Day 18 of Midwinter, Sunrise

Mag Mór, Tir Tairngire

Annwn

Knowing that Erelith was watching over Brigid, I felt only mildly conflicted about facing off with the hag. Newly irritated at my inability to fly and the constant pulse of pain in my gut, I backtracked on foot to where Hullraiser had come ashore… and by ashore, I mean where we had been magically yanked out of the water and cut a huge farthing path through the actual continent of Tir Tairngire. Oh well.

Despite its insane path, the ship itself appeared to be unharmed, where it sat perched atop a mound of dirt and rocks. I wasn’t sure how the crew would ever get it back in the water, but that wasn’t a problem for me to solve.

The crew had scattered. Some were on land and some were still on the ship, manning the cannon and ballista. The lubrican, Cé Gwalch, had emerged from below deck and appeared to be checking out the damage to the living mast. He saw me approaching, complete with a dirty look, and gave me a faint smile before turning back to work at the base of the mast, a small drill in his hand.

Scolt and Salka faced away from the battlefield, appearing totally focused on the grey sacked corpse kite flying on the wind toward us. The hag of Winter would be on us in moments, and for good and ill, we were far enough away from the main battle that we were on our own.

“Hello, little friend,” said a hissing voice from behind me. I recognized it right away as that of the ornery, not-so-little oilliphéist I had summoned with the Mirrorstone.

“Bren sent you away from the front line already, huh?” I asked.

“In typical Bren fashion, he was trying to keep us safe,” Fern responded.

I shot them both an incredulous look. “If you’re looking for safe, I can send you back to Fintan’s tower?”

“I’m not looking for safe,” Fern snapped. “Neither is my new best friend here.”

“This one keeps sitting on my back,” Monty said with a sigh. “But no one will let me eat her.”

I smirked and looked back to the horizon at the small shape in the distance that was getting increasingly larger. “We’re in trouble here. Without someone in the air, we don’t stand much of a chance.”

“Can’t you just magic up a solution for this?” Fern asked.

I started to shake my head before remembering that I was, in fact, carrying the literal Cauldron of Magic.

“Fern, you’re brilliant!” I turned to face the crew, raising my voice. “Listen up, you hull-hugging fish sniffers!” I had always found that a smidge of insult aided in getting people’s attention. Plus, I meant it in an affectionate way… kind of. “Get your salty arses over here and dip your weapons in this Cauldron!”

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The crew members stepped forward quickly to do as they were told, Scolt and Salka in the lead. Both submerged their swords into the Cauldron, the weapons sinking lower than seemed physically possible given the Cauldron’s dimensions. Fern followed, dipping her sword deeply into the tiny pot and withdrawing it.

I briefly considered dipping my Silverwhite blades into the Cauldron, too, but thought better of it because of their already magical nature. It would be like mixing ale and cider, I suspected. Something bad was sure to happen.

Cé Gwalch wasn’t holding a weapon, which was just fine by me. The less I needed to interact with the lubrican, the better. He had finished drilling into his precious mast and was collecting something from the main trunk to put into a small vial. He took no notice of me. Lubricans, what a bunch of chuckleheads.

The Hag of Winter loomed closer, her tattered robe whipping in the storm winds. Her hammer gleamed grey, like her robe, and larger than Monty’s head. I felt the same chill I had felt on Wolves Hill the first time I had faced her with Morias and Bren.

“Weapons ready!” I shouted. My blades thrummed in my hands, eager. Without thinking, I leapt into the air, crashing back to the deck with my gut and wing throbbing. Oh yeah. That. I was still grounded. Couldn’t take the fight where it needed to go. Well, chet.

The others formed up. Salka bared her teeth, while Scolt muttered a battle mantra. Fern climbed up Monty’s red coils and pointed her sword skyward.

The hag’s laughter carried before her, dry and sinister. “Little lambs. Little nothings. I will break you and take your prize.” Her eyes darted to the Cauldron at my hip, reminding me of her true goal.

Cé Gwalch scrambled to my side from the mast, clutching the vial he had been working on. “Take it!” he hissed, shoving it into my hand. “Súg of the mast. It is a special brew. It will mend you.”

I blinked. He gave me a look, sharp and desperate. “Just drink, you daft crow!”

Before I could argue, the hag descended. Shards of wood shattered against the deck as her hammer came down, splintering anything that it touched. The crew scattered, cursing. Monty lashed upward, jaws snapping, but she batted him aside with one contemptuous swing of the huge hammer.

Oh for the love of…I pulled the cork with my teeth and drank. The súg burned going down, thick as honey, and then—heat pulsed through me, knitting sinew, straightening bone in my back. I groaned as my wing snapped, unfurling, staggering as sensation rushed back.

Cé gave a triumphant bark of laughter, cut short when the hag’s second swing caught him full-on. He crumpled like paper and flew from the deck to land in an unmoving heap on the ground below.

“Dwal,” I breathed. For all his smugness, the little bastard had saved me.

I spread my wings. The wind caught me and I rose in the air. Pain lingered faintly in my gut, but my wing was healed, and I was aloft, my Silverwhite blades catching what little light pierced the storm.

“Over here, you wrinkled chet-bag!” I screamed, diving at the hag’s head.

The hag snarled, distracted from the crew below, her eyes locking onto me. Her hammer swung in a wide arc, but I twisted, throwing Swish and Stick up to spark against it. Every strike I landed sang through the air, each sharper and deeper than before. I laughed manically, feeling more alive than I had in a very long time.

Below, the others rallied. Fern leapt, her sword shining. Salka and Scolt slashed at the hag’s ankles. Monty coiled again, his massive tail lashing to knock the hag off balance. But her eyes kept flicking past them to the Cauldron at my hip.

“You’ll not have it,” I spat, darting higher, slicing a jagged slash across her cheek. “You’ll not have them, either.” I darted further away, trying to draw her away from the others.

Her rage-filled scream shook the sky. She chased after me, her cloak beating a furious pattern in the wind, her hammer raising high and—