Chapter Two

I blinked, clutching my arm and barely noticing the blood seeping through my fingers. “What does that mean?”

Malachy didn’t have a chance to reply.

“Elizabeth!” Finn roared as he circled the bend, sweat beading down his red face. He barreled into me, clutching me against his chest. “What were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t let them get away,” I said into his boiled leather armor. When I first met Finn it was all crisp white shirts and pressed pants, but no longer. Not since the rebellion began. Beneath the dust and dirt covering his skin, he still smelled like home, like something warm and safe.

His hands grazed over my arm, and I sucked in my breath. Nausea twisted my insides and the pain grew to excruciating levels.

“And you’re hurt,” he scolded. “Why would you—?”

I wrenched away and glared at him. “Stop.”

He stilled and stared at me for a moment before his face softened. “Come here. Let me heal you.”

I took a deep breath and allowed his gentle hands to take my arm. Golden light shot from his fingertips, and my skin knitted together in seconds. Only a faint scar remained, and he traced a circle around it as if he could try to contain all my pain. Finn once fought as part of an immortal race of warriors called the Fianna—that is, before we met and began a forbidden love affair. You see, the magical races of Ireland were ruled by a loose confederation called Trinity. These races included the Fae, the Druids, and the Fianna. According to Trinity, the magical races were forbidden to mix, but, well, the heart wants what it wants. In any case, not every Fianna warrior had the gift of healing, but I was grateful my boyfriend did. I folded my hand over his and gave him a weak smile. He didn’t return it but instead glanced over my shoulder at Malachy.

“I hope you brought back something useful,” Finn said in a gruff voice.

“It’s great to see you, too, Fianna,” Malachy said. “I’m doing quite well after my perilous ordeal with the Fir Bolgs. Thank you for inquiring.”

I turned to the dearg-dubh. “So, tell us about this bomb.”

“A bomb?” Finn’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward, his muscles tensing.

I gestured to the ravine. “It’s down there.”

Malachy shook his head. “It’s some kind of explosive device. From what I gathered, the Fir Bolgs want to use it to break the connection to the mortal realm.”

I sucked in my breath. I knew of the Fir Bolgs’ plan but had no idea how they intended to do it. Tír na nÓg, the Faerie Realm, is connected to the mortal world, kind of like a parallel universe situation. Our worlds are separated by a wall of sorts, a Veil, created long ago, after the Celts banished the Fae from the mortal world. A bunch of magical folk created the Veil, a pact was signed, and both sides generally stayed out of each other’s business…until more and more Fae began crossing over to the mortal world. The Fir Bolgs wanted to stop all that co-mingling by severing Tír na nÓg permanently from the mortal world. Kind of like cutting off a tree branch from a huge oak. This would be all fine and good, but it would mean the end of magic in the mortal world, and not only that, who says they get to be in charge? I sighed, glancing up at the sky imagining the Veil, just beyond the mask of this reality. Sometimes I wished we could tear it all down and start over.

Finn’s mouth dropped open slightly, letting out a short breath. “How did they build something so powerful?”

Malachy shook his head and started for the ravine. “I’m not sure, but I can try to fill you in on the hike down.”

I made to follow, but Finn took hold of my arm. “You are not going anywhere near that thing.”

I twisted away from him, fresh rage welling up in my chest. “First of all, you don’t tell me what to do. And secondly, that bomb hasn’t gone off, so there must be a detonator somewhere. Haven’t you ever watched 24?”

Finn’s face screwed up in confusion. “24?”

“Never mind.” I shook my head.

“Elizabeth’s right,” Malachy called back to us. “Just don’t cut the blue wire, and you should be fine.” He paused for a minute. “Or is it the red wire?”

Finn grumbled, but he followed us anyway. “I have had training in explosives.”

“Oh, I know all about your work with explosives, Fianna,” Malachy said in a voice just loud enough for us all to hear. My heart lurched at the dearg-dubh’s barb, recalling the way Finn’s former commander had once blown up a building containing several dearg-dubh children. Finn had been there and had lost his wife in the fire. For years, he thought Malachy was at fault for her death (he wasn’t), but even with the whole situation cleared up, old grudges died hard. I glanced at Finn to see his reaction, but only a small flicker of his jaw muscle revealed he had heard Malachy.

I cleared my throat and gripped my spear tighter as we marched down the windy path into the ravine. “So, how did you get captured? Was it in Teamhair?”

Malachy smiled. “That is a fun tale, but the first thing you need to know is that the Fir Bolgs have taken the wizard Edward Thornton captive.”

I stiffened at the name, my blood turning to ice. Thornton was bad news. A powerful dark wizard who would do anything for more power. He had slain my thesis advisor over a magical book, and he had been a thorn in my side ever since. He wanted to use me, use my power for his own twisted ends. On his own, he was a straight-up menace, but the Fir Bolgs were using him somehow, and I had a feeling it had something to do with wanting to control the universe or something stupid like that. Why did supervillains always want to control the universe? I could barely control my ragtag crew of Faerie rebels on a good day.

“Edward Thornton?” Finn’s face bunched up in confusion. “What do they want with him?”

I swallowed hard, awareness hitting me right in the stomach. I was there the night the Fir Bolgs took Thornton prisoner. Between saving Finn, selling my soul to a demon, and trying to protect his Fianna friends, I had little time to process why the Fir Bolgs kidnapped him. Now it was all coming together.

“Thornton is the only person who has come close to accessing the Tree of Life.” Malachy’s long hair blew around his face, and he shoved the wild strands behind his ears as he glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t know how, but they’re forcing him to find it, and he’s getting close.”

I let out a long exhale, my skin prickling despite the dazzling sunlight pounding down on my head. I didn’t know what the Tree of Life was exactly, but I knew it was sort of like the root system that held this whole universe together. The mortal world, the Faerie realm, even worlds I had never seen. Most importantly, though, the Fir Bolgs wanted to cut off the branch of the Faerie realm, and this bomb was the thing they needed to do it—if they could get to the branch…root…stem…whatever.

“So, they were delivering the bomb to Teamhair. For Thornton,” I said.

“Yes,” Malachy replied. “The Tree of Life will function as a catalyst for the bomb, amplifying its power to sever us all from the mortal realm forever. At least that’s what the Fir Bolgs have been saying.”

My ears pricked up. “You managed to talk to them?”

Malachy turned, his translucent blue eyes twinkling. “Just a few, but that’s all I needed. It turns out not everyone is supportive of Balen’s plan.”

Balen was the leader of the Fir Bolgs. He had nearly killed us months ago, but now he had set his sights on greater ambitions.

“What do you mean, ‘not everyone’?” I asked.

Malachy leaned against a boulder, surveying the wreckage. Wooden crates, splintered and shattered, covered the ravine floor, the vestiges of the wagon like a broken toy with half of it sticking out of a small, rippling stream. I tried to follow his eyes, my shoulders tense as he searched for the Fir Bolgs’ bomb.

“I was in a shipwreck once,” Malachy said in a quiet voice. “A few centuries ago. I sat in the hull and watched as a single crack let in a tiny trickle of water. Then there was a second crack, and then another. Until the entire sea rushed in. There are so many types of power in the world, Elizabeth. The type of power the Fir Bolgs try to maintain? It might hold for a while, but eventually it will shatter.”

Malachy jumped over a fallen barrel, his sharp eyes still scanning through the debris. I looked at Finn, who shrugged then brushed past me to join the search.

I blew a lock of hair out of my face. “So, you’re saying not everyone’s on board with the plan. Do you think the Fir Bolgs will revolt against Belan?”

Malachy shot me a look before he continued sifting through the shattered planks. “I spoke with one lieutenant. They like ruling the Faerie realm, of course, but many of them don’t want to break off entirely.” The dearg-dubh laughed under his breath. “It seems after spending some time training in American facilities, a few of the Fir Bolgs have begun to enjoy what the modern world has to offer.”

I sniffed and thought about how much I would love a nice hot shower. Tír na nÓg had its perks, but hot running water, wifi, and Netflix sure weren’t among them, unfortunately.

“And many of them,” Malachy continued, “don’t care for Belan and how overbearing he is. They want something…well…” The dearg-dubh looked up into the blank blue sky, and then he glanced at me with a smile. “They want a democracy.”

I made a low harrumph in my throat. “They don’t act like it.”

“When you’re under an authoritarian regime, you act how the leader wants you to act,” Malachy replied.

“So what are we looking for?” I brushed away thick shrubbery, searching beneath its thorny leaves. Something glittered a few feet away, and I winced as the foliage scratched my skin. My fingers landed on something hard and metal, a slight hum of energy radiating from it. It was small, about the size of a half dollar. I pulled it free and stared at the shiny black object, my face reflecting in the dark surface. Wrapped around the edge were thousands of tiny tubes and wires faintly glowing and sparkling. I flipped it over and gasped, fumbling with the piece of metal and nearly dropping it. The wires connected in a pattern—the Tree of Life. It shimmered faintly as whatever substance it was infused with pulsed inside the intricate design.

“Is this it?” I said to Malachy and Finn in a weak voice.

Finn rushed to my side with a curse, his hands hovering around mine. “We need to contain it. Do we know where the detonator is?”

Malachy threw aside a discarded box and lifted a square piece of metal with a broken antenna. “Found it!” He looked at the side of the detonator and shook his head. “But I think it’s broken.”

“If it’s broken, why is it shimmering like this?” I called out in a thin voice; my hand started to shake, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

Finn let out a long, shuddering exhale. “The detonator might have been triggered.”

My breath hitched in my throat. “Do you know how to dismantle it?”

His face darkened. “This is far beyond my capabilities.”

“This thing could go off any minute!” My voice rose in a panic.

Malachy sidled beside me. “Well, it probably won’t go off in a minute…”

The device pulsed in my palm, radiating a seductive, beckoning power calling to my own aisling senses. I closed my fingers around it, trying to explore the nature of the magic embedded inside. Something dark and silky swept across the edge of my consciousness, and I lunged for it, trying to bring it into the light, put a name to it.

“Elizabeth!” a familiar voice snapped me back to reality, the bright sun searing through my brain as my eyelids fluttered open.

It wasn’t Finn calling to me, but Eamonn and Grainne searching for us.

Still gripping the device, I glanced up the ravine. “We’re down here.”

Eamonn would be able to figure it out. He could dismantle it or at least slow it down. I glanced down at the swirling wires and shimmering tubes overlapping in an impossibly intricate pattern, the roots so lifelike, it was as if they stretched and pulsed against the shiny metal, like they were digging into thick soil. The design reminded me of the talisman I wore around my neck, the Tree of Life symbol that belonged to the Fae. Yet, the design on the device had a much more sinister look to it, the branches sharper, more barren somehow. On closer study, the device was a mix of magic and circuitry similar to the M16s the Fir Bolgs toted across the countryside. My stomach dropped, thinking of those destructive weapons that had cut through so many of our rebel forces. Eamonn still hadn’t cracked the code to creating our own guns that could pierce through the Fir Bolgs’ immortality. We confiscated a bunch of the magic M16s, and we could knock them down with regular weaponry, but then what remained was a macabre ritual of beheading and burning. All Fae were immortal, and that was the only way to put them down for good—unless you had these mysterious, magical weapons. My heart ached thinking of the slaughter my rebels were undertaking along the Fir Bolgs’ path above the ravine. I folded up those feelings like an envelope and mailed it away into the abyss, the secret, endless dark corner I kept hidden away. I was getting good at compartmentalizing violence.

That was what worried me the most.

Eamonn huffed, grasping at the hem of his soiled Druid robes as he hustled toward us. “What’s that?” he asked breathlessly, Grainne jogging to his side, her eyes widening as she saw the device.

I let out a bitter chuckle. “It’s a sparkly.”

“A what?” Eamonn’s face crinkled into a question mark.

Finn’s hand closed over mine. “’Tis an explosive device,” he said through gritted teeth. “It could go off any minute.”

“Is there a detonator?” the Druid asked in a trembling voice.

“It’s here,” Malachy said, lifting the metal box in the air.

He glanced at the box and then back at me. “Give it here.”

Eamonn opened his palm, his fingers trembling slightly.

Grainne lunged forward, her green eyes bright with panic. Before she could intercede, I passed the sparkly to Eamonn. He whirled around, biting his bottom lip in concentration and peering down at the strange circuitry with an intense gaze. Minutes ticked by, the sun shining brighter and hotter overhead, the air so still, not even a leaf stirred in the trees. Finally, after what felt like hours, Eamonn let out a long exhale.

“I don’t think this is going to explode anytime soon,” he declared.

Malachy clapped his hands. “See! I told you it was fine.”

“But,” Eamonn interjected, “the magic inside the device is complex. I don’t recognize it at all.”

“How much time do we have?” Finn pressed.

“The Fir Bolgs will need to make another detonator to set off whatever power is inside here,” Eamonn replied. “I can place a protective spell around it, but those always come with a risk.”

Grainne shook her head. “You can’t risk blowing yourself up.”

“It wouldn’t just blow up the Druid,” Malachy snorted. “I’m pretty sure all of Tír na nÓg will turn into a parking lot if he starts fiddling with that thing.”

Grainne cursed. “Those devilish Fir Bolgs. What were they thinking unleashing such a weapon loose on the world?”

“They don’t care,” I whispered, shaking my head. “All they want is power. Power and isolation.”

Top-secret folks inside the American government wanted to tear Tír na nÓg apart from the mortal realm, to help the Fir Bolgs create their own dimension, cut off from everything. Those people armed them, helped them create their sparkly weapons, the ones that pierced through immortality. The exploding device was just one more iteration of their plan, or perhaps the final stage of an ongoing mission that had begun before I was even born.

“I will do my best,” Eamonn said slowly. “A containment spell will help guard it against any stray magic that might set it off.”

I nodded. “Let’s get back to the cave and regroup. It’s worth a try.”

We made a grim party as we marched back to the cave we had called home for the past six months. Hidden deep in the enchanted Seven Woods, our stronghold had become a vast camp of all sorts of Fae seeking refuge from the Fir Bolgs. We kept a strong watch, but the chaos and cacophony of so many different magical races had reached a fever pitch I could barely control. My dad was in the Army, and he said the worst thing about battle is waiting. Waiting—and boredom.

As we passed through the last checkpoint, I glanced at the púcas, now transformed, their confiscated weapons carelessly slung against their shoulders. They straightened as they caught my eye, clearing their throats, their jaws hardening. Finn had all but begged me to meet the Fir Bolgs on the battlefield, but were we ready? Did we have the arsenal we needed? One more raid. One more mission. We would only have one chance to take Teamhair, and we had to do it right.

We veered right and climbed down a tunnel leading us to Eamonn’s chambers and his secret “laboratory”, as we called it. I motioned to Malachy, Grainne, and Eamonn to go ahead before turning to Finn.

“Are you okay?” I asked in a soft voice.

“I don’t like any of this. The bomb. Thornton. None of it bodes well.” His eyes darkened, and he frowned, staring at my pocket where I had slipped the strange device.

I shook my head. “I guess what I meant was, are we okay?”

He took hold of my hands, closed his eyes, and pressed my fingers to his lips. “I don’t know,” he said, his mouth brushing against my thumb. “I don’t know if we’ll be okay until this is over.”

“Even when this is over, I won’t stop being a princess.” I tried to pull my hands away with a long sigh.

Finn gripped them tighter and directed them to his heart. “Princesses can come and go. But you will always be my Elizabeth to me.”

The tension in my shoulders melted away, and I leaned into his chest, wishing I could close my eyes and sleep for a hundred years. “There’s so much death. So much death and uncertainty.”

He clutched me close, taking a long breath and exhaling into my hair. “I know.”

“After all we’ve been through, I don’t know if we can go back now. The war is changing us.” I stared up at him, losing myself in his gray eyes, soft and light in his face full of hard lines, dark shadow.

Finn nodded, his lips turning in a deep frown. “Let’s go see if Eamonn can keep that thing from blasting a crater into the Seven Woods.”

We found Eamonn unraveling a large scroll, Grainne hovering at his side. Malachy sat in the corner, rifling through one of the many tomes I had perhaps “borrowed” from various obscure libraries—both mortal and magical. The former scholar in me screamed with guilt, but I swore to return them as soon as all this was over.

“What do we got?” I called out.

Eamonn didn’t look up, but Grainne flashed me a weary glance, shaking her head. Malachy arched an eyebrow and sighed as his long finger trailed down a page.

“All right. There’s something here about the Morrígan,” the dearg-dubh muttered.

Eamonn’s head popped up. “What does it say?”

My heart skipped, and my throat tightened. “What about the Morrígan?”

The Morrígan was an ancient Celtic goddess, the goddess of war and violence. The Fianna worshipped her, and once, to save me from certain death, Finn had made a false vow to the old goddess. He swore it had no bearing at all, but I wasn’t so sure. Vows had weight.

Grainne tugged at her braid, playing with the ends. “Eamonn has a theory.”

Eamonn searched through a pile of papers, his shoulders shaking with excitement or nerves. I couldn’t quite tell which as he hummed a bit to himself, his fingers rifling through various dusty manuscripts.

“I was waiting before I was sure to tell you all, but…” He motioned for us to come closer, and we circled his makeshift table. “Do you have the device?”

I dug into my pockets, the slight hum of the explosive sending a shot of nausea through my abdomen. I wanted to be rid of the thing. Cast it away. But I could only hand it over, slipping it into the soft palm of the Druid.

He pointed to the shimmering wires on the sparkly, his eyes lighting up from the silver energy it radiated.

“The Fir Bolgs somehow got a hold of the manna from Bel’s cauldron. It’s the only explanation,” he said.

“Manna?” I asked. “Bel’s cauldron?”

I knew Bel was the god the Druids worshipped, but I hadn’t heard of anything about manna or a cauldron.

“Ah, sorry,” Eamonn said. “Centuries ago, Bel gave the Druids a gift of a cauldron filled with manna. It’s what we use to coat the Fianna weapons to pierce Fae immortality, and we include it in various other rituals. It’s very powerful.”

Eamonn picked up a vial radiating golden light. “I’ve isolated the substance the Fir Bolgs use in their weapons. I couldn’t figure out how they could make this kind of weaponry work in Tír na nÓg, but then I discovered it contained something else. Here, look closely.”

Finn and I leaned in, our noses almost touching the vial.

“What do you see?” Eamonn whispered.

The glittery manna danced and swirled in miniscule curlicues of golden light. And then I saw it—a tiny fleck of red.

“Is that…?” I whispered.

“Blood?” Finn said.

Eamonn set down the vial and clapped his hands. “Yes! Precisely! But whose blood?” He looked at us expectantly, biting down on his lip. “Come now. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Eamonn…” Grainne warned, her gaze darting to me and back to the Druid. “There’s no time for—”

“Sorry, sorry.” He nodded, his hand grazing over the circuits intertwining on the surface of the bomb in a circular pattern. “The manna is from the god Bel. We know that, but I wracked my brain for months trying to figure out whose blood the Fir Bolgs used. Then it hit me. The Morrígan. Goddess of war and bloodshed. Who else could bless such weapons to make them work in this realm?”

I studied the almost microscopic flakes of red floating through the tubes. “You’re saying Morrígan’s blood is in there? How did the Fir Bolgs get a hold of that?” I turned to Finn and Grainne. “Do the Fianna have a secret stash somewhere?”

Grainne gave me a blank stare, and Finn shrugged. “If such a thing exists,” he said, “I haven’t heard of it.”

I paced the room, hugging my elbows and shaking my head. If they had somehow gotten a hold of her blood, that meant— She was real. She was flesh and bone, and she could be coming for Finn.

“How do we destroy it?” Finn demanded, interrupting my thoughts. “Protective spell or not, we are all in danger.”

Malachy hopped to his feet, gesturing to the book he balanced in his palm. “It says here the ancients of Tír na nÓg used the Morrígan blood for weaponry…” His eyes scanned the page, and he mumbled to himself, “and here it mentions the blood was a part of the magic they used for creating the Veil itself.”

“Wow. Okay, so it’s powerful stuff,” I said, leaning over Malachy’s shoulder. “But how do we control it?”

Malachy glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “I’m getting to that.” He sighed, his finger drifting down the page. My professor, Dr. Forrester, would have screamed at him for touching the book unnecessarily, and I resisted the urge to grab his wrist.

“Here it talks about… Oh, that’s weird.” Malachy’s forehead wrinkled.

“What?” Finn growled, his face clouding with impatience.

“It uses a term I haven’t seen in a long time.” Malachy looked up. “A warrior. No, a champion. There’s no real equivalent in English.”

“Finn’s a warrior,” I piped up. “Maybe he can control the substance.”

Malachy shook his head. “No, it’s more complicated than that. The warrior needs to overcome… Oh, damn, the writing is blurred there. Overcome…and then there’s something about Morrígan’s ghost. A ghost? That can’t be right.”

“It’s getting late,” Grainne interjected, running her hand through her bright hair. “And we’re no closer to getting answers.”

Malachy leaned his nose closer to the book, a deathly glare contorting his smooth features. “Feel free to chime in with your ideas anytime…” he said beneath his breath.

“Grainne’s right.” Eamonn set his papers down on the table, and they scattered, their ends curling up from being handled too much. His fingers traced the edge of a book, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “This is beyond the scope of my knowledge.”

Her eyes widened, and she spluttered, reaching for him. “That’s not what I meant.”

He flashed her a loving smile, patting her hand. “No, it’s not that. We don’t have time. We need to find someone who understands this magic.”

“Who?” Finn asked.

“We need a Red Druid,” Eamonn replied, peering into his microscope.

“Morven?” I interjected.

Eamonn nodded.

Morven was a Druid who lived underground for reasons I didn’t quite understand. He had been a part of the Fae Resistance when my mother was alive, but the leaders of Trinity had tagged him as an outlaw long before that. The last time we met, he insinuated his knowledge about the Veil between Tír na nÓg and the mortal realm made him dangerous, but I was starting to wonder if Morven had deeper secrets than any of us could have imagined.

“We’ll travel to see him.” I massaged the tense muscles in my neck, my mind whirring with plans. “We leave in an hour.”

Finn shook his head. “You need to rest. We all do.”

I gestured to the sparkly sitting on the table. “But you said yourself that thing could blow up any minute.”

Eamonn tapped a pencil on the table, sounding out a halting tattoo in the tense silence hanging over the room. “Probably not without the detonator,” he said. “And that will take time for them to rebuild. The protective spell can hopefully stabilize the magic for now. That is, if it works…”

I arched an eyebrow. “If it works? I thought—”

The Druid frowned. “There are no guarantees in magic.”

“Very well.” My tense shoulders sagged, and an overwhelming weariness overtook my limbs. “Eamonn, Finn, and I will leave for London first thing tomorrow in search of Morven. If we’re not incinerated by this protective spell first.”

Grainne winked. “Have a little faith there, Elizabeth.”

I had all the faith in the world in Eamonn, but this weapon was so beyond anything I had ever seen. My stomach twisted in knots, and my palms sweated thinking about the tremendous damage it could do.

“How does the protective spell work?” I asked, smoothing my grimy hair away from my face.

Eamonn held the sparkly in his hand, the wires and tubes shimmering. “It will work best if we have the Trinity—Fae, Fianna, and Druid. Our blood will layer complex magic upon the device.”

“Our blood?”

“Does anyone have a knife?” Eamonn asked.

Grainne fiddled in one of the many pockets on her leather vest, pulling out a small blade. “Will this work?”

The Druid nodded, taking the weapon from her. “I can be the Druid and Finn can supply the Fianna blood.”

“I can do it,” Grainne chimed in with a frown.

Eamonn shook his head. “The spell will bind you to the device.”

“And?” Grainne snapped.

Finn waved her off. “Grainne, if something happens to me, to Eamonn, we’ll need you.”

It took me a moment to understand what Finn insinuated. “Hey, I don’t need Grainne’s protection.”

I snatched the device from Eamonn’s hand. “We do this together. You and me, Finn.”

His face darkened. “We can find another Fae, Elizabeth.”

Cold fingers grazed my arm. “I can do it,” Malachy said softly.

I wrenched away and tilted up my chin, locking eyes with everyone in the room. “No. It should be bound to us. I won’t sacrifice anyone else.”

Time stilled for a moment, and then suddenly with one quick strike, Eamonn pulled the knife across his palm. He let out a small gasp and blood welled up, dripping to the cave floor. He bit his lip and passed the blade to Finn.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said through gritted teeth.

Finn grabbed the knife and did the same. I shielded my eyes for a moment, wincing at his grunt of pain.

With a deep breath, I took hold of the tiny blade. Sharp pain blasted in my palm and through my arm as I slashed my flesh. “This better work,” I muttered.

“We all need to hold hands,” Eamonn said. “I’ll use your blood magic to fuel the protective spell.”

Finn gave me a weary glance and gently intertwined his fingers with mine. His blood seared my palm, and I sighed, the pain pulsing and aching. Finally, he took hold of Eamonn’s hand. “Make it good, Druid.”

Grainne leaned against the wall, her shoulders trembling and lips slightly parted. Malachy ran his hands through his hair. “This is reckless,” he said beneath his breath.

Eamonn began to chant in a low voice as he clutched the device close to his chest. Even though we stood deep inside the cave, a sharp wind kicked up and the sound of hushed whispers filled my ears.

“What the fuck…?” I turned, my fingers clutching Finn’s tighter. Grainne edged closer to me, her green eyes wide.

Finn stared at the Druid, who appeared lost in a trance, his eyes closed and fluttering, his shoulders rocking back and forth. A loud hum emanated from the sparkly, and I screamed as Eamonn’s hands started to sizzle from the heat of the explosive. He shouted the chant through gritted teeth, his face contorted with pain.

“Stop!” I cried. “Stop this now!”

I rushed the Druid, but a bright white light blinded me, stopping me in my tracks.

When I opened my eyes, a blank gray sky stretched above, and roaring men and the clash of steel deafened me. I sat almost a foot deep in mud, my fists sinking into the muck as I tried to lift myself up to escape. Bodies lay piled in bloody towers, oceans of blood swirling in the black earth as rain pelted down. I glanced to my side and cried out in horror. Finn’s body lay still, his face a mask of blood and grime. A raven hopped on his chest and cocked its head to the side, peering at me with a pair of black, beady eyes.

It opened its beak and said in a flat voice, “His blood is mine.”

My mind shattered, and a great high-pitched scream surged from my lungs.