“You can come back inside, éamon,” Orla said, drawing tight her mantle to keep dry. “You couldn’t spot them from here with a falcon’s eye.”

  Breaslin stood unmoved and apathetic to the downpour that had soaked Tory Island for hours. His hair clung to his cheeks. Rainwater collected under the tip of his nose and under his chin. His only sign of discomfort with the elements was an occasional involuntary blink caused by a raindrop striking his eyelashes.

  He twisted the upper part of his torso away from the sea and squinted at his subordinate. “Explain.”

  “The boggers have gone east for help,” she said. “They left The Creeve yesterday, likely to return home.”

  “They’ve gone to see the twins?” Breaslin asked. “The ones who captured the O’Reilly’s?”

  Orla nodded. Her eyes shifted away from Breaslin’s toward a point offshore. “They’ve got more than the twins in tow.” She paused and threw a hand up. “Sir, your mantle has a hood, does it not?”

  “I care about the rain even less than I do the commoner that rides with the O’Cahan lass,” Breaslin said. “He’s unremarkable on the whole.”

  “No, éamon,” she said. “The twins are bringing along the O’Reilly woman as well.”

  Breaslin spun his entire body to face Orla and stepped toward her, using a hand to block the rain from his face. “They kept her alive for four years? Any word if she was bound or shackled?”

  “I haven’t heard, sir.”

  Breaslin lowered his hand to rub his chin. “The uncle must still be alive as well.” He left Ciara O’Reilly in the hands of the sílrad assuming that one of them would avenge the people killed by her beasts. To keep both prisoners alive and fed—even protected—was something of which he thought the sílrad incapable.

  I should have moved on Mountsandel, he thought. If nothing else than to end them myself.

  “Any further word about their visit?” Breaslin asked.

  “They held most discussions in secret,” Orla said. “But our contacts learned that they’re going after the Treasures.”

  Breaslin smiled. “There is but one route they can take, and it’s arduous.” He bobbled his head in satisfaction. “Grand. We will need two portals, then.”

  Orla tilted her head away from his face. “Two?”

  “One to move our people into position here,” he said, “the other to warn our friends elsewhere should our people fail. I’ll need your help to do the latter. Indech must be told right away on the slim chance they elude us. He would be most unforgiving if they did so and caught him unprepared.”

  “And here?” Orla asked. “What would you have me do?”

  “Tell Ultan to ready one of his companies. They should dress as if it were autumn.”

  “Of course, éamon,” she said.

  “On second thought, send two companies.”

  Orla’s eyes widened. “You’re that concerned? Why not just send a full catha?”

  Breaslin closed his eyes and exhaled. “‘Cautious’ is the word I would use, Orla. If these people are indeed planning to enter one Otherworld, then they are ignorant of the risks or consider themselves desperate and out of options. Regardless, we will be ready.”

  Donal sat at Niall’s table doing his best not to eavesdrop on the conversation in the sleeping area. His best was not good enough.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” Brendan said as he climbed down from the loft. “This will be plenty. And you really don’t have to give up your bed.” He stepped off the bottom rung of the ladder and stood next to his sister.

  “Nonsense,” Niall said. “You four can have the sleeping area. Decide for yourselves.”

  “I’ve already decided,” Brigid said. “Fergal and—”

  “—yourself on the big bed,” Brendan said. “Of course.”

  “Not a chance,” Brigid said. “You and Fergal are down here. I’m not leaving you up there with her so she can fill your head with more fool ideas.”

  Niall stepped into the main room. His gloved hand rattled as he waved to those left in the sleeping area. “As I said: you decide.” He settled in front of the fireplace along the far wall and poked at it with a metal rod.

  Donal leaned over the table toward Siobhan and Finn. “Where does that leave us for the night?” he asked.

  Finn pointed to the far corner of the main room. “It leaves us there. At least until Murrough returns.”

  “Then I’m thinking Brigid had the right idea,” Donal said.

  Finn pinched his face. “Dya’mean by that?”

  Donal pointed to Siobhan and then to a different corner of the floor. “Herself will sleep over there.”

  Siobhan slid back her chair and gave a playful push to Donal’s head as she stood. “I’m going to check on Maeve and Fergal,” she said. She threw on her mantle and stepped out into the rain.

  “Where is he, Finn?” Donal asked in a low voice.

  Finn’s attention remained on the door Siobhan had closed behind her. “Sorry?” he asked.

  “Murrough,” Donal said. “I hate this feeling in my stomach. He should have returned by now. And Niall’s acting like the man doesn’t exist.”

  “Can you blame Niall?” Finn asked. “That’s a terrible bit of information to withhold from the person closest to you. It makes what the ladies held from us about Ciara seem like a joyous surprise.”

  “Shouldn’t we give Murrough a chance to defend himself?” Donald asked.

  It was a rare occasion indeed when he defended Murrough and Finn chose Niall’s side. “He needs to be here in order to defend himself,” Finn said. “Sure look, I’m not happy about it, and I hope it’s a great misunderstanding. But you know yourself that it doesn’t sound good.”

  Donal squeezed the right side of his mouth and exhaled out his nose. “I suppose.” He listened to the drumming of the rain upon Niall’s roof and watched the drops fall on the other side of the window.

  Finn leaned back in his chair and chuckled to himself. “This is rare,” he said.

  “Sorry?” Donal asked.

  Finn lifted his hands from the table. “This.” He waved them toward the sleeping area. “That. Don’t you think?”

  The last few days had been such a blur of travel and emotions that, aside from last night’s conversation in camp, Donal hadn’t much time for self-reflection.

  “We’re meant to leave this world soon and we might not return,” Finn said. He looked at Donal with widened eyes. “Only now do I realize that I never asked you.”

  Donal shook his head and jerked a shoulder upward. “You don’t have to,” he said. “If I let you three go and you get trapped, then I’m left here alone for the rest of my life.”

  A hint of red capped Finn’s cheekbones. “You’d miss us that much?” he asked.

  Donal furrowed his brow and curled his lip. “Not at all! It’s just that it takes too much time and effort to find new friends. Who needs that?”

  “Such a donkey,” Finn said with a begrudged grin. “You even left out Gavin from—”

  Siobhan’s voice rose above the rain. “He’s here!”

  Donal hurdled Púc, Niall’s sheepdog, on the way to the window—a move he had perfected over years of visits to the MacRannell house. Murrough MacMenamin, the boy’s uncle by bond, approached on his pewter draught horse. Maeve and Fergal used his approach as an opportunity to leave the stables and head toward the house.

  Siobhan waited for their elder, alone in the rain, in order to fasten Reatha to the last empty post in Niall’s front yard. The two hugged and spoke rather than walking to the door. Murrough pointed to the house. Siobhan looked to the house and back to Murrough before shaking her head. Murrough’s face sank toward the mud and he bobbed his head. Siobhan took his arm and smiled as she led him inside.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Donal hopped away from the window and made for the table. Unfortunately for him the rest of the O’Cahan crew had taken his former seat along with the three others. Fergal had hung his mantle and had already pulled out the final empty chair.

  The slam of the back door shook Donal from his disappointment. Through the back window Donal could see Niall flailing his arms to secure his cloak. There were always chores to do at the MacRannell house, rain or shine, but the timing of Niall’s departure surprised none of the Tyrconnell residents in the room.

  “How long do you think he’d need to be out there for his hand to rust?” Brendan asked his friends in a soft voice. Ciara alone found that funny.

  Maeve shook the rain from her hair and walked to the corner nearest Donal to fetch a stool. She pinched her nose as she looked from him to the window and back before giving him the stool in her hands. She went back to the corner, grabbed another stool and beckoned Donal to join her near the table.

  Siobhan and Murrough entered the house and wicked the excess moisture from their hair and faces. Finn crossed the room to hug his uncle, oddly oblivious to Siobhan as she slinked past him and filled his empty seat. She offered him a wink in gratitude once he noticed. He shook his head and set a stool behind Donal and Maeve.

  Murrough stepped toward Niall’s traditional seat at the head of his table. Donal got his first good look at his uncle in weeks, and he inhaled sharply at the sight of him. Murrough’s face aged at least ten years in his absence; every wrinkle and spot he had avoided in sixty-odd years of life had caught him all at once. His hand would spend most of meeting touching his face, whether it was scratching his cheek and chin, rubbing his forehead or tugging on his ear. His eyelids drooped and rings darkened his cheekbones.

  “Where is he?” Murrough asked the room.

  Maeve’s answer was as dark as it was curt. “Out.”

  Murrough craned his neck for a glance out the back window. “So he is.” His eyes turned glassy.

  The contingent from Coleraine traded uncertain expressions. They looked to Finn and Maeve for a reference but found no answers as the two shared vastly different expressions as they looked upon the old man.

  “Before I begin, can you ladies tell me how much the group understands?”

  Maeve looked at the floor. Siobhan stood to address the room. “I can’t speak for the finer details, but everyone in this room knows the Fomori are close to bringing an otherworldly threat to our land,” she said. “We need the Sword of Light, and the Spear of Destiny—and soon.”

  “Grand,” Murrough said. With a nod he invited Siobhan to retake her seat.

  Brendan cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir. Who are you?”

  “Hai, I’m Murrough MacMenamin. I count Manannán mac Lír among my ancestors and carry many of the same abilities he did—albeit to a lesser degree. We sílrad have no formal ranks or hierarchy here in northern Tyrconnell, but most of the planning and strategy is handled by myself, Niall, and Siobhan’s mother, Dáirine.” He looked at the guests seated around the table. “You must be Brendan O’Cahan,” he said. “Which makes her your sister, Brigid. And this large fella must be innkeeper Maeve spoke so highly of?”

  “Correct on all counts,” Brendan said. “The lady to my right is Ciara O’Reilly, a Morrigan.”

  Murrough’s eyes shifted along the wall opposite him as his head slowly rocked forward and back. “I see,” he said. “Well, we have much to discuss.” He pulled on his silver beard. “The trip you must take presents many challenges. For instance, Brendan—”

  “Yes, sir?” Brendan asked, squirming in his chair.

  “What’s one of the most important things you need to know about your journey?”

  Brendan stammered

  “Don’t overthink it, lad,” Murrough said.

  “Which otherworld are we going to?”

  “Grand,” Murrough said, his countenance improving with every sentence. “Herein lies the first challenge. Someone lured my… contact into Tir Tairnigirie twenty-five years ago, but in conversations of late, she’s been in Tír na nóg.”

  “How did she go from one place to the other?” Brendan asked.

  Murrough shook his head. “‘I followed them there,’ says she.”

  “Not exactly helpful,” Brigid said.

  “It is not,” Murrough said. “But at least we know she’s still in Tír na nóg.”

  “How are we supposed to get there?” Brendan asked. “In a hurry, no less.”

  “I know of no direct method of traveling from here directly to any otherworld,” Murrough said.

  Ciara cackled. “Then what are we doing here?” she asked. “You people never cease to underwhelm.”

  Siobhan glowered at Ciara from across the table. A thud sounded from under the tabletop and Ciara yelped in response. Donal couldn’t make out who kicked her as everyone around her shared the same displeased expression.

  “The word you’re failing to understand is ‘directly’ Miss O’Reilly,” Murrough said. “We can’t get there from this plane, but we can from another. You’re going to cross over into Mag da Cheonn. You’ll find the entrance to Tír na nóg there.”

  “Grand,” Maeve said. “Let’s go. Where do we make this crossing?”

  “Iceland,” Murrough said.

  The room sat in silence, most looking at each other to confirm they correctly heard the old man.

  “Excuse me, Murrough,” Fergal said. “Did you say we have to go to—” He pointed to the ceiling. “Iceland?”

  “You heard right,” Murrough said. “It’s the same portal through which the Tuatha Dé originally entered our world.”

  “I’ve heard that,” Brendan said. “I always assumed it was a translation error somewhere along the way. What’s it doing up there?”

  “Did you think that, across this entire world, it was only Ireland where the veil between worlds thinned?” Murrough asked. “There might be other places where we can cross. This is the best one we know of.”

  Brigid gestured at Murrough to gain his attention. “So, we get ourselves to Iceland, we cross through the portal. I’m with you so far,” she said. “Where to we cross into Tír na nóg?”

  “From there you will sail to Hy Brasil.”

  Brendan and Finn erupted in awe. “It’s real!” they said in unison. Upon hearing each other’s outbursts, they made eye contact and shared a nod from across the room.

  God help us, Donal thought. There’s two of them now.

  “Any chance the three of you could elaborate?” Maeve asked.

  Brendan dipped his head and extended both hands toward Finn.

  “Thank you, sir,” Finn said. “Throughout the centuries there were reports of islands far to Ireland’s west. Some say they only appear after a number of years and one of them held the entrance to the Otherworld. Some called it Hy Brasil, others called it Hy Falga.”

  “On the whole, correct,” Murrough said with a smile. “Hy Brasil and Hy Falga are two different islands, and they lead to two different places. The islands are always accessible in Mag da Cheonn.”

  “I hate to interrupt the scholarly debate,” Maeve said in mock reverence. “Do you realize how much time we’ll spend on the sea? Surely we’ll have to resupply at those Dane islands on our way there.”

  She canted her head. “Come to think of it, what are we using to sail once we cross over?”

  “Currachs, Maeve,” Murrough said. “You carry them through the veil and launch them from the other side.”

  Maeve scoffed. “It’s 400 miles to the Faroes, and at least that far from there to Iceland,” she said. She flipped a hand at the brothers. “Finn only knows how long we’ll be on the sea after we cross over.”

  Finn twisted his neck in surprise. “I don’t know that. How would I know that?”

  Maeve waggled her finger as she looked at Murrough. “You all heard that! Even Finn doesn’t know it. We’re gubbed and we haven’t left the house!”

  Murrough pressed his lips together and waited for Maeve to lower her hand—and for Donal to stop giggling.

  “What about your boat—Manannán’s boat?” Finn asked. “Dya’have the Wavesweeper hidden away for a time like this?”

  “The original Wavesweeper was scuttled long ago,” Murrough said. “But its power wasn’t in its hide or frame. It was the enchantment put upon it that mattered, and I will use that enchantment on each of the three currachs you will use.”

  “So we’re clear,” Finn said, “we’ll be able to navigate simply by speaking our destination?”

  “Hai, you will,” Murrough said. “Not only that, but the boats will keep a good pace without a single pull of an oar.”

  Smiles and slight nods spread around the table to Donal’s right.

  “Two big questions remain,” Siobhan said. “Where do we find the Treasures, and how do we get back home?”

  “The answer to both questions,” Murrough said, “begins with Caragh. She will share everything she knows about the Sword and Spear and send you in the best possible direction. As for coming home, she thinks she found a way.”

  “She ‘thinks?’” Ciara asked.

  “Caragh says she has a way to come back, but she’s never tested it.”

  “Why the hell not?” Ciara asked.

  Murrough sneaked another look out the back window and then dropped his head.

  “It’s not a simple story,” Siobhan said. “She’s got as much reason to stay there as she does to return. The hope is that between you, Brendan, Finn and myself we can catch anything she might have missed.”

  “For instance,” Brendan said, “there are two ways in which returning from an otherworld could go wrong. She assumes it was one.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Murrough said.

  Ciara swung a finger at the room. “And the retinue is coming for moral support? Or to keep me on my best behavior?”

  Siobhan grinned. “Dya’think we’re going for a dander in the field?” she asked. “We have no idea where to go or what kind of welcome awaits us.” She turned to Murrough, her palms pointing at the ceiling. “Murrough, where can we find her?”

  “The portal through which we speak is in a fixed spot,” Murrough said. “Its nature allows you to circle it and look through any angle.

  “It’s because of this that I can tell you there’s two stone obelisks, a nearby grove of hawthorn trees, yellow-green hills in the distance in one direction, a row of cliffs in another and a stone cottage stands nearby. I’ve drawn a simple map as a reminder. It likely won’t get you there, but you can use these landmarks to triangulate and confirm when you get close.” He crossed the room and handed Maeve a folded piece of parchment. “I have every faith you could track her from this spot. From any spot.”

  The slightest bit of pink gathered on Maeve’s cheeks. She straightened her posture on the stool. “As you should, sir,” she said. “And thank you.”

  “When would you have us leave?” Siobhan asked. “Tomorrow morning?”

  “No,” Murrough. “A gathering of this size will draw attention. We need the cover of night.”

  “Tonight it is, then,” Siobhan said. “You heard the man—”

  “Tomorrow night,” Murrough said, raising a hand. “You need time to prepare and rest. Not to mention the lashing I’d get should I let you leave before your mother arrives.”

  “Of course,” Siobhan said, shaking her head. She tapped her chin as she looked around the room. “Three currachs, three people to a currach… not enough boats.”

  “I’m sure we could add a fourth if needed, thanks to the enchantments,” Murrough said, “but we will need room for supplies. Currently we have four friends from Coleraine, the four of you, and Niall.”

  The math wasn’t adding up properly for Donal. “And yourself,” he said.

  “I’m not going with you,” Murrough said.

  “Why not?” Donal asked. “And don’t give me that ‘Someone’s got to watch Tory Island’ nonsense.”

  Another glance towards the back door. “Niall made two things clear to me,” Murrough said. “He is going, and I am not.”

  “And Gavin?” Donal asked, his eyes shifting between Maeve and Murrough.

  Murrough gestured to Maeve. “That depends on her power of persuasion.”

  “So that’s a ‘no,’ then,” Donal said.

  He jumped from his stool and grabbed Maeve’s hand before it struck his head.