‘That is part of the tale of how your father lost his hand. Not only is it a long-overdue story – it is a long one as well. I know a shelter up ahead. We can camp for the night and you can hear the tale properly over food and a fire.’

Food and fire, now that was a good idea. After paddling all day and the stress of the Yewlands, I was overdue for a break.

The meadows of heather gave way to fields of tremendously tall holly trees. We pulled the boat ashore and stashed it under a bush. (Mother of course asked the holly for permission.) We walked a faint path until we saw a stone hut with a thatched roof.

‘This is a lovely Gerard hut,’ Mom said.

‘Is Gerard home?’

‘I shouldn’t think so.’ Dad laughed. ‘Gerard is an old Runelord who likes to travel. He built a bunch of these huts so he wouldn’t have to sleep out-of-doors.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘it looks cosy.’

‘They usually are,’ my father said, opening the door.

I had heard the sound of a crossbow firing before, but I had never heard the sound of an arrow piercing flesh. In the old cowboy movies, the sound of an arrow entering a body was always a clean thwap – in reality, the sound is a pop, followed by a hideous squelch. Dad spun completely around like a top and hit the ground hard on his back – a crossbow bolt was sticking out of his chest.

FIVE
ROTHLÚ

When I saw the air gurgling out of the wound in my father’s chest, I dropped to my knees and screamed, ‘Dad!’ This turned out to be a lucky choice – if I had remained standing the second arrow would have got me right between the eyes. As it was, it still gave my hair its first centre parting. Dad had opened the door to an ambush.

‘Don’t move,’ I heard a woman’s voice order.

I looked up expecting a second attack, but instead I saw a deadly scene frozen in time. Aunt Nieve was standing in the doorway, and behind her were two soldiers with empty crossbows. My mother and my aunt were face to face, eyes locked – Mom was holding an amber ball while Nieve was holding a gold sphere made of wire.

‘Make one move towards him and we all die,’ Mom said.

‘If the boy dies then my duty is done,’ Nieve replied. ‘If we die with him – so be it.’

‘If I set off this Shadowcharm then all will die except the boy,’ Mom said. ‘You have seen the protection I have given him already. Your duty will fail and you will be dead.’

They stared at each other for a time.

‘You should be with me in this,’ hissed Nieve.

‘You want me to stab my own son in the neck?’ My mother said neck with such vehemence that it made me jump. ‘We all realise that if Conor wasn’t around we would all be safe.’ She spoke in such a strange voice that it made me think she wasn’t talking to Nieve – she was talking to me. ‘You don’t expect me to risk his neck just to make us safe.’

The amulet! She was talking about the rothlú amulet around my neck. I reached up, slowly wiped my lips and casually let my hand drop to the gold charm hanging around my neck. I wrapped my little finger around it.

‘Do you really think you and Dad would be safe if I was gone?’ I said to my mother.

‘Listen to him,’ Nieve said, ‘the boy is beginning to understand.’

‘I hope he does understand,’ Mom said, talking to me, while never taking her eyes off Nieve. ‘Yes, it would be safer for all if you were gone.’

I looked down at my father, who nodded to me with his eyes. I did understand. Mom wanted me to escape with the amulet and defuse this situation, so that maybe Dad could get some help.

‘You know, Aunt Nieve,’ I said, ‘all of my life I wished I had an aunt that would send me an unexpected birthday present, like other kids. Instead I got one that tries to kill me every time we meet. Well, I want you to know that I am taking you off my Christmas card list. Oh, and by the way – rothlú!’

A rothlú spell kicks in fast but I did have a split second to see Nieve’s expression before all went black. It was so satisfying that it was almost worth the pain.

Pain! Did I mention pain? Man, did I hurt. I didn’t hurt all over, like with a killer hangover – it was more like every little bit of me hurt. My lips hurt, my earlobes hurt, my toes hurt, my hair hurt and I don’t even want to talk about my groin. It felt as if every tiny fragment of me was torn apart and then quickly reassembled. For all I know that’s what actually happened.

I was lying on my side in a foetal position. I must have been unconscious all night because I could feel the hot sun on my eyelids, but there was no way I was going to open my eyes, let alone move – I knew it was going to hurt too much. I think I would have stayed like that for a day or twelve, if I hadn’t been disturbed by a tug on my foot. Normally, a tug like that would have had me alert in a flash, but I was so out of it that I only managed to crack one eye open, a slit. The light sent a pain into my head that made me want to moan, but I was sure that moaning would have hurt too. When I finally could focus, I saw a disgusting leather sandal on the ground next to my face and a pair of hands fumbling with a shoelace as they tried to pull one of my Nikes off.

I heard a voice say, ‘Not bad,’ and then I felt a tug on my other foot. He was stealing my shoes. Some twerp was nicking my sneakers! Concussion or no concussion, I wasn’t going to stand for this. You can whip me, shoot me, kidnap me or try to kill me, but there is no way I was going to let my Nikes go without a fight. I jumped to my feet, and in one swift movement drew my sword. I caught the thief completely off guard. First, he was utterly engrossed with my shoelaces and second, I think he presumed I was dead. I must have looked dead – I certainly felt it.

I found myself standing over him with my sword pointed at his chest. He was a young man in both face and in his eyes. His hair was the remarkable thing – it was jet-black with a pure white tuft in the front. He was surprised to see me standing over him, and to be honest, so was I. Then the world began to spin – I had gotten up way too fast. I was going to faint.

As I swooned, I blurted out, ‘Were you stealing my shoes?’ Then I lost my balance. I stumbled forward, the tip of my blade inadvertently moving towards his chest. He understandably thought I was going to kill him. I tried to pull my sword away. I tried to keep my balance. I thought I was going to be sick. That’s when I saw his sword. Even if I had been alert I don’t think I could have parried it. With the quickest of flicks, he cocked his right wrist and a short blade travelled like lightning out of his sleeve. In one instantaneous motion he caught the pommel in his hand and stabbed me in the chest.

The amber glow engulfed the two of us the microsecond before his blade touched my chest. I realise now that life is made up not of days, or hours, or even seconds, but moments. One tiny moment follows another. One moment I saw the blade about to enter my heart – the next I was impossibly balanced on the tip of a razor-sharp sword, protected by my mother’s wonderful amber force field.

I had just met another member of the family.

SIX
FERGAL

I stood there at a forty-degree angle with the shoe thief’s blade holding me up, and I started to chuckle. I couldn’t help it. I was losing it. I held my arms straight out at my sides and laughed. Not a that’s a funny joke sort of a laugh but a crazy laugh, the kind of maniacal sound that comes out of Dr Frankenstein just before he screams, ‘It’s alive!’

Through the golden glow, I could see that my opponent was confused. He pushed at my chest a couple of times, trying to figure out why I wasn’t perforated. Every jab just made me laugh louder. Finally, I rolled off the point of his sword and fell to the ground, in hysterics. He stood up fast, leaned over me and actually poked a couple of times. Each prod made the glow return and I howled, tears pouring from my eyes. I saw the thief take off my Nikes and carefully pick up his sandals. I could tell he was a bit freaked, ready to run.

I tried to compose myself. ‘Wait,’ I croaked, as I struggled to sit up. He started to back away. ‘No, wait,’ I repeated as I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, ‘I won’t hurt you – look.’ I threw my sword away and held up my hands. ‘Sit down for a second.’

He stopped, still wary. ‘I’m not looking for any trouble,’ he said. ‘Honest to the gods, I thought you were dead. Well, not dead but I didn’t think you were going to last long.’

‘I believe you. Sit down.’

He sat a respectable distance away. I rubbed my eyes with my palms, trying to make them focus. The specific pain of before was becoming one giant all-over pain – an improvement but not much.

‘I think we have gotten off on the wrong foot.’

He stood up and started to back away. ‘I told you I was sorry for the shoe thing.’

‘No, no, relax,’ I said, palms forward. ‘I mean, I don’t think we should be fighting. I’m sorry I pulled a sword on you but I have had a really rough couple of days. Can we start over?’ I stood up and extended my hand. ‘My name is Conor.’

He looked me square in the eyes for a time and then slowly an amazing smile took over his whole face. It was so infectious that I couldn’t help turning up the corners of my own mouth in reply. He cocked his wrist and his sword disappeared instantly up his sleeve. He stepped right up and shook my hand enthusiastically (which hurt) and said, ‘They call me Fergal. Pleased to meet you, Conor.’

‘The pleasure is all mine, Fergal.’

‘So tell, Conor,’ Fergal said like we were old mates, ‘what the hell were you doing lying in a ditch?’

‘That’s a long story. You wouldn’t have a couple of aspirin and a glass of water, before I start, would you?’

‘Don’t know what that first thing is but there is a lovely wee stream just over there if you’re thirsty. Follow me.’

We put our shoes on, I picked up my sword and we climbed up out of the ravine. My legs howled in pain, as if I had just run a marathon with a sumo wrestler on my back. When we reached the top I saw that we were in the middle of rolling farmland. Fields of waving grain, periodically interrupted by the odd tree, stretched as far as the eye could see.

‘Where are we?’ I asked.

‘The fields of Muhn. The Castle Muhn vineyards start not far – just over that rise.’

My vision was clearing. I looked in the direction of Fergal’s finger and saw rolling hills in the distance. Fergal’s definition of not far was quite different from my own.

‘Oh, I get it,’ Fergal said, way too loud for my liking, ‘you were at a shindig at Castle Muhn last night – weren’t you?’

I almost said, I wish, but then it occurred to me that everyone who knew who I was had tried to kill me. ‘Maybe,’ I said, thinking that lying might be a sensible idea.

‘Well, that explains it.’ Fergal laughed. ‘You wouldn’t be the first guy to be found hung over in a ditch after a party at Castle Muhn.’ He slapped me on the back. It felt like I was hit with a sledgehammer.

The water made me wonder if I had been drinking sawdust all of my life. It was cool and crystal clear. It hit the back of my throat and made me feel like I would never be thirsty again. That’s one of the best things about The Land, it forces you to appreciate the simple things in life: fresh water, fragrant air, magnificent views, and not being dead. All of my problems and pressing engagements in the Real World were fading in my mind, except for that nagging image of Sally, still waiting outside the movie theatre.

‘I thought the big party was at moon bright,’ Fergal said. ‘Oh no! I haven’t missed it, have I? I could have sworn it was tomorrow night.’

‘No. You’re alright. It was an unofficial thing last night,’ I lied, ‘tomorrow’s the big night.’

‘Phew. I would have been well upset if I’d missed it,’ he said, slapping me on the back again. I had to figure out how to break him out of that habit. ‘So what are you doing then, Conor me friend? Are you on your way home or are you coming back for a bit of the hair of the dog?’

What to do? I knew that I should keep a low profile, especially when the motto around here seemed to be – to know Conor is to kill Conor. But what could I do on my own? I had to find my mother and father again. But where were they and how could I find them without telling people who I was? And a party! Why not? After all I’d probably get murdered by an in-law before the week was out – so why not party? This Fergal seemed like a nice guy and he was family (which may or may not be a good thing). If I hung around with him maybe I could come up with a plan before someone figured out who I was.

‘What the hell,’ I said. ‘One more night of partying can’t kill me.’

‘Well, maybe you should go easier tomorrow, you look awful rough.’

‘Thanks for the advice,’ I said, and together we set off for a party at Castle Muhn.

‘That was a clever bit of magic you pulled back there,’ Fergal said.

‘Yes, I liked it at the time.’

‘It’s a snap spell, isn’t it?’

‘A snap spell?’

‘Hey, sorry,’ Fergal said, raising his hands. ‘I shouldn’t be prying into another man’s magic.’

‘No, it’s OK,’ I said, ‘I just never heard of a snap spell.’

‘A snap spell is one that happens by itself. You don’t have to cast it or pay for it or anything – it just happens. Kings put them on their jewels and such to stop them from getting nicked. I never saw a proper one before – till now.’

‘I guess it is a snap spell then.’

‘Where’d you get it?’

What should I say to that? The problem with lying is that it gets you into trouble. I learned that painful lesson last year. I was dating a girl named Dottie when I met Sally. I told Dottie I was going out to dinner with my father when I was really taking Sally to the movies. The next day I saw Dottie and she said, ‘What did you have for dinner, popcorn?’ Man, was I busted.

The other problem with lying is you have to remember what you said, and since it seemed like I was going to be doing a lot of lying in the near future, I decided to tell the truth as much as I could.

Fergal noticed my hesitancy. ‘Hey, mate, you don’t have to tell me nothing. I talk too much and ask too many questions. Just tell me to shut up, that’s what all my friends do.’

‘No, it’s alright. My protection spell was a gift from my mother.’

‘Phew. Nice gift. Must have cost her weight in gold.’

‘Don’t know. Never asked.’

‘Well, I’m glad she gave it to you. I never stabbed anybody before, it would have been a shame for you to be the first. There’s something about you, I don’t know what it is but it seems like we are old friends already, or should be. You know what I mean?’ Then he slapped me on the back – again.

‘I do,’ I said, and meant it. We were definitely related. Fergal didn’t know what this feeling was, but I did, my mother’s spell confirmed it – we were kin. I slapped Fergal on the back, hard, so he would know what it felt like. It hurt my hand.

‘That sword of yours appeared like it was magic,’ I said.

‘What, this little thing?’ he clicked his wrist and the long knife popped into his hand with frightening speed. ‘My Banshee blade.’

‘You’re a Banshee?’ I blurted.

‘No,’ he said sarcastically. ‘What gave it away? Was it the bit of white hair? Or was it the bit of white hair?’

‘I think it must have been the bit of white hair.’ I smiled and replied as casually as I could. Banshees have a tuft of white hair. I stored that piece of information away.

‘So how do you get it to pop out so fast?’

‘Ah well, that’s the magic part. Here, let me show you.’ He stopped and took off his shirt. His right arm was strapped with leather in three places. Entwined in the straps was a gold wire that seemed to be on some sort of pulley system. The wire was attached to the blade, so as to propel it in and out of his sleeve. ‘The magic is in the gold wire,’ he said. ‘It cost me a packet. When I need the blade, I do this motion and this half of the wire straightens and expands – poof – instant sword. The spell doesn’t use much gold. The wire’s supposed to work for years.’

‘Cool.’

‘No, it doesn’t get hot or anything.’

‘I mean, nice.’

‘Oh, I could set you up with a guy to make you one if you like. It isn’t cheap though.’

‘I am afraid I’m a bit broke at the moment.’

‘Me too. You and I have got so much in common,’ he said with another slap.

As we followed the stream Fergal waxed on about the intricacies of Banshee blade manufacture but I didn’t take much in. His voice was increasingly drowned out by the bass drum solo that began playing in my head. After I don’t know how long (by which time the pounding in my head had graduated into a full-blown marching band), Fergal turned to me and said, ‘You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you?’

‘Huh? Oh, sure I have.’

Fergal looked me in the eyes and I had a scary moment when I thought he was going to quiz me. Then he broke into an ear-to-ear smile and said, ‘I like you, Conor, it usually takes friends ages to learn to ignore my babbling – you figured it out right away.’ He went to slap me on the back but then stopped when he saw me flinch. ‘You know, you look awful rough. We’re in no hurry; how ’bout we make camp here?’

We found the remnants of an old campfire under a tall, broadleaved tree that had roots creeping into the stream. Fergal said it should be OK to camp under an alder this far away from the Fearnlands. I wanted to ask him what that meant but I had a feeling asking too many questions would arouse suspicion, and anyway I was too tired. Fergal took some kindling out of his bag and piled it within the ring of stones.

‘You wouldn’t have a decent fire-coin, would you? Mine’s practically silver.’

‘No. I’ve lost everything except my sword,’ I said, which was pretty much the truth.

Fergal produced a half-dollar-sized disc out of his pocket and placed it beneath the little bits of wood.

‘I think this thing has one more fire in it.’

He mumbled under his breath, there was a faint glow and then smoke appeared under the wood. He blew it into a small flame. ‘Keep an eye on this and I’ll beg for some wood.’

Fergal climbed the alder as I lay on my side and blew on the tiny flame. Just this was enough to make me feel light-headed. I was still in pretty bad shape after that damn rothlú thing. Whether I fell asleep or passed out I don’t know, but the next thing I remember, Fergal was shaking me awake and handing me a stick with a fish on it that he had just cooked on a roaring fire.

‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Prince Conor?’ For a second I thought he had figured out who I was. I sat bolt upright expecting his Banshee blade to fly out of his sleeve, but then he smiled and said, ‘You’re a fat lot of good around here. Next time I’m nursing a hangover, you wait on me.’

‘Deal,’ I said with a nervous laugh, and took the fish. ‘Thanks.’

We ate in silence. I’m not a big fan of food that can stare at me but I was too hungry to complain. I apologised to the trout’s face and wolfed the rest of it down.

After dinner Fergal put a couple of logs on the fire and said that even though he would love to talk all night, he was beat. He touched the alder, put his pack under his head and closed his eyes. My short nap had done little to ease my overall body pain. I put my head on the ground and moaned. Just before I went out, I thought I saw some strange movement in the branches above. I sat up and had a good look but then decided I was just spooking myself.

I dreamt I was back in the Real World in a super-posh shoe store where I didn’t even have to put the shoes on myself. Sales clerks actually knelt down and placed all kinds of really cool footwear directly on my feet.

Dawn, as it always does, came too early. I find that going to sleep under the stars is lovely but waking up outside is a drag. It leaves me itchy, damp and with terminal bed hair. It wasn’t until I stood that I realised my shoes were missing. Well, that explained the theme of my dream. I walked over to the still-sleeping Fergal and lightly kicked him with my bare foot. He shot straight up.

‘What?’ he sputtered.

‘Ha ha, Fergal, very funny. What did you do with my shoes?’

‘What are you talking about?’ he said, getting his bearings.

‘My shoes, I don’t know how you did it without waking me up but I want my shoes back.’

‘I don’t have your shoes,’ he said, confused.

‘Quit mucking around, Fergal, I had them on when I went to sleep.’

‘I’m telling you I don’t have your … uh-oh.’ Fergal jerked his hand a couple of times and then pulled his tunic over his head. ‘Damn it,’ he said, ‘damn it, damn it, damn it!’

‘What? What is it?’

‘My Banshee blade is gone – and the wire too.’

‘What do you mean gone?’

‘Robbed, we were robbed last night.’

Oh, just great, I thought, now I’m going to have to walk in this godforsaken land barefoot. Then I had a terrible thought. Slowly I reached down to my waist and felt for my scabbard – the Sword of Duir was gone.