The newly revealed stars were double thanks to the still waters of Gort Lough. The trees of the old forest towered behind them, supervising their infiltration. Now, just a few trunks shielded them from their ultimate goal.

  The intel that the henchmen provided about their ‘cousins’ was true. A dying campfire threw red light upon a man seated beside it and the two tents behind him. A hulking beast lay in front of each tent and another person wrapped in a dark mantle paced around it all. At one point the pacing stopped long enough to allow for a conversation, but Maeve’s group was too far to hear even the timbre of their voices.

  “Do you see anyone else?” Brendan asked.

  Maeve shook her head. “Turns out those fellas were telling the truth.”

  “I’m still not comfortable with what we did to ‘em,” Fergal said.

  “It had to be done,” Brigid said. “We couldn’t risk them coming back and flanking us.”

  Fergal scowled and softly bobbed his head in agreement.

  “Brendan, can I trust you to be quiet?” Maeve asked. “I could use you circling the left side of the treeline.”

  “Of course you can,” Brendan said. “Hang on, where are you going?”

  “Along the right side.”

  He pointed his chin at his sister. “Then what are they doing?”

  “Walking right up to them to have a chat, from the sound of it,” Brigid said.

  “So you are,” Maeve said.

  Fergal shifted in place, his eyes bouncing between the women. “We are?”

  “Indeed,” Maeve said. “Don’t worry, now. Brig will do the talking. You can stand there and look as foreboding as you please.” She stepped up to him and patted his chest. “The one thing you can’t do is look for us as you’re approaching them,” she said. “Our best chance lies in surprise. Look down. Look ahead. Look nowhere else.”

  “So, we just walk up to them in the middle of the night with our weapons and talk about the weather?” Fergal asked.

  Brigid shrugged. “We could pretend we live along that road and their animals killed our livestock,” Brigid said. “It doesn’t have to be a long chat. We just have to keep their eyes on us long enough for the others to start in.”

  A twinkle in Brendan’s eye appeared as his smile widened. “Yeah, you two have that sturdy, farming couple look to you. They’ll buy it for sure.”

  Brigid glared at her brother as swung her spear handle at his knee but Brendan anticipated the move and dodged it. He didn’t, however, foresee his sister cueing the handle into his gut. Fergal saw none of the action; he cast his eyes to the ground, thankful that the dark obscured his complexion.

  “Your poor mother,” Maeve said, shaking her head at the twins.

  “You’re telling me your mot’s druid family is more civilized?” Brendan asked.

  Brigid immediately stiffened and stepped away from her brother. She urged Fergal to do the same with a nudge.

  Maeve walked over to Brendan and put a finger in his chest. “For one, they’re older, which means most of them have grown out of this nonsense,” she said. “Secondly, she and I are not together. Third—” She pulled back her hand and slapped him. “You’d do well to mind your own business.”

  She turned on heel and stormed away from the other three. “I’m going to get in position now.”

  Brendan rubbed his cheek and called after her. His tone still rang playful, but his eyes darkened. “What’s your fourth pearl of wisdom, O’Connor?”

  Maeve spun around before he finished his question. Fergal’s face was blank, his eyes locked open. There was no surprise to be found on Brigid’s face but her discomfort was clear. Brendan was content to wait as he held his face. She may as well have hit him with a closed fist; the mark left behind would have been smaller.

  “You need to learn where the line is in any given situation,” Maeve said. “One of these days the response to crossing it won’t be a simple puck in the gob. Get you moving now. Brig, give us a few minutes to spread out. Pat Fergal’s back as a signal that you need our help. Otherwise, we go on my arrow. Everyone understand me?”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  She looked past Brigid and Fergal. Brendan waved without looking back.

  “You sure I’m the right guy to be out in front for something like this?” Fergal asked. He stared at his shuffling feet as they stepped out of the woods, his eyes rarely looking ahead. It was clear he took Maeve’s directions to heart.

  Brigid knew his question wasn’t borne of fear but from a lack of self-confidence. Given the bravery, strength and trust that he’d shown so far, she found the modesty endearing. It was a refreshing change from all the time spent with her brother, and from the attitudes shared by most of the sílrad in O’Neill lands—men and women. Compared to them, Brendan’s description of their otherworldly comrades in Tyrconnell was gracious.

  At this moment, however, that humility would subvert their pretense for approaching the strangers and likely get the two of them killed.

  “It’s true the two of us are going in because we’re not as useful at range,” she said. “But we all have to play to our strengths and cover each other’s weaknesses. Let’s take all the fighting out of it. If I had to approach shady people and try to soften up with banter, you’d be my obvious choice out of this group to go with me. These two are just as likely to start a row as they would prevent one. Yes, you’re inexperienced with this sílrad business, but you’ve proven yourself a quick learner.”

  “‘Sílrad,’” Fergal said. “So that’s what you call yourselves?”

  “It’s… not that simple,” Brigid said. “It’s more a description of who we are. I promise that we’ll tell you whatever we can after this business is sorted.”

  “‘Whatever we can,’ but not everything.”

  “Ferg, this is the wrong time to get hung on the details,” Brigid said. “These are likely serious people we’re about to meet. You’ve followed us this far going on faith. Why wouldn’t we show you that same faith in return? Maeve would have kept you hiding by her side if she thought you were incapable of this. Instead, you’re out front with me. It’s time to look the part of a farmer ready to give out to anyone who crosses him. In fact, you don’t have to say anything at all if it doesn’t feel right. Just sit there and picture traveling sixty miles with Brendan.”

  “Why would that help?” Fergal asked.

  Brigid chuckled to herself. “The thought of it makes me good and mad,” she said.

  Fergal fired a quick breath out his nose and smiled. “So it would.”

  “Sure look, you’re going to do fine,” she said. “Don’t put too much effort into it and leave it to me if you like.”

  The pair rounded the widest part of the lough and followed its southern edge toward the camp. One of the people in front of the tents ceased their pacing and watched them. The night and distance made it impossible to read their facial expression. As they approached the far end of the lough, the person swatted the man sitting in front of the fire as if he had nodded off. They pointed at Brigid and Fergal and the man stood up, stepped around the fire and hurried their way. He intercepted them twenty yards in front of their camp.

  “What do you mean by calling so late with weapons in your hands?” the man said.

  Brigid stepped forward. “Our cows and sheep were beset by wild dogs tonight,” she said.

  The man’s posture stiffened. “I am sorry that has happened,” the man said.

  His voice was smooth and low, his cadence rhythmic. The lines around his mouth and eyes had only begun to form. His hood cloaked the upper half of his face. His black eyes shifted between Brigid and Fergal. “And you believe those ‘dogs’ are ours?”

  “They looked like the two you have here, large and lopsided,” Brigid said. “We even crossed two men in similar dress as you.”

  The second stranger joined them as Brigid finished her sentence and removed her hood. A tall forehead separated short brown hair from her large brown eyes. The brothers in the forest identified these two as “cousins,” but these two bore no resemblance to each other or the brothers.

  “Yet here you are,” the man said. “Perhaps they meant no harm?”

  “Oh, they came at us with harmful intent,” Brigid said. “And it was harm that they received.”

  The man and woman shared an inscrutable glance before he spoke again. “‘Harm,’ the lass says. Should we expect our comrades soon?”

  Fergal shifted in place. Brigid was impressed that he kept the movement from resembling a squirm and his face still.

  “You shouldn’t,” she said. “Sadly, they met their demise in the fight.”

  The woman stepped to the man’s side, less successful in concealing her discomfort.

  The man’s nod was slight but lasted several seconds.

  “Impressive, sure,” he said. “Surprising, too, that a pair of ‘farmers’ could best them all in a fight.”

  “You could say we were motivated,” Fergal said.

  The man smiled. “I could, of course. I could say, too, lass, that you bring to mind a redhead who could charm and row that lived out east past Derry.

  “But that lass, though, ran with a man who likely was her family. A brother who reshapes the earth, and he can throw fire.”

  It was Brigid’s turn to squirm.

  He continued, “I wonder, then, what happened to that brother back past Derry? Does he still chase the hunter fair—or are they hiding near me?”

  Brigid’s chuckle was carried on ragged breath. “Sure look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brigid said.

  “My friend here thinks you do,” the woman said.

  “I’m but a farmer, sir,” Brigid said. “My husband and I, we are protecting our lives and our livelihood, no more.” She lifted her arm behind Fergal and slapped his back.

  A whistling noise approached from their right side. The man pushed his left arm out, his eye contact with Brigid unwavering. “Doingaib?,” he said.

  Maeve’s arrow struck an oval of translucent purple light and fell to the ground two feet from the man’s head.