Bit shy with each other, those two. Must be odd for them. He’s lain with Ciar, only she was in Flidais’s body. And the dog, that is, Flidais, has heard Ciar bragging about it to Mhairi. But the lady, the way she is now, hasn’t lain with any man. She’s the high-born, untouched bride of a future king. Could be awkward, you’d think. But a blind man could see they’re fond of each other. And though Lady Flidais is a quiet, courteous sort of girl, she’s not afraid to speak up for herself, that’s plain. Could be the two of them will do all right.
I make another brew, and we eat what food there is at the cottage, which isn’t much. Donagan’s brought some honey-cakes and cheese in his saddlebag, as well as the mead, so we finish those off as well, though Flidais and the prince don’t eat much. Too busy gazing into each other’s eyes and whispering in each other’s ears.
They’re supposed to be off to court in the morning, the prince, his lady and a bunch of other folk, and it’s getting late. Prince Oran asks Flidais if they should leave it a few days, put off the hand-fasting till she’s recovered, and she says no, best if everything goes to plan. That way nobody else needs to know what’s happened, ever. And they won’t be starting their marriage with all sorts of weird tales being whispered. As for Mhairi, Flidais tells her she’ll need time to work out what’s best, but she’s pleased Mhairi told the truth at the end, and for now she can stay provided she keeps her mouth shut and makes herself useful. The first way she makes herself useful is taking off her gown and tunic so Flidais can wear them on the ride back. Mhairi gets an old shirt of mine to put on over her shift, with a cloak on top. Blackthorn bundles up the lady’s wet things for Donagan to carry.
We stand at the door and watch them go. Moon’s high now, lights the path home for them. Donagan’s a good man. He’ll make sure they get there safe.
Blackthorn and me, we’ll stay here at the cottage now. Go over in the morning and pick up our bits and pieces from the prince’s place, borrow some supplies from Brid, maybe wave farewell if they’re not already gone. But no going back to stay there. Didn’t need to say so, either of us. Just knew.
The place is toasty warm. I bank up the fire, find a couple more blankets. Glad we got the repairs done. I sit on my pallet, reach down to take off my boots. Something growls and snaps, nearly taking my hand off. ‘Dagda’s bollocks!’
It’s the dog, Bramble. Or not Bramble, because this is Ciar. Maybe it’s fair, though it seems cruel. She kept quiet about the spell on Flidais, and now the same thing’s happened to her. Seems she doesn’t think much of being a dog, and plans to let everyone know it.
‘Thought they’d taken her with them,’ I say, lifting up my feet so I can get the boots off and keep my fingers. ‘Walk her over there in the morning, mm?’
The dog bolts out from under my bed, skitters across the room. Dives under Blackthorn’s bed, right to the back. Two eyes in the shadows. She whines.
‘She’ll be staying here,’ Blackthorn says, off-hand. ‘Lady Flidais may be a soft-hearted girl, but it’s too much to expect her to hold on to the creature. And Oran wouldn’t want it, I’m quite sure of that.’
‘Just put her out the door and forget about her.’ Told a lot of lies, Ciar did. Made a lot of folk unhappy. ‘Can’t understand why you’d want to keep her.’
‘I have to.’ Blackthorn lies down on her bed, shuts her eyes, pulls her blanket over her. ‘Hear that whining? If that isn’t a cry for help, I don’t know what it is.’
Morrigan’s britches! Blackthorn’s going soft about a vicious, noisy little monster like that? And here I was, thinking how peaceful it’s going to be here, all neat and tidy, everything where it should be, and me and her settling in as if it’s a real home. I was feeling good. Almost happy. ‘You have to? Why?’
‘You know,’ Blackthorn says, sounding half-asleep. Been a long day. A big, big day. ‘Conmael. My promise.’
‘Didn’t think that fellow made you promise to give a home to stray dogs, even ones that used to be human.’ Use her gifts only for good and stay away from Mathuin for seven years, those were the two parts of it. Nothing about dogs.
‘Not dogs in particular. Cries for help. Remember, I have to say yes to folk who ask me to help them. Even if they don’t say it in so many words. Even if they’re folk like Ciar. It gets complicated sometimes. Difficult. But I’ve kept to it. And I’ll keep to it even now Ciar’s a dog. I can train her not to bite you.’
I think about this a bit, then I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d never asked about the dog, because a shadow’s come down over me, and my head’s full of folk calling me Bonehead, and folk making fun of me, and Strangler dying just after I got him out, and Dribbles and Poxy lying butchered by the road. And before that, the dark thing, the terrible thing, and a load that’ll be on my shoulders till I die. Thought I could put it behind me. Thought I could start again. That night, when she called me up to her campfire, when she said I could come with her, I thought it was because she wanted me. I thought she needed me around, even if it wasn’t forever. That made me feel like flowers and sunshine and fresh bread. Like a starving cur expecting another kick, and getting a juicy bone and kind words. What she’s just told me turns that upside down. She only took me on because of poxy Conmael and his wretched promise. She never wanted me. She never needed me. Fool. Bonehead. Soon as you think you’ve found something good, someone comes and takes it away.
Blackthorn’s breathing quiet, like she’s asleep. Shadows creep close, pressing into me. Can’t stay. Not now. I get up, go out quiet-like, shutting the back door behind me. Path’s been laid new, flat stones in a pattern. I pick up a few big ones and put them in my pockets. Shouldn’t take many. Never did learn to swim.
41
~BLACKTHORN~
What a gift: a night’s sleep in my own bed, in my own house. I felt as weary as if I’d spent the whole day haymaking or fighting a battle or hauling in fishing nets. The hardest part of it, the part nobody knew about, had been casting the spell to delay the rain. It was years since I’d gone down such a path; longer than I could remember since I had used the more arcane skills of a wise woman. I had done my best with the spell, and it had exhausted me. Whether the rain had held off because of me, or whether it would have been dry enough for Ciar to be coaxed up that path anyway, there was no way of knowing. Unless I asked Conmael, and he probably wouldn’t tell me even if I did.
It was raining now, steadily, which did make me wonder. The rain fell on the thatch that Grim had restored so lovingly, and on the stone pathways he’d laid in place, making special patterns of his own devising, and into the water barrel he’d set up outside the back door. It fell on the little straw creatures he’d fashioned to guard the roof, and on the garden with its new planting of winter vegetables. And it fell over Dreamer’s Wood, where tonight the strangest of scenes had played itself out. I listened to the rain, and to the snuffling sounds from the little dog under my bed, and felt myself drifting into a deep and peaceful sleep.
The dog barked, jolting me sharply awake. I cursed. If the wretched creature planned to keep that up, I’d be tempted to do as Grim had suggested and put her outside to fend for herself. ‘Mongrel!’ I muttered, glancing across in the hope that Grim had slept through the noise.
He wasn’t there. His blanket was in a tangle, his boots were on the floor, his cloak still hung on its peg. Gone to the privy, no doubt. Without that cloak, he’d get soaking wet. Fool.
I lay on my back, staring up at the rafters. Thinking over the day, wondering how the prince and his lady would cope with life at court, wondering how they would do as king and queen of Dalriada when the time came. From what I’d seen of her, Flidais matched perfectly the woman Oran had fallen in love with after reading her letters: sweet, courteous, scholarly, a little shy. But he was going to find that she was far more than that. That leap down into the dark water of Dreamer’s Pool had been an act of true courage. And her measured treatment
of Mhairi, after all that had befallen her, had been the response of a leader. They would, I suspected, do very well indeed. I found myself almost looking forward to watching them grow and learn together.
As for Ciar, the price she had paid for her actions had indeed been high; perhaps too high. That day in Dreamer’s Wood she’d been scared – anyone would have been scared – and she’d made a quick decision. That decision had become, in time, simply too much for her to handle. An error. Reprehensible. But not a crime.
But I did not see, truly, what else we could have done. To deny Flidais the chance of a future would have been wrong. But to condemn Ciar to life as a dog, a short life most likely, when that first transformation had been beyond her control . . . it was hard. I had complied with Conmael’s requirements. Oran had asked me for help, and I had helped him. I wished I could be sure that what I had done was right.
Where had Grim got to? He’d been gone far too long. I sat up, fully awake now and possessed by a creeping sense of wrongness. Just a sore belly, a touch of the gripes that was keeping him in the privy? But the boots. The cloak . . .
I got up, flinging my own cloak over the clothes I’d lain down in, and went to the back door. Stuck my head out into the rain and called out, ‘Grim? Are you all right?’
Nothing. Even through the steady fall, he should have heard me.
‘Grim!’
Not a sound. What now? Go out looking and get soaked? Or stay indoors and build up the fire so he could dry out when he came back? Where could he have gone?
The dog was at my heels. She gave another sharp bark. A warning.
‘What?’
She could not tell me, of course. But something was wrong. I knew it. I felt it in my bones. ‘Grim,’ I muttered, ‘why would you do this, you foolish man? What would draw you out into the dark on a day when everything’s gone so well?’
And then, with a sensation like a plunge into icy water, I realised what it was. Remembered what I had said to him before I settled for sleep, about the dog and my vow to Conmael. Remembered that I had told Grim, long ago, about promising to use my gift for good, and promising to keep away from Mathuin of Laois, but not about promising to help anyone who asked me to. I’d been too ashamed to have anyone know I did not help folk out of the goodness of my heart, but only because I was bound to it. The first person I’d helped, after making that vow, had been Grim. Grim, a dark hulking shadow in those woods north of Laois; Grim wet, cold, alone; Grim, not prepared to come to my campfire that night in case I ordered him to go away and leave me be.
Cursing, I went back for my boots, thrust my feet in, made for the door again. ‘Stay here!’ I ordered, but did not wait to see if the dog obeyed. I ran. Into the woods, along the path, onto the branching way that led to the patch of greensward where Ciar had expected to lie with the prince and make a child. I did not shout his name. I did not shout stop, wait, or anything else. I simply ran, heart drumming, chest heaving, feet stumbling over stones and roots, for the moon was quenched by clouds now and the wood was in near-darkness. Behind me, a faint light shone from the cottage, where I had left the back door open. In there our hearth fire still burned, lighting the way home.
Up, up the hill. Where was the spot? It was so dark I risked toppling over the edge to plunge into the water as Ciar had. I might end this remarkable day as a fish or a frog or anything at all. Grim, you fool, why would you do such a thing?
The rain abated. For a moment, the veil of cloud parted and moonlight shone down, showing me the narrow entry, the patch of soft grass, and at the far end, standing on the very edge of the drop, the dark, still bulk of a man.
I froze, not daring to speak. Startle him and he’d go right over. Say the wrong thing and he’d jump. He’d commit himself to that pool, knowing what it could do.
There was a right way to go about these things. Speak quietly and calmly. Don’t approach, keep at a slight distance, go on talking. I knew how to do it; I’d done it before, more than once. But all of a sudden my eyes were streaming and my nose was running and the words came out broken and unsteady and out of control. ‘Grim! Don’t! Please!’
His whole body tightened. He was going to jump.
‘Grim, you wretched man! Do as I bid you right now or I’ll turn you into a fat rabbit and eat you for supper, I swear!’
He took a step back from the edge. Turned toward me. Muttered something.
‘What was that?’ My heart was thumping fit to leap out of my chest. ‘What did you say?’
‘No good to you. Never was. Only took me on because you had no other choice. True, isn’t it? Let me tag after you because if you hadn’t, it would have been another year on Conmael’s bargain.’
I was right. This was all about Conmael’s accursed bargain.
‘True, isn’t it? Don’t lie to me. Don’t honey-coat the truth.’
‘You’re saying that to me? Have I ever lied to you, Grim? Have I? You’re the one person I can’t lie to. You’re the one person who knows me too well to be taken in by it. Why do you imagine I asked you to come with me to confront Branoc that day, instead of waiting to go there with men-at-arms? Why do you think Conmael sent you after me when I was running away, instead of following me himself? Why do you think I needed you to stay at Winterfalls with me to solve the puzzle of Lady Flidais?’
‘Don’t know,’ said Grim. ‘Never did know, really. Just happy there was something for me to do. Somewhere for me to go. Somewhere near you. Thought you knew that, Lady.’
‘A pox on this. I’m wet, I’m cold, I’ve had enough of this wretched wood for one night. Will you come back with me? Please?’ I held out a hand toward him. He stood there looking at me, like a big shambling bear that had lost its way. ‘I don’t beg,’ I said. ‘I do have my limits.’
‘Thing is,’ Grim said, sounding more like himself, ‘you don’t need me. You don’t need anyone. Told me that early on. You like living on your own. Hoped if I made myself useful you might change your ways. Foolish. Wise woman and all, of course you don’t want a lump like me around. Didn’t take the hint. That’s why they call me Bonehead.’
‘Bollocks. Stop being sorry for yourself. You know quite well you’re capable at so many jobs everyone in Winterfalls wants to hire you. You can’t be blind to the way folk warm to you. They trust you. They trust you to do a good job, an honest job. Nobody around here’s calling you Bonehead or anything else of that nature.’
‘A man did, in the prince’s house. I bashed his head on a table and nearly killed him. Get a red rage sometimes. Makes me do bad things. If you knew –’
‘Enough! I’ve got enough ill deeds in my own past to fill a book. And now’s not the time or the place for you to tell me about yours.’ I struggled for the right words. ‘Listen, Grim. Yes, it’s true that when we met up, after Mathuin’s lockup, I let you come with me because of my promise to Conmael. You didn’t ask me for help any more than that dog did tonight. But cries for help don’t always come in words. I knew what I had to do, and I did it.’
He stood silent. His stance screamed, I knew it. I knew you didn’t want me.
‘But it’s different now. I can’t believe you thought otherwise. We’re friends. We work together. We understand each other. We put up with each other. We know when to stay around and when to leave each other alone. We’re a team, Grim. I’d never have worked out the truth about Branoc and Ness without you. And what about tonight? Have you forgotten I was going to turn my back on Prince Oran and Lady Flidais and the whole mess, until you came out to Silverlake and stopped me? Without the evidence you gathered, I’d never have seen how wrong I was. Without the hard talking you were brave enough to give me, I’d never have understood how Mathuin was skewing my thinking.’ I drew a deep breath. ‘The fact is, I can’t do without you. We’re friends.’ It came to me, through a blur of tears, that we’d been friends since the wretched, lice-ridden days in Mathuin’s
lockup. Only, back then, I’d been too eaten up with bitterness to see it. In that place, we’d kept each other alive.
‘Can we go home now?’ I asked.
He took a step toward me. An awkward, stumbling step; he must be cramped with cold. I took one toward him and slipped my arm through his. ‘Home,’ I said. ‘Come on, you foolish big man.’
We made our way back to the path, and down the hill beside the still waters of Dreamer’s Pool, on which the moon now shone again, making a silver mirror. A white owl passed over in whispering flight, and a small creature cried out, deeper in the wood. Was that a cloaked figure I could see, shadowy under the birches? A pair of fey eyes under a dark hood, watchful as we passed?
By the back door, the little dog sat where I had left her, waiting for us. We went in. I hung up my dripping cloak; Grim stripped off his wet clothing in the lean-to and emerged clad in a blanket, conjuring a sharp memory.
I stirred up the fire. ‘Brew?’
‘You sit down awhile. I’ll make it.’
‘Let go of that blanket to fetch herbs, and you’ll show me a sight I really don’t want to see right now. What I want’s a friend, not a . . . you know.’
‘Take a lot to shock you,’ said Grim, managing a smile. ‘You fetch the herbs, I’ll boil the water. Team, aren’t we?’
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My thanks to the team at Pan Macmillan Australia: Claire Craig, Libby Turner, Brianne Collins and my publicist, Eve Jackson; and to Anne Sowards and her team at Penguin US. I’m grateful to my wonderful agent, Russell Galen, for his ongoing support and his enthusiasm for the Blackthorn & Grim project. To my daughter Elly, a big thankyou for helping me with some gnarly plot puzzles.