“Chores and trades,” said David, smiling. “I can fetch water, clean stables, feed animals, dye wool, and make a painful pair of shoes.”

“Sounds awful,” said Max.

“It’s the happiest I’ve ever been,” said David, uncovering a basket to offer Max an apple. “And I don’t think it’s boasting to say I’m the best one-handed cobbler in all the Sidh!”

Max smiled.

“What of Astaroth?” he asked, the Demon seeming a distant memory under the warm sun.

“Only rumors.” David shrugged. “Occasionally, a traveler will arrive with tales of a strange being waiting at crossroads, jesting with passersby. Wherever Astaroth is from, it isn’t from here. Even in the Sidh, I think they’re afraid of him.”

“And how did you . . . ?” whispered Max, inclining his head at Caillech’s bent form, clutching the reins.

“Meet our friendly driver?” said David, smiling. “Last night I was cleaning the cobbler’s shop when she knocked. Not so much as a hello. Just a ‘On the morn, we fetch your prize,’ and she pushed past me to sleep in my bed! Weird, I know, but weirdness is the way here—everyone coming and going on strange, secret errands.”

“And where is she taking us?” asked Max.

“Brugh na Boinne,” rasped Caillech, shooing away a horsefly.

Max sat up straight and turned toward their driver. Since his decision at the crossroads, that name had haunted Max’s dreams: Astaroth had said his mother would be there.

“How far is it?” asked Max urgently.

“Far,” replied the crone.

“Can’t we go any faster?” asked Max, watching the nag’s head bob in time with its plodding pace.

Caillech laughed—a low, mirthless croaking.

“There was once a man who saw Death staring at him in the marketplace,” she muttered. “Afraid, the man stole a horse and rode as fast as he could to the next town. Once there, he took a room at an inn and locked himself inside. But there was Death, already waiting by the fire. ‘How?’ cried the man. ‘How can you be here?’ Death smiled and stood. ‘I asked myself the same when I saw you at the marketplace, for it is here that I was to meet you.’ ”

Caillech laughed again and shook her head. Max said nothing, but glanced instead at David. His roommate seemed lost in thought, however, gazing quietly at the mossy remains of a wall built long ago.

“What is it, Caillech?” asked David cautiously.

“This is not the road to Brugh na Boinne,” she said at length, looking past them.

Max exploded.

“What do you mean?” he cried, smacking the side of the cart. He stood and looked behind them. Theirs was the only road in sight.

“This is not the road to Brugh na Boinne,” repeated Caillech.

“And it took you this long to realize it?” asked Max, incredulous. He buried his head in his hands. “Do you have any idea where you’re going?”

Caillech stared at Max. Her dark eyes narrowed to angry creases.

“Do you?” she asked.

Max swallowed his reply; it took all his effort to smother his temper.

“Take the reins yourself or be still, you impudent child!” hissed the crone.

Max remained standing, staring at Caillech with rising anger. After a moment, David spoke.

“She didn’t mean to take the wrong way,” he said gently. “Sit back down, Max.”

Max nodded but kept his eyes on their driver, who returned his glare with a defiant scowl. Sinking back into the cart, Max knitted his fingers behind his head and stared up at the sky. The mare snorted and they began the slow, laborious process of turning the cart around.

“We are here,” croaked the old woman as the cart rolled to a stop.

“And where is here?” snapped Max.

“Brugh na Boinne,” replied Caillech.

Max cracked an eye open. David was standing up in the cart, gazing at something ahead of them. Sitting up, Max turned and blinked. The road had come to an abrupt end, tunneling into the side of a great hill studded with rocks and roots. Max climbed from the cart and stared.

“But we didn’t come this way before,” he said, glancing sharply at David. “And haven’t we been on the same road this whole time?”

David nodded and shivered, rubbing his arms as the sun’s last rays began to fade at the horizon. While the landscape darkened about them, a pale light glimmered from the hill’s dark opening. Faint and veiled it began, but as the light grew stronger, its flickering luminescence spilled out from the hill like a welcoming light. A fire was burning inside.

A tingling arose in Max’s neck and fingers, the same sensation he’d experienced when he discovered the tapestry.

Caillech stepped down from her seat and hobbled toward the cave’s opening.

“What are you fools waiting for?” she hissed. Bent nearly to the ground, the old woman shuffled inside. Max took David’s pack from the smaller boy and closed his fingers around Cúchulain’s spear. Side by side, the two boys walked into the earth.

The road did not end at the hill but continued within it. Max and David’s footsteps echoed off the cobblestones as they descended slowly, following a long, slow curve. Yellow firelight flickered on the walls, broken by Caillech’s shadow, which looked misshapen and monstrous as she muttered and shuffled ahead of them.

At last, the road ended, terminating at a large cave deep within the hill. Many tapestries hung along the walls, illuminated by a massive brazier that burned at the cavern’s center. Against the far wall was an alabaster dais and upon its smooth white surface were several objects.

“Behold!” croaked Caillech. “The Four Treasures of the Tuatha dé Danann and that which you seek!”

Following Caillech around the burning brazier, Max and David approached the dais. The crone pointed a bony finger at an enormous cauldron of etched bronze from which protruded a heavy shaft of wood.

“The Dagda’s Cauldron,” she muttered. “They say it can feed an army and raise the dead. And within it, the Spear of Lugh—deadly to all save his kin and so terrible, it must sleep beneath water laced with poppies. And there is the Sword of Nuada, Claíomh Solais,” she gasped, pointing at a gleaming sword of silver. “And next to it, Lia Fáil—the stone that was kingmaker until Cúchulain himself split it in two!”

Max walked over to the stone, running his hand over its rough surface to the smooth, sharp plane where it had been halved. He glanced at the weapon he carried and wondered if it had done the deed long ago. David passed behind him, arriving at the last object on the dais.

There, suspended within a case of blown glass, was the Book of Thoth. David and Max peered closely at it. The glass distorted its appearance, but some details could be seen. It had a cover of tarnished gold, etched with hieroglyphs and the profile of an ibis-headed man—the Egyptian god himself. With a sharp intake of breath, David tried to lift the case. It did not move.

“Let me help,” said Max, taking hold of the glass and giving a heave.

The case remained fast and the two boys were left staring at the Book as though it were a pastry beneath a domed cake plate. David gasped suddenly and fished frantically inside his shirt. He brought out Bram’s talisman, holding it gingerly by its slender chain.

It was glowing a dull red, the heat within it intensifying even as they watched.

“We have to hurry,” muttered David, wrenching the chain off his neck and tossing the hot medallion aside. “The Book’s in danger.”

Max stepped back as David began to chant. Strange words rang through the cavern, powerful spells that seemed to make the very earth hush and listen. Nothing happened, however, and Max saw that David was frustrated. His words became songs, lilting chants and melodies that saturated the air until it hummed with magic. Still the glass remained. The songs became whispers—slow, terrible words that echoed off the walls and whispered back, distant and mocking. David bowed his head and the echoes subsided to silence. He raised his eyebrows and glanced wearily at Max.

“I’m so sorry,” he sighed. “I must have lost my touch.”

Max had a sudden flash of memory.

“You haven’t lost anything,” Max cried, shaking his friend in his excitement. “Remember Bram’s Riddle?” Max almost hyperventilated as he recited the poem’s second verse.

“You’re right,” said David, blinking slowly. “Magic won’t open it at all.”

“Whatever you mean to do, you must decide soon,” muttered Caillech. “The door above is still open!”

The woman’s words smacked of menace. Max turned and stared at the medallion.

It was smoldering now, issuing steady waves of heat.

Max felt a sudden tickling at his neck—Mr. Sikes fluttered at his ear.

“The spear!” squeaked the imp. “The magic spear will free the Book, Master McDaniels! The Demon is coming! Oh, you must be quick for all our sakes!”

Max swallowed and glanced again at the cavern entrance, half expecting to see Astaroth’s smiling face peering from the darkness. Caillech shut her eyes, making a hasty sign against evil. David merely stared at the smoldering medallion.

“Now!” pleaded Mr. Sikes, his voice no louder than a tiny squeak. “With all your heart, strike swift and true!”

Max gripped the gae bolga tight and turned to eye the Book. With a sudden stride, Max raised the spearhead up and swung its razor edge straight down onto the glass. There was a sound like a thunderclap, a flash of pain, and Max was flung backward to the base of the brazier. Sitting up, Max clutched his arm, which had gone numb. He scrambled to his feet, glaring at the Book of Thoth, which remained suspended within the undamaged case. David and Caillech stared at him in silence, their eyes wide with shock. Turning to retrieve Cúchulain’s spear, Max gasped.

The gae bolga had shattered into a hundred sharp fragments that were scattered across the cavern floor. Max stood and blinked at the glittering shards for several moments. Without a word, he walked across the room and tore a tapestry from the wall. Neither Caillech nor David dared to speak while Max crawled about on his knees, retrieving every last shard of metal and splinter of bone until they lay in a little pile on the tapestry. When all had been recovered, Max folded the cloth upon itself.

“Are you okay?” asked David.

“I’m fine,” Max lied, walking to stow the bundled tapestry within David’s pack. His voice was soft and calm. “I just wasn’t strong enough—it was a stupid mistake.”

Caillech said nothing.

“No,” David said slowly. “I don’t think it was a stupid mistake at all. You did the right thing. After all, you’re not broken—the spear is. It wasn’t strong enough.”

Max looked at the other objects on the dais and came to a sudden, sinking conclusion. There were two spears in the cavern; he had chosen the wrong one.

Frowning, Max stepped decisively over to the cauldron and reached inside for the Spear of Lugh.

“No!” David cried, waving his arm. “Don’t touch it! Use the sword—Caillech said that spear will kill you!”

Max paused a moment, remembering back to his brief audience in the throne room at Rodrubân. There was a calm, quiet truth to the words Lugh had spoken. Max now cast aside his misgivings; he was indeed the High King’s son. As the realization washed over him, he was vaguely aware that David was pleading with him to back away from the half-submerged spear.

“It can’t hurt me, David,” muttered Max, closing his eyes as he pulled the heavy weapon from the water. The cauldron began to hiss and boil. A bloodcurdling wail issued from the spear as it was lifted above the water’s surface. A slow trickle of blood bubbled from the spear’s point to course down its length and stain Max’s fingers. David shrieked and backed away from the terrifying thing as Max turned to face the Book. Once again, he brought a spearhead down against the glass. This time there was no pain.

A satisfying impact shivered up his arm as the Spear of Lugh pierced the case in a flash of white light. Glass rained down upon the cavern floor in thousands of tiny pieces. The Book of Thoth remained suspended in the air, while the spear writhed and screamed in Max’s hands. Staggering back toward the cauldron, Max plunged the weapon back into the water. The cauldron steamed and frothed for several moments and then was still.

“You’ve done it,” Caillech sighed, steadying her frail form against the dais before lowering herself to the ground. She leaned her bent back against the alabaster and breathed deeply. “Well done, my boy. I have waited a long time for this.”

Wiping the blood from his hands, Max smiled at her. For the first time, Max saw the old woman smile, too. She turned to look at David, who plucked the Book from where it hovered in the air and cradled it against his chest.

“Now what?” asked Max.

“Now you must go home,” croaked Caillech. “And take this Book from the Sidh, where it does not belong. It was not made here and cannot stay.”

“How?” asked Max, remembering the Kestrel ’s wreckage. “How do we get home?”

“With this,” breathed David, running his hand over its golden cover. “The Book will show us.”

Sitting cross-legged next to Caillech, David opened the Book of Thoth and touched his fingers to its thin sheets of papyrus. The only sound was that of the flickering torches as David pored over its many pages and strange, exquisite symbols.

Max paced the cavern, watching his shadow creep and glide along the walls and tapestries. Occasionally, he glanced at the medallion, which had been giving off a bright, pulsing glow. David would not be rushed, however, choosing to ignore Max’s grumbles while he devoted all his attention to the Book. He dribbled the remaining vials of Maya’s wondrous blood onto the Book’s pages to decipher its contents. The blood beaded like droplets of quicksilver, skittering across the pages until the papyrus absorbed them. Turning a delicate page, David spoke, his eyes glistening with tears.

“It’s so beautiful,” he said. “So much simpler than I ever expected.”

“You understand them, then?” asked Max. “The symbols and things?”

“It’s not just the symbols,” breathed David. “It’s their sequence; it’s their shape; it’s everything! And I do! I do understand them!”

His face alight with wonder, David lifted his hand and spoke.

“Mllthias braga cibil fah.”

Max blinked. David began to laugh; there upon his hand were a pair of birds. The birds were small and smooth, with long beaks and brilliant blue feathers flecked with yellow. They chirruped and hopped up David’s arm to peer at his face.

“What kind of birds are those?” asked Max.

“I don’t know,” breathed David, smiling at them. “They don’t have a name yet—at least not a common one. They didn’t exist before, Max! These are the first two!”

Max walked over and bent close to look at them. They were beautiful and delicate, with shiny black eyes that peered up at him unafraid. Of course, they’d have no reason to be afraid, Max realized. They had no memories or evolved instincts to shape their view of the world or its inhabitants. All was new to them. They had simply sprung from David’s words, shaped from nothingness. Caillech was speechless, casting a wary eye upon the birds as one hopped into Max’s hands.