Bec

“Doesn’t look like it,” Co

The dead often come back to haunt us. The demons get the bodies from dolmens or wedge tombs. They use dark magic to fill the corpses with evil life, sometimes stitching bits from various victims together. We’re not sure why they do it. Maybe some of them can’t make bodies of their own and have to steal the bones of our dead. We’ve gone to all the local tombs that we know of over the last year, burning the corpses. But there are many hidden and forgotten tombs. The demons are always finding new bodies. At times, it seems like there’s more dead than living in the world.

Co

Finally, Co

Calm settles over the rath and everyone returns to their normal routine. We’re curious about the strangers but we’ll find out all about them in good time. No point standing around guessing, when there’s work to be done.

They arrive half an hour later, ragged and weary from battle and the road. Four men, three women and four children. We know them—the MacCadan. When the demons first attacked, Co

Cadan’s not among the eleven. The leader’s an old warrior—even older than Goll—who limps awkwardly and trembles pitifully when he’s not on the move. He a

Co

Co

The demons overwhelmed them. The end had been coming for a long time but they held out stubbornly, even past the point where they knew it was folly. Their best warriors had fallen to the foul Fomorii, their children had been taken, their animals slain, their crops destroyed.

“Many argued against staying,” Tiernan sighs. “We said it was madness, that we’d perish if we didn’t join forces with our neighbours. But Cadan said we’d lose face if we retreated. He was a proud man, not for bending. But eventually, like all who refuse to bend, he snapped. The Fomorii took him last night, along with three others. This morning, before the sun had risen, we packed our goods and marched here. We hope to fight with you, to offer whatever aid we can, to…”

He trails to a halt. Two of the men are seriously injured and Tiernan’s no chick. One of the women is a warrior but the other two aren’t. And the children are too young to fight. Tiernan’s trying to make it sound like we need them, that they can make a difference. But really they’re just looking for sanctuary. Taking them in would be a mercy, not a merger.

The men of the rath are sitting in a circle around the newcomers. I’m on the outskirts, only allowed this close in case any magical matters arise. I see doubt on the faces of most. We’re already cramped. We’d need to expand the fort again to comfortably hold eleven more people. That’s hard to do when you’re under attack from demons most nights.

Tiernan senses the mood and speaks rapidly. “We could build our own huts. Our women are skilled, the children too. We’d depend on your hospitality for a few weeks but we’d work every hour we can to set up on our own. We wouldn’t be a burden. And when it comes to fighting, we’re stronger than we look. Even the youngest child has drawn blood. We—”

“Easy, friend,” Co

Tiernan blinks. He hadn’t expected such a gracious welcome. After the years of feuding, it’s more than he dared hope. Tears well in his eyes but he shakes them away and smiles. “You’re a true king,” he compliments Co

“And, I hope, a true friend,” Co

THE BOY

Preparations for the feast are at an advanced stage, and the sun is close to setting, when there’s a call from another lookout. “I see someone in the distance ru

Co

“It’s not one of ours,” Tiernan says. “We brought all our living with us.”

“Is it a demon?” Co

“It doesn’t look like one,” comes the reply. “I think it’s a boy. But the speed at which he’s ru

Co

As the figure races closer, we see that it’s a boy, my age or slightly older, ru

Co

“It could be a trap,” Tiernan mutters.

“Demons don’t send humans to lay traps,” Co

“But you saw how fast he ran,” Tiernan says. “And he doesn’t look tired. He’s not even sweating. Maybe he’s not human.”

“Bec,” Co

I close my eyes and focus on the boy. Demons have a different feel to humans. They buzz with the power of their own world. There’s a flicker of that about this child. I start to tell Co

There’s no mistaking her. I’ve seen her so many times in my perfect memories. She looks just like she did on the day she gave birth to me—the day she died. Haggard, bone-thin, dark circles under her eyes, stained with blood. But love in her eyes—love for me.

As I stare, numb with wonder—but no fear—my mother turns and points west, keeping her eyes on mine. She says something but her words don’t carry. With a frown, she jabs a long finger towards the west. She starts to say something else but then the mist clears. She shimmers. I blink. And I’m suddenly looking at the boy again, playing with his flower.