“My father is a goddamned sadist.”
The words were muffled by the woolen scarf I’d wrapped around the lower part of my face, but they nevertheless seemed to freeze briefly in the air. It was damnably cold and would undoubtedly get a whole lot worse, given we were only a third of the way through a decidedly insane eleven-miles-round-trip hike up Ben Nevis, Scotland’s tallest mountain.
In the winter.
In the fog and the rain and the occasional flurry of snow.
The figure immediately ahead of me chuckled. Like me, my brother was dressed from head to toe in waterproofs to keep out the weather, and multiple layers underneath to keep in the heat. He was also wearing a backpack filled with tea, water, and food. Strapped to the back of this was a black sword that, even though it was fully sheathed in a silver-coated leather scabbard, emanated dark fury.
It was the sole reason we were on this goddamn mountain.
We needed to safely get rid of the thing, and that meant handing it back to the old gods who’d made it.
Presuming, of course, said old gods were home and that one of them would deign to talk to me.
There was never any guarantee, because the old gods could be cranky old bitches and bastards at the best of times.
“You’ve got the ‘god’ part of that right,” Lugh said. “But I think the only sadist here is you. It was your idea to risk the climb on such a shitty day; no one else’s.”
Despite the fact the wind was at our backs and should have been snatching his words away from me, I could hear him quite clearly. I’d created a small “weather bubble” at the beginning of our climb, not only to ensure that we could hear each other, but also to keep the three of us out of the very worst of the weather. Maintaining it tugged at my strength, but it also made moving through the storm easier, so it basically evened out.
“True,” I replied, “but it wasn’t like we had any real choice.”
We’d already wasted two days waiting for the weather to clear, and the feeling that we were running out of time had grown so sharp, it felt like I was being knifed. I might have been a late bloomer when it came to second sight, but to date it had proven remarkably accurate. I didn’t dare ignore the warning.
Thankfully, we’d pre-arranged a guide to take us up to the summit, and while he hadn’t been too pleased about the prospect of a possible nine-hour trek in inclement weather, he’d also agreed that today was as good as it was likely to get for at least the next week. He’d charged us double for the inconvenience, of course. If there was one thing to be said about dwarves, it was that they never wasted an opportunity to make an extra buck.
But in this case, it was worth it. Holgan’s people had called this region home eons before it became a national park, and they made a good living escorting hikers up and down the mountains.
The zigzagging path changed direction again, and the wind’s ferocity briefly eased.
Holgan turned to face us. Unlike either Lugh or me, he wasn’t wrapped to the nines in waterproofs, ski masks, and scarves, although he did have an oilskin on. His thick red beard—which had been artfully platted—was tucked inside the coat, but his sodden red hair was plastered to his skull. He didn’t seem to care.
But then, his people did live under Stob Coire Easain, which was a “lesser” part of this mountain range, so he was no doubt used to these conditions. It wasn’t as if there was much in the way of public transport or even roads in that particular area.
“If you be needing a drink and something to eat,” he said, his voice seeming to come from somewhere near the vicinity of his boots, “it’s best you do so now. There’s not going to be much chance once we get onto the scree slopes.”
Lugh immediately tugged off his pack and retrieved the thermos and three chocolate bars. Holgan refused the latter, so I grabbed it. We’d had a full English breakfast at the pub we’d been staying at, but that was hours ago, and my stomach was getting to that grumbly stage. Besides, I’d no doubt need the energy boost once we hit the more open areas near the summit.
Lugh handed me a steaming mug of tea. I took a sip and then asked, “How much further to the top?”
Holgan shrugged. “Depends whether the conditions ease like they’re predicting or get worse. Either way, we can’t go too fast because we’ll run the risk of the wind pushing us into the gully.”
The wind would do no such thing, and I’d make sure of it. I wasn’t the daughter of a storm god for nothing. While my control of the weather could at best be described as minuscule right now, I was decidedly more proficient when it came to the wind.
Holgan accepted his mug with a nod, then added, “There’s going to be zero visibility on the summit.”
“There’s zero visibility right now,” I replied, “so that’s hardly a surprise.”
It didn’t really matter anyway, because we weren’t here for the views. While the summit held all the usual remnants of bygone eras—the remains of the meteorological observatory, a few memorials, and some cairns—it was also, according to Beira—who was a hag and one of the aforementioned cranky old goddesses—a confluence. Which in dictionary terms meant a meeting or gathering point, but in this instance meant a gateway junction between heaven and earth.
Apparently, such gateways rarely opened for humans or any of the other races that still inhabited our modern world, such as elves, dwarves, shifters, and the like, and Beira had no idea whether it would open for me, despite the fact my father was a minor storm god.
Or, indeed, what would happen if itdid.
“Then what’s the reason for this insanity?” Holgan said. “Is it the sword on the wee lad’s back then?”

I couldn’t help a snort of laughter. Lugh was a six-foot-six bear of a man with unruly red hair and frost-green eyes. The term “wee” didn’t even fit me, and I was eight inches shorter.
“I do believe we’re paying you extra for no questions asked,” the lad replied mildly.
“Fair enough,” Holgan said. “But I’d appreciate forewarning if you believe anything unusual is about to happen.”
“If anything unusualdoeshappen,” Lugh growled, “we expect you to stick around and ensure we get off the mountain safely.”
Holgan smiled, but there was a decidedly steely glimmer in his brown eyes. “I never abandon a client.”
Unless he was paid to do so. He didn’t say that, of course, but there was a part of me that couldn’t help filling in the unspoken blanks. It appeared my natural pessimism was doing its best to darken an already dark day... and I seriously hoped that’sallit was.
I finished my tea, shook the remaining droplets out, then handed the cup back to Lugh. Once he’d repacked everything and slung the pack back on, we continued.
Holgan certainly hadn’t been kidding about the ferocity of the storm on the scree slopes. While my weather bubble remained locked around us, it couldn’t fully blunt the force of the storm. Going was slow, and we seemed to be trudging on forever. By the time we reached the highlands, my limbs were shaking with effort, sweat trickled down my spine, and the air was so cold, my lungs hurt. I was sure there were icicles hanging off my scarf, because the damn thing seemed to have doubled its weight. There weredefinitelyice crystals on my eyelashes, and that was a damnably weird sensation.
The only reason I knew we’d actually arrived at the summit was that Holgan stopped at what looked to be a cairn and said so. The world up here was nothing more than a sea of shifting gray, and there was a decidedly otherworldly feel about it.
I hoped it meant the confluence was accessible, but given I knew absolutely nothing about them, it was totally possible that otherworldly feeling was nothing more than imagination or even wishful thinking.
I stopped beside Lugh and Holgan and looked around. Though I’d studied several maps before we’d left, the shifting gray made it impossible to judge where exactly we were on the summit, or even which cairn we’d stopped next to. “How far away is the edge?”
“Maybe two dozen steps directly ahead of us.” Holgan studied me for a second. “You planning to throw that sword over it or something?”
I half smiled. “Or something.”
“Whatever that ‘something’ involves, can I suggest you put on the harness and rope the wee lad has been carrying? Better to be safe than sorry in these conditions.”
“Oh, she’s not goinganywhereunless she’s roped to me.”
I wasn’t entirely sure being roped to my brother would do any good if the confluence was some sort of portal to another dimension, but as Holgan had noted, better safe than sorry.
Lugh placed the pack on the ground, then handed me a harness. While I pulled it on over my coat, he carefully unlashed the sword. We both wore silver-laced silk undergloves under our regular ones just to be sure we could handle the sword safely. While neither he nor I were mages, and therefore never likely to be a target for the unholy power that lay within the sword, we weren’t about to take any chances. Not when the mere act of touching its hilt with unprotected flesh would not only unleash a siren’s call to any evil that inhabited the area but doom our souls to the stygian—which was not, as human legend would have it, the river presided over by the boatman Charon. There was no actual river or even a boatman, and the stygian were simply the souls of those charged to bring fresh fodder to whatever dark god they served.
The jewel in the black sword’s pommel chose that moment to come alive, and my inner unease strengthened. It shone with the same unearthly purple that had appeared when I’d unsealed the chest it had been hidden in, and while I wasn’t sure what was causing the light now, there was a big part of me hoping we didn’t find out.
“How do you want to play this?” Lugh asked.
“Cautiously.”
I didn’t see him roll his eyes, but I could practically feel it. “Now is not the time for levity, dear sister.”
I actually thought it was the perfect time, given the shit might well hit the fan in a matter of minutes, but I refrained from saying it. I rubbed my arms, but it didn’t in any way ease the inner tension.
“Once I grab the sword, I’ll step away from you both and call the confluence. We can play it by ear from there.”
He nodded and held out the sword. Tendrils of dark purple shot out from the jewel’s eye, briefly illuminating the gray.
There were shadows in the gray.
Human-shaped shadows.
“We ain’t alone,” Holgan said casually. “I’m guessing you’re expecting that, though.”
“No, we certainly weren’t.” But the sword did call to darkness, and I guessed the souls of the dead could be classified as that. “I suspect they’re nothing more than the ghosts of those who have died on this mountain.”
And if luck was on our side for a change, these ghosts would be the only ones who answered the sword’s call for help—because that’s what I suspected the pulsing dark light was. At least there was no known dark gate around these parts, because the last thing we needed was another Annwfyn attack.
Of course, the Annwfyn were the whole fucking reason we were in this mess in the first place.

They were a distant branch of elves existing in a place alongside yet apart from our world, and they considered human, fae, and shifter flesh something of a delicacy. Their nightly hunting incursions into our world were brutal and bloody and were the main reason most of humanity feared walking through shadows.
The Looisearch—the people who’d stolen the Crown of Shadows from under my nose, and who’d almost succeeded in grabbing the sword—intended to use the three Claws to forever banish night from our world, thereby ensuring the Annwfyn could never again hunt here.
The trouble with their whole plan was the fact that, while the Annwfyn appeared to make every attempt to avoid sunshine and any form of artificial light, no one had any real data on whether it was simply a matter of preference rather than a real restriction. Given their culinary tastes, it wasn’t like anyone dared ask.
“In all the years I’ve been coming up here, I’ve never seen the shades in such numbers,” Holgan commented. “I take it the sword is responsible?”
“Yes,” Lugh said before I could. “And let’s just hope ghosts are the only things that appear.”
“Does that mean I should be grabbing my axe?”
I glanced at him sharply. “Why on earth would you be carrying an axe?”
His brief smile crinkled the corners of his earth-brown eyes. “I rarely feel the need to murder my clients, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I raised my eyebrow. “The ‘rarely’ qualifier suggests that you indeed have.”
“There’s been one or two I would gladly have practiced my swing on, but before you start getting all stressed, lassie, neither of you fit the criteria.” His smile flashed, revealing surprisingly white teeth. “And I’m talking about an ice axe; I always carry a couple in conditions like this.”
I took a deep, somewhat relieved breath, and regretted it the minute the icy air hit my lungs. It might have been filtered through the scarf, but that barely took the edge off. Once I’d finished coughing, I sipped the water Lugh handed me and then said, “It would definitely be a good idea to keep a weapon handy, because we have no idea what will happen when I step into the confluence.”
Holgan sniffed. “Fighting will cost you extra.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” Lugh said, tone dry. His gaze met mine. “You ready?”
“No.” My lips twisted. “But let’s do this all the same.”
I reached out and took the sword. Though there were layers of silk, leather, and silver between my fingers and its blade, my skin nevertheless crawled. I could feel the darkness in it. Feel its power. Feel an odd sort of awareness that suggested perhaps this sword was far more than anyone—even the last woman to have successfully wielded it—knew.
I shivered but tightened my grip rather than let it go, as a good part of me wanted. Lugh roped me on, checked everything was sitting right, and then gave me a nod. He didn’t say to be careful. He didn’t need to. It was right there in his eyes and expression.
I took a dozen cautious steps forward, until I was surrounded by gray and the two men were no longer visible. Only the ghosts watched me, and their confusion—and perhaps a little anger—stained the air. Whether at me or the sword that’d called them into existence, I couldn’t say.
I flexed my free hand, then metaphysically reached for the black stone tucked neatly under my left breast. Lugh had created a fancy “cage” necklace for it to enable me to wear it rather than shoving it under a boob, but the stone worked best when it was touching skin and the last thing I wanted to do up here on the mountain was to undo multiple layers of warmth in order to press the caged stone into my hand.
The Eye itself was a “seeker” stone that had been gifted to my family long ago by the goddess Eithne. Mom had used it to track and return missing relics to the old gods, though I’d not been aware of its presence in her hunts until recently.
Of course, she’d no idea—as far as I was aware, anyway—that the Eye was just one part of a triune designed as a means of fighting those who sought to raise the dark gods. That triune was foresight, protection, and knowledge, in the form of the Eye, the knives that were strapped to my thighs, and the Codex, a book that supposedly contained all the knowledge of the gods themselves.
Just under a week ago, I’d performed a blood-based ceremony that had made me one with the triune. It had allowed me to call the knives into my hands even though they were miles away and had given me some measure of control over the Eye—at least to the extent that it didn’t immediately sweep me into a vision the minute I touched it. I’d yet to use it inthisparticular manner, but again, I wasn’t keen on stripping off my gloves or undoing any layers. Not with the cold, and especially not when I was holding the sword.
The Eye pulsed—something I felt physicallyandmetaphysically—and its power swam through me, an energy that was rich and aware and as strong as that when I held the Eye in my hand. In my mind’s eye I could see the lightning that cut through her dark heart, and it was the same unearthly color as the stone encased in the sword’s pommel.
In this case, it was a reaction to the proximity of darkness. A warning to be wary, and one that was echoed by the knives themselves, though their pulsing was something I could feel rather than see.
As the Eye’s response grew in tenor and tone, an answering echo came from the gray to my right. It was a low response, not unlike the deep resonance of a bell.
Tension—and more than a little fear—swept through me, but I held my ground despite the growing urge to back the hell away.
The ghosts drew closer, their insubstantial fingers reaching for me. I had no idea what they intended, but for now, the weather bubble kept them at bay. I hoped it continued to do so. Ghosts rarely had the capacity to interact or cause harm to humans, but these had been called here by darkness, so who really knew what was and wasn’t possible.
The bell-like tolling continued, and the Eye’s burning grew stronger. I had no immediate sense that she was, in any way, drawing on my strength, and yet my body trembled. I had the oddest feeling that I was once again standing on the edge of a precipice, about to step into the great unknown.
Darkness cannot enter this place.
The statement rolled out of the gray, the voice neither male nor female but so filled with power it hurt my ears.
This sword was created by the gods. It must be returned for humanity to remain safe.