Cathal stares out across the water. “I cannot fight him,” he says in a low voice. “My craft is gone. There is not a shred of magic in me. I could not so much as raise a spark to make light when it was needed. Even before, I struggled to match my father’s power. Now, he would simply laugh at me. I cannot wage war against a prince of the Otherworld. I cannot even defend my family.”

The silence draws out. The little gray ones start to fade away, merging into rocks and sand and water as if they were the stuff of dream.

Sibeal rises to her feet. “Wait!” she calls softly.

Eyes turn in her direction.

“Cathal is no coward,” she says. “What he needs is an explanation. Do not judge him before he has heard it.”

They seem to be waiting for more.

“Is it not true,” Sibeal says, “that within the margins of this isle your Queen holds total sway? If her power is sufficient to keep Mac Dara at bay, might it not block the spells and charms of any mage who entered her domain?”

The faces of these beings are obscured by the shadow of their hoods; the bright eyes give little away. But I sense a warming, a softening. “It is true, wise one,” one of them says. “Mac Dara’s son will leave the confines of the isle without the Golden Queen. Beyond the barrier of our cliffs, he will be free of the restraints her presence has placed on him.”

“But—” Cathal says, and his voice is less guarded now, “Sibeal used a druid charm to make light, in the underground passage. Why was her magic not blocked?”

“Aaah.” They make the sound as one. It is a sigh, and a song, and a deep and fervent prayer of thanks. “She is the goddess-friend. She is the one who sees true. They are blessed, the wise woman and the one who walks beside her. But for them, Mac Dara’s son, you would not be here. You would not be here to receive our gift.”

“A gift.” Cathal sounds as if, even for him, this is all too much to take in. “What gift is that?”

The small beings move, breaking the circle around him, and converge in a huddle. They resemble a collection of weed-covered rocks. In this place of stone and water, they blend seamlessly. At length one of them glides forward, stopping before Cathal. It stretches out what might be a hand. I cannot see what it offers.