Tír na nÓg Trilogy, Book II: The Rising Dark

Charlie's Message

Once everyone had cleaned camp and repacked the carts the following morning, they headed out for their second day of travel. Though the landscape took on more shades of green and the rocks diminished, the weather was less cooperative than it had been the previous day. Emery rode happily on Liath Macha's back, more than once reaching a hand to the dagger sheathed at her side, recalling the instructions Cullen had given her the night before. She'd had a knack for throwing it, much like she'd had a knack for riding, and that gave her a sense of pride. Emer must've been a pretty cool person if she'd grown up riding horses and throwing daggers. But Emery knew the spear would be a different sort of challenge, and even what Cullen could show her with a regular spear wouldn't quite apply to Lugh's Spear, with its dangerous flame and the threat of dripping its victims' acid blood.

Cullen himself had seemed somewhat distant the previous evening. Though he'd been close to her physically, their interactions had been those of teacher and student, he explaining and advising and she listening and applying. Emery should've been perfectly pleased with his restraint, and she was, in a way. If Cullen had been acting his intense, anxiety-inducing self, she would've been too distracted to listen to his guidance. On the other hand, though . . . some small voice nagged from within, wondered why he'd seemed different, felt something akin to disappointment.

But she had to stop herself from over-interpreting.

The day progressed, and as much as she loved her horse, Emery began to grow weary. Her body hurt from sitting on the animal so long. The others seemed entirely used to such riding, used to spending hours on horseback, but she and Tess grumbled back and forth with one another about all their aches and pains. And the weather worsened. The skies clouded with a flat gray blanket that seemed to descend upon the earth and hover in pockets amongst the multiplying low mountains. Mist gave the surrounding landscape a beautifully haunted ambience, obscuring so much that had any people or settlements been a few hundred yards away, they would've been invisible to the travelers passing through. This limited vision seemed to put everyone on edge to the point that there wasn't much conversation; the only sounds were the clopping hooves of the horses and the rolling wheels of the carts. Anxiety hung over them like a filmy gauze, and a concerted effort was made to stop as little as possible. They'd largely steered clear of forests, but as night drew near, the path led them into hills thick with trees.

It was at a particularly low point, in a valley, where the trees parted to leave a good-sized clearing, and they decided to stop and set up camp for their second night.

"Why do you think everyone's so creeped out?" Emery asked Tess as they sat in their incommodious tent that evening around a small fire. Nobody had wanted to light fires outside their tents as they had the previous night, and in fact, many people seemed hesitant to light fires even within, but the girls were cold and hungry and damp from the ubiquitous moisture, so Cathbad had created a magical fire that wouldn't draw attention from the outside though it gave them enough warmth to satisfy them.

"I feel it, too," Tess said earnestly. "There's something about that mist. It feels . . . it feels like it's hiding something. And they're all very superstitious, of course, which they should be."

Emery passed a drinking horn across to Tess, who took a gulp out of it. They'd eaten only bread and cured meat, as no one was willing to cook over flames, and both were rather hungry. Before Emery could say anything about the mist and superstition, their tent flap opened, and Cathbad slipped inside.

"I've food for you," he said, settling onto a small rug on the ground and opening his arms to reveal three bowls of some sort of vegetable stew, not so easy to see but easy to smell in the dimness.

"I thought no one was supposed to cook!" Tess gasped, taking the bowl he handed her.

"And you are correct, Tess, but Lord Cuchulain can claim an exception for the two of you."