The meadow--she was in the meadow again. Her meadow. Oh, how relieved she was to be here, now. The warm glow of the late afternoon sun, the panoply of flowers and grasses and drowsy bugs and butterflies. Those unidentifiable wisps of light flittering past in strange, slow movement, chittering as if conversing with one another in some unknown language. Emery's fingertips played at the petals and furry tops of the grasses nearest her, a light temperate breeze swaying the plants and her dress. Her hair was long and free; her heart was untroubled. Even as the forest stretched out to her left, mildly foreboding, she knew someone was there with her. Maybe many someones, if she could only move to look. But her dream kept her from turning right, kept her from knowing the comfort she was sure radiated from a place she couldn't see. And though she couldn't look, a dream instinct caused her to put out her hand, her right hand, toward the space she couldn't turn, and her fingers hung lonely in the air for only a moment before someone else's wrapped around them. The hand was large and strong, emanating assurance, security. She knew this solace--

The hand pressed against hers, and though Emery could not turn, the person the hand belonged to suddenly stepped into her vision, and he stood beside her, slightly in front, gazing ahead with his emerald eyes, looking toward the horizon, into the setting sunlight, determined and unafraid. He had always been there; he'd just been waiting for her to reach out toward him.

Emery woke coughing violently, her chest aching but unburdened, as if a huge weight had been lifted from it.

"Lady! Emery! Calm yourself, calm . . . you are well. Oh, all is well! Please . . ."

The girl had never been so happy in all her life to see Cathbad hovering over her in the dark, his worried peaked features lit by the soft glow of a sphere of light floating next to him. She flung her arms around his neck, simultaneously yelping in pain.

"Oh Gods! I am grateful. Please, stay still. Lie down. I must assess your injuries."

She did as he asked because she hurt too badly to do otherwise. "Everything--hurts." She caught sight of Cathbad's moist cheeks. "Are—you crying?"

"Hush. Do not speak," he gently insisted. "You may harm yourself further." But he wiped his eyes with his sleeve as he spoke.

Emery listened to him. Exhaling and inhaling was excruciating. Recalling the way The Dark Man had squeezed her ribs so tightly, she wondered if a few of them had been broken. The thought was terrifying. Whatever medical care was like here, it couldn't be ideal.

"I came the moment you called, sure that it was a false alarm of some kind. I had no idea you were here, of all places. And when I arrived, I saw you on the ground, in such a state, and was terribly confused." Cathbad rolled up her tunic to look at her stomach and ribs, being respectful with the placement of the fabric, and pressed softly in various locations. When he reached her left side and her sternum, Emery groaned in terrible pain, unable to emit any louder noise. "Oh, this will take some work, though I am pleased to see that this blood is not your own." He frowned in consternation. "But I am able, I assure you." The druid turned away from her and busied himself with whatever odds and ends he'd brought with him. "First," he continued, "we shall relieve the pain so that I may work." After a moment, he leaned toward Emery's face, a small cup the shape and size of an acorn in his fingers. Bringing the cup to her lips, he tipped several drops of bitter liquid into her open mouth.

Emery was doubtful what he gave her could relieve what she felt, but she was willing to try anything. To her surprise, though, within mere seconds, the pain began to subside, until she realized that she couldn't feel it anymore at all. Amazed, the girl made an attempt to sit, but Cathbad took her shoulders and pushed her back as delicately as possible.

"No, no, Emery! This is illusion, only. You are not well, though you feel well. Your injuries are quite present. You must stay still, or you may aggravate the damage. Allow me to work, though you may speak with me, now. I am quite interested to know how you allowed yourself to be nearly gored by a stag. I had thought his antlers pierced you, but I saw no puncture wounds. You must have harmed him as much as or more than he harmed you." Cathbad, having repositioned her and adjusted her tunic, looked back to his materials. "I surely was confounded when I saw that huge white beast a little ways off, hooving my crushed walnut as if he'd been the one to call for me--"

"What are you talking about?"

The druid was unphased by her question and kept on prattling. "I suppose you believed yourself capable of exploring this place on your own--though by the Gods I haven't any idea how you got here. Did your horse desert you? We'll have to find him before we return. I had a sense you'd do something foolish, soon, which is why I gave you the--"

"Oh stop talking! Please!" Though she felt better, Emery was exhausted, and her memories were just beginning to return to her from whatever murkiness the pain had caused.

Cathbad huffed in indignation. "All right, then. I see you've regained your temper."

"It wasn't the stag," Emery assured him, her voice gaining firmness. "It was The Dark Man. He--he was here, and he almost killed me. This--this blood--it was a deer! A baby deer!" The images came back to her in frightening vividness.

"What?" The minute she'd mentioned Fear Doirich, the druid let go of whatever he held and whirled toward her, his gray eyes wide and incredulous. "The Dark Man was here?"

"And Carman! Oh, Cat! Oonagh was Carman! She's dead, I think--on the other side of the tree. She's probably there!" Emery made to get up but again the man held her down.

"I will look, Emery. Stay." Cathbad rose and walked around the trunk of the massive tree. The girl heard nothing for a moment, and an irrational terror that something might've happened to the druid filled her.

"Do you see her?"

"Aye, Emery," came his soft, appreciated response. "She's quite dead, this time. There's some good, then."

"How can you say that?" Emery called, as Cathbad returned and sat down beside her again. "She was--Oonagh was my friend. She and Tess and I--"

"She deceived me again. Damned witch. Her magic far exceeded my own. All this time, and she was right before us!"

He was ashamed of himself. Emery forgot her own feelings and took his hand. "It's not your fault, Cat. She's gone, now, anyway."

"I shall burn her body, before we go, to be sure. But let me work with you first, while you tell me everything that's happened."

Over the next half hour or so, Emery recounted her entire evening, from the moment Oonagh had told her she'd take her to Luglochta Loga to the moment she'd blacked out. She told Cathbad everything Peadar had said to her about her upbringing, and she told him all that the Dark Man had said--as much as she could remember. And the whole while, the druid sat mystified, absorbing every word without adding any of his own beyond minor requests for clarification. The whole while, he mixed and mashed things Emery couldn't see, and he rubbed poultices on her chest and stomach. He twice muttered words she couldn't make out, and when she began to sense a dull ache returning to her ribs, he administered another acorn-cup-full of that bitter liquid, advising her to suffer whatever other pain returned, as too much of the medicine could be dangerous.

When she was done speaking, the first thing Cathbad said, shoulders slumping, face fallen, was, "I--I know not what to say."

Emery sighed. "Can I sit, now? I feel better."

Hesitant though acquiescing, he put his hands under her arms and pulled her up against the tree a little higher. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you. How long until I can stand?"

"We shouldn't stay later than necessary, not now that The Dark Man knows you're here, though I don't think he'll return tonight, and I've safeguarded our perimeter. I warrant you'll be able to stand by dawn."

"Dawn? That's probably hours away. I--"

"Emery." Cathbad sat next to her, against the tree. He seemed as tired as she felt. "I've been a fool. I've been such a fool. I had no knowledge of who you were. I--I hardly saw the child I was meant to sacrifice, those years ago." His voice lowered, as if he were wandering through the memory of it. "It was all chaos, fire and darkness. Every druid, every chieftain, every king or queen had assembled from every kingdom. I was so new to my position that I hadn't any notion of what was expected. I--I knew of sacrifice, but I hadn't understood. I hadn't known what it was like. And the children . . . they were homeless, all, orphans to the world. It was deemed an honor for them, to give their lives, to make something of themselves, to ward off the supposed impending Darkness. Each druid was given a child, to perform the rites." Cathbad's eyes glazed; his chin trembled. "Horrible rites. The children were drugged; that was the only mercy. One at a time, the children were carved for the Gods, thrown to the hungry flames."

Emery closed her eyes, the sounds of crackling fire, of screaming children, so real to her.

"When it came time for me, I merely looked at the child--you. I saw such innocence in you, and yet within that innocence severe rebuke for my predestined actions. I knew I could not harm you." He paused; the silence settled like dust before he stirred it again. "I never knew what became of you. In the argument that ensued, you were lost to me. Forgive me, I . . . I was concerned only for myself, for my Lord Cuchulain's magnanimous offer of servitude. And as you were mine, none other could harm you. Only--only I, your intended, could give you to the Gods, that night. How you got to Forgall, I do not know."

"Did Cullen know?" Emery asked. "Did he know who I am?"

"I cannot answer except to say that if he did, he never revealed it to me."

"What does it mean, then?"

Cathbad sighed. "A darkness is coming," he said ominously. "I'd hoped it wasn't true, that those years ago, the ritual had been fulfilled, or perhaps that it hadn't even been necessary. But there have been signs, like what's happened at Luglochta Loga, and what's happening within my own wood. I heard much more from Tlachta, when we were in Munster; there are reports of creeping forest and withering fields, blight and strange visions of spirits and walkers from the otherworld. Your visits from Fear Doirich--they are no coincidence; it is clear to me now, why he visits you. You were the intended sacrifice, the only thing remaining that could've stopped the rising dark. He is its gatekeeper, and his business with you is unfinished."

"You told me he probably wouldn't hurt me, that he only had a question."

"I was . . . wrong. I did, however, tell you that my castings were obscured, that I knew not his purpose." Cathbad was silent for a moment, then added, "The stag, Emery--it is not the first I've seen of him."

She'd almost forgotten the white stag; she'd hardly seen it before passing out. "I've seen him three times," she admitted. "Once at my house, in the otherworld. And then he led me out of the forest when I got lost in it, when I was taken by the aos sí. He . . . he must've saved me from The Dark Man. He must've attacked him--I think I saw that, just barely. And, and maybe he somehow found the walnut. You said it was under his hoof, didn't you? Maybe he crushed it."

"Curious . . . a white stag. Hm. He seems to have taken a liking to you. He wishes to keep you safe. Do you know why?"

"No. Do you?"

"No."

The two of them fell into their own contemplations. It was all so overwhelming, everything that had happened, and everything with Cullen, and now Emery was responsible for some darkness coming? What--because she hadn't died? Would it have all been better if Cathbad had just killed her, like those other druids killed their children? Had their deaths been for nothing?

Hearing her snuffles, the druid sat up and turned to Emery, his ball of light following his movements so that it hovered over the two of them. "Why do you weep, Lady?" He sounded so concerned, so sad.

Emery lifted her hands to her eyes and hid them. She shook her head, not knowing what to say, how to express everything she felt.

"Stop, Emery. No." Cathbad took her hands and pulled them away. Their eyes met, and each looked more upset than the other.

Emery's words caught in her throat. "I should've died with those others."

"No. No! Do not say that. I do not regret what I did. Could I have lived with myself if I'd murdered an innocent child? Emery, the three of us are bound in this together; I see that, now. It is not just you, nor is it you and Cuchulain. It is myself as well. We've all three defied the Gods, haven't we? The impending darkness surely concerns them. Their wrath is warranted."

"Well, what are we supposed to do about it? Can we stop any of it?"

The druid put her hands down, sat next to her again, and placed his head against her shoulder. "I believe we must inform Lord Cuchulain. It is time we trusted one another. We should not have secrets, bound as we are in this. Whether there is something we can do is yet to be seen."

Emery knew he was right. But she'd let Cullen tell him about the four treasures, about Tara. That wasn't her memory to tell. And as for the dream she'd had about Charlie? Well, that didn't matter anymore. "Charlie's dead. Carman told me."

Cathbad popped up again. "No! You are sure?" Emery nodded, and he hung his head. "My poor Tess. She will be devastated."

He fell back again, and for some moments the two lay side by side in silence, grateful for one another's company as they wandered through their thoughts. Emery even slept for a bit. But toward morning--dawn, just as Cathbad had said--when a sickly light began to penetrate the trees in strange, thin yellowish beams, the girl felt strength enough to prop herself up all the way, to sit up, and even to stand. She was weak, but when she touched the areas that had hurt so terribly hours earlier, she felt no pain. The druid examined his handiwork once more, advised her to leave the poultice on through the day, and gathered himself and his belongings while she adjusted her own clothing. Then he reclaimed his ball of light by closing his hand, and when it'd gone, Emery realized just how light the forest around them was becoming.

"As you came all this way," Cathbad said, "would you like to see the tower, in the daylight? It was your home for some years, after all."

Emery smiled at his unexpected kindness, knowing it went against his better judgment, but before she could respond one way or another, a flapping of wings startled them both, and all at once the druid's huge black raven was alighting on his arm. The creature squawked for a moment, and then Cathbad turned sharply to Emery.

"I apologize, Emery. We can't stay. Munster prepares for attack. They'll be at our gates within the hour."