“They worked on the trees,” I say, a sick feeling in my stomach. “The people in this area must have sought the protection of the stones every night. It made the demons mad. Then they had an idea. They built a shelter in the trees around the circle. When it was finished, they let the people in one night, then stood guard the next day, trapping them. There was no way out. They died here, slowly, of starvation and thirst.”

“Most of the bodies don’t have weapons,” Goll sighs. “They probably got so used to coming here, they grew lazy. Didn’t bother with weapons, since they were safe within the ring. They couldn’t even try to fight their way to freedom.”

“And now we’re trapped too,” Connla says bitterly, shooting me a dirty look.

“It’s not Bec’s fault,” Fiachna snaps. “We’d be dead already if not for her.”

“Aye,” Connla admits grudgingly. “But I’d have rather died fighting in the open than of hunger and thirst, trapped like a fox in its den.”

“You can die any time you like,” Goll says. “The demons are waiting. Go pick a fight with them if you want to die quickly.”

“Maybe I’ll pick a fight with you instead,” Connla snarls.

“Men are so childish,” Orna snaps before the insults escalate. “Instead of being grateful for this extra day, you’re bitter and scrap with each other like dogs.”

“What do we have to be grateful for?” Connla shouts. “We’re surrounded! We’ll die like the others who lie here and our bones will rot slowly, unburied, ignored by the gods.”

“Not necessarily,” Orna disagrees. “The demons haven’t built a wide shelter. And we’re not weaponless. If we break through their ranks, they won’t be able to chase after us.”

“That won’t be easy,” Ronan says, studying the lie of the land. “There’s a lot of space between this ring and the trees. We can’t surprise them. They’ll see us coming and converge at that point.”

“So we separate,” Orna shrugs. “We pair off and dart at them from a few directions at once. I doubt if everyone will make it through but some of us should.”

“The strongest,” Fiachna notes softly, looking at Run Fast and me. “What about the smaller ones?”

“We’ll take our chances,” I say stiffly, not happy with Fiachna for slighting me. I’m no warrior but I know how to fight and I’m not afraid to die. I want to be treated equally, not as a helpless child.

“If we’re going to try that, we need to do it soon,” Goll says. “If we can put a full day’s march between us and these monsters, they’ll never catch up. But if we leave it until later, they’ll just wait until dark and give chase again.”

“I don’t see that we’ve any choice,” Lorcan says. “Hit hard, run fast and—”

“Run fast!” Run Fast shouts. We smile at him but he doesn’t see the humour in it. “Run fast!” he yells again. “Run fast!”

“Easy,” Goll says, reaching out a hand to soothe the agitated boy.

Run Fast ducks away from Goll. “Run fast!” he insists. Then, before we can stop him, he darts past the safety of the stones and races towards the trees—and the demons.

“Run Fast!” I scream. “Come back!”

He ignores my cry but draws to a halt short of the trees. The demons in that area have bunched together, snarling and drooling, reaching out towards Run Fast, each wanting to be the first to snag him and feast on his flesh.

Run Fast dodges the hands, paws and claws of the demons, then starts to… to… No! I can’t believe it. But yes—he starts to dance!

It’s crazy. Incredible. Ridiculous. But he dances anyway. It’s not a graceful dance, or a dance of magic or power. He just hops from foot to foot, clapping his hands, waving them around, grunting a series of off-key tunes.

The demons go wild, infuriated by the display. Run Fast is taunting them, dancing around within their reach, mocking them. They fall over one another in their fury, clutching, grasping, desperate to drag him down and put an end to his insolence. Some even step out of the shade of the trees and lunge at him, risking the burning rays of the sun.

Run Fast dodges them all, leaps here, darts there, dancing all the time. He sets off on a circuit, the demons following him. He comes within range of those who’ve been standing their ground, keeping an eye or three on the rest of us. As he passes, they lose interest in everything but the dancing boy and join with the rest of their inhuman clan, giving chase, lashing out, spitting poison.

Within minutes every demon is focused on Run Fast, stumbling after him, clashing with each other, fighting among themselves. Demons are never the most logical of creatures. Now they’ve lost their senses entirely and only care about destroying this dancing thorn in their side. They’ve forgotten the rest of us.

“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it,” Goll says, stunned, watching the show with a wide, incredulous eye.

“Look at how he dances away from them,” Fiachna murmurs. “He slides through their fingers like smoke.”

“There’s more to the fool than we thought,” Connla says, a hint of disapproval in his expression. He doesn’t like surprises, even when they work to his advantage.

“Come on,” Orna says. “He’s created a gap for us to slip through. Let’s not waste it by giving the demons time to regain their senses.”

“What about Run Fast?” I ask.

“He’ll be fine,” Goll laughs. “He’ll catch us up later. I think it would take more than all the demons of the land to snare that boy!”

I don’t like the thought of leaving Run Fast behind. I study him as he continues to dance around the rim of the circle, teasing and tormenting the demons. As I’m watching, I notice that one of the demons isn’t chasing Run Fast. It’s standing by itself, ignoring the commotion, gaze fixed on the ring of stones… on us. I can’t see very well, but it looks to be a pale red colour and curiously lumpy, as though made of wet clay. And it’s not standing on the ground—it’s floating.

There’s something especially disturbing about this Fomorii. It’s not like any other demon I’ve seen. But before I can move forward for a closer look, Goll slaps my back and points me in the opposite direction, where the trees stand unguarded. “Run like the wind, Little One,” he says. “And for Neit’s sake, don’t stop or look back!”

Then, before I can draw his attention to the floating demon, he barks an order and we’re breaking for freedom, heads down, feet kicking up clouds of dust. In the heat of the moment all thoughts, except those of escape, slip from my head and blow away on the cool morning breeze.

THE CRANNOG

Run Fast joins us nearly an hour later. I thought he’d be quicker than that, and was worrying, thinking about going back for him. When he appears, I see why he was so long—he stopped to pick flowers and weave a necklace out of them.

“Turnips!” he shouts happily, waving the necklace at us.

There’s a big group cheer and we surround him, laughing, hugging, exclaiming at the same time—

“That was amazing!”

“I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“You must be a son of the gods!”

“The demons thought they had us dead but they didn’t count on Run Fast!”

Run Fast smiles hazily, unsure of what all the fuss is about. In his head, I don’t think leading demons a merry chase counts for much. He’s far prouder of the necklace of flowers.

When we’re through congratulating Run Fast we set off again, anxious to cover as much ground as we can before nightfall. It’s a showery day and we’re soon soaked. But that’s a minor inconvenience. We’ll take any amount of soakings after our unexpected escape from the demons.

Early afternoon. I’ve been discussing the ring of stones with Fiachna, wondering how old it was, who built it, what its original purpose might have been.

“A pity they didn’t have ogham stones back then,” Fiachna says. “They could have told us who they were and lived on through their writing.”