By Mair Riley-Jones

One. Two. Three.

“I hate Moi.” Morgan thought. It’s always cold, there’s too many hills and the only tavern is run by a demon.

Four. Five. Six.

Darkness was falling earlier by the day and she knew there could be anything hiding in the trees. There could be an army of Bane’s followers hiding over the crest of the hill above camp; mud men could be destroying one of the wards; the famorai could be stumbling across the thirteen treasures and they’d never know.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

That’s exactly why she and the boys were crouched behind a copse of trees in the dark, close to a small hut-like building watching one of the wards. She could just about make out Dermot’s yellow tabard against the tree he was hidden behind. Finnigan’s red tartan was harder to spot but she could see his outline behind one of the benches before the hut. 

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

A lot of her family had come on this scouting trip with her. She knew Garruk and Taenam were behind her, watching the back - but she was starting to learn that family wasn’t just about the tartan you wore. Finn has stood by her side on the battle field more than once, Tian had her back in the fight against Sig McCroth before he’d died. Even some of the McFergus clan had offered to come on future hunts under Cernunnos’ name.

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

Torque and Finn had been sent out to check around the ward, she could see their faint silhouettes moving through the trees. It seemed to be glowing faintly in the gloom which helped her keep an eye on it. The night air was biting, she regretted tying her hair back - the tips of her ears must be bright red, but it helped keep it out of her face and she couldn’t afford the lack of vision. Kaila had said the wards here were tied to those around Erin and that made what they were doing all the more important.

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.

Her thighs were starting to burn, she desperately wanted to shift her footing but didn’t want to risk the noise. They’d made too much already, too many people for a scouting mission. The enthusiasm was more than touching as was Dermot’s faith in her fledgling leadership but big groups make bigger targets and they didn’t want to engage without reinforcements.

Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one.

No movement near the ward. She could still see Finn and Torque moving round the perimeter. The Advocate had told them about the mud men. She’d never seen one but it had said they liked to attack pretty things because they weren’t pretty, and shit everywhere but that was probably just exaggeration. It had been sucking on the feather on his hat when it’d said it and it spoke mostly in riddles. 

Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four.

She hoped Cernunnos was watching them now. This was all for him after all. She’d watched Cern take the spear back from Logan at the Festival of Renewal, she hadn’t realised that it was that bad until Irial had shouted at them all about it. But perhaps that was part of the problem. In a lot of ways they’d forgotten their gods. 

Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.

Yes the Morrigan still had a strong following, Battlesmiter would always take care of that, and of course Kallan and her sister warriors had dedicated themselves as the Blodyn. And they had Lughnasadh of course and Beltane. But what of the other gods? Manannán, Ogma, Danu at least? Scather and Aoife had representatives in camp right now but no chosen. She was at least trying to help Cernunnos, she hoped it helped make him stronger, her worship, even when she whispered to him in the grove on her own, it all had to help, right? They’d need the gods in the fight against Bane, they’d need to protect their gods from Bane and his tyranny, and their gods made them as a people stronger.

Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.

That was long enough. She let out a sharp whistle, drawing Finn and Torque back to the main group, nothing here except them. She motioned for them to start moving out of the area. They had more wards to check on before they could return to camp and they were on the other side of this fucking hill.