But then, I thought as I stirred the strange-looking mixture, what could he tell? If he’d left Bann before I went up the tower, he’d be going back to Laois in the belief that I was dead. Or turned into a monster. The doom will fall upon the assailant, those were the final words of the curse, according to Grim. If that was what Flannan was rushing to impart to Mathuin, perhaps hoping for praise or reward, his departure was good news. If Mathuin believed me dead, I’d be safe for now. I could stay in Winterfalls, keep my promise to Conmael, and wait for the day when I’d finally make Mathuin face up to justice, in my own way, on my own terms. So why did I still have a tight knot in my belly? Why did I feel uneasy every time Grim went out of sight?
“Smells good,” he said, coming to sit opposite me and warm his hands. “What is it?”
“Travelers’ Surprise. You’ll have tasted better. And worse.” The swill in Mathuin’s lockup had been repulsive. And yet we prisoners had licked our bowls clean, every time. You do that when you’re starving. I’d drawn the line at the rats, but most of my cellmates had crunched them up raw, bones and all. “We’ve been through some odd times, Grim,” I said.
“Mm.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, handing him a filled bowl.
“Sorry about the food, or . . . ?”
“My cooking’s not that bad. I mean sorry for lying to you. Again.”
“Way I see it,” said Grim, blowing on a steaming spoonful, “it’s better to care too much, like you do, and make mistakes, than shut your ears and eyes and pretend the bad things in the world aren’t there. Big job, though. Bigger than I thought.”
“What is?”
“Keeping you safe.”
We ate in silence for a while. The supper was a little odd, but we were hungry and cold enough to eat every last spoonful.
“Good meal,” said Grim, wiping out his bowl with his finger. “About St. Olcan’s. Was that to get me out of your way? Wondered why you were so keen to help them. Monks and all.”
Only the truth would do, though it shamed me to say it. “I did plan things hoping you’d be busy up there when I went to the tower, because I thought I might have to do something you wouldn’t want me to do. And yes, I intended that Flannan and I would be gone before you got back on Midsummer Eve. A big strategic error. No need to point that out.”
“Funny part is,” he said, “it turned out to be a good thing. Me going up to St. Olcan’s. A really good thing. And not just me fixing their roof for them. Even though I was so scared of going in, the first time, that it made me sick. Learned a bit up there. Wasn’t expecting that.”
I didn’t ask about the mysterious Brother Conall, and he didn’t offer the story.
“Question for you,” Grim said.
“Mm?”
“Can anyone learn their letters? Reading and writing?”
This was a surprise. “Someone like you, you mean?” I ventured.
“Mm-hm.” He was staring into the fire, avoiding my eye.
“That depends on who’s doing the teaching,” I said. “I was planning on starting some work with Emer when we get home. If she’s going to be a healer she’ll need to be able to keep her own notebook, at the very least. Read labels, make her own labels. I don’t see why you shouldn’t learn with her. That’s if we do stay in Winterfalls.”
He looked up then. Nodded. Gave me the sweetest of smiles. “Good,” he said. “Should get these clothes dried out, hmm?”
We built the fire up, draped various items around it and settled again. It was nearly dark, or as dark as it got so close to midsummer. And beyond the glow of the flames, as cold as the grave. Grim checked the horses again. When he got back I handed him the flask of Father Tomas’s special mead.
“I was going to save it until we got home. But I think tonight calls for it. It will put some warmth in the bones.”
The mead was indeed very fine; far better than anything I’d ever brewed. We passed the flask from one to the other until a goodly amount of it was gone. Then we settled to sleep. All being well, by the day after tomorrow we would be back at Cahercorcan. It felt as if we’d been in another world.
“Good night, Grim.”
“Sweet dreams.”
• • •
I woke suddenly and fully, my heart hammering, my skin prickling with the awareness of danger. On the far side of the fire, Grim lay as if dead, a motionless dark form. Someone was kneeling over him. The firelight caught the glint of a knife, the red stain on the blade.
In a breath I was up, ax in hand. “What are you doing?” I yelled, striding forward. Flannan whipped around, rose to a crouch, the knife pointed toward me. His white face. His wide eyes. A traitor. My friend. My own voice sounded in my mind: He should face up to us.
I hit him with the haft, hard. But he was moving and the blow missed his head, glancing instead across his neck and cheek. Flannan let out an oath and staggered to his feet, still clutching the bloody knife. Now he took a lurching step toward me, moving past Grim. Oh, gods, Grim. Grim dead or dying.
I stepped back, tripped over my hem, struggled to keep my balance. Dropped the ax. I fought to find words. Time. I needed time. I would not turn and run. How could I leave Grim? “You don’t have to do this, Flannan.” I put my hands up, palms forward, in a gesture of surrender. “You didn’t have to do any of it. You were a good man once.”
“Do what? What are you talking about? Your man here just tried to kill me. Went for me without even asking what my business was. I defended myself as a man does.”
“Bollocks!” The lying swine! He thought I would swallow that? “You, beat Grim in a fight?”
“You’re angry. I understand that. Just—just be calm and listen. I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you the way we planned. There was a—a distraction. But I’ve found you now, and we can go south. Do everything we were going to do. Just the two of us. You wanted him out of the way, didn’t you? We can head off for Mide exactly as we planned.”
“So why are you still pointing that knife at me?” A knife that was less than steady. He was pale, sweating, shaking. He looked as if he might do anything. “You’re a liar. A liar and a traitor. There never was any plot, was there? There never were any witnesses waiting to speak out; there never was any network of like minds in the south. Just you, a godforsaken coward, doing Mathuin’s dirty business.” I was damned if I was going to die without telling the bastard what I thought of him.
Flannan opened his mouth, no doubt to deny it all, then swallowed and spoke again. “I had no choice.” He shifted the knife from one hand to the other. “If anyone should understand, it’s you.”
How dared he? I was on the brink of hurling myself forward and attacking the rotten mongrel with my bare hands, knife or no knife. I made myself breathe.
“You mean because I know what Mathuin’s capable of? That’s rubbish. Cass would never have done what you’ve done. Not in a thousand years. You were going to hand me over, weren’t you? If the curse didn’t finish me off, you were going to take me all the way to Mathuin’s doorstep on the strength of those cruel lies. That’s unforgivable.” Could I snatch that knife? Stab him before he wrestled it from me and killed me? He was far taller, but my blow had dazed him. I tried not to look at the weapon.
“You can’t know that.” Flannan’s voice had a wild edge. “How can you?”
“You forget the scribe’s habit of setting things down in writing. Messages to Mathuin, carried by birds. A translation set away under lock and key. And a friend of mine who’s been spending a lot of time at St. Olcan’s.”
“Grim?” Flannan was incredulous. “Don’t tell me that dunderhead could read. That, I’ll never believe.”
“He didn’t need to be able to read.” I blinked back furious tears. “He just needed an observant eye and a gift for making friends. We know exactly what you’ve been doing.”
�
��I did what I had to.”
“Rubbish! Nobody has to lie and cheat and kill. Nobody has to obey a wretch like Mathuin. How long have you been doing his foul work, Flannan? And why, in the name of all the gods, why?”
“Why did I agree to find you and bring you back? Why did I do Mathuin’s bidding? I wanted to live. I wanted my wife and children to live. Is that enough for you?”
My jaw dropped. Another lie? “What wife and children? Traveling scholars don’t have wives and children.” Keep him talking, Blackthorn. Wait for an opportunity.
“I’ve been wed only five years; my daughters are young. I thought I was safe, Saorla. Far enough away to be out of his reach. What I told you—the first part—that was mostly true. Getting away after the plot failed. Staying away, sheltered in the monasteries for years and years. But I met Banba. Met and fell in love. Wed and moved into the nearby village, in Mide. And Mathuin found me. Found me and gave me a mission: track you down and bring you back. If I didn’t succeed, my wife and daughters would be killed. He . . . he described what he would do. In detail. You know Mathuin; you can imagine. There was no choice.”
I thought of my baby in the fire. To save him, I would have been prepared to offer up my own life, my freedom, all my worldly goods. But track down an old and trusted friend and deliver her up to gods knew what vile fate? Tell lie after lie to make it happen? Not care who else got killed or hurt along the way? I hoped I would have had the strength to spit in Mathuin’s poxy face.
“There’s always a choice,” I said. “Getting it right can be the hardest thing of all. I wrestled with the choice you gave me. Changed my mind over and over, until I knew what I must do.” I drew a breath, glancing at the fire. Could I snatch a burning brand, somehow use that to make him drop the weapon?
“Listen,” Flannan said, dropping his tone to a conspiratorial murmur. “I don’t have to use this knife. Not if you’re sensible and cooperate. You could still come with me. Face up to him. Isn’t that what you want, to speak your piece in public?” He took a quick step forward, feinted with the knife. I took another step back.
“Look at it another way.” I was all cold sweat, my heart fighting to escape my chest. “This is your second chance. Make the right choice this time. No more killing, no more lies. Be the man you were before, the good man. Renounce Mathuin and his evil. Make that story you told me reality. I will help you.” I wasn’t so bad at lies myself. “There must be a way to get your family to safety.”
“There is no way. It’s too late. Mathuin’s got eyes and ears everywhere. How can you ask me to stand up against him when it means my little girls will suffer?”
“How can I ask? Because that’s just what Cass did. Remember him? Cass, your dearest friend. Cass who died with our son in his arms.” I met his gaze steadily, my head held high. And if my voice was like iron, my heart was full of tears.
“That’s not fair!” Flannan said on a furious sob. “Don’t make me do this, Saorla! Give yourself up. Come on, now—” He made a sudden lunge, shot out his free hand and grabbed my wrist. I saw him draw in a deep breath, as if to steady himself for what must be done. His eyes like death. The knife in his other hand, ready to strike. Cass. Brennan. Grim.
Something huge and dark loomed behind him. A pair of large hands closed around his neck. There was an unpleasant crunching sound, the grip on my wrist was released, and Flannan fell limp to the ground, leaving me staring into the eyes of a very unwell-looking Grim.
“You’re alive,” I said, stupidly. Don’t burst into tears, Blackthorn. Keep control of yourself. A pox on it, I was trembling as if I had a palsy.
“Seems that way.” Grim crumpled suddenly to his knees, his hand against his left shoulder. “Think I might be bleeding a bit.”
I stepped over the lifeless body of my childhood friend. The man who would have killed me. Suddenly I was not weak and shaky, but so angry I wanted to scream. The bastard! The godforsaken poxy apology for a man! I should have sunk the ax in his head when I had the chance.
“Let me look,” I said to Grim. “What happened? He said you attacked him.”
“Hah! If I’d attacked him, he’d be dead. I woke up sudden. Head foggy after the mead. He was right there, leaning over me, knife in his hand. Didn’t know if you were dead or alive. I rolled out of the way just as he struck. He got me in the shoulder, just here.”
I knelt beside him. “Take off your shirt,” I said.
He winced as he did so; the garment was sticky with blood. “Just a flesh wound,” he said. “Messy, though.”
From what I could see, he was right; he’d been lucky. “Looks as if you’ll survive,” I said, feeling sick at the thought of what might have been. “For now I’ll just clean this up and put on a bandage. I can have a better look by daylight.” He looked as sick as I felt. But I had to ask. “What happened then? When I woke up I thought he’d killed you.”
“Stupid. Got on my feet, charged toward the bastard, tripped on something and over I went like a felled tree. Hit my head, hard. Knocked myself out cold.”
“Dagda’s bollocks! I woke up just as he was about to finish you off. Yelled at the top of my voice. Used the ax. Only not the blade, the haft. A big mistake.”
“Saved my life,” Grim said.
“You saved mine.”
“Good team, then.”
I nodded, momentarily lost for words.
“You must’ve done all right for yourself,” he said, “or he’d have killed you before I came to.”
“I managed to drop the ax. But I did keep him talking. The bastard tried to make out we were still friends. Seemed to think I’d understand why he did what he did, because of . . . Enough of this for now; let’s get this wound cleaned up.”
“Going to have to make him disappear,” Grim said, glancing at Flannan.
“Forget that until daylight.” Suddenly I didn’t want to think about any of it. I wanted to be back at Winterfalls with the sun shining and the kettle boiling on the hearth fire.
“Got a lump on my head the size of a goose egg,” muttered Grim. “Frigging mead. Should’ve known better.”
“Ah—mead. Good idea.”
He must have come down hard; there was indeed a huge lump on his head. With luck that blow had not done any serious damage. His eyes looked all right, and he was talking sense. I fetched my healer’s supplies. Used the pot of cooling water from our brew to wash the shoulder wound. Dried it with a kerchief.
“I’m going to splash on some mead before I bandage this. It helps keep out ill humors. It’ll sting.”
Grim attempted a laugh and winced with pain. “Father Tomas’s special brew,” he said. “Love to see the look on his face.”
“I’ll write and tell him all about it.” I began to bandage the wound.
“Him. Flannan. Need . . . dig a grave.”
“Forget him. You won’t be digging anything. And you’d be better not riding tomorrow.”
“I can ride, Lady. Be fine in the morning. Listen. Should say I’m sorry. Killed your friend. But I’d be lying, and that’s the truth.”
“Hush, now.” He sounded like a shadow of his real self; I suspected a monster headache, not to speak of shock. I was not exactly at my best either.
When the bandage was done to my satisfaction I draped my blanket around his shoulders. Used the rest of the hot water to make a brew. Splashed a generous amount of mead into his cup and handed it to him. “Now Father Tomas would really be offended,” I said, sitting down beside him and realizing, now that I had done what had to be done, that the night was still freezing cold. The fire’s warmth was a blessing; its light in the darkness was indeed good.
“Nah,” Grim said. “He’d understand.” There was a pause; then he said, “Thanks for the brew.”
“You lie down. I’ll keep watch. I know I won’t be able to sleep. In the morning we can work out what
to do next.”
“If you say so.” He lay down, failing to conceal how painful the process was. “Still got your blanket.” It was wrapped around him. “You’ll be needing it.”
“Keep it. If I get cold I’ll put your cloak on.”
“It’s wet.”
“Stop talking, shut your eyes and go to sleep, big man.”
“If you say so . . .” He was dropping off even as he spoke.
For a long while I simply sat there with my empty cup in my hands, listening to the sounds of the woodland at night and looking at the flames. What had happened felt too big to take in. It was a tale of cowardice and courage, intrigue and simple goodness, choices that were complicated mixtures of right and wrong. It wasn’t just us—Grim and me and Flannan. We were small parts in the terrible story of Mathuin of Laois; we were parts of the tragic tale of Lily and Ash and the household that had clung on for two hundred years, waiting for us. And when we went back to Cahercorcan, we’d once again be part of the tale of Oran and Flidais and the baby yet to be born, a child who could be king one day.
There was another, older tale. It belonged in these woods, and in the forest all around the Tower of Thorns, and in our own woodland back at Winterfalls. The tale of the small folk, as stoic as Senach and the others. The curse had compelled them to stay and to help. Despite that compulsion, they had tended to Ash with kindness. They had handled his remains, and Geiléis’s, with tender respect. Perhaps, over the long trial they had endured together, the wee folk had grown to love Ash, and he them. I found myself wishing I had known him.
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