“Don’t touch him!” he was shouting, he hardly knew what. “I’ll hang you! I’ll drive your bodies on spits and roast you!”

The Bullets abusing his father’s body ceased their work long enough to watch his approach with bemused expressions on their faces.

Donnally stood before them, angry that they touched his father, angrier still that they didn’t think him more worthy of respect than amusement. His mind spun until all that was left was perfect fury.

He drew a deep breath, and he roared.

The sound filled him up. It was raw and ugly and loud. It was like a fever racing through every part of him, changing every part of him.

“Now, that is a battle cry.” An older boy came to stand before Donnally. He had a crown of blond hair and a face like a collection of knives. He met Donnally’s glare with piercing blue eyes of his own.

“That kind of rage will serve you well,” the boy said. “What’s your name?”

Donnally raised his chin and sharpened his eyes.

The boy was suddenly very close. He gripped Donnally’s jaw and tilted his head back, exposing the tattoo at his temple. Recognition lit the boy’s eyes, and he released Donnally.

“Your sister was very brave.”

At first, the words didn’t make sense. Donnally assumed he was speaking to someone else. Then a new, horrible reality ripped through his mind like a wind scouring everything in its path.

“Will you come with me, little brother?” the boy asked, not unkindly. “Come with me, and I will teach you to be just as brave as she.”

An image of Caledonia appeared in Donnally’s memory. She was laughing and proud and her hair tossed behind her in a friendly wind. How had she died? The boy standing before him wanted him to ask. Wanted to tell him. He was sure of it.

“Don’t you want to be brave?” the boy asked. “Tell me your name.”

Tears slipped down Donnally’s cheeks. He felt them on his skin, but not in his heart when he answered, “Donnally.”

The knife-faced boy smiled again. “Hello, Donnally. I’m Lir,” he said extending a hand. “Your new brother.”

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Four Years Later

Caledonia dreamed of fire and of drowning.

The sea was glassy and cold. It surrounded her in a way that was almost loving, pushing at her fingers and toes, swirling at the nape of her neck. The current nudged her gently back and forth as though she were a piece of kelp, relaxed, yet not quite adrift. Directly above, the surface blazed. Fire danced along the water as far as Caledonia could see. And somewhere beyond those flames a voice called her name.

She reached up, and her fingers met something soft and dry.

“I think she’s coming around.” A hand wrapped around her own. “I’ve got you.”