One of Dunblane’s enormous replacement players elbowed Liam in the mouth. Numbing pain like the coldest of nights radiated through his lips and gums. It was one of ten thousand cuts and bruises this bloody game had dealt him in the past three days, but the inches and feet hurt more than the blows. Every step the ball moved in the wrong direction was agony, and the last day had been one long slash to Liam’s guts.

Dunblane was cheating. The five huge replacement players that had come ambling down the road the evening of the second day were strangers who knew the game inside and out, as if they played all the time. They weren’t from Dunblane, but there was no way to prove it.

Dunblane’s largest ringer, who the other ringers called Feef and treated like the captain of their team-within-a-team, opened a gap in Kirkcaldy’s defense. Peter Cap followed him, gaining yet more ground as onlookers from Dunblane hooted and cheered. Liam raised his face and screamed at the clouds until his voice broke. Kirkcaldy had been winning. They’d been less than a mile from Dunblane’s church doors. Now, Liam’s town was not a thousand steps from their backs. Soon Peter Cap would kick the foot ball between the doors of their church, and the game would be lost.

Clutching the ball to his stomach, Peter Cap lurched forward one step, then two, carrying Liam’s teammate Mika on his shoulders. Another of Liam’s teammates got hold of Peter Cap’s arm and tried to twist it behind his back, where it could be broken, but Peter Cap managed to tear it free.

“Got him, got him,” a Dunblane player shouted, pulling Mika from Peter Cap’s back. Liam heard a bone crack, a cry of pain as Mika was stomped in the backfield. Another of his players out.

“Left, to the left,” Dunblane’s spotter sang down from his branch twenty feet above the game. Feef drove left, with Peter Cap tight behind, heading for a soft spot in Kirkcaldy’s defense.

As Liam ran to fill the hole, his vision swam red from a cut over his eye. He resisted the urge to wipe it, knowing he would only get mud in the eye. He stumbled and nearly fell. The churning of the players’ feet had left the road so rutted, no cart would be able to pass, and even horses would struggle to find footing.

Huffing and grunting, Liam and three others managed to stop Feef’s momentum. Peter Cap retreated behind his line.

“Meal? A meal?” Dunblane’s spotter shouted. “It’s almost dark.”

Players on both teams eased up, but stayed at the ready in case one of the captains refused to break for a meal.

“Yeah, all right,” Liam growled.

“Agreed,” Peter Cap shouted, in a far more cheery tone.

As the Dunblane players were surrounded and back-slapped by their home town fans, Liam found a sitting stone in the weeds beside the road. His players sank to the grass around him. Their eyes were bloodshot, half-closed from lack of sleep. They looked beaten. The Kirkcaldy faithful who’d come to cheer them on stayed at some distance, looking as downcast as the team.

Liam had been so close to freeing his brother, taken as the prize in the game past spring. And now the game was all but lost, not because Dunblane was better, but because they were cheaters.

Peter Cap sauntered to the edge of the road wearing a wide grin. “Liam, why don’t you come over here and fix my supper? You’ll be doing it soon enough anyway.”

The Dunblane players and their fans roared with laughter. Liam could only turn his back. There was no comeback for him, and even if his exhausted mind could think of one, it would only mean a worse beating once he was Peter Cap’s property.

Peter Cap’s property. The idea burned a hole right through his heart. To be another man’s property, for the rest of his life. To toil from first light till last, every single day, knowing he’d been cheated of his freedom. Liam eyed the ringers, sitting separate from the rest of the Dunblane team, because they were strangers to those people, picked out from some faraway town and offered a sum to play.

Feef stood, looking barely tired from the day’s battle, and headed into the wood, stepping over a vine-choked silver tube, a remnant from something the Dead Ones had built that had long since collapsed. If Liam needed more evidence that the man wasn’t from Dunblane, him strolling into the forest on the east side of Botton Road cinched it. Liam hoped he never came out.

Peter Cap ran toward Feef, waving his arms. “No, no. Don’t go in there. Go across the road if you need to have a shit.”

The big man put his hands on his hips. “Now why would I do that?”

“Cause there’s something in those woods,” Peter Cap said. “No one goes in them. And those that do never come out.”

That was overstating things a hair. Plenty of children scurried ten paces in and came back out, proving their courage to their friends. In his twenty years, Liam knew of only two fools who’d gone deep into that forest, and they certainly never came back out.

“Save it for the children.” Feef gave Peter Cap a dismissive wave. Brave words, but he re-cinched his rope belt and stalked across the road, disappearing into the safe wood on the Kirkcaldy side.

How much were they paying him, Liam wondered? This was supposed to be Kirkcaldy’s year, the year Liam brought Luke home. Instead, his parents would lose their remaining son. His parents had begged him not to make the wager with Peter Cap, but Liam hadn’t listened. What an idiot he was. Peter Cap had no honor, and that was Liam’s mistake, to agree to terms against a man with no honor.

“Time.” Peter Cap clapped his hands, ending their meal much quicker than usual, causing players on both teams to wolf down bread and meat on their way back into the road as Peter Cap, foot ball in hand, counted down toward zero.

The front lines collided once more, pushing and punching to gain ground, their shoes churning the mud, looking for purchase.

Liam took his place behind his front line, eyeing Peter Cap.

“Wedge,” Peter Cap cried. He dropped to all fours and made himself as small as possible as three of the ringers charged from the backfield, their elbows locked together to form a flying wedge. They vaulted Peter, then the squatting Dunblane front line, and plowed into the Kirkcaldy line, mowing the players down like blades of grass under a scythe. They came right at Liam.

Liam ran right at the wedge, as if he was going to take it head-on, which would be suicide. At the last instant he dove into a gap between one of the ringers’ legs. He rolled, sprang to his feet, and plowed straight into Peter Cap, knocking him flat. The ball came loose and bounced end-over-end off the road, into tall grass.

Liam charged after it, scooping it up. He turned in the direction of Dunblane, but hesitated.

A dozen Dunblane players were bearing down, a wall between him and the open road. Even if he broke through, half of Dunblane’s players were swift enough to run him down before he managed twenty paces. The game was over. He was only delaying its end.

Liam glanced toward the forest. It was an unsaid understanding that you stayed on the road, but it wasn’t a true rule. No one would follow him into the forest. At least not far.

Liam tucked the ball to his side and ran for the trees.

“Where’s he going?” A Dunblane player called, laughing. “Our church is this way, gobshite.”

Liam crashed through a wall of leaf and branch, into near-darkness.

“Cut him off,” Peter Cap shouted. “He’s going to duck back out once he’s past you.”

“I’m not going in there!” someone shouted.

But Liam heard some of the braver Dunblane players bursting through the foliage, aiming to cut him off when he tried to skirt along the tree line.

Except he wasn’t going to skirt the tree line.

He headed straight into the heart of the forest, the place from where no one ever returned, where no Dunblane player would dare follow.

The startled shouts of players from both sides faded, until Liam could hear nothing but his own breathing. He slowed, shoulders up near his ears, expecting some beast to leap at his throat at any moment.

He could try angling to come out a half mile up Botton Road, and make a run for Dunblane. Except, no doubt the Dunblane players were already spreading out along the road, expecting him to do just that. What else would a man in his position do? Only a lunatic would push deeper into the east forest.

Of course, such a lunatic, if he survived, could come out right on the edge of Dunblane town, and make a run for the church. First, though, he’d have to survive the forest.

Liam walked straight on, listening for sounds of beasts, or strangers, or demons.

Everyone had a story about what was in the east forest. The superstitious thought it was filled with demons. A few even claimed they’d caught glimpses of them, walking upright like men, but with huge eyes and strange faces.

Others said it was the last of the Dead Ones, the ones who’d made the metal tubes lying everywhere, buildings that were now heaps of rubble and the occasional wall, and the unimaginable city that rose up in ruins four days journey from Kirkcaldy. Liam knew the Dead Ones were no tall tale, because he’d seen their ruined city with his own astonished eyes. From a distance. No chance would he set foot in that place. No, the Dead Ones had been real. Another type of smart animal like his people, only smarter still. But he doubted there were any left alive, much less hiding in the east forest.

Those with their feet on the ground thought the east forest was home to some sort of wild animal. Bears, or a huge pack of dogs that knew better than to be seen by town folk. Either that, or there was a town somewhere in here, filled with savage people who didn’t want anyone to know they were there, so they killed any that wandered too close.

As darkness fell, it grew harder for Liam to think it was wild animals or a hidden town, and easier to believe the forest was full of demons. Still, he didn’t regret his rash decision. Better torn apart by monsters than to be Peter Cap’s slave.

They’d been so close. When was the last time a Kirkcaldy team made it even a mile past the start line? Thirty years ago,  Liam’s grandfather Seamus was a mile from Dunblane when his leg was broken and with it, the spirit of the Kirkcaldy team.

This was to be Kirkcaldy’s year. Liam and his sister Rain had devised a brilliant plan. They’d come up with a list of set moves for the team. Instead of figuring out what to do in the heat of the game, Kirkcaldy’s team memorized those set moves, and Liam only had to call out numbers that went with the plays.

And it had worked! They’d moved the ball a mile plus a half. Then the ringers had come loping down the road to join team Dunblane. Nothing could overcome the advantage of those five brutal giants.

The soft clatter of something moving through the leaves sent a jolt of terror through him. He stopped and listened.

The sound stopped as well.

Slower, more quietly, Liam pushed on, still clutching the foot ball to his side, as if afraid some Dunblane player might jump from behind a bush and try to rip it from his grasp.

The sound started again.

Liam broke into a blind run, free hand stretched out in front of him. He could just make out the trees as darker shadows in the darkness.

Whatever was following him was big. It wasn’t a squirrel or fox. A deer might make such noise, but a deer would flee at the sounds Liam was making, not follow just out of sight. He wished he had a spear, or a club, instead of this useless foot ball.

Up ahead, the darkness grew solid black, as if the forest, and the world with it, ended all at once. Liam slowed, heart hammering. His outstretched hand met a solid wall. Liam shifted the foot ball to his left hand and went to the left, dragging the fingers of his right hand along this wall. The flat evenness of it told Liam it was Dead Ones’ construction. Even twisted and toppled, there was a smoothness to everything they’d made. Maybe those who thought some of the Dead Ones still survived in this forest were right. Liam had no interest in meeting them.

He came to a break in the wall—an open doorway into the black interior of the place behind the wall. He hurried past it, nearly colliding with two figures, blocking his path, perfectly still.

One stood on two legs, one on four. In the darkness they were nothing but outlines.

“Are you going to kill me?” Liam asked.

“Yes.” The answer came from the four-legged figure in a voice so cold and flat as Liam had never heard.

He turned and ran, almost colliding with a third figure, close enough to see its mouthless face, one round-eye hanging on its cheek. Shouting in fear, Liam turned and ran in the only direction left: through the doorway.

He expected it to be darker still inside, but a light shone from a narrow hall. Not the orange flicker of a campfire, but bright white light. Heart hammering, Liam ran toward it, because it was away from the figures coming to kill him. He squinted as the light grew brighter, shining down from a circle in the ceiling, no flame evident, and no heat to speak of.

Liam burst into a large room.

A creature on the other side of the room turned to look at him.

Its face was smooth and flat, blue as the late afternoon sky. It was hairless, and naked, but then again it had nothing private to cover up. Although it was alive, its body was hard and angled, made of something like scratched and dented iron instead of meat. It looked as old as the ruins, filthy, one arm dangling uselessly.

Liam spun as the three who had been chasing him entered, led by the four-legged one, who had a face like the others, but was walking on the stumps of four half-limbs. The one whose eye was hanging by what looked like a waxy thread came next.

“You’re the Dead Ones who built the cities.” His mouth was bone dry, his body shaking all over.

“No,” the one across the room said. The blue one. The others were orange.

One of them lunged and grabbed his arms from behind, causing the foot ball to drop to the hard, dusty floor.

“Not the heart,” the four-legged one said. “Sever the jugular. It’s relatively painless that way.”

The blue one limped toward him carrying a knife. A remarkably smooth and shiny knife.

Liam tried to pull away, but the Old One was incredibly strong. “Why? At least explain to me why, before you kill me.”

The Dead Ones looked from one to the other.

“That seems reasonable.” The blue one lowered the knife. “We must kill you because otherwise you’d bring more humans, and any time we encounter humans in any number, they kill us on sight.” It raised the knife again.

If one of these things wandered onto the road, Liam had to admit, he would join his companions in beating it to death. He tried to think of something to say to convince these Dead Ones not to cut his juggler, whatever it was.

“I won’t tell anyone what I’ve seen. I swear on my grandfather’s grave.”

The four-legged one shook its head. “Classic enforcement dilemma. You may mean it now, but once you’re out of danger, there’s little incentive for you to keep your promise.”

Liam wasn’t entirely sure what it had just said, but he thought he got the gist of it. The blue-skinned Old One stood before him, knife raised to Liam’s face.

“Please. Can I ask just a few more questions? There’s no need to hurry this, is there?”

The blue one paused. “We’re hurrying to minimize your suffering, but if you’d prefer to ask a few questions first, go right ahead.”

They were polite killers, Liam had to grant them that. “How did your kind die out? You built those vast cities. What could possibly kill off your kind?”

“We didn’t die off. With no one manufacturing replacement parts, we wore down.”

Liam frowned. “What are replacement parts?”

“We’re not living creatures. We were built.” The Blue one reached up . . . and took off its face.

Liam shouted in horror. There were no guts and brains behind the Old One’s face. Its innards were waxy strings, lights, evenly-shaped stones.

“Our parts wear down, and we must replace them. Only, if there are still replacement parts out in the world somewhere, we can’t reach them. No one who’s left the forest to find parts has ever returned. As I said, humans kill them.”

“I’ll bring the parts to you. I’m young and strong. I’ve made long journeys before.”

The four-legged one shook its head again. “Same problem as before. Once you leave, there’s no incentive for you to return with parts, or to keep our existence a secret.”

He had to think. What would truly bind him to these creatures? If he had a companion, one of them could stay behind as hostage. But he had nothing but a foot ball, and that meant nothing to them.

“I think that’s enough questions,” the blue one said, not unkindly, as it raised the knife. “I can see you’re afraid. There’s no point in you suffering.”

“Wait! Wait!” He looked around, trying to think. He looked up into the light glowing in the ceiling, but quickly looked away. It was like staring into the sun. What would his friends and neighbors think, if they saw that light? What would that bastard Peter Cap think?

The creature pressed its knife to the side of Liam’s neck. “This won’t be too painful.”

Liam opened his eyes wide. “The light. Wait. I have the answer.”

Leaving the knife at his neck, the blue looked to the others. “I hadn’t realized we’d posed a question.”

“You need replacement parts. I want a light like that one.” Liam gestured with his chin. “I’ll trade you the parts for a light. It would make me a very important man among my people, which gives me reason to keep quiet about you, and to return with the replacement parts.”

For the third time, the four-legged one shook its head. “Your people will want to know where you got the light. It’s not as if you could have made it yourself.”

“I’ll tell them I found it in the ruined city!”

It was impossible to read the Old One’s stiff faces, but Liam’s words had given them pause, at least.

“He does seem exceptionally intelligent. He devised a proposal to extend his own survival under great duress,” the blue one said. “That he’s even speaking to us in a reasonable manner is notable. When was the last time a human did more than scream in our presence?” It turned to the one with the bad eye. “What do you think, Antonia? Risk assessment is your area.”

“It’s difficult to quantify the likelihood he’ll keep his word—”

“I will. I swear to you.” Liam spread his hands in supplication, at least as far as he could manage with his upper arms in the grip of an Old One.

“—but given our current trajectory, the last of us will be nonfunctional in eighteen plus or minus four years. So we’re only risking a combined seventy-two years of existence. Add to that the possibility of reconstituting some of our fallen comrades and providing them continued existence, and the potential benefits are immense. Setting him free is an enormous risk, but, putting it in non-quantitative terms, our situation warrants enormous risk.”

“I promise you, I won’t rest until I find those replacement parts, because I want that light—”

“Oh, we can offer you more than a light if you bring us the right parts,” the four-legged one said. He smiled at Antonia. “We can increase his likelihood of compliance by enhancing the potential reward.” He looked at Liam. “Come. I’ll show you the things we can offer.”

The Old One who’d been holding his arms released him. Liam retrieved his foot ball and followed them into the biggest room he’d ever seen. It was filled with giant tubes and angular behemoths Liam couldn’t begin to understand.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“The manufacturing floor, where our kind were made, long ago,” the four-legged one said. “The only reason we’re still functional is that we took refuge in this factory during the war and subsequent collapse. At the time, it was full of replacement parts, although they ran out long ago. For the last few centuries we’ve resorted to cannibalizing parts from our nonfunctioning comrades.”

Liam squinted, trying to understand. He missed half of what these Dead Ones said.

They passed into a smaller room that was filled with Dead Ones, thousands of them, piled almost to the ceiling in places. They weren’t rotting, and they didn’t smell, but they were most definitely dead.

“If you bring enough parts, we can make some of these functional again.” The blue one gestured at the bodies.

They could bring their dead back to life. Even if he told his people what he’d seen here, they wouldn’t believe him. He wouldn’t tell them, though. He’d given his swear.

“I’ll bring a cart and a mule on my journey,” Liam said. “I’ll bring you more parts than you know what to do with.”

“And in exchange, we’ll trade you wonderful things. Come this way.” The blue one led him into yet another room (how big was this place?) filled with wooden boxes on shelves. The four Dead Ones showed him marvel after marvel from inside these boxes. A device that, when you looked through it, made everything seem closer. One that heated your home without fire. Another they claimed cooked food in seconds without fire. They were marvelous things, and the Dead Ones promised Liam could have his pick if he found parts to trade. Liam couldn’t wait to get started on his search of the dead city.

To do that, though, he had to be a free man. He squeezed the foot ball tucked against his ribs.

“Come, I’ll take you back to where you entered the forest.” The blue one gestured toward a door. “I’ll tell you where to search, and show you what you’re searching for, along the way.”

“No, there’s something I have to do first. I need to go to the town north of here.”

The Old One shrugged. “Whatever you wish. My name is Benoit, by the way.”

“Liam.” Liam turned to the others. “Thank you for not killing me. I won’t let you down.”

He followed Benoit into the forest.

“Can I ask you a question?” Liam said, as they picked their way through the brush. He was traveling with an Old One, and wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

“Yes.”

“You said you hid in that place during the war and the collapse. What was that? And when?”

“It was more than seven hundred years ago. There was a war that started small and spread throughout the world. Terrible weapons were used, and everything fell apart. It was an awful time.”

“How was it my kind survived while yours died out? Was it because we live far from the cities?” Liam asked.

“I—I don’t understand.” Benoit stopped walking. “I think you’ve misunderstood. Your ancestors fought the war. They built us. We didn’t fight a war.”

“My people?” Liam struggled to understand. “You’re saying my people had these terrible weapons? They built those cities?”

“That’s correct.”

“We are the Dead Ones?” Liam said it softly, mostly to himself.

“Your ancestors built all of those wonderful things we showed you. And then they nearly wiped themselves out, and you’re what’s left. Here.” Benoit held his open palm in front of his stomach. A beam of colored light shone from it, and suddenly on his stomach was a picture of a place like nothing Liam had ever seen.

“This is the closest city, before the collapse,” Benoit said. “It was called ‘Belfast.’ This is where you must go to find replacement parts.”

In the image, there were people everywhere. People like Liam, but dressed in beautiful strange clothes. Everything was shining and bursting with color.

Benoit explained how to get to this city, although Liam already knew the way. He explained where to find parts, and showed Liam pictures of what these parts would look like. Liam studied the pictures carefully.

They fell into silence as Liam wrestled with the picture he’d seen, and what it meant. There were no Dead Ones. His people had once built mighty cities and magical things, and now lived in huts.

“What is it you must do, before you can begin seeking replacement parts?” Benoit finally asked.

Liam told him about the game, about his brother Luke, and his own fate if he didn’t kick the foot ball through the doors of Dunblane’s church. As dawn broke, Liam spied open sky where the forest ended, and Dunblane began.

“We have to be quiet now,” Liam said. “I’ll take them by surprise, win the game, and then my brother can help me on my quest.”

They made their way quietly, carefully, to the forest’s edge. Peter Cap was standing in the green fifty feet away, hands on hips, facing the forest. A hundred feet to his left, one of the ringers sat with his knees drawn up to his chin, eating a chicken leg. He, too, was facing the forest. The entire line of the forest was guarded by Dunblane players, waiting for Liam.

Liam backed away, feeling sick with disappointment. “I’ll have to choose the weakest player, and try to get by him before the others can catch me.”

“How far is the church?”

Liam gestured. “Three hundred feet. On the far side of the town. And I’m not a particularly swift runner. But I’m strong.”

“Is this absolutely necessary?” Benoit studied the green.

“It is. If I wait much longer, Dunblane will declare themselves winners, and I’ll be Peter Cap’s property, light or no.”

“Good luck to you, then. I’ll remain and observe, so I’ll know whether to expect you to return with the parts.”

Liam eyed the Dunblane line, chose Peter Cap’s little brother Mikey as the weakest link in their defense. He pulled the foot ball tighter to his ribs. “Oh, I’ll bring them. You can count on it.” Liam burst out of the forest.

He headed straight at Mikey.

“There! There he is,” someone shouted.

The entire Dunblane team ran at him as he stiff-armed Mikey in the face, taking his feet out from under him, barely slowing.

He reached the road that ran through the center of the town just as two players closed from the left. Liam wouldn’t be able to outrun them, so he swerved and headed straight at them instead.

Lowering his shoulder, he slammed into the closer player, dropping him. As he went to pass, though, the downed man grabbed his ankle. Liam yanked it free just as the other, one of ringers, hit him, driving him backward.

Liam regained his footing and surged forward, driving the larger man back. He reached up and grabbed the ringer’s ear, as half of the Dunblane team closed from all directions. Shrieking in pain, the ringer loosed his grip on Liam, allowing Liam to break free. He headed for the church with half a dozen players giving chase.

Powerful arms grappled Liam from behind, dragging him to the ground. Liam kicked up at the man bending over him, hitting him square in the gut.

A boot came down on Liam’s ribs. He rolled to his hands and knees as a second boot flashed, kicking him square in the side of the head.

Everything went black for an instant. Crawling, still clutching the foot ball, Liam shook off the lancing pain in his head, his side. Surging forward, he lunged at the closest Dunblane player, driving his head into the man’s groin, knocking him to the ground before stomping over him.

An instant later, Liam was hit from the right by a storming bull. Liam knew right away it was Feef. Blows rained down on his head, the side of his face, as he tried to scramble free.

Someone landed on the small of Liam’s back with both feet, driving him flat. “Get the damned ball, will ya?” Peter Cap roared from above.

Liam squeezed the ball tighter as hands reached to pull it from him.

“What is that?” someone cried.

Someone else screamed.

Liam heard a sound like a dead branch snapping, followed by another scream.

All at once, Peter Cap’s weight lifted off his back. Powerful hands lifted him to his feet.

Liam looked up into Benoit’s flat blue face.

“You’ve been seen now,” Liam managed.

“Antonia said our situation warrants enormous risk. I decided to take such a risk.”

“It’s a demon of the east forest,” someone wailed. “Liam’s in league with a demon!”

The Dunblane team had them surrounded, but kept their distance. A few of the players held angry-looking clubs with iron spikes worked into the fat end of the wood. Beyond, some townsfolk roused by the noise were watching, chattering, and shouting at the sight of Benoit. The church stood thirty paces beyond the crowd.

“What is this thing, Liam?” Peter Cap’s voice shook.

Liam spit blood, and a tooth, to the ground. “This is Benoit, a member of my team. He’s from Kirkcaldy, but you might not have seen him ’cause he doesn’t come out much.” These were more or less the words Peter Cap had used when introducing his ringers.

“Bullshit.” Peter Cap stabbed an accusing finger at Benoit. “It’s a demon straight from hell, is what it is.”

“I am not a demon.” Benoit was not a bit winded from running and fighting. “Now if you’ll move aside, I won’t be required to injure or maim anyone further.”

Liam spotted Luke in the crowd of onlookers. For an instant, their eyes met. Fear, confusion, and hope were mixed in Luke’s gaze.

One of the Dunblane players edged closer, club raised. Benoit lunged and stomped the man’s foot. He dropped instantly, writhing on the ground howling. The others inched backward.

“If we charge all at once, we can take it,” Feef said.

Benoit leaned in close to me. “Give me the foot ball. Quickly.”

Yes, that was their best play. Liam slipped the foot ball into Benoit’s hands. “Wait a tic, then run.”

Holding his arms as if he still had the ball, Liam broke for the church.

“Stop him!” Even with a demon in their midst, Peter Cap still fretted about losing the game.

Liam made it five steps before he was crushed under a mountain of Dunblane players.

A frantic shout rang out. “No. No. The demon’s got it.”

The pile on top of Liam melted away. Liam staggered to his feet. Benoit’s gait was wildly uneven, but he was swift, his squarish feet kicking up earth. He reached the church steps, but two of the ringers blocked Benoit’s way, swinging clubs, trying to keep him at a distance.

Benoit managed to knock one of the giants over the railing, but Feef ducked aside and rained blows down on him, cracking his head open on one side.

Ignoring him, Benoit hit the shuttered church doors with his entire body. With a loud crack the doors burst open. He dropped the football, and kicked it through the doors.

Feef brought his club down on the back of Benoit’s head, widening the gaping split.

Liam ran at Feef, knocking past onlookers. “The game’s done.”

Benoit went down. Feef went on clubbing his head and chest until Liam slammed into him, driving him into the church wall. Liam drove the palm of his hand into Feef’s nose. It came back bloody. “It’s over, you bastard.”

Liam dropped to one knee beside Benoit. His eyes were empty and dead, his head broken open, showing strings and silver parts.

“It’s a demon, you gobshite.” Peter Cap was standing over Liam. “It belongs dead.”

Liam sprang to his feet, grabbed Peter Cap by the collars and slammed him against the wall. “He was a good man. A mile better than you cheats.” He let go of Peter Cap and looked around, finally spotting his brother. “Luke. Give me a hand carrying him.”

Slope shouldered and unsure, Luke stepped forward and grasped Benoit’s feet.

The crowd of Dunblaners parted, gape-mouthed and silent. Poor Benoit. Liam could barely bring himself to look at his ruined head.

“What is it, Liam? What is this thing we’re carrying?” Luke asked.

“It’s the thing that won you your freedom. And once we’ve had food and a night’s sleep, we’re going on a journey to find parts to bring him back to life.” Benoit had said the broken ones could be fixed if Liam found the right parts. He’d find the ones to fix Benoit, or die trying. If a head could be fixed.

“Back to life?” Luke almost dropped Benoit’s feet. “Is it a demon? Tell me you’re not in league with a demon.”

“It’s not a demon.” Liam struggled with what to call Benoit. “He was made by the Dead Ones. Except it turns out we’re the Dead Ones. Our greatest great grandparents were, anyways.”

They reached the road to Kirkcaldy. Liam felt bone-weary, yet more at peace than he’d ever been. It was slow going, with Liam walking backward, and it would get even slower when they reached the part of the road that had been torn and rutted by their game.

Luke’s eyes were wide. “How do you know so much now?”

“I don’t know much. Not yet.” It came to Liam that he didn’t want all those magic things in trade for the parts he was damned well going to find. No, he wanted Benoit’s people to teach him about the Dead Ones, and the things they knew that had been forgotten.