“C’mere to me, Cathal,” Fergal said, “if iron ore is so precious that the Tuatha Dé clutches it like gold, how do you explain your castle here?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Cathal asked.

  A ten-foot high curtain wall of timber surrounded a square tower with what appeared to be a covered battlement above its fourth floor. Nearly two dozen plumes of smoke ascended from behind the wall. A din of war cries, laughter, yelling and general conversation sounded from inside.

  “You must have stripped and flattened an entire mountain to make this,” Fergal said.

  Cathal nodded. “I understand you now, lad. The aul' ones built this long ago. Parts of the castle fall into disrepair over the years, but nothing that requires much mining or cutting.”

  “Seems like a lot of busywork to manage it all,” Fergal said.

  “As annoying as it is living with it,” Cathal said, “I can’t imagine being in charge of it. As long as we get by, s’all that matters to me.”

  Guards waved Cathal through the outer ring, but not without friction.

  “How many more strays will you bring through our doors, Cathal?” asked the guard standing to the right of the entrance.

  Several within the fort echoed the guard’s sentiments as their group passed. “At least these people are shiny,” a man said after poking Fergal’s hauberk. “Dammit, Cathal, we’re not feeding your pets anymore,” another lady yelled before slamming the door on her round hut.

  Finn found little forethought or planning within the walls of Norroway. The smoke he noted from outside were campfires. Arranged around each fire were nine tents. Some had arranged their groups in a circle, other groups formed a perfect triangle around theirs. There were groups of wattle huts on one side of the bawn and even three stone roundhouses, but there stood at least fifteen tents for every permanent structure.

  Iron gates blocked the northwest and southeast entrances. The northeast gate through which Finn’s group entered, as well as the southwest gate, was built of the same timber as the curtain wall.

  A handful of people loitering near the tower eyed Donal’s group as they approached, most chuckling through sneering faces. The lone woman wore the darkest face in the group. She yelled after Rory and wiggled a finger between Finn and Maeve as they passed.

  “Oi, Rory! Which one is it? Sad that you’re forced to ambush the new folk before they can figure you out.”

  The group behind her chortled. Rory stopped walking, spun on their heel and stood nose-to-nose with her.

  “Sad, is it?” Rory said. “Could be worse, I suppose. I could spend all day standing around with nothing better to do than rattling after the one who won’t take her back.”

  The rest of the loiterers whooped and hollered. Rory bounced their eyebrows and returned to the group and entered the tower.

  The tower’s resemblance to its counterparts back home in íriu ended at its exterior. The Fianna had stuffed the main level with surplus food. Armor and weapons lay about the floor of the second level. The master of the keep claimed the third floor for his bedchamber. An oversized chair sat in a place of prestige on the fourth level, but this was no throne room or hall. Two dozen stools scattered about the room were the only other pieces of furniture in the room. Someone had widened the windows on the southeastern and northeastern walls. Finn could see for miles, including both the shadow of Tech Duinn and the forest surrounding the lake from where they had entered this world. This was a lookout tower that held the occasional meeting or announcement.

  The master of the keep sat sideways in his chair, his left leg bent with its foot resting on the seat and his right leg straight. His hand covered his face as he rubbed his brow. “You have to stop with this, Cathal,” he said without looking at his visitors. “You don’t need to bring every wayward warrior in for the Trials. Our numbers are fine.”

  “They’re not fine, Oisín,” said Cathal. “But that’s not why we’ve come down from Uargal. Look at their armor and weapons.”

  Finn’s chest fluttered and blood rushed to his head. That can’t be the son of Finn mac Cumhaill sitting before me. It can’t be.

  The master of Norroway and leader of the Fianna did not appear pleased despite the twinkle in his deep blue eyes. His large, oblong face dwarfed the downturned, crooked nose that hung in the middle of it. Red bushy eyebrows topped the grooves beside and under his eyes. Only a hint of red remained in his thin white hair, fooling anyone from afar he was blonde.

  Oisín chuckled under his breath. “Armor and weap—” He looked upon the delegation from íriu with wide eyes. “No one goes through Tech Duinn with weapons, let alone hauberks such as yours.” He stood and walked up to Niall. “You’re mortals.”

  “Hai, we are,” Niall said. “And you’re himself.”

  Oisín grinned. “Don’t worry, lad. It will be a long while for you here. You’ll come to see me for the old fool my men call me.”

  Finn scoffed. “Not bloody likely,” he muttered.

  Maeve elbowed him. “Oi, get a hold of yourself!”

  Oisín craned his head to see the pair at the end of the group. “What’s that, now?”

  “Calm yourself,” Maeve whispered.

  Oisín scanned Finn from head to toe, smirking in response to Finn’s expression of awe. He shifted to face Maeve and his jaw fell open. He raised his hand and held Maeve’s cheek. She twitched at his first touch but didn’t pull away.

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  “Granddaughter,” he said.

  Maeve’s face wrinkled as she shook her head. “How—how do you recognize me?”

  “It would be impossible for me not to,” Oisín said. “I see my mother and my father in you. I see myself in you. I see my children—and their children—in you.”

  Maeve’s eyes welled, but no tears fell.

  “What’s your name, lass?” Oisín asked.

  “Maeve O’Connor.”

  “You have my full attention, Maeve. Why did you and your friends come all this way?”

  “There’s actually more of us than the four you see here,” she said. “We were supposed to sail to Hy-Brasil and enter Tír Tairnigire with ‘em, but merrows shredded our currach on the way, forcing us to take the portal to here.” He twisted a hand toward Finn. “Only Finn here had the faintest idea of where it led.”

  “I see,” Oisín said. “I’m not sure that answers my question. What’s worth risking this one-way trip?”

  “We need the Sword and the Spear of the Tuatha Dé.”

  “What for?”

  “There’s a mortal back home in league with the Fomori,” she said. “Last year he even drug Crom Dubh into his business while he tainted The Dagda’s Cauldron. We succeeded, but only just. We don’t know to whom he’s speakin’ on this side.”

  Oisín scratched his chin and walked back to his left. “Indech, I’m thinking,” he said to Cathal.

  “That’s what we thought as well,” Cathal said.

  “Indech?” Finn asked. “You mean—”

  “—I do.” Oisín said. “Fomori man who used to be king. He rules over Tír na Marbh, just over those mountains to the south. The beauty and fertility of that land never was meant to rival Tír na nóg or Tír Tairnigire, but Indech turned it into something truly desolate all the same.

  “Say what you will about Balor and Cichol,” he said, “they had the good sense to know when their time had passed and move on without trying to destroy the natural order. I suspect Indech would take all the lands here and leave them barren if it suited his needs.”

  Oisín paced in front of the Tyrconnell contingent, sizing each person as he passed them. During one pause in front of Fergal, he stared into the porter’s eyes for a solid minute before speaking. “Curious,” he said. Fergal didn’t flinch.

  “Granddaughter, you may be in a bit of luck,” Oisín said. “You’ll have to answer me one question before I continue.”

  “Ask it,” Maeve said.

  “Say I could help you get the Sword of Light,” he said. “What good will it do you in a fight back on íriu?”

  “We’re meant to meet someone in Tír Tairnigire who holds the solution to that dilemma,” Maeve said. “If our people aren’t with her now, they’ll reach her soon.”

  “You believe that?”

  “I trust my people.”

  “Grand,” Oisín said. “I have a task for you, one I suspect will benefit us both. It’s not without its perils, however. You need to defeat The… The…”

  His head twitched. His mouth quivered.

  “Sorry?” Maeve said, her brow knitted and eyes narrowed. “I didn’t hear that.”

  “He’s not allowed to say,” Rory said. “None of the Aos Sí can speak of the curse The ávertach put upon them.”

  Maeve and Finn traded smirks.

  “What’s so funny?” Oisín asked.

  “We’re more relieved than amused, sir,” Maeve said. “The two of us, along with Finn’s brother, felled an ávertach not ten months ago.

  “Impressive,” he said, “but not the same, you see…” He sighed and looked to Rory.

  “It’s The ávertach, lad,” Rory said. “The original. He’s unlike any of his cursed progeny. For instance, he forbade the Aos Sí, the Elders here, to speak ill of him, much less do him or his minions harm. It’s why Cathal stopped us from attacking that group on the road—he and his right-hand-man, Odhran, couldn’t help us.”

  “What stops him from coming here to rule the entire land?” Fergal asked.

  “There’d be no point to it,” Oisín said, “for he already does. His minions have a go Norroway when the hunger is upon them, but our newer members are more than capable of fending them off.”

  “Where can we find him if not here?” Niall asked.

  “There is a tower in the far northwest overlooking Lough Brón, before it reaches the sea,” Oisín said. He grimaced and looked at Rory.

  “He lives there with servants—slaves, really—and his minions. Even without the curse we wouldn’t have the numbers to invade, though.”

  “Have you thought about infiltrating instead?” Maeve asked.

  Cathal and Rory laughed. Oisín’s eyes remained on Maeve.

  “She’s not joking,” Oisín said with a glint in his eye. “She may be foolhardy, but she’s not joking.” He pointed to Fergal. “What about your friend? There’s not a lick of magic to him.”

  “He’s free to make his own choices,” Maeve said. “But if he’s coming I’ll trust him with my life.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see what happens should you fail,” Cathal said with a smile. “Donn might send ‘em right back here from Tech Duinn.”

  “We’ll no longer be of use to our friends,” Finn said. “Or the mortal world. Breaslin’s path to power becomes easier.” He tilted his head toward Oisín. “Sir, you said you could help us find the Sword of Light while taking on the ávertach. How?”

  “The Sword of Light is one of the few weapons The ávertach fears,” Oisín said.

  “So we’ll get the sword on the way,” Maeve said. “Understood.”

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “The Sword has a steward, a keeper. One who bestows it on its new champion, one who knows where it’s hidden. One whom the ávertach has imprisoned in the tower.”

  Niall shook his head. “Why doesn’t he kill the guardian?”

  “Again, he has no need,” Oisín said. “No one can reach the Sword without the steward. The messenger sent to Findias reports that there’s but one steward at a time. So long as the ávertach threatens no other land and causes no undue harm to the people of Tír fo Thuinn, they have no cause to fight him. If the steward dies in Red Tower, the sword reappears in Findias and they designate a new steward.”

  Fergal shook his head. “A cold calculation, that.”

  “It’s said that justice is one of the city’s founding principles,” Finn said. “This sounds more like apathy, even cowardice.”

  “It’s not my kind of justice, I can tell you that,” Oisín said. “But if you four save the steward, I’d bet they’d be grateful for it. Perhaps they’d reward your valor with the Sword itself. I would.”

  “It would be the just result,” Fergal said. “When do we leave?”

  “That depends,” Oisin said, “on how quick of a study your friends are, big fella. They’ve got some training ahead of them.”

  “How do you figure that?” Maeve said.

  “None of you can access your magic yet,” he said. “You must attune to the planes of this world. The good news is that there are fewer here than in íriu.”

  “That covers the bard and fighter,” Maeve said. “Meanwhile, my aim remains true.”

  Oisín dipped his chin and flattened his mouth. “And your otherworldly abilities lie intentionally dormant. For no other reason but impatience, I’d reckon.”

  Maeve averted her eyes from her ancestor.

  “I’m correct,” he said. “Cathal and Rory will take you into the yard after you eat and see to your training. Go grab some food and get stuck in.”

  Maeve showed Oisín a reluctant smile. All four sílrad headed for the door and thanked Oisín as they passed him. She sighed as they descended the staircase.

  “I’ll bet a brave amount of silver that Brendan and Ciara are lounging in the sun over the Land of Promise watching Siobhan and Donal do all the work,” she said. “Doesn’t seem right at all.”