The courtyard was quiet, despite the numbers within. To my right were the families of Ógán and Naomhán, all giving their farewells to their kinsmen. To my left were the bodies of the five cupbearers who had died in the attack. Their families had begun mourning them too. The witches huddled together in a circle beside the cupbearers, holding hands. Those who the Fomorians had burned in crow form had no bodies to recover. They had therefore died a true death and would not make it to the otherworld. More tears trailed down my cheeks at this realisation. While we mourned our father, we would see him again. It was not the case for everyone here.

  Lasair’s family came in last, and they laid him down beside Ógán. They nodded at Colmon as they passed, for my cousin had returned to the battle site to search for his body. He had found Lasair’s body, abandoned by the Fomorians on the road between Kilcolmon Monastery and Ráthteas, and had carried him home.

  Slowly, the courtyard filled with other Descendants. None had left since the Gathering. Everyone had stayed to attend the funeral and pay their respects to those who had sacrificed their lives to save everyone else. Soon, the courtyard was full.

  Anaile moved around the dead, talking with their families, and saying the words of farewell. I had vague memories of these words from Mother’s wake. Fódla had only been two years old at the time and had not attended it, but I had. Though she had died at home, Father had brought her here after she passed. Colmon had been there when she died, and had travelled to the fortress with us, and as a family, we had lain the body of my mother in this same courtyard, at the foot of this same tree. I had helped Father dress Mother in her silk dress and fur cloak. I couldn’t remember what happened afterward, though, only the bright light that had blinded my eyes, and that I had woken the next morning and wept because Mother was gone. This was the memory that had kept me from returning to the fortress, and why anytime Father had mentioned coming here, I had begged him to remain at the crannog. I wished now that we had never left. It was selfish of me to make such a wish, for Father’s actions had saved many. But grief is selfish, and I could not unmake what my heart desired.

  Anaile came to my father last. “Let us say goodbye to our friend, Ciarán,” he said, his voice thick with grief. “He was the greatest warrior of his time, his wisdom and strength a great source of comfort to me. Tonight, we will talk of him, of his good deeds and adventures, while his body will be taken to the otherworld by our ancestors. There, he will be reunited with the Descendants who have departed this land before us.”

  Colmon nodded and the Descendants in the courtyard walked past my father’s body and took turns to say their goodbyes to him. Everyone came. Those I knew from visits to the crannog – Úna, Cerball, Fiachre – and those I didn’t. There were many tears. A few of the older members had already started to speak of their memories, and soon the tears became mingled with laughter. Not all sorrow, not all joy, but a reflection of life itself. A weave. Threads moving around each other, sometimes pulled low, sometimes high. I liked to think that Father was rarely pulled low, but the truth was his life had begun over three hundred years before mine, and I knew little of what had come before me. I wished now that I had asked more. Listened.

  Fódla and I stayed kneeling by Father’s side, holding his hand and fixing the blanket Fódla had made, until at last, Colmon crouched down beside us.

  “You both need to step away now,” he said. “It is time.”

  Fódla sobbed, though she managed to walk away, but I froze, fear suddenly gripping me. The reason we gathered here with our dead was to wait for our ancestors to come and take the bodies of the dead to the otherworld. We waited with them, sometimes staying awake through the night, not only out of love, but because our ancestors did not always take the dead with them.

  It had only happened once in my lifetime, to a druid called Ailill. The ancestors had not claimed his body, and no one had understood it.

  I did not want that for Father, for if he did not cross over here, then we would have to bury him in the graveyard over the sandbank bridge alongside Ailill. It was a sad little place. Perpetually windy and on rocky ground, the only thing that grew there was the sister hawthorn tree to the one on the island. Twisted it was, bowed low so that the branches brushed the grass. It never flowered.

  Beside Ailill were the graves of our giftless children. There were twenty of them now. My father told me, in his youth, the birth of a giftless child was a rare occurrence, but during his lifetime the numbers had increased. Sometimes these children were sent away. But others couldn’t let their children go and kept them at their sides. I had always felt sorry for these children who remained with their parents. To be surrounded by such magic, only to never use it themselves, and wither and grow old in a blink of an eye, while everyone else around them remained young.

  So no, I did not want Father to be buried there. I wanted him to be reunited with my mother, and one day, to be with me and Fódla when our time ended.

  “Come, Rónnat,” Colmon said, tugging at my sleeve. I followed him this time, off the grass and over to the stony path. Everyone else was already there, watching the tree.

  Who knew how long the wait would be? We might be here through the night and into tomorrow, even the day beyond that. The first hours, almost everyone stayed, but after that, the Descendants would take turns, so that someone was always awake to watch over the dead and await the coming of the ancestors.

  A few of those who had no family among the dead came into the courtyard as the songs started, handing out platters of bread, cups of wine and jugs of milk. The songs started off slow and quiet, words of life and death put to music. Poetry. Then others joined in, the words carrying over the wind, rustling the leaves and flowers, and into the sky.

  “Look,” Laeg hushed. “The light.”

  I stared at the tree. The songs had only just started. It was too soon… but no, Laeg was right. The light had come, and it was growing.

  Colours fractured my vision. Yellow, blue, brown, pink, green, gold, silver, until the light grew so bright, it became white and too dazzling to watch. I kept my eyes on Father for as long as I could until the light forced my eyes closed, tears streaming down my cheeks as I tried with all my might to keep them open.

  Then a calm descended on me. A silence. Our ancestors were here, I knew it. I could feel it.

  “Are you listening?”

  My hair moved, tickling the back of my neck. No, I didn’t want to listen. I wanted the silence to return.

  “Are you listening?”

  No. Leave me be. I shouted the words in my head, over and over. When I stopped, I waited. The silence had returned. I closed my eyes tighter, hoping that the voice stayed away.

  “Rónnat.” Someone was shaking my shoulder. “Rónnat.” I opened my eyes and found Fódla at my side, holding me close. “They’ve all gone.” She gave me a weak smile. “They’ve taken Father. They’ve taken all those who fought and died in the battle.”

  One by one, the Descendants opened their eyes. Everyone smiled as they realised that their friends had reached the otherworld. Some walked forward to touch the hawthorn tree, while others simply said a word of thanks, then left to go into the great hall. A feast awaited us, and soon the courtyard emptied.

  “Come, Rónnat,” Fódla said at last. “Father is with Mother now. Let’s go and speak of him with his friends.”

  “Yes. I will follow you soon.”

  Fódla nodded and moved over to Gobnat and Tomas. Together the three of them walked to the great hall, leaving behind only Colmon and myself.

  “I had no doubt they would take him,” Colmon said to me. His voice was low and threadbare, his shoulders slouched forward.

  “It is said that the Tuatha Dé Danann can cross over, that they can see us, but we cannot see them. Why is that? Why do they not want us to see them?”

  Colmon shrugged. “I do not know, but I think Fódla is right. It is time to go.” He held out his arm, offering it so that we could walk into the great hall together.

  I didn’t want to go. Even though Father had crossed over, I wanted to stay with him a while longer. Could he see me now that he was in the otherworld? Was he watching us all leave him? Or was he already in the arms of my mother, rejoicing as he met with his family and friends who had died during his lifetime?

  I supposed I would not know until I passed into the otherworld myself. Seeing that my cousin was struggling to steady his own emotions, I took his arm and followed him out of the courtyard.

  The great hall was already filled with chatter and words and stories. Loud. Too loud. Tears and stories wove around each other. Laughter and sobs filled the air. The smell of wine and tears. While the noise, sudden and sharp, set me on edge, I stayed, enduring what I could to hear the stories of my father spoken.

  After a while, however, I sat in the corner and stared up at the golden tapestries. So beautiful, the golden cloth shimmering against the candlelight.

  “Are you listening?”

  The voice, low as a whisper, hissed in my ear.

  “Do you wish to see? I can show you.”

  My true answer was the same as last time. Leave me be. Except, for a reason I could not explain, I found myself whispering the word, “Yes”.

  I closed my eyes. Show me.

  In my mind, suddenly, I was back in the courtyard. Everyone around me was standing there as they had earlier. Their eyes were closed, the light too bright for their eyes. But not mine. This time I could see. I could see our ancestors moving from within the light. One of them was Mother, wearing her silk dress and fur cloak. She kneeled beside Father and touched his face. He woke up, smiling. Without wasting another moment, he jumped onto his feet. Laughing. Throwing his arms around her and holding her in the air. Others came forward. A man who looked just like my father, save for shorter hair and a thinner nose. Grandfather, I thought, though I had never met him. Father hugged him too and together they disappeared into the light.

  “Why can we not see?” I asked.

  “The land of the living and the land of the dead are separated by a veil.” A breeze blew over me as the voice spoke, lifting my hair from my shoulders. “The Tuatha Dé Danann can stretch the veil to the land around the tree, but no more. Only Morrígan was ever able to pass through, but even she now has lost this power. There has never been a Descendant with the power to cross over from the land of the dead into the land of the living. Not yet.”

  “Rónnat.” It was Colmon. He shook my shoulders. “Are you well?”

  I opened my eyes and sat upright. “Yes.”

  “You were shaking,” he said. “Here, I brought you a cup of wine.”

  He sat beside me, the shadow of concern not yet lifted from his eyes.

  I wanted to say more, but the vision I’d just had… I wanted to think on that more. There are no Descendants who have the power to cross over from the land of the dead into the land of the living. Not yet. What did that mean? That one day a Descendant would be able to move between both worlds? Like the Morrígan had once been able?

  “Are you worried?” Colmon asked me. “Your father told me of his fears that someone was watching you and Fódla. Is that what is playing on your mind?”

  I nodded, for I could not tell him of what I had seen.

  “You will look after Fódla, won’t you?” I asked.

  “Of course. I promised your father I would watch over both of you.”

  “What do you think of what Father said?”

  Colmon frowned, staring into the red wine swirling in his cup. “I find it hard to believe that one of our kind would try to take her. Why? For what purpose? Your father said he smelled the scent of who did it, and that he smelled it here… but his gift was fading when he arrived at the fortress, so much that he could not track it… which makes me question if he truly smelled it… or if it was a memory.”

  “What if he was right?”

  “Don’t worry, cousin. I won’t let anything happen to Fódla. She is safe here with her friends.” He cleared his throat. “Your father wanted her to stay here.”

  “I know.”

  “He wanted you to stay here too.”

  I sighed. He had. He’d wanted me to look after my sister, and he was right about bringing her here. She was happy. She found comfort in speaking with his friends, just as he had told me she would.

  “If Fódla stays, I’ll stay.”

  “Good.”

  Both our gazes turned to my sister. Once again, she was unaware of my attention, and I watched her face as it flickered with emotion. Grief. That was evident. But flashes of happiness came through. Fiachre stood with her, speaking of a time he and my father went hunting, and she was able to laugh at his story. Tomas stood with her too, smiling at her and giving her food from his plate.

  Amid the chatter, she paused and glanced around the room, until at last she found me and waved me over. Forcing myself to rise and join the fray, I walked to her side and held her tight.

  FENNIT ISLAND, 912

  Rónnat

  A grave.

  On the mainland, close to the sandbank bridge, a mound was covered in small stones. There were other mounds beside it, over a hundred. No crosses marked them, no flowers or keening women. Only a hawthorn tree, barren and bowed, grew close to the graveyard. All was quiet, save for a lone woman, covered in a green cloak. She walked over to the grave, the one covered in small stones, and began placing pebbles, coloured ones from the beach, over the top side of the mound. This grave was set apart from the others, freshly dug where the low branches of the hawthorn tree touched the ground. The bowed trunk cast a shadow over the woman, shrouding her in a darkness that was only matched by the grief in her eyes.

  The woman sat back to wipe her brow. It was Fódla. She didn’t stop for long and placed the final pebbles on top of the grave, singing a song through her tears.

  No one was with her. She was all alone, though I could not understand why this would be so. Who was dead, and why were they not buried at the hawthorn tree in the courtyard? And why were there so many other graves here? A hundred. Maybe more.

  A figure walked over the sandbank toward her. It was Tomas, his head lowered, gaze somewhere distant. That was until he reached my sister. Then he stared at her, focusing his eyes. No warmth to be found.

  “I’m sorry, Fódla,” he said. “I’m sorry about Aoife. I will miss her.”

  “Yes.” Fódla didn’t look up. She ran her hands over the grave and patted down the stones.

  Tomas kneeled beside her, his hand reaching out to hold hers, then thinking better of it, and pulling away. “The giftless children’s lives are brief. That is our lot as their parents, that we should outlive them and grieve for the rest of our days.”

  Fódla nodded, wiping away her tears. “In my dreams, I see her with my mother and father, and your father, too.”

  “I wish that could be so,” Tomas replied. “But a giftless child is mortal and cannot travel to the otherworld. You know this. That is why she is buried here.” He glanced around the other mounds. “So many giftless children have come to us these last hundred years. More than ever. I don’t understand it.”

  Fresh tears trickled down Fódla’s face.

  Tomas frowned and stared at the grave Fódla was tending. “Aoife was happy in life. That must be enough. And she would not want to see you so miserable. She would want you to be happy again.” This time, he leaned forward to brush the tears from my sister’s cheek.

  Fódla snatched her head away. “How can I be happy? How is it possible to feel that when my heart is so broken?”

  Tomas stood, stepped back, jaw clenched. Avoiding eye contact with my sister, he walked to the other side of the grave and pressed his hand over the last stone Fódla had set down.

  “Goodbye, daughter,” he said. “Rest now. Be at peace.” Without another word, he walked back to the sandbank bridge, and Fódla collapsed onto the stony mound, her arms spread over the grave.

  The wind blew, and the world changed, filling with colour. My mind spun, the colours weaving and pulling apart, until at last everything stilled.

  Fódla was standing in front of me, holding a bundle of cloth in her arms. The grave was gone, so was the hawthorn tree and sandbank bridge.

  I didn’t know this place.

  A large forest, ancient and wild, surrounded me. Wolf tracks marked the soil, but no birds sang here. No, only the golden sunlight lived, trickling through the branches of the nine yew trees which stood in front of me.

  The sun faded, with dark clouds forming in the sky above. “Fódla,” I said, holding out my arms to her. “We should leave. It’s not safe.”

  Fódla nodded, but before she could step away from the trees, a dark shadow rose from the ground and swarmed around her. A woman’s shadow. I remembered then that I’d never found the female Fomorian from my vision of the battlefield. Was this the same woman now? Had she survived?

  Fire danced on the shadow’s skin as she lurched forward. Fódla screamed as the shadow came closer, and she held the bundle in her arms tight to her body. A small wail came from inside the blankets, tiny fingers stretching upward.

  Fódla tried to run away from the shadow, but as she moved, it followed, spreading its fire onto her. This was like the dream I’d had the night of the Gathering. The flames, they always found my sister. The fire spread quickly, covering her body, spreading upward from her dress to her hair and to the baby in her arms.

  “Help us, Rónnat!” she cried. “Help us!”

  “Fódla!” I screamed. Only I wasn’t there. I couldn’t save her. I could only watch as she burned.

  “Are you listening, child?”

  The leaves of the yew trees rustled, the branches creaking as they bowed lower.

 

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