“If you don’t mind me saying, sir,” Niall said, “this is the oddest capture I’ve been party to—on either side of the spear.”

  Their captain turned and walked backwards as he scanned Niall’s face. He scratched the white scraggly hair that ringed the back of his head and wrinkled the top of his hooked nose as he spoke. “In what way?”

  “Where we’re from, we don’t let the captives keep their gear and weapons.”

  “Are you planning on using them?” the captain asked.

  “Well…” Niall looked at Maeve. She responded by curling the right side of her lip, pressing her right eye closed, and shaking her head. “I suppose not,” he said.

  “Smart man,” the captain said. “Call me Cathal.”

  The group walked west down a cleared path through the ash, yew and wych elm trees. They walked through a different world, yet the resemblance between these trees and their counterparts back home was remarkably similar. The only difference Finn noticed was that the leaves and needles here held a blue tinge to them, as if he were looking at the reflection of a forest in a lake.

  Niall wasn’t wrong about their situation. The insistence, the escort and the reluctance to share details possessed all the markings of a capture, yet the mood was light. The natives appeared more confused than distrusting. They wrapped themselves in layers of leather and hide. Each had shorn the tops of their long manes of hair. Two of the warriors left their scalps exposed, displaying intricate designs on the tops of their heads. A thin layer of hair covered the scalps of the younger two warriors.

  “Who are you people?” Maeve asked.

  “They look like they’re part of the Fianna,” Finn said.

  The captain stopped and pressed his hand against Finn’s chest. “You told us you were from the Old World,” he said. “How could you recognize that just by lookin’ at us?”

  “People still talk about you where we come from,” Finn said. “And I’m something of a bard.”

  One warrior chuckled under their breath. They had a ropy build and stood as tall as Finn. Once they realized the laugh was too loud, they scratched the diagonal scar down the left side of an otherwise soft face with their long spindly fingers.

  “You’ve got my interest now,” Maeve said to the stranger, her eyes piercing. “Nobody but his mot finds Finn funny.”

  “The Fianna are well-versed in many things,” Finn said, “including poetry and lore. I imagine that each of them knows nearly everything I do about lore.”

  The stranger laughed louder and batted the arm of another warrior. “‘Nearly everything,’ he says. I’m sorry to see your humor so unappreciated by your comrades here.”

  “You and me both,” Finn said. “Your name is?”

  “Rory MacDiarmuid,” they said. “And your family name, Finn?”

  “MacLaughlin. My protective friend here is Maeve O’Connor. That gentle mountain of a man is Fergal MacDavett. Rory, can I ask how you recognized us as outsiders?”

  “Your armor,” Rory said. “We don’t see much chainmail in this world.”

  “What happened to your smithys?” Maeve asked.

  “They’re here,” Rory said. “We’re not permitted to make metal armor here.”

  “Because there’s no warring in the Otherworld?”

  All four Fianna stopped and laughed for a solid minute. “I thought he was the smart one,” the captain said to Niall.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “He has his moments,” Niall said, darting an annoyed look at Finn.

  “There is always something to fight about,” Rory said. “It’s a question of materials. You four just arrived; you can’t fathom how long the same people will walk this world. Our mountains, trees and rivers won’t last if we tear into them like we did back in íriu—”

  “—íriu?” Maeve asked.

  “It’s what the Tuatha Dé call the Old World,” Rory said.

  Finn stopped walking. “The Tuatha Dé are here?”

  Rory wrinkled their face and shook their head. “Calm yourself, lad. They keep with their own over in Tír na nóg,” they said. They cross the Yellow Mountains periodically to trade with the villages in Tír Tairnigire.”

  Finn jogged to catch up. “They don’t come out here?”

  “The snobby gombeens rarely make it out to us,” Rory said. “Tír Tairnigire gets the good supplies and extra iron ore for their farming. We don’t get enough to make both weapons and armor, so we make and repair our weapons.”

  “You sound jealous,” Maeve said.

  Rory shrugged. “Annoyed, really. We get along fine enough around here without them. They show up at Norroway or Dóchasach and act like they’re gifting us the air we breathe or the water we drink.”

  “Which one are we heading to?” Fergal asked.

  “He speaks!” Rory said. “We’re going to Norroway, big fella. There’s a road that follows the River Erthuile south. We’ll reach it soon.”

  The younger group weaved between the trees as the forest thinned near the river’s bank.

  “Drop!” the captain said. “Everyone!”

  The captain whispered something to Niall and twitched his head towards the younger members of the group. Niall twisted his body and slithered within earshot of Maeve.

  “There’s a group of women walking down the road,” he said. “Cathal says they’re likely Dearg Due.”

  Maeve looked at Finn.

  “There’s an old story about a woman from the south whose father and husband mistreated her so badly that she came back from the dead to seek vengeance on them. Now she emerges once a year to drain the air or blood from unsuspecting young men.”

  Fergal canted his head and raised his eyebrows. “Well, at the very least, you two are safe,” he said to Maeve and Rory.

  Rory looked back at Fergal and held a palm up to him. “MacDavett, you seem a nice man,” she whispered. “I’d ask you not to say that to me again.”

  The reaction caught Finn and Fergal by surprise. Maeve shot Fergal a sobering look before turning back to Finn.

  “Draining blood?” Maeve asked. “Like an ávertach?”’

  “What do you know about The ávertach?” Rory asked.

  “We defeated one back home last year,” Maeve said.

  “Whist!” Niall hissed at Maeve and Finn. “Here they come.”

  The River Erthuile and the road to Norroway traced the edge of the forest. To the south Finn spotted a ford that would allow a drier crossing of the river. Four women approached from that direction in flowing red dresses with hems that brushed the ground, creating the illusion that the women were floating and not walking. One woman was hooded, the rest left their pallid faces exposed to passers-by. Curls of vibrant orange hung from two of the women, the third wore her coal-black hair down past her waist.

  Finn watched the Fianna press their bodies into the forest floor. He raised his eyebrows at Maeve and flicked his head toward the women. Maeve flopped her hands up and pursed the right side of her mouth.

  “There’s eight of us and four of them,” Finn said. “If these ladies are that bad we should do something.”

  Rory smiled. Their shoulders bounced before they spoke. “You think so?” they asked. “Before you go risking our lives against things that are ungodly fast and vicious, why don’t you give us a puff of wind, O Bard of íriu?

  Finn looked down and scratched the ground. Rory nodded.

  “Haven’t figured out to tap into the magic here, I see,” they said. “Maybe you should follow orders until you do.”

  Finn’s eyes returned to the Rory. “So I will.”

  “How many more of these creatures roam your lands?” Fergal asked.

  “Dozens, we suspect,” Rory said. “The ávertach has almost as many of his minions serving under him.”

  “Lovely,” Maeve said.

  “That’s not even the best bit,” Rory said. “The ávertach has put a curse on our oldest members and commandant. I’m sure they’ll tell you all about it once these Dearg Due pass and we return to the castle.”

  “Grand.” Maeve said. “Who is your leader?”

  “Oisín.”

  “Oisín?” Finn asked. “You don’t mean—”

  “—son of Finn mac Cumhaill himself.”

  “Oi, Maeve,” Finn said. “Are you ready to meet your granddad?”

  Rory and Fergal whipped their necks from the road to Maeve.

  “Granddad?” Fergal asked.

  Maeve rolled her eyes and blinked slowly. “My mom descends from Oisín.” She looked to Finn. “You realize how many of his kin have come and gone since his time? You best control yourself and not leave me scarlet.”

  “Maeve, this is a land where chainmail is exotic and some of the locals want to take your air and blood,” Finn said. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to make the situation any more awkward.”

  Maeve smiled wide. “You’re right,” she said. She patted his cheek twice. “But I’ve learned never to underestimate you. C’mon. The women have moved north and our group is leaving.”