We come to a stop and hang calmly in the water, rising and falling with the swell of the waves, but not moving towards or away from the cliff. Drust puts his free hand on mine and moves it forward until I make contact with the rock. He then nudges my other hand up beside it and releases both at the same time. As soon as he lets go, the wind and waves bite at me, trying to rip me loose. I cling to the cliff by my fingertips and scream, shattering the breathing spell.

Then Drust’s arm is around me and he’s shouting in my ear, “Climb! Keep going! Don’t look down!”

“I’ll fall!” I shriek. “I’ll drown!”

“You will if you don’t climb!” he bellows, digging his chin hard into my neck.

Since I’ve no choice but to climb and risk death or stay and die for certain, I push my left hand up, searching for a handhold. After a second or two I find one and rest a moment, face turned away from the spray of the waves. Then I move my right hand up. My feet follow automatically, scrabbling for toeholds.

Drust keeps his hand on me, steadying me by placing pressure on my shoulder, then my back, my bottom, my legs, finally my feet. When I move out of reach, he shouts at me to stop, then climbs up after me until we’re level. Then it’s my turn to lead again.

That’s how we progress, a small stretch of cliff at a time, dragging our way up, defying the angry howls of the sea, disturbing seagulls in their slumber. Drust only uses magic when I slip, to keep me hanging in the air momentarily, so that I can grab hold of a piece of rock again.

I look down once and immediately wish I hadn’t.

“We’ll never make it,” I sob, feeling my strength ebb away, certain I’ll collapse soon, not even able to keep myself going with magic.

“We will,” Drust replies stubbornly, then pinches me to get me moving again.

Finally, when I’ve started to think this is a nightmare from which I’ll never awake, we make it to the top and friendly hands pull us over the edge of the cliff, then carry us to our clothes. Fiachna has to help me slip into mine—my fingers are too numb to grasp and manipulate the material.

They ask what happened, where we’ve been, how we survived, what we saw. They were sure we’d drowned. Their excitement at finding us alive makes them babble like children.

Drust ignores the questions and pulls on his robes. I ignore them as well, too exhausted to provide answers. When we’re fully dressed, the clothes deliriously warm on my cold-blue skin, Drust tells the others we need some time on our own. He marches me along the cliff to where a jutting rock shelters us from the wind. Settling behind it, Drust starts a fire using magic, makes it expand so the flames are three times their normal size, then sits staring into the heart of the blaze, saying nothing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say eventually when I’m warm enough to speak.

“I couldn’t,” he replies. “You wouldn’t have come with me.

“I might.”

“No. You wouldn’t have trusted me. Nor would the others.”

“So you were going to keep it secret?” I snort. “Not tell me until we got to the tunnel, then kill me without asking?”

“Aye.” He looks at me sideways, torn between arrogance and shame. “That’s part of the reason I was so hard on you to begin with. Yes, I needed to bring your magic out—you weren’t powerful enough the way you were. But I also didn’t want to get close to you because I knew I’d have to…”

He stops and looks at the fire again.

“Was there another magician with you when you first set off?” I ask.

He nods. “An apprentice. No grown druid would accompany me. As I told you before, they have no love for Christians and will be quite pleased if the Demonata take over this land. But I found an apprentice who was born here, whose family still live on these shores. He was happy to lay down his life if necessary.”

“If?” I sneer. “You told him it might not be?”

Drust blushes. “I said there might be other ways. It wasn’t a total lie. Until I asked the Old Creatures, I still hoped…” He trails off into silence.

“Is it truly the only way?” I murmur after a while.

“So the Old Creatures said,” he sighs.

“They couldn’t be wrong?” He shakes his head. “Then we must go there and you must kill me,” I mutter, and his neck practically snaps as his head lifts sharply.

“What?” he gasps.

“If that’s the only way to close the tunnel, we must do it.”

“You mean you’ll let me…” He stops and scratches his head. “Why? Now that you know, you don’t have to come. You can flee, sail for safe lands to the east. With your power, you could become a priestess of high standing or even a druid. There’s never been a female druid, but you can control male magic, so perhaps you’d be the first. You don’t have to stay—or die.”

I stare at him as if he’s insane. “But the tunnel would remain open,” I say slowly. “The demon masters would cross. They’d kill everyone, then make them walk around as undead slaves. I can’t let that happen.”

“Even if it means your own death?” Drust asks.

“Of course.” I frown. “Why do you ask me this? You feel the same way. Otherwise why come on this quest and risk your life?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “My reasons are not the same as yours. These aren’t my people, so I don’t really care whether they live or die. And I never planned to perish. The risks were high but I hoped—still hope—to get out of here alive. But if you go on, it’s to certain death, one way or the other. How can you do that?”

“How can I not?” I reply simply. “One life is nothing when measured against thousands. I’d give it a dozen times over to save the lives of those I care about.”

“And those you don’t know, who mean nothing to you?”

“Aye.”

Drust chuckles darkly. “A teacher of mine once said we druids knew nothing of ordinary people, that we’d been apart from them so long, we couldn’t understand them anymore. I didn’t agree, but I see now that he was wiser than me. Your way of thinking is opposite to ours. No druid would throw away his life to save others. Some let themselves be sacrificed when they believe it will lead to greater power in the Otherworld. But I know none who’d offer themselves as you have.”

“Then they’re fools,” I tell him. “A single person is nothing. Only the clan matters.”

Drust shakes his head again. “So different,” he mumbles, then looks at me with fresh respect. “Very well, Bec. Our quest continues, even though I believe it’s doomed and we won’t make the tunnel in time. But if we do, you know what must be done?”

“Aye.”

“You’ll accept my guidance, follow my orders, let me kill you?”

A short pause. Then, softly but firmly, “Aye.”

“You are a true hero.” He smiles wanly. “Now get some sleep, little girl. We must leave as soon as possible, but we’re in no condition to march tonight. We’ll wait for morning, then make our way east as quickly as we can.”

“Is it all right if I sleep with the others?” I ask.

“You’re tired of my company?” Before I can answer, he grunts, “Of course. They’re your people. Spend as much time with them as you wish.”

“Thank you.” I rise and make my way around the rock, bowing my head against the wind. As I round the rock there’s a noise, like hooves skittering over grass. I glance up but the wind and rain are in my eyes and it’s a few seconds before I can see clearly. When I look, there’s nothing nearby. I don’t worry about it as I tramp back to camp—nothing can harm us here—but I wonder. Because if it wasn’t my imagination, it was probably just a rabbit or fox. But it might have been a human—one who could move very, very fast…

When I’m back with the group, I ask Bran if he was listening to what Drust and I were saying. The boy smiles foolishly, as he normally does, and gabbles a few meaningless words. I feel uneasy about it as I settle down to sleep. Then Bran snuggles up beside me for warmth and murmurs, “Flower,” under his breath as he folds his arms around me.