Chapter 14
There had been a moment when Scáthach had thought she’d glimpsed her father within Aife.
But the familiarity had only lasted a moment before Aife’s blue eyes had shifted and become something so unlike Ardgeimm—something smug and sly and victorious.
When Scáthach had met her half sister’s true gaze, she’d known Tabiti, Amage, and Cuchulainn had walked into a trap.
Please let them walk out. All of them.
* * *
The bottom of the fishing boat was small and tight and smelled of fish guts, but Cuchulainn loved that he was there—that Tabiti had chosen him as the second warrior to accompany her.
Tabiti would never choose a warrior for any reason except his or her worth.
To be found worthy by Tabiti was second only to being found worthy by Scáthach.
He rolled his ball of wax in his hand, keeping it warm and pliable as he shifted a little so that a small buoy stopped digging into his back.
Tabiti lay across from Cuchulainn, facing him.
She grimaced and also shifted to find a more comfortable position by putting her arm around her partner.
Amage’s gaze went to Tabiti, and they shared an intimate look.
The two had been partners for many years but were not demonstrably affectionate in public.
But that look, that one glance, held a world in it—it was clear to all who saw them that Tabiti and Amage would always be there for each other.
Cuchulainn envied the sureness of their solidarity and commitment.
“We’re coming up on the islet,” said Taog to the three hidden warriors.
“I’ll stop rowing soon and Iain will cast out a line.
When he does, I’ll pick up the tarp covering you and hold it up like I be looking for nets and such.
That’ll block the view of the fort enough for you to slip over the side. ”
“We’ll be ready,” said Tabiti. She met Cuchulainn’s gaze and he nodded.
“Iain, laddie boy, have you seen the small net?” Taog’s voice boomed around them.
“It’s under the tarp somewhere, Da,” called Iain from where he fished from the bow of the little boat.
“Under the tarp? Well then, I’ll have a look for it!” Taog called back to his son.
The old fisherman lifted the tarp, holding it like a curtain between the fort and the warriors, who moved swiftly. They sat, sealing their noses for the underwater feat and then, taking their reeds with them, slipped silently over the side as Taog and Iain counterbalanced the boat.
Once they were in the water they kept the boat between them and the fort as they swam to the cluster of flotsam that had been dragged along with them. The three positioned themselves so that the water debris shielded them and then started swimming toward the islet, staying low in the water.
Cuchulainn enjoyed the swim. The loch was cold, but not as frigid as the Fairy Pools where he’d trained, and the day was hot, so the loch was more refreshing than chilly.
He was excited about their mission. Tabiti had described her plan to them before they’d loaded the boat.
Once on land, they would move soundlessly to the thick wall surrounding the fort.
Tabiti would be the lookout while Amage climbed onto Cuchulainn’s shoulders.
From there she’d scramble atop the wall, take a quick count of the army within, and look for any traps they might be setting, and then Cuchulainn would help her back down the wall and they’d return to the loch and safety.
Simple, silent, and swift—Tabiti had said that was their goal. Cuchulainn was more than ready.
“Underwater from here on,” Tabiti whispered to them, and the three warriors disappeared under the clump of debris, swimming beneath it as it floated the final distance to the islet.
Everything went smoothly at first. They waited, treading water until Tabiti gave them the all-clear sign.
They crawled silently from the loch, pulling the big clump of debris with them onto land and leaving their reeds with it.
Each of them rolled their wax balls and slid them into the inside pouches of their tunics.
Swords had been too bulky to bring, but they’d strapped knives and throwing daggers to their legs and waists.
Tabiti drew two of hers, one for each hand, as she led them to the shadows at the base of the wall.
They waited there for several breaths, pressed against the wall, listening for the voices of sentries or the sounds of feet on the walkway atop the wide stone.
There were no sounds. No footfalls. Nothing.
“Now!” Tabiti whispered to Cuchulainn and Amage as she kept watch, sliding from the wall shadows to the concealment of the thick grasses growing at the water’s edge and patrolling along their perimeter.
Cuchulainn bent a knee and took Amage’s hand as she scrambled to his wide shoulders, climbing him like a ladder.
Amage straightened, grasped the lip of the wall, and pulled herself up to peer into the fort. Warriors who had been laying atop the wall exploded from their place of concealment.
“Kill the women! But remember she wants Cuchulainn alive!” shouted one of the warriors.
Cuchulainn reacted first. He lunged backward, pulling Amage with him and breaking her fall as she tumbled from his shoulders.
Above them, warriors drew taut their bows and let arrows fly.
Tabiti threw both of her daggers, hitting two warriors, who fell from the wall, and then she raced toward Amage and Cuchulainn, running in a zigzag pattern.
Arrows missed Tabiti, but as Amage stood, one embedded itself in her hamstring.
Amage cried out in pain and fell to her knees.
“Amage!” Tabiti sprinted to her fallen partner.
“Get her out of here!” Cuchulainn ran toward Tabiti and Amage, shielding them from more arrows with the bulk of his body.
Tabiti hooked an arm around Amage’s waist. She looked up at him as she dragged her bleeding partner to the water. “Come on, Cu!”
“Go! Get into and under the water! I’ll follow you!”
“Now! Come now!” Tabiti shouted as she helped Amage enter the loch.
“I will! As soon as you get under the water!” Cuchulainn stood on the bank.
He turned so that he faced the warriors shooting arrows from the fort wall who were obviously trying to avoid hitting him.
He spread his arms and legs, making his body as wide as possible, shielding Tabiti and Amage from the onslaught.
“Now, Cu! Now!” Tabiti said before she dove after Amage, who was already swimming underwater, leaving a trail of scarlet.
Cuchulainn whirled around so that he faced the loch and jogged closer to the water, raising his hands as Tabiti had taught him, bunching his muscles to dive far out into the loch and disappear.
Tabiti hadn’t gone under the water. She was on her back, swimming after Amage as she encouraged Cuchulainn. “Move, Cu!” She shouted again, and then her eyes suddenly went wide. “Dive now! They’re—”
There was a whirring sound like a swarm of bees and, before Cuchulainn could take the leap into the loch, a net settled thick and heavy over him, pulling him to the ground. He fought against it, but the weights sewn into the ends of the net trapped him.
“Cu!” Tabiti shouted.
Another volley of arrows whizzed past him, striking the water all around Tabiti.
“Go!” he told Tabiti as he railed against the net, managing to rise to his knees.
Then he roared in pain as an arrow meant for Tabiti plowed a furrow through the top of his right shoulder as it zipped past him and into the water.
When his gaze went to Tabiti, she was veiled in red.
The berserker began to rise within him. “Goooo!” he snarled, already sounding inhuman.
“They’re coming for you! Fight, Cu! Then dive into the loch and catch up with us!” she shouted just before she dove under the water and swam after Amage.
Cuchulainn tried to turn to face his foes as the berserker heated his blood and reddened his vision, but the net made moving awkward, and before he could fully embrace the berserker, who would tear through the net as easily as he tore through human flesh, they were on him.
He expected knives and swords, but they came at him with neither.
Instead they ran at him with wooden bats.
One warrior rushed him. With a flying kick, Cuchulainn was knocked from his knees to the ground again.
Several men—he couldn’t tell how many—pinned his body down as he roared and snarled, embracing the berserker’s rage.
Someone rushed in and clubbed him over the head.
Light burst in Cuchulainn’s vision, burning through the red rage.
A second blow to the head turned everything black and silent as the Hero of Ulster’s eyes rolled to show white and he lost consciousness.
* * *
Consciousness returned slowly. The first thing Cuchulainn knew was that he must be alive because he refused to believe the dead had headaches, and his head pounded in painful time with his rapid heartbeat.
He felt wrong. His thoughts were muddled.
He tried to touch his head to find the injury, but his arms were trapped.
The movement sent a spear of pain lancing through his body from his right shoulder, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“Good, you’re waking.” Her voice was sweet.
High and soft like a songbird. He opened his eyes, but the room was dark and his vision was blurred.
Gentle hands lifted his head and pressed a cup to his lips, tilting it so the liquid poured into his mouth.
“Here, drink this. It’ll help with the pain in your head,” she cooed.
Cuchulainn didn’t want to drink—tried to turn away—but the gentle hands that held his head hardened.
She trapped his head, tilted it up and back, and pinched his nose closed.
If he wanted to breathe, he had to swallow the strangely sweet, yet bitter mixture.
He gulped and gulped and then again shook his head, attempting to move his nose from her hand and his mouth away from the cup.