Sitting cross-legged in front of the entrance to Uaimh na gCat, Bee stared out over the inlet of Sáilín at the port of Bacca. She’d been here, unmoving, for two days and considered not waiting any longer. Her food bag was now empty, and her water bottle was close to dry. An Dagda had told her that she needed haste. Something was in the air, and he was worried. In truth, if the Cheerful God was concerned, then so was Bee.

  I should be on the road for Dún Sobairche. I’ll leave as soon as it’s dark.

  The cave, sitting halfway up the slopes of Corrán Tuathail, gave her a good view of the surrounding terrain despite the haze rising from the sands, making everything shimmer. She could see the oasis below her vantage point, which would provide water for her walk across the thin stretch of the Western Wastes she had to cross to reach the ferry over the Sáilín. Although only a league, it was a league of loose sand and dunes and would prove quite wearisome, she didn’t doubt.

  During the two days of her vigil, she’d watched the ferry cross twice daily—once in the morning and once in the evening. Many would ask about the sense of having a ferry on the narrow stretch of sea because, on this side, there was nothing but desert. Well, desert and this tooth-like mountain glaring over the dunes. Bee hadn’t been here before, but she knew the folk of Bacca treated the isolated mountain like a shrine. They thought the cave was the entrance to Tech Duinn—the land of the dead—and left offerings at the watering hole: things their deceased could use when travelling the road, like food and clothing.

  So, I’ve no need to go cold or hungry. How grateful should I be, big brother?

  After two days of waiting, Bee hated this cave more than she hated the necessity which brought her here. When An Dagda said Brenós had travelled to the Western Wastes, she’d frowned. Why would he choose the desert? It made no sense to her. But then, her brother’s actions seldom made sense. Despite being older, he’d always trailed behind her like a wolfhound pup. And like a pup, he needed praise and rewards, and she’d been too caught up in the Five Kingdoms to give him any.

  Is that why he broke the code and used the portal?

  “Why’d the eejit choose this gate?” she asked the stones.

  “Because he knew you’d be sent after. Easier to lose someone in the desert, I reckon,” a voice said from the ledge above the cave entrance.

  “Ye’re late,” Bee said without turning.

  “By whose reckoning?” Finn asked.

  “An Dagda said ye’d be here two nights since.”

  “Aye, well, I reckon our Master ain’t as all seein’ as he thinks,” he said, jumping down to land beside her.

  Even though her glance was brief, she caught it all. She knew Finn, so she was not surprised by his appearance. Had she not known him, it wouldn’t have mattered. Everything about him screamed Fae tracker, from the jaunty feathered cap to the ornately decorated boots. He wore leather triús and tunic, much like Bee’s, and had a sword and dagger at his belt. His boots stopped just below the knee, and he had a leather bag belted over one shoulder and a bedroll belted over the other.

  Standing and wiping the seat of her triús with both hands, Bee nodded. “What news of Brenós?”

  “It’s all very strange, Bee.”

  “Strange. Ye think? I’ll tell ye what’s strange: me sitting here two nights freezing me arse cheeks off on this rock, that’s strange. This, what Brenós is doing…” She trailed off, unsure how to describe her brother’s behaviour. “Well, it’s way past strange, so it is.”

  “Aye, it is. But I meant that your sibling has been asking after that éigeas, Myrddin.” Finn paused, gathering his thoughts.

  “And?” she prompted.

  “It’s like someone sent him to the Five Kingdoms. Like he has an errand, and it involves the greybeard. From what I’ve heard of Myrddin, he isn’t to be taken lightly.”

  “He’s Tuatha, I think.”

  “Aye. And often running errands himself. Although, it’s not often clear who for.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He’s supposed to be one of An Dagda’s, but there’s words whispered between the roundhouses.”

  “Like what?”

  “They say he’s in thrall to one of the other Gods, just no one knows which.”

  “It’s funny you should say that. An Dagda said if Bren hadn’t used Uaimh na gCat’s glyph, he wouldn’t have known someone passed through. If someone had activated the portal without changing…” Again, she trailed off. She knew the God had wards around the gate, ways to see who, if anyone, had used it. Over the millennia, no one had dared, so he’d become lax, checking only intermittently. Whoever used the gate had to set the glyph before travelling and couldn’t change it back. An Dagda noticed the dial change when passing the portal room.

  “The Master wouldn’t have known until the next Scourge,” Finn finished for her. “You think that’s why he came to this gate, so An Dagda would know?”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Bee shrugged and asked, “How do you know he’s looking for the sage?”

  “Like an eejit, he’s been asking everyone he meets. First, the ferryman. Then, the gate guard. Even the hosteller in Bacca. Asking them all if they’ve heard of Myrddin.”

  Which is not the behaviour of someone clever enough to manipulate the Cheerful God.

  “I think Myrddin has a steading down near Indber Sceine, so why come here to look for him?”

  “Aye. It’s not making much sense.”

  “Unless he’s here on behalf of someone else,” she said. “And the portal was set so we would know.”

  But not by Bren. Someone—whoever controls him—set it.

  “Aye, I reckon you’re right,” Finn agreed. “But to do what?”

  “That’s what we need to find out, so it is.”

  “Not tonight, though. We should wait for the dawn before climbing off this Gods-forsaken tooth. We won’t get a ferry at this time, anyway.”

  “Would walking across the desert without the sun not be better?”

  “No. All sorts of beasties hunt in the night. Desert wolves love this area, and they hunt in packs. Better to move in the heat when they’re sleeping.”

  I would’ve made a mistake straight away, Bee allowed. Waiting for the tracker was a good idea.

  “Ye’ve meat?”

  “Aye. Wouldn’t be much of a tracker if I couldn’t bag a hare,” he said, taking the leather bag off his shoulder and holding it up.

  ***

  “What was that?” Finn asked, looking up from the hare spitting fat into the fire.

  “Sounded like a slap,” Bee said, looking over her shoulder at the cave entrance.

  “Two slaps,” Finn said as another echoed from the cave’s depths.

  Someone else using the portal. An Dagda had stressed the need for secrecy, so she doubted they were here for him, meaning whoever sent Bren also sent the newcomers.

  But to do what? The same question came to her as she stared hard into the darkness, but the firelight didn’t stretch far. Deep shadows shielded anyone who might be in the cave.

  “Watch out,” she yelled as a twang preceded firelight flashing on something metallic.

  A loud thock told her that Finn had avoided the arrow, which, when she looked, was quivering in a gnarled old tree that somehow survived the climate. Someone cursed in the deeper shadows, and she heard a whispered argument.

  “Keep yer head down,” she called, nodding when Finn ducked behind the tree.

  Standing, Bee held her hands apart, curved as if holding a large ball and concentrated on drawing Earth Power from the Source. When An Dagda said she was his cailleach, this is what he meant. Like Brenós, she could channel power from the Source. Those who could do so were few. As she concentrated, a ball of energy materialised in her hands, and she threw it into the cave. At the same time, the assassin let fly their second arrow. When it passed through the energy, the arrow crumbled into ash, and Finn whistled.

  “Prepare yerself,” Bee warned, just as a wail of pain erupted from the cave and two figures all in black ran out. They carried longswords, and Bee worried that Finn might be unable to fight them both. She need not have worried. Glancing at him, she saw him crouched with one foot before the other, legs apart, knees loose and bent slightly. His sword and knife were angled up. He was waiting for the assailants to make their move. Judging by his grin, he enjoyed a fight.

  The cloaked and hooded figures were circling him warily. They appeared to know Bee would need time before she could tap the Source again. Finn was the immediate threat, and they concentrated on him.

  The way they circled, she was constantly in the eyeline of one or the other but only from the corner of an eye. Any fast attack would not be detected quickly enough. With speed, Bee had an advantage. She didn’t need an invitation when an opportunity presented itself. Drawing her long, curved dagger, she jumped toward the nearest assassin. The killer spun with their sword angled up and their other arm raised for balance. Bee was already too close for the sword to be of use. She hugged the killer with her left arm, feeling the hardness of tight muscles, and plunged her knife into their side under the balancing limb. Distracted by the movement, the other turned toward Bee’s deadly dance.

  “Ebliu!” she called in a high-pitched voice.

  Ban Sídhe and lovers, Bee realised.

  Seeing his opportunity, Finn wasted no time in slashing his blade in a diagonal arc, which cut the killer from shoulder to gut. She dropped her sword and fell to their knees, keening, trying to hold the gash together so her guts wouldn’t flop out onto her lap.

  One look convinced Bee that she was no longer any threat.

  Turning to the one she’d stabbed, Ebliu, she saw her lying on her side, knees drawn up. Throwing back the hood, Bee was surprised to see her staring defiance from a face in the rictus of a painful death.

  “Who sent ye?” she asked.

  The woman just grinned, showing blood streaking her teeth and bubbling with each laboured breath. The knife stroke had punctured a lung, and she could count her lifespan in moments. The killer would either drown or bleed to death, neither very pleasant nor taking too long.

  “Other one’s already dead,” Finn said, bending to wipe his blades on her cloak. “Both women.”

  “Aye. And lovers, it would appear. Even stranger than me freezing me arse cheeks off.”

  “So, that slapping was them using the portal?”

  Bee shrugged. “Aye. I should have known, except I ain’t ever heard a portal being used before. Always been through on me own, like.”

  “How d’you get them outta the cave?” Finn asked.

  “Heat. It was a heat hex. Simple but effective. Difficult to trace. An Dagda told me to keep me head down. Complex hexes act like signal beacons to anyone watching for them.”

  “Who’d be watching?” Finn asked, his expression incredulous.

  Bee shrugged, thinking it was not the right time to tell him what the Master suspected. An Dagda had been adamant that she could trust the tracker, but Bee never trusted easily. Until she was sure of the tracker’s loyalty, she would keep a lot of what she knew to herself.

  Not that I know much, she admitted.

  “Ye sleep. I’ll keep watch,” she said, picking up her bedroll.

  “I’m goin’ to eat some hare first. It’s only a little charred. Besides, I don’t think we’ll have more visits tonight.”

  “Aye. Ye’re right. Still, I’m going to put me bedroll away from the cave, so I am.”

  “Not too far from the fire. Don’t forget the wolves.”

  “I’ve not heard any wolves,” Bee said, looking over her shoulder despite being sure he was teasing her.

  “Aye. That’s the scariest thing, I reckon. Silent as desert mice, they are.”