I bade Ciarán farewell at the entrance to a shadowy passageway that opened between rocks close by a spring. I could not tell if it was the same way by which the Old Ones had brought me out of the Otherworld. Sometimes the raven flew ahead, stopping with visible impatience for me to catch up, then winging on and leaving me no choice but to scramble after him. Sometimes he did not seem so confident, and rode perched on my shoulder, his claws sharp through shawl and gown. Without the Old Ones’ torches it was dark; the faint glow of fireflies, clustered here and there on the tunnel roof, barely made the journey possible. In some places I had to feel my way with arms outstretched to graze the walls. My knees were soon bruised from falling; I jarred my left hip painfully on a spur of stone. My eyes longed for the sun. Even the strange, muted light of the Otherworld would be better than this.

I stopped twice to rest and forced myself to swallow food and water. Crouched there in the semi-dark with Fiacha’s eyes on me, the only thing I wanted to do was go on walking so we could be out as soon as possible. But I must keep up my strength. I would need all my wits about me when we reached the other end.

There were obstacles. At one point I teetered on the edge of a drop, a breath away from plunging down into the unknown. I stepped back from the brink and blundered about in the dimness until I found a different way. There was a narrow place where water trickled down the stone walls and pooled under my feet; I ducked through, balancing Fiacha, and came out with my skirt dripping. Later I entered a cavern tented with spider webs of monstrous thickness, their occupants invisible in the dark corners from which these sticky nets were suspended. Fiacha stopped to probe a crevice with his beak; I saw him swallow something. Several times I came to what seemed dead ends, my progress halted by impassable barriers of stone. Each time there was a path to be discovered. One was the merest slit, concealed behind a rough protrusion. Fiacha hopped through and I squeezed after him, ripping my shawl. One was a tiny aperture at foot level, through which I made a wriggling, eel-like passage. Another seemed to have no opening at all, but when I set my hand against the rock wall and sent a silent request to the Old Ones for guidance, a little door appeared, just large enough for me to step through.

Day was over when we finally emerged in the forest of the Otherworld. Now to find the way to Mac Dara’s hall. With luck he would be holding another audience tonight. If I could play this game right, he would at least agree to talk to me.