me. “Worm pups,” he repeats, softly this time.
“Goll!” I shout. The old warrior glances at me. “We’re leaving.”
“But —”
“Don’t argue!” I move ahead with Run Fast. “We’ll die here. But I think, if we carry on, there’s . . .” I stop, not sure what might lie beyond, but sensing in my heart that it’s better than this.
Everybody’s looking at me now, torn between hope and suspicion.
“This place isn’t much,” Fiachna says, “but it’s defendable. If we’re caught on the run, we’re finished for sure. Are you certain...?”
“Yes,” I growl. “We have to go. Now. We’re dead if we don’t.”
“But we’ll live if we do?” Connla asks dubiously.
“Perhaps.”
It’s not enough. They don’t trust my instincts. They’re going to stay. I open my mouth to argue afresh, but then Orna lowers her knives and comes to my side. “I’m with the girl.”
“Why?” Goll asks — not a challenge, just curious.
Orna shrugs. “A feeling.”
Lorcan taps a few of his earrings with a knife tip. “I don’t feel like we’ll live if we go, but I’m sure we’ll die if we stay.”
Goll looks around at the others and asks the question with his eyes. They answer with weary glances and resigned shrugs. “So be it,” he says, sheathing his sword. “Bec — lead us.”
We run.
Sweat. Terror. The sounds of chasing demons. Almost upon us. A minute, maybe two, and we’ll be forced to stop and fight — stop and
die.
The trees are thick around us. Impossible to see far. It’s dark.
Too
dark. I look up and notice extra branches, scraps of cloth, thatch torn from roofs, all sorts of bits and pieces scattered among the treetops, linking the upper branches, keeping out the light of the moon and stars.
My stomach sinks. This is a trap! I was wrong. Run Fast
was
sent to lead us to our doom. And we fell for it. I start to shout a warning, even though it’s far too late. Then...
We burst into the open and come to a surprised halt. There’s a clear circle around us and at the center — a ring of giant stones. Most are taller than me. Some even tower above the lanky Ronan and Connla. Set in the ground at regular intervals. Ancient, covered in moss and creepers. A place of magic, but magic from a time before ours, the time of the Old Creatures, when this country was the playground of the gods.
The demons are hot on our heels, surging up behind us, their stench foul in the air. “Come on!” Fiachna screams. We fly forward at his call, rushing to the stones, readying ourselves for battle.
We spill past the stones, into the middle of the ring. The stones won’t provide much cover but they’ll make it slightly harder for the demons to get at us and buy us a few seconds. They won’t make a real difference, but you’ve always got to live in hope. Before you die at the hands of a Fomorii.
Lorcan jumps onto a stone that fell on its side many years ago. He waves his sword over his head, screaming a challenge at the demons that are emerging from the cover of the trees. Dozens of twisted, hideous monsters. One has the body of a bear but the head of a hawk. Another looks like a wolf but its inner organs hang from its limbs. Claws, fangs, blood-red eyes. Nightmares everywhere I look.
The demons advance slowly. I assume they’re relishing the moment, prolonging it, toying with us. But then they stop and howl with anger.
As we stare at the demons beating the ground with their fists, or tearing it with their claws, cursing us in their own garbled language, Run Fast steps up behind me, lays a hand on my shoulder, and says with a confident little smile, “Worm pups.”
The Old magic is too strong for the demons. They can’t come within striking distance of the stones. A few try, over the course of the night, making darting runs, heads low, howling their defiance. Each comes crashing to a halt or is thrown back as if they’d run into a wall.
I wish we knew the magic of the Old Creatures. We
“Goll!” I shout. The old warrior glances at me. “We’re leaving.”
“But —”
“Don’t argue!” I move ahead with Run Fast. “We’ll die here. But I think, if we carry on, there’s . . .” I stop, not sure what might lie beyond, but sensing in my heart that it’s better than this.
Everybody’s looking at me now, torn between hope and suspicion.
“This place isn’t much,” Fiachna says, “but it’s defendable. If we’re caught on the run, we’re finished for sure. Are you certain...?”
“Yes,” I growl. “We have to go. Now. We’re dead if we don’t.”
“But we’ll live if we do?” Connla asks dubiously.
“Perhaps.”
It’s not enough. They don’t trust my instincts. They’re going to stay. I open my mouth to argue afresh, but then Orna lowers her knives and comes to my side. “I’m with the girl.”
“Why?” Goll asks — not a challenge, just curious.
Orna shrugs. “A feeling.”
Lorcan taps a few of his earrings with a knife tip. “I don’t feel like we’ll live if we go, but I’m sure we’ll die if we stay.”
Goll looks around at the others and asks the question with his eyes. They answer with weary glances and resigned shrugs. “So be it,” he says, sheathing his sword. “Bec — lead us.”
We run.
Sweat. Terror. The sounds of chasing demons. Almost upon us. A minute, maybe two, and we’ll be forced to stop and fight — stop and
die.
The trees are thick around us. Impossible to see far. It’s dark.
Too
dark. I look up and notice extra branches, scraps of cloth, thatch torn from roofs, all sorts of bits and pieces scattered among the treetops, linking the upper branches, keeping out the light of the moon and stars.
My stomach sinks. This is a trap! I was wrong. Run Fast
was
sent to lead us to our doom. And we fell for it. I start to shout a warning, even though it’s far too late. Then...
We burst into the open and come to a surprised halt. There’s a clear circle around us and at the center — a ring of giant stones. Most are taller than me. Some even tower above the lanky Ronan and Connla. Set in the ground at regular intervals. Ancient, covered in moss and creepers. A place of magic, but magic from a time before ours, the time of the Old Creatures, when this country was the playground of the gods.
The demons are hot on our heels, surging up behind us, their stench foul in the air. “Come on!” Fiachna screams. We fly forward at his call, rushing to the stones, readying ourselves for battle.
We spill past the stones, into the middle of the ring. The stones won’t provide much cover but they’ll make it slightly harder for the demons to get at us and buy us a few seconds. They won’t make a real difference, but you’ve always got to live in hope. Before you die at the hands of a Fomorii.
Lorcan jumps onto a stone that fell on its side many years ago. He waves his sword over his head, screaming a challenge at the demons that are emerging from the cover of the trees. Dozens of twisted, hideous monsters. One has the body of a bear but the head of a hawk. Another looks like a wolf but its inner organs hang from its limbs. Claws, fangs, blood-red eyes. Nightmares everywhere I look.
The demons advance slowly. I assume they’re relishing the moment, prolonging it, toying with us. But then they stop and howl with anger.
As we stare at the demons beating the ground with their fists, or tearing it with their claws, cursing us in their own garbled language, Run Fast steps up behind me, lays a hand on my shoulder, and says with a confident little smile, “Worm pups.”
The Old magic is too strong for the demons. They can’t come within striking distance of the stones. A few try, over the course of the night, making darting runs, heads low, howling their defiance. Each comes crashing to a halt or is thrown back as if they’d run into a wall.
I wish we knew the magic of the Old Creatures. We
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