The older boy, Finian, raced over, with his younger brother scrambling in his wake.
“It’s almost my birthday,” Finian announced. “You’ll be here for my birthday.”
“On Samhain.” Breen crouched down. “I remember. You’ll be three.”
“Say your hello and welcome to Breen’s friend, Fin. This is Marco.”
He ducked his head. “Hello, and welcome.”
“A bit shy with new people, this one. But,” Aisling continued as Kavan reached them and immediately tried to climb Marco’s legs, “not a bit with that one.”
Marco hauled him up. “And who’s this?”
“That’s our Kavan,” Aisling said as the boy babbled at Marco. “Who’s never met a stranger.”
Kavan grabbed a handful of Marco’s braids, grinned at them. “Like!”
“Me, too.”
Then the boy dived to Breen, babbled at her.
“When are you due?” Marco asked.
“Around and about Imbolc. Early in February,” she explained at his baffled look. “I’m past the halfway mark as I figure it. Hoping for a girl this time, as you can see I’ve two heathens already.”
“I missed your heathens,” Breen said, and gave Kavan a nuzzle before she set him down. “We’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll work with Nan, as I did before. And if you’d tell Keegan I’ll train if he wants.”
“No doubt he will. He and Mahon—that’s my man,” she told Marco, “will be back by moonsrise. Come and see me when you can, the both of you are welcome. Come on, lads. Did we or did we not promise Harken we’d see to the kitchen garden? Blessings on you both,” she said as she herded her kids away.
“And on you,” Breen called. “Come on, Bollocks.”
She gestured as they went through the gate again. “The portal’s through that tree. Or the portal is the tree, I’m not sure which.”
He looked over, beyond the dirt road, another stone fence, a pasture of sheep, and up a hill.
The tree spread more than twenty feet wide as it rose out of a tumble of rock. Its thick branches curved down, some reaching the ground before they arched up again. The leaves Breen remembered as boldly green all summer had a wash of crimson.
“What kind of tree is that?”
“It’s the Welcoming Tree, and the portal—or the main one—between Talamh and Ireland.”
She led him across. Bollocks bounded ahead, scrambled up the seven stone steps on the hillside. Perched on a branch, he stopped, barked as if to tell them to hurry up.
“Okay. If I pass out, you can go get me the ale again, or whatever was in it.”
“I can, but you won’t need it. You’ll feel the change,” she told him as he followed her up the steps. “And there’s some wind—but not like the other. A change in light, just a flash. Then we’re over. Don’t be surprised if it’s raining on the other side. You never know.”
“I don’t think anything’s going to surprise me again. Ever.”
Standing above him, she reached back. She felt his anxiety, but it couldn’t compete with his loyalty.
“Take my hand. Go ahead, Bollocks. We’re coming. Step on the branch. It might feel a little like you’re falling, but…”
The light flashed, the sudden breeze blew through her hair.
“You’re not. See?”
“We’re through? Gut shook a little, but. Are you sure we’re through?”
“Yes. You just need to climb down.”
“Little shaky in the knees,” he admitted. “But not all whacked like before. And it’s not raining.”
“Lucky us, we won’t get wet. It’s about a mile’s hike to the cottage.”
“It looks pretty much the same.”
“It does, but it’s not. You didn’t get a chance to see last night because it was raining over there, and you were shaken up, but Talamh has two moons.”
“Two?”
“One waxes when the other wanes.”
“That is so way cool! I want to see that. But you know, Breen, I walked all over these woods when I was here getting my Irish on. I never saw that tree. How could anyone miss that tree? It’s huge, and it’s growing out of rock. Or there’s rock growing out of it.”
“You weren’t meant to. Look at your watch.”
He did, let out a half laugh. “How about that. Working fine.” He pulled his phone out of his borrowed pants. “Got a phone, too.”