“Just when we’d reached a point where there seemed no way on, help came. First there was a light, moving across the surface of the bog toward us. As it came closer, I saw that it had the form of a bird, a raven. That was an eldritch thing; gives me goose bumps just thinking of it. As it passed, beneath it the foliage of the water plants began to weave itself together and to flatten out, making a kind of pathway. We didn’t stop to think too hard. The raven reached us, turned, and headed away again. We followed. Liadan sang a lullaby. The baby quieted. We walked on that mat of woven fronds, not questioning how it was all holding together or whether it could bear our weight safely. I glanced back once or twice as we went, thinking that if we could use this path, so could our pursuers. But the path was vanishing even as we crossed it; nobody would be following us this way.

“I hardly had the strength to feel relief, only the will to put one foot in front of the other, to keep the Chief balanced across my shoulders, to set aside the pain in my hands. So we crossed over the swamp, and there he was, waiting on the other side: your Ciarán, Sibeal, though he was not a druid back in those days, more of a sorcerer, I think. The flame-shaped bird turned into an ordinary raven and settled itself on his shoulder, and he greeted us. And out of the dusk, one by one, stepped forward our own men, ready to take us to safety. I’ll tell you something, those ragtag warriors with their beaten-up faces were the most beautiful sight in the world.