Volt watched a man enter the arena through the main archway. He remembered the movement he’d seen from the top of the rise and thought this man might explain it. He wore a light brown cowl with the hood up, concealing his features.

  “What are you doing here, Bechuille?” the man asked, arms folded.

  “Ever since the last turn of fate, I’ve been watching Brenos,” Upthog said, distracting Volt.

  “Dagda really doesn’t enjoy anyone meddling, does He.”

  “What makes ye think it was Dagda? Besides, nobody likes people meddling, no.”

  “You’re Tuatha?” Volt asked as the meaning of the words, sank in. Upthog turned to him with a scowl but said nothing.

  Volt didn’t care.

  He was shocked having suspected many things but not that Upthog was of Danu’s people. And they were talking about Dagda as though he were the Creator. Dagda, the Cheerful God. The way the legends described the Creator, Volt would consider Him anything but cheerful. Vindictive, maybe; petty, indeed; jealous, undoubtedly. Cheerful? It was akin to saying Fachta was soft: possible when stretching the imagination but not likely. Flooding the world to scourge it of humankind—at least mostly—would not be considered a cheerful act by Volt. Following it up with the creation of the giant even less so.

  If that particular legend is even true. He was beginning to have doubts. “Is anything you told me even remotely true?” he asked. If anything, Upthog’s expression took on a more threatening aspect; so much so, a shiver ran up his spine.

  Best to keep quiet.

  “And why are you here, Horse Warrior?” the man asked.

  Volt shook his head in confusion. He was surprised this man knew who he was and had no idea how to answer him. He could hardly say the dead Tuatha convinced him to come because of some lame premonition from some seeress he’d never heard of.

  “An accident of fate,” he finally said with a shrug.

  “Come, Scamp, your place is beside me,” the new arrival said as he walked to the dais and took the rod from Mesroeda’s loose-gripped hand.

  Scamp hesitated, looking at Upthog, who smiled and nodded encouragement. “I’m scared.”

  “Aye, I don’t blame ye. Just remember, ye conquered yer fear when ye came back to save me. Ye could have kept walking.”

  “It was a test?” Volt asked.

  Once again, Upthog glared at him but said nothing.

  “Ye can do this, Scamp. Ye were born to it. It’s yer destiny.”

  Scamp looked from Upthog to the kind-faced, smiling man on the dais, standing beside the cauldron with crossed arms.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Are you sure I was born to it?”

  “Ye summoned a demon. Only Summoners—”

  “Can summon,” Scamp interrupted. Wrapping his arms around himself, he nodded once at Upthog and then went to stand beside the man on the dais.

  When he arrived beside him, the man put a fatherly hand on the boy’s shoulder. Somehow, Volt doubted their relationship going forward would prove as paternal as the image implied. The fatherly face and friendly smile were not things he considered genuine. Something about this man made his bristles tingle.

  Shaking his head, he saw a slight movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see Mesroeda edging towards the exit. It seemed Upthog’s brother had worked out on which side the coin was about to land and was using the distraction of Scamp’s arrival on the dais to flee.

  Did he seriously think it would end any other way?

  Volt felt the hair on the back of his neck tingle to join those on his head as the man on the dais spotted Mesroeda’s movement and tutted. Never before had a tut evoked such a sense of doom in the horse warrior. It was as if the single sound of disapproval would release all the demons in Tech Duinn. Volt thought it was probably true; the tut marked the beginning of a new Scourge.

  “There’s no escape for you, Brenos,” the man said. “This time, you have taken your mischief too far.”

  The shape changer’s eyes darted about, panicked, finally coming to rest on Upthog. “Sister, will you stand there and do nothing?”

  “What can I do? Ye were warned, brother. Besides, I think the Four are about to join us, and I’m powerless against them.”

  “If I know you,” the shape changer said. “You’ve all your reserves. You hoard them like an Ochall hoards his diamonds. You can use them to help me.”

  Upthog sighed and shook her head in sympathy. “Ye’re me brother, Bren. I loved ye once,” she lied, “but ye destroyed The Coven and then drained our father’s power lake. I’m oathbound to serve Dagda and cannot break it, on pain of death. Besides, with the lake empty, where do ye think I’d get reserves to fight the Four?”

  “And once the disciples are named…” the man on the dais said, grinning. “Marbh. Plasgorta. Archu. Concaire. Your attendance is required.”

  Volt saw his breath starting to fog and drew his cloak tighter about himself. As well as the cold, he felt a force pressing into the arena’s space. If anything, it became dimmer. With a shudder, he watched the Four appear under their arches as gossamer apparitions.

  Concaire he’d seen in his dream and so knew him immediately. Marbh was beautiful despite her alabaster, lifeless skin colour and red eyes. Plasgorta was cloaked and hooded, the ruby red of his eyes shining out from the shadows of his hood. Volt could feel the skeletal form of the disciple rather than see it. Archu’s face was in flames but gave off neither light nor heat. He was wearing a strange-shaped hat, tall, black, and shiny with a brim. It was a weird affectation for a servant of Dhuosnos and Volt wondered where he got it.

  “Archu, if you would be so good,” Bach said, nodding at Upthog’s brother.

  Mesroeda darted the last few paces towards the archway that represented his freedom, but he was not fast enough. Archu seemed to disappear from his door and reappear at the exit, blocking Mesroeda’s escape.

  “Sister,” the doomed man screamed, as the War Demon took him by the throat and lifted him into the air despite his lack of corporeal substance.

  “Come, Horse Warrior, it’s time we were elsewhere.”

  “And your brother?” he asked, aghast at what she was suggesting.

  “What about him?”

  “Aren’t you going to help him?”

  “I tried helping him many times. I’ve been helping him for aeons. I can do nothing here. Like I told Brenos, against the Four, I’m powerless. Sometimes, Horse Warrior, there is no way to help.”

  With that, she took Volt’s arm in an iron grip and steered him away through the arch. As they climbed the stairs, he could see stars twinkling in the night sky. They were so peaceful, beautiful and peaceful.

  “Bechuilleeeee—” chased them into the open air, and Volt felt his gorge rising.