Becan. I wiped my eyes again, noting with some detachment that my hand came away red, and looked down at the baby. He was hiccupping weakly; he had gone beyond fright. “Nearly there,” I murmured to him. “Nearly there, sweetheart. Oo-roo, little dove . . .” My voice was rough as a toad’s, but Becan didn’t seem to mind. While Cathal wrestled with the rope, heaving us across the water, I continued the lullaby. The infant quieted, his sobs subsiding, his little twiggy hand curling trustfully into the sodden fabric of my shirt, his lips forming what looked oddly like a smile. Did babies smile so early? “Time to bid farewell to day,” I sang, and we reached the other side.

Cathal hooked our craft to a weathered pole set among rocks. He held out his hand to help me up. My legs were not keen to support me.

“Left or right this time?” he asked, standing on the edge of the raft. He sounded admirably calm.

“Left going in,” I said. “Right coming back. I heard a tale about it once.”

“What happens if you make a mistake?” He stepped off with his left foot, guiding me after him. The shore was covered with tiny white stones as smooth and regular as eggs. They crunched as we walked forward.

“I don’t know. I think you might end up somewhere different, not where you wanted to go. Or you might not be able to cross the margin at all. These things matter. I wish I could remember properly.” I reached up to wipe my face again.

“Here,” Cathal said. He had put the two bags on the ground. Now he began to unfasten his, perhaps seeking a cloth with which to stem the flow of blood.

“Don’t worry about that, I’m fine.” I heard my own voice as if down a tunnel, its tone distant and hollow. “Shelter. We must get dry . . .” A moment later trees, rocks and pebbles spun before me and everything went dark.

I woke to the crackling of a fire and the sound of Cathal muttering, “All right, all right, I’m doing the best I can.” Becan was crying. I had Cathal’s cloak around me, and when I opened my eyes I could see the sky. It was a shadowy purple-gray with neither sun nor moon in evidence. I could not tell whether it was day or night. Dusk? Had I lain in a dead faint most of the day? I lifted a cautious hand to my face, feeling for damage, and winced as I touched swollen, abraded skin. My hair was sticky with blood.

I sat up. A wave of dizziness went through me, making my stomach churn. I swallowed, breathed, sat a moment waiting for the nausea to subside. I could not afford any more weakness.