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Chulainn lit a fire and then piled stones around its edge so that its light was contained. He boiled up some water and then vanished into the trees for a few minutes, returning with a bird that looked as though it might have had grouse in its ancestry. They cooked it over the fire and then picked at the small amount of tasteless flesh.

When they had finished eating, they sat and faced each other across the fire.

'What are witches?' Ace asked. 'I mean, to me witches are old biddies who fly around on broomsticks wearing pointy black hats. I don’t think that’s what they are to you. Those people at the camp looked the same as anyone else. How could you tell they were witches?’

‘Ace,’ Chulainn said, ‘I would rather not talk about the camp. But witches, witches are easy to recognize. There are five races who inhabit Tír na n-Óg. There are the humans, the Fomoir, the Sidhe, the Firbolg and the Ceffyl. All but the humans bear a mark upon their bodies. A small triangular mark whose points are surmounted by small shapes. As I said, all but the humans bear this mark, but there are some humans who do carry the mark. They are full of evil and malice and hatred for true humans. There are the witches.’

‘And where do you look for this mark?’

'It is invariably behind the ear, on the nape of the neck.’

'And that's how you recognize them?'

'There are other ways: In some it is possible to see it in their eyes.’

‘The eyes are the window on the soul.’

'What?'

'Something I read, I think.’

'Ah! Others, the worst cases, are able to shift their forms.’

'Werewolves! Ace!’

'Witches, quasi-demons. Please, I'd rather not talk about it any longer.’

‘Right.’ There was silence for a few minutes. Ace looked at the stones around the fire; one of them was beginning to glow dimly. 'When we met you, you said you were the leader of your clan and something else.’

‘Guardian of the virginity of Brigit. '

'That's it! Who's Brigit?’

‘Brigit is one of the original Tuatha. One of our goddesses. The goddess of poetry and fire.’

'Poetry?'

'Yes. To become clan leader I had to demonstrate my ability to control fire and to compose poetry.’

'How did you do that? ‘

‘Grasping burning coals in my hands, walking over hot ashes and other tests.’

'Wicked! And the poetry?'

Chulainn's chest swelled with pride. 'I am the best in the clan.

Listen: -

'And Dianecht comes to the river

He saw that there were many of the Lugh there

With the fire of Rhyl in their bellies

They wield swords of blazing virtue

Take from the castle that is built by the Tuatha

Out of rock of ages. '

He paused and looked to Ace whose eyes had grown wide during this recitation. She realized that some comment was expected of her and so she started to nod her head vigorously. This obviously wasn't quite enough, so she said, 'Yes, very good! And you're the best in your clan, right? Phew, some competition. No, it's all right,' she waved him down, 'there’s only so much culture I can take in one night.'

Ace curled up inside her sleeping bag, bringing her knees up close to her chest to keep herself warm.

The method worked because soon she found herself dreaming. She was lying in a boat, drifting slowly down a river. The sun was dancing on the water casting reflective ripples up on to the green canopy. She dangled her fingers into the cool water and revelled in the warmth of the sun upon her body. An orchestra struck up in the background and she gave a casual wave to them where they floated by on an enormous water lily. Simon Groom, a childhood crush, kissed her gently on her forehead and then dragged his enormous, rough tongue across her cheek. She spluttered awake.

The sky had cleared enough for some starlight to filter through, but a large section of the sky was cut off by a huge silhouette. It muzzled her cheek again.

'Chulainn,' she called out, about to tell him that his horse had slipped its rope, but something stopped her. There was a soft but sharp touch against her forehead and suddenly a voice appeared in her head and a soft nimbus surrounded the creature that loomed over