning north, Scamp thought he could see movement. Still, it was difficult to be sure because there was already a league or more between them and the backs of those fleeing, at least most of them. The last was a man pulling a large, two-wheeled cart.

  “Got any spare scran?” he asked as he drew level.

  He didn’t stop, expecting the answer to be no. As he passed, Scamp saw three young girls in the cart. A woman was sitting with an arm around them, her thinning face and blackened eye sockets showing she was beyond desolate.

  There’s nothing left. No hope. No anger. Not even fear.

  “Hold the horses,” Upthog said as she leant down and took a loaf of hard bread from a saddlebag.

  Riding to catch the cart, she handed it to the woman with a nod. The gratitude on the gaunt face made Scamp’s heart leap. One loaf of hard bread wouldn’t keep starvation away for long, but it was something. Something to give to her girls to stave off the pangs, if only for a short period. The man pulling the cart kept moving without a backward glance, seemingly unaware that anything had happened.

  “Come on,” Upthog said, taking back the reins. “Caisel’s ’bout an hour’s ride from here.”

  ***

  Neither of them spoke as they rode. Scamp supposed, like him, Upthog was deep in thought about the girls in the cart. It was difficult not to think about the future of those children and any other children, just as it had been impossible for him not to look at the mutilated corpses outside the granary.

  What we need is a scourge.

  As the thought occurred to him, he wondered why anyone should fight to prevent one; it was needed, like scrubbing a workbench after butchering a cow; leaving the blood and offal would breed the germs rotting humankind through to the core.

  Is there anything worse than humanity? he asked himself.

  Upthog told Scamp he was being narrow-minded when he thought any disciple of Dhuosnos would be inherently evil. He’d felt at the time she’d been trying to influence his decisions. Sitting on this horse halfway to Dún Ailinne, he began to understand what she meant. The Lord of Darkness came to scourge the world of the filth humankind created; couldn’t help but create because it was the detritus of their evil. The stories said the Four and Dhuosnos committed acts most would consider atrocious, if not worse. Still, Scamp was beginning to think that Eochaid’s locking all the food in granaries, creating a famine that would kill thousands of people, many of them children, was truly evil. Far worse than anything they claimed Dhuosnos had done.

  Shading his eyes and staring at the sky, Scamp saw a red dot following them from a long way aloft. Bábdíbir was too far away for him to talk to, which was annoying. He wanted to ask whether anyone had called it to the Five Kingdoms before, whether it had partaken in any scourges, and how bad they were. But more importantly, he wanted to ask Bábdíbir why it uncloaked at Upthog’s demand. He had suspicions but didn’t intend to ask Upthog. She was already agitated, and he knew better than to make it worse.

  Nearing the settlement, Scamp could tell something wasn’t right. From the elevated vantage of the dyke, he could see clearly over the settlement walls. The gates stood ajar, and no cookfire smoke rose above the dwellings. Upthog reined in and sat staring at the settlement with a frown.

  “Summat’s wrong.”

  “Where is everyone?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “At a guess, I’d say most are halfway to Ceathru Rúa. But some would have stayed. Some always do. Whoever’s in there is hiding?”

  “Might be they’re afraid of us?”

  “Maybe when we were at a distance. Close to, the villagers would see we’re just a woman and a boy. No. It’s summat else.”

  “Why don’t we keep going?”

  “I need to water the horses. Caisel has the only well between here and Dún Ailinne. Besides, if it ain’t summat innocent, they’ll catch us soon enough.”

  “If anything happens, Bábdíbir can help.”

  “I’d prefer not to be beholden to a demon. There’s no telling where it’ll end. Come. The sooner started, the sooner finished.” Saying which, Upthog kicked her horse into motion, guiding it down the narrow path off the dyke.

  Following in her wake, still attached by a rope like a child’s pet puppy, Scamp wanted to shout at her and tell her she was being unfair. The demon had saved their lives, and all she did was complain. Whatever he thought about her strength and experience, how he needed them to survive, he also recognised her pigheadedness. She could be as stubborn as Rosie had been, heehawing until the White Cloaks arrived.

  Caisel was eerily quiet. Riding through the open gate, Scamp thought he would hear a butterfly fart if butterflies did such mundane things. Too quiet. Nothing was that still in real life.

  “The well’s in the square,” Upthog said. He nodded, unwilling to risk voicing what was going through his head. He gazed into the sky, hoping to see Bábdíbir, but there was no sign of the demon.

  As she led him into the settlement square, Scamp saw a warrior sitting on the well, concealed slightly by the well head’s shadows. He had a foot up on the wall and was chewing an apple thoughtfully. Upthog reined in and sat regarding the stranger with a frown.

  “Is this what you were expecting?”

  “Hush, boy.”

  “Where’s Nechtan?” the warrior finally asked, throwing the apple core down the well. “He’s s’posed to meet us here, with youse trussed like birds for the Imbolc feast.”

  “Don’t know what ye’re talking about,” Upthog said, mouth bent into a sneer.

  “Ah, now, Nech said you’d be tricky and for me to keep me eyes peeled. So, where is he?”

  “Don’t know anyone called Nech.”

  “Ailill, get out here,” the warrior called. One of the thugs who had been on the deck of the Sea Wolf stepped out of a doorway on the other side of the well. “This them?”

  “Aye, Hen. Sure as Dagda carries a club.”

  “Naoisi, take your Leathdhosaen up the dyke and check for signs of Nechtan,” the warrior called, standing and wiping dust off the seat of his triús. “Tell him we got his prey here. Meantime, the rest of youse gaimbíní, lock these two in the feast hall’s cold store.”

  At the words, the square filled with about two dozen horse warriors. Six of them broke away from the others and headed into the settlement. A few moments later, they rode through the gates and made for the dyke.

  “Get off me, cnapán,” Scamp said as a coarse-palmed warrior pulled him out of his saddle. The man laughed and slapped the back of Scamp’s head.

  What is it with warriors and the slapping?

  Upthog said nothing as another warrior pulled her from her saddle. She allowed herself to be forced down the dirt ramp and under the feast hall where the cold store was. The warriors laughed as they locked the door, plunging them into darkness.

  “Bábdíbir will free us,” Scamp whispered into the darkness.

  “Aye. And that worries me almost as much as this Fianna. Besides, one bear won’t be enough for three Leathdhosaen.”

  “Why have you got your triús bunched up your crack? You’re the one told me it ain’t so easy as good against evil. You told me just because I’m a summoner doesn’t mean I’m evil. So, why ain’t that true for Bábdíbir?”

  “Demons aren’t human, Scamp. Please try to understand. Ye feel strong with it on yer side, but it can turn in an instant. It won’t harm ye because of who ye are, but it might harm those around ye.”

  “I won’t let it harm anyone.”

  “Ye can’t control it, Scamp.”

  “Because I’m not a witch?”

  “Aye. Because ye’re not a witch.”

  “How is it you know so much about them?”

  “I told ye, I had a good teacher.”

  “Only not Cúip. Who was it then?”

  “Me brother taught me. Now, drop it. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  Scamp stared into the darkness, sure he could see little bursts of starlight when he concentrated. He could hear distant noises: the thump of boots on the feast hall’s floor; distant and muffled calls; shouts between warriors. They seemed to be working hard preparing.

  Are they preparing…

  And then he heard the loudest scream ever. Louder than when the bear attacked Nechtan’s crew in the woods of Doilbhe. It was, if anything, even more bestial than those screams had been. So animalistic it caused sweat to bead on his forehead. The shouting became frantic. The thumping of boots became louder and faster. More screams erupted into the darkness of their prison. Muffled orders and screams were coming so fast that distinguishing between them was no longer possible.

  And then a silence so profound Scamp found it more disconcerting than the screams. It was the sound of death of such desolation it became a silence no longer the opposite of noise but the opposite of life. A monstrous entity grasping at his will to live, trying to wrench it from him, a prize of combat.

  His return to life was the sound of something ripping off the cold store door and light flooding into the darkness, illuminating the dust mites dancing before him.

  “Master?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Come, it is safe.”

  Upthog grabbed his wrist and said, “Be careful, Scamp, and remember what I said.”

  Despite only having been in the cold store for a short time, Scamp found himself blinking as he walked out into Caisel’s square. As soon as his eyes grew accustomed to the light, what he saw caused him to hiss in a breath. The sight of the guards outside the granary in Caer Droma had been gruesome, but it was nothing compared to the body parts strewn about Caisel.

  “Ah, Tuatha,” he said as his gorge rose.

  Immediately outside the cold store, Hen’s body lay in two halves, split from crown to crotch, one sightless eye staring from each half. It was as if he’d died trying to defend the makeshift prison. Hen’s body was not the only thing making Scamp gag. The settlement had been painted red with the blood of Bábdíbir’s victims. The remains of the Fianna were lying about the square as if tossed there by an untidy boy with no respect for his clothes.

  “Do ye see what I’m saying?” Upthog asked as she came to stand beside him.

  “Aye,” Scamp said, but what he was really seeing was a pointer to the demon’s unequalled strength and power and, therefore, his power.

  Including their leader, the Fianna’s warriors in the settlement numbered eighteen. Bábdíbir slaughtered them in the time it would take Scamp to lace his triús and jerkin.

  “Where are you, Bábdíbir?” he asked.

  “Beside the well, Master.”

  “Show yerself,” Upthog said.

  Scamp stared at the well as the air once again started to shimmer. What materialised caused him to suck a breath in between his teeth. The demon had trebled in size, which was shock enough as it stood a head and shoulders taller than Upthog and was massive across the chest. All its size was nothing compared to the size of the battleaxe it carried in its right claw. Spiked iron plates covered Bábdíbir’s right shoulder, forearm, and chest.

  “Where did you get the weapons?” Scamp asked, unable to stop himself.

  “They appear at need, Master.”

  “Get rid of them,” Upthog hissed. Scamp was once again surprised when the demon did as she demanded. The weapons and armour disappeared, and Bábdíbir stood in a loincloth with a thick leather belt. “Now, be gone. Do not return.”

  “What?” Scamp asked, not believing what she’d said. When the air around Bábdíbir started shimmering again, and it vanished, he was even less believing.

  Bábdíbir, talk to me.

  There was nothing. Whatever connection Scamp had felt in the past was no more.

  “What have you done?”

  “Shut yer eineach, boy, and go find the horses.”

  “Bábdíbir’s gone. Why did you do that? Wait a moment. Only a witch…” And then the reality sank in. “You’re a witch.”

  “I told ye to find the horses, boy, so get to it.”