I risked a glance back. For a moment, just a moment, I saw the diminishing figure of Aidan on the shore behind us, and it seemed to me he half raised one hand in a tentative salute of farewell. Before I could respond, the rain descended over him. There was nothing to be seen but a sheet of gray. Ahead, the shadowy expanse of the unknown forest loomed ever closer as Cathal inched us forward, hand by straining hand, breath by labored breath.

“All right?” I asked, ashamed that my terror held me cringing on the raft, unable to help him.

“Mm. You?” was all he could manage.

I opened my mouth to tell him I was fine. Before I could utter this blatant lie, something flashed past a handspan from my eyes, whirring, creaking, crying out in sharp derision. I flinched back. Cathal swore as another of the creatures dived close, then rose, flapping, toward the trees on the far side. The raft jerked and began to rock crazily in the current. I clutched Becan; he screamed in fright. When I looked up again I saw that Cathal had lost his hold on the guide rope. We were still linked to it by the shorter tie, but the river was doing a powerful job of straining that tether to snapping point.

“All I can say is, I very much hope there’s another way back.” Grim-faced, Cathal took hold of the shorter rope with both hands and worked his way up it, leaning out over the water, until he could grasp the guide rope again. His palms were red raw; they would be all blisters.

“You’re doing well,” I said, eyeing the far bank. It still looked rather a long way away. And what if those creatures came back, bats, birds, something in between? “I’m sorry I’m not helping.”

“You are helping,” said Cathal. “Someone has to hold the child. Keep down, they’re coming back.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw them approaching. They were feathered and beaked like crows, but their bodies resembled those of bats, with clawlike hands and feet. Pale eyes gleamed amid the coal-dark plumage. At a certain point in their flapping progress they simply folded up their bodies and plummeted straight toward us. This time I felt a sharp, raking blow across my cheek and I cried out in fright, pressing Becan’s head against my chest. Cathal took one hand off the rope, reaching for the dagger in his belt. His eyes narrowed as he watched the creatures circling in preparation for a third assault.

“Leave it, just get us across,” I gasped. I could feel blood trickling down my face. “I’m all right.”

“A pox on it!” Cathal hissed, his jaw tight. He drew the dagger, weighing it in his hand as if preparing to throw. The raft swung this way, that way; water washed over my legs.