Chapter Nine

A rough hand shook my shoulder, and my eyes snapped open, Scáthach’s grim face swimming into view. “Wake up. Your screaming will raise the whole camp.”

For a moment, I forgot where I was, still lost in a nightmare. Sleeping next to Finn had kept them at bay, and without him, my thoughts swam in chaos, even in sleep. I sat up, scrubbing my face and sweeping my curtain of hair over my shoulder. “What time is it?”

A thin indigo light leaked through the seams of the tent, the camp outside quiet, aside from the solemn cooing of a dove far away.

“It’s time for you to get on your feet, you worthless witch,” Scáthach snapped, grabbing her spear. She eyed a line of weapons on the foot of her mat. Studying a staff, she grasped it and threw it at me.

It banged into my forehead with a thunk, and sharp pain blasted through my skull.

“Ow!” I grabbed at my brow, a lump already growing on my temple.

“Shut up,” Scáthach hissed. “Grab that staff and follow me.”

She stalked toward the entrance, glancing over her shoulder then grasping at the tent flap. “Unless you changed your mind about training?”

I took hold of the staff, weighing it in my palm. It was a bit heavier than my spear, well, Cuchulainn’s spear now. My mind twisted with the logic of that, and I gave up, scratching my head. Heaving myself up with the butt of the spear, I vaulted out of the tent, racing after Scáthach.

The wild roar of the camp had settled down in the early morning hours, the smell of smoldering fires scalding my nostrils. A soft mist settled over the pointed tents, and I pulled my cloak up higher, shivering beneath the coarse material. Scáthach marched forward in bands of leather that would be suitable for a high-end strip club, but if the cold bothered her, she didn’t show it. She wore the skimpy leather like a badge, her skin all the uniform she required. Celtic knot tattoos swirled with every movement, the flex of her biceps, the tension in her calves. The vulnerability I had glimpsed last night at the sound of Maeve’s lover had all disappeared, and nothing remained but sharp steel. The legends had never hinted at Scáthach’s number one crush being Maeve, but I wasn’t about to needle her about it.

“Do you think the Queen will want to attack today?” I ventured after a long, uncomfortable silence. We needed to get this show on the road, and my insides twisted with impatience, thinking of Finn waiting for me in Morven’s tent. Scáthach paused in the middle of a field, high grass grazing our thighs. A pale sun skimmed the horizon, the dew glistening like diamonds. With a frown, she planted her spear into the ground and raised an eyebrow.

“You wish to learn how to wield a spear,” she declared without blinking.

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I mean, yes. But I was wondering about the bull—”

She raised her hand. “I told you. We attack when the Queen says it’s time. Have you had any training?”

“A little.”

She nodded. “Let’s see it then.”

“Yeah. Ok. All right.” My hands started to shake, and I cursed myself. I possessed the power to make Scáthach’s head explode by channeling the essential energy of the universe, but I couldn’t wield the spear in that moment to save my life. Not like this. Not like her.

“Now!” she bellowed.

“Oh,” I said, my chest tightening. “Okay.”

I settled into the first formation Grainne had taught me. Up. Down. Side. Side. Thrust.

With a satisfied exhale, I flashed her a grin.

Her frown remained, and she leaned on her spear as if it could transport her to some other place.

“Again,” she said.

I lunged, repeating the formation.

“Again.”

Swallowing an exasperated sigh, I moved through the steps again.

“Again.”

We did this a dozen times. A hundred times. Scáthach never moved. The wind picked up, but it didn’t disturb a hair on her blond head. Hot sweat beaded on my forehead, and I gritted my teeth, wanting nothing more than to peel away my cloak. But I didn’t dare stray from Scáthach’s orders, her steely gaze. I wanted to prove myself to her, to show her I could do this formation, take orders. I didn’t know why her approval mattered, why I needed that frown to disappear from her formidable face made so frightening because there was no denying how beautiful she was. Like a true warrior goddess. She possessed a beauty outside of time, outside of definitions and labels. The kind of beauty that made you dance, made you perform, made you throw everything away for the promise to become new again. I did my forms, and with each thrust of my staff, I found greater precision, a kind of strength I had never known. And that was why I didn’t even register the clip on my chin that sent me sprawling on my ass.

“Jesus!” I gingerly grasped at my jaw. “What the hell?”

I barely had time to parry before she attacked again, and I pounced to my feet, moving through my formation. The strength of her blows sent shockwaves through my arms, but I met her with all the force I had, finding a way to absorb her brute power to send it back to her. It felt as smooth and even as poetry. The slam-thunk-slam-swipe-thunk-slam of her spear against mine. The rhythm moved through me, and I breathed it in, her power, her beautiful assault.

Crack.

Blood filled my mouth, and before I could scream, she swept me off my feet with the slightest of movements so effortlessly, it only took the gentle morning breeze to send me slamming against the ground. I let out a throaty moan as all the air escaped my lungs, and I opened my eyes just in time to find the glinting point of her spear in my face.

“Your teacher taught you well, witch,” she said. “But you lack discipline.”

Discipline. Patience. Clear pores. The list of things I lack goes on…

I inched away from Scáthach’s spear. “Funny, my teacher said the same thing.”

Scáthach twirled her weapon, clutching it by her side. “And what do you do? Make jokes? Do you find death funny?”

Heat blazed in my face. “You don’t know me.”

“I know a fool evades. Hides. Escapes.” She pointed a long finger at me. “You want to learn to fight, then you show up for the pain.”

I slammed my fist into the ground. “The fuck you know about pain?”

Scáthach smiled, her gaze glancing up to the sky, now a brilliant white. “Enough.” She turned to me, stretching out a hand. “Enough to know it will find you. Always.”

I glanced at her hand, her calluses clear as dazzling light burned through the hardened skin.

I thought of Morven. That Red Druid always had a greater plan. He was one of the original creators of the Veil, and he understood how to orchestrate a million different threads, weave the world to his own making. He’d brought me here for a reason. Not just to find Bel, but to be here. Actually be here. It was the reason he’d given me that pistol back in the London Underground—the other one. He wanted to make a warrior out of me. Or perhaps he knew the warrior I would need to become. He sent me here to change history, to change the present, because he knew I wasn’t ready.

I grasped her hand, and she lifted me to my feet with effortless strength.

“Will you teach me that move?” I asked, spitting out a glob of blood.

She nodded, letting me go and picking up my staff. She threw it at me, and I caught it, sinking into first position.

“I’m ready,” I said.

Scáthach picked up her spear. “Here’s the first thing you need to know…”

She proceeded to explain it to me in clipped terms, guiding my arms and showing me how to sweep in such a way my enemy wouldn’t know what hit him. We practiced like that for hours, until the sun drifted high in the sky and my body was drenched in sweat.

Finally, after I almost swept Scáthach off her feet, she took hold of my staff and twisted my wrist in such a way I couldn’t do anything but release it from my grip. It fell to the ground with an unceremonious thud.

“That’s enough for today,” she said. “The Queen will be awake by now. We’ll need to sort out our attack.”

“Make sure we have enough rose petals, you mean?” I kept my face smooth and blinked slowly.

Scáthach snorted, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips before her usual taciturn frown replaced it. “Something like that.”

…

We trained like that for several days, escaping from the tedium of camp life whenever we could to sneak in practice. Every morning I asked Scáthach if the Queen was ready, and every morning the reply was the same. A short grunt and a small shake of her head. Scáthach’s training regimen left me black and blue and aching all over, but I immersed myself in the rhythm of it, the constant demands she made on my body, making me forget for a moment the urgency of my own time and the warm arms of Finn waiting for me.

After one particularly grueling session, we sauntered back into the camp. As soon as we stepped to the perimeter of the tents, I knew the mood had shifted. Soldiers practically danced through the camp, wide smiles plastered across their faces. A burly warrior pushed a wine goblet in Scáthach’s hands, his eyes sparkling from deep in a bushy beard and scraggly hair.

“The Druids did it!” he exclaimed.

Scáthach paused for a moment, and then she threw the wine in the air with a wild whoop before bolting through the maze of tents. I rushed to follow her, darting through the dancing and staggering soldiers, drinking and bellowing lewd songs. When I finally caught up to Scáthach, she was standing beside Maeve at the edge of the camp, staring down at Conchobar’s army below. My lungs ached as I stumbled up the cliff, huffing and gasping for air. What had been a roaring wall of humanity on the plains below now lay silent as the grave. Bodies lay strewn everywhere, endless piles of them as far as the horizon.

“Are they dead?” I said, blinking against the dazzling sunlight.

Meave laughed. “No, just asleep.”

I shook my head, recalling the details of the legend. In the Táin Bó Cúailnge, Maeve’s Druids had inflicted a powerful sleeping spell on Conchobar’s soldiers. I always thought it was preposterous. A sleeping spell! It was straight out of a B movie, but there they lay. Thousands of Conchobar’s men sprawled out and snoring.

“And what of Cuchulainn?” Scáthach scanned the ravine below.

Maeve shook her head. “It had no effect. He still guards the pass.” The Queen turned to me and flashed a seductive smile. “Come, sorceress. We have much to discuss.”

We strolled back to Maeve’s tent, the whole time Maeve waving and grinning at her loyal soldiers, encouraging them to dance and make merry. Her face turned serious as soon as we entered the tent, and she stretched out beside the smoldering fire. She gazed into the red coals for a moment then reached for an apple. She glanced up at me and, grasping a razor-sharp blade, began cutting tiny slivers from its core, her eyes never leaving mine.

“So you can travel into the bull’s pen and bring it here to me?” she asked.

Her lover, whom I presumed was the warrior Fergus, sat beside her, his long bushy mustache turned down in a frown.

I nodded, glancing at Scáthach.

“It’s part of my particular skill set.” I shrugged, folding my hands in my lap. “I can show you.”

Maeve waved at Scáthach, giving her consent, but the warrior woman shifted, her hands falling instinctively to her side near the spear slung to her back.

“It’s okay,” I said in a quiet voice. “I do it all the time. Watch.”

I closed my eyes and grasped at Scáthach’s energy. In a moment, we snapped back into the world on the other side of the tent.

“This is just a demonstration,” I said. “I can go anywhere as long as I know where I’m heading.”

Scáthach stared down at her body, shaking her head and patting herself down, obviously to ensure all her parts were still there. Maeve’s face remained impassive, but her eyes glittered.

“There are things we’ll need to put in place to ensure everyone’s safety,” I continued. “I won’t bring this bull to you just to be gored. I’ll need warriors with me when I travel to its pen, and then I’ll need handlers ready to take care of it.”

She nodded. “The men of Ulster lie in a slumber, and only the warrior Cuchulainn stands in our way. We prepare for battle.” She turned to Fergus. “See to it.”

Fergus nodded and swept out of the tent.

Maeve turned to Scáthach. “The men of Ulster slumber for now, but who knows what our warriors will face when we arrive at the fords? We must be ready.”

I bit my tongue, knowing exactly what they’d face—Cuchulainn’s warrior-berserker spasm and the slaughter of most of Maeve’s fighting forces. Things wouldn’t end well for her, but that was none of my business. I had come to help Maeve and find Bel to save the world. If this lady had some weird bull-obsession-male-castration-fantasy, that was her deal, not mine. Round up the bull, bring it back. If I didn’t get gutted in the process, I would consider it a fair day’s work.

Scáthach bowed to Maeve and called to me. “Come with me, witch.”

I made to leave, but Maeve raised her hand. “No, you will stay and talk with me a while.”

Scáthach bowed and followed Fergus out of the tent. I sat back down and Maeve poured two goblets of wine, pushing one toward me.

“From Greece,” she said. “Do you know this place?”

Taking a long sip of the wine, I nodded, cupping the stem of the clay goblet between my fingers. “Yes, your highness.”

“So you are well traveled?”

“My father was a…a warrior,” I stammered. “A soldier. I followed him wherever he went.”

She blinked in slow motion, her intense green gaze making my skin crawl. “But you are from Connacht, yes?”

I cleared my throat. “I met a man from Connacht who took me in and made me one of his people.”

She smiled and tilted her head. “This is the man you seek. Why you need to find Bel.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Maeve sipped her wine, studying me over the rim of her cup. Her movements were slow, sloth-like, barely perceptible. She set down her goblet and folded her hands in her lap. I shifted under her intense gaze, glancing about the tent, studying the brilliant silks and brocades. She had amassed not only an incredible army, but great wealth. She didn’t beg forgiveness for her ambition, not even in this man’s world.

“Can I ask you something?” I said, breaking the silence between us.

“By all means,” she replied.

I took a deep breath and gestured to the army beyond the tent. “How did you do it? Build such an army? How did you gain their loyalty? They would all die for you. I’ve seen it in their faces.”

A secretive smile stretched across Maeve’s lips. “Many of them will die, yes. But it won’t be for me.”

“Then what?” I shook my head, taking another sip of wine, the rich flavor going straight to my head. “What’s the secret?”

She chuckled beneath her breath. “No secret. The men out there”—she waved a lazy hand in the air—“they are as self-serving as I am. We don’t fight for anyone in particular. Oh, we might hold up such lofty ideals as family and kinship, but all those bonds break eventually. War involves a temporary peace among self-interested parties, and if you can find the source of what they truly desire, then you can lure them to your side.”

“So you manipulate them?” I parsed out the words, hesitating around the slight insult.

Maeve shook her head. “No, they are well aware of the dance and who they’ve chosen as a partner. The difference is…” She held up the knife, twirling it with a deft hand that defied her usually languid movements. With a seductive smile, she brushed the blade against her neck, the point leaving a small red line in her smooth white skin. “The difference is, I get what I want. I demand it. As selfish as men can be, they’re not always willing to take what they want from this world. Conchobar is the most ruthless man I have ever known. He took something from me I can never get back. I simply made a choice to take everything from him. There is power in that choice no one can deny.”

I leaned back on a pillow, taking in what Maeve said about defeating Conchobar. Clearly, she didn’t concern herself too much with her allies.

I had power, too. Different from Maeve’s, but I had made choices that led me down a path where failure was not an option. Expecting supreme loyalty in such a vast fighting force didn’t make sense, but perhaps there was another way—figuring out what different parties wanted for themselves and presenting them with an alternative plan of action in getting it. To defeat the Fir Bolgs and take back Teamhair, I needed to find a different path, and I needed more fighters. If I could make an ally with Trinity, perhaps that would give us enough fighting power to change the tide of the rebellion. The very thought of asking the Fianna leader Amergin the Bard and Loren of the Druids for aid made my stomach churn, but maybe that was it. Maybe when I went to them, I wouldn’t ask.

When. If.

I was still stuck in the Bronze Age, and if I didn’t figure out how to get this bull in Maeve’s hands, I probably would be stuck here for all eternity.

“How did you come by these powers?” Maeve said, interrupting my thoughts.

I jumped, spilling my wine on my palm.

“I was born with them,” I replied, wiping my hand and shifting forward. “My mother was—”

“A Fae,” Maeve interrupted. “That much is clear. But who taught you? Did she?”

I shook my head. “She…wasn’t around. A dark wizard imprisoned me and trained me, taught me how to use my powers.”

“Is that right?” Her fingers trailed down a dark green ribbon in her hair. “And what did he want you for?”

“To fight. In an army.” I shrugged. “I suppose like this one.”

Maeve grabbed hold of my wrist. I startled away, but she pulled me toward her until our noses almost touched.

“I don’t enslave people, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She reached up and smoothed a lock of my hair away and behind my ear. “And I especially do not enslave women. You serve in this army of your own free will.”

I nodded, and she smiled, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth.

“But I could pay you well, witch,” she said. “If you remain in my employ.”

I locked eyes with her and studied the kaleidoscope pattern of her irises, green flecked with gold, darkness in the middle as endless as a well.

“I just want to find Bel and return home,” I said softly.

She snorted, looking away toward the opening in the tent where Fergus and Scáthach had swept through minutes before.

“So.” I cleared my throat. “I was wondering. Why the bull? What’s it to you?”

She arched an eyebrow, her fingers tracing the edge of her wine goblet. “Bulls have great power.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I get that, and I know you want to stick it to Conchobar. But all this”—I arched an eyebrow and cocked my chin to beyond the tent—“it’s a lot.”

She gazed into my eyes, and I resisted the urge to squirm, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck. The air grew thick between us, and I wondered if she might speak again. Finally, after what felt like ages, she set down her wine goblet and flexed her fingers.

“Conchobar’s power is great,” she whispered, cocking her head to the side. “But only I know his secret. The bull, the Donn Cúailnge, possesses the blood of the Morrígan in its fertile veins. The person who controls the bull controls all of Ireland.”

I nodded, taking another sip of my wine goblet. I needed that blood. Just one drop of it could destroy that device. But who knew what I could do with more? Make weapons, perhaps create my own bombs.

No.

I just needed enough to keep the universe from falling apart…although the idea of building our arsenal certainly was appealing.

“The Morrígan, the Goddess of War, blessed Conchobar with this bull,” she continued, “giving the Ulster King unnatural strength and power. I will not rest until I take everything from him.”

“Sounds fair.”

Maeve stood up, brushing her skirts. “We must make preparations. You will assist Scáthach with anything she needs.”

I bowed, but Maeve glided past me, lingering at the entrance to the tent.

“You see, the bull is powerful. But so am I, sorceress.” Her features sharpened as her eyes narrowed on me. “Betray our agreement, and you will suffer.”

I gulped down the rest of my wine, trying to keep my hand from shaking. I wandered over to my sleeping mat and stretched out, staring up at the ceiling, my thoughts sailing up and out into the universe. Maeve was ready to attack. Finally. I reached into my rucksack and pulled out the sleeping draught, the vials, the knife, before stuffing them back again. I needed to fulfill my mission. Find Bel. Return home and leave this strange world behind.

Someone shook me awake, and I bolted to sitting, my forehead smacking right into Scáthach.

“Ah! Fuck!” I hissed, rubbing my scalp.

Her hand slapped against my mouth. “Quiet,” she hissed.

With a grunt, she pulled me to standing, and I stumbled after her and out of the tent. A light mist dampened my cheeks, and I blinked as she shoved a staff in my hands.

We marched to the edge of the camp, only a few soldiers glancing up as we passed. When we reached the clearing, Scáthach snapped her fingers, and I began practicing the sequence from yesterday. She watched, leaning on her deadly spear, her eyelids half closed.

With a blurred motion I didn’t even register, she slammed the butt of her spear into the back of my knees, cutting me on the chin. A blast of pain swept through my jaw, and I let out a yelp.

I made to stand up again, but she shoved her spear in my face.

“You always have these nightmares?” she asked, her steely eyes leveling me.

“No.”

She pushed the blade closer to my neck.

“Okay, yes.” I raised my hands in surrender, releasing my staff. “What’s it to you?”

The blade retreated an inch. “I don’t like my sleep disturbed, nor do I like the Queen’s slumber interrupted.”

“Yeah, sorry.” I glanced down, rubbing the crack in my jaw.

“What ails you in your dreams?” she demanded.

“None of your business,” I snapped.

“You are my business, sorceress,” she said, raising the blade again. “You screamed out a name. Finn.”

“It’s”—I let out a long sigh—“it’s my man.”

She nodded. “You think Bel will help you return to him?”

I shook my head, staring at my hands. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

She lifted her spear and extended a hand to me. “Get up. We only have an hour until our council meeting.”

Scáthach showed me a new routine, rapping the back of my knees every time I would misstep. Somehow, the second form seemed easier than the first, the movements more natural. Scáthach still scowled at me, a hard frown painted across the delicate planes of her features.

In the middle of my form, I blurted out, “When did you start working for Maeve?”

She narrowed her eyes at me, her fingers gripped tight on her spear. “I don’t work for Maeve. I protect her. It has always been thus.”

“But you taught Cuchulainn, didn’t you?” I settled into my form, moving the staff back and forth in sharp, controlled motions. “You didn’t always follow Maeve.”

A blur of movement swept before my eyes, and Scáthach knocked me on my ass again. I barely had time to block and jump to my feet, pivoting to the side to escape a deadly blow.

“How do you know so much about me, sorceress?” she demanded.

I parried and stepped forward, whirling my staff in a sweeping arc Scáthach easily blocked.

“Who doesn’t know about the great warrior Scáthach?” I said, flashing her a wide grin. I grunted as she turned and attacked, the reverberations of her staff tremoring up through my hands and arms. “You once lived in Scotland, right?”

She sneered, and I barely bounced off a blow to my jaw. “Why do you ask?”

“You trained Cuchulainn.” I attacked, pinwheeling my staff before I sent it crashing down to the crown of her head. She blocked and, with a snarl, planted a firm blow to my side. I crumpled, only glancing up in time to lift my staff to guard my face before rolling away.

“You gave him a spear.” I panted, rolling my staff in my fingers and twirling it around my body. “The Gae Bolg.”

“So I did.” Her gaze pierced through me. “As a dowry for my daughter.”

I blinked, trying to recall the legend. “Uatach?”

Scáthach lunged forward, her eyes blazing. “How do you know her name?”

“Whoa!” I blocked, my arms aching from the brunt of her attack as I moved at lightning speed to protect my vital organs. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

Scáthach sent a brutal attack to my shins, and I let out a howl of pain. She whacked me between my shoulder blades, and I tumbled to the ground.

The sharp point of her spear appeared right between my eyes, and my vision blurred.

“Cuchulainn promised to marry my daughter,” she hissed. “And when he left her, she wasted away. Died of a broken heart. My great warrior child, shattered by that selfish boy. I wish he had never come to me. I wish I had never trained him. He was not deserving.”

A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, my hair whipping around my face. “Why train me, then?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Because I see the weakness in you. And the strength. You are at war with yourself.”

I frowned, swallowing the hard lump in my throat. “You’re wrong.”

She raised her chin. “Then, what will you do when you face Conchobar’s army? When you face Cuchulainn?”

I grasped the cold grass, tearing it in tufts in my shaking palms. “Cuchulainn? I’m just here to get the bull. I’m just here—”

A shiver swept through me, and my stomach dropped as realization tore through me.

“Oh,” I said.

Scáthach’s face turned white and she pulled her spear back.

I swept it away, staggering to my feet. “Tell me the plan.”

She shook her head, turning away.

“Tell me the plan!” I demanded.

She whirled around. “The bull is enchanted. Only the person who defeats Cuchulainn will be able to take it. It has to be you, sorceress. You will be Maeve’s champion.”

I blinked, a snorting laugh bubbling out of my mouth. “Oh, okay. Sure. I’ll just waltz in and defeat the greatest Celtic warrior of all time.”

Scáthach arched an eyebrow. “What’s a waltz?’

I barely registered her question, sweeping my hair away from my face and glaring up at the sky. “Maybe I’ll shake my staff at him and ask him nicely. Jesus! What the fuck?”

I let out a frustrated cry and stomped across the clearing, throwing my staff to the side. “I knew this was too easy.” I turned around. “Was this your idea?”

Her eyes shifted to the side.

“So what’s all this?” I gestured wildly to the clearing. “Teach me just enough tricks so this isn’t a complete suicide mission? You can’t believe for one second I can win against him.”

Scáthach’s eyes turned red, and she let out a great howl as she advanced on me, her spear shimmering in the morning light. I had barely a moment to draw from my Aisling energy and travel out of the way and five feet to the side. Scáthach whirled her staff over her head and leaped in the air, the blade whispering across my ragged cloak. I traveled out to where my staff lay on the ground. Picking it up, I only had a half a second to block her second advance, traveling in and out to slow down her attack. I materialized behind her, sending a brutal kick to her hamstrings, whirling my staff in the air to take out the back of her skull. At the last second she blocked and rolled, twirling with the grace of a dancer, only to sweep her blade in a great arc straight for my bowels.

Something burned against my chest, and blood thundered in my ears as time began to slow down by clicks. One click. Two clicks. Three clicks. The blade growing slower and slower until it hovered just a hairsbreadth from my abdomen. I had never wielded power like that, controlled time, bent it to my will. With a sharp grunt, I parried the attack, and time sped up again. But my abrupt assault sent Scáthach spinning, staggering across the clearing and tripping over her own feet. She stumbled to the ground, and without a second thought, I slammed the butt of my spear toward her solar plexus. Her arm blurred and she grabbed my staff, her wrist straining, the muscles so tight I thought they might pop through her skin.

I let out a long exhale, and she met my dark stare with an even deeper frown.

“When you fight, you are just mirroring the moves, the things people have told you,” she said. “Now it is time to fight as yourself, with all the gifts the gods have given you.”

I shook my head, glancing down at my hands. How had I stopped time? Slowed down the world? A cold chill swept through my veins, and I flexed my shoulders, wondering if I could repeat that power. I glanced up at Scáthach, clutching my spear against my body as if I could hide behind it.

“But isn’t that a crutch?” I said. “Like cheating?”

She let out a barking laugh. “Oh, you think this is fair? Is it fair the gods made women small and men like Cuchulainn into giants?” She pounded her chest. “What I lack in strength, I have made up with skill and precision. But you…you have a gift. Embrace it. Do not fear what you are and what you can do. That is what will ultimately defeat you. The fear.”

She marched back toward the camp, the burning mist swirling around her knees.

“I believe you can win, sorceress,” she called over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have trained you if I didn’t.”