By late afternoon on the next day, the weather had turned wet. If I’d had a home to go to, certain shelter ahead, I’d have kept on walking, knowing I could be under a roof by dusk with a hearth fire and dry clothing. But my body was not strong as it had once been, and I was travelling an unknown path. I headed deeper into the woods and found a shallow cave that opened onto a small clearing among elder trees. There was evidence that others had camped here before me: a rudimentary hearth fashioned of rocks, a place where the stream had been dammed to form a shallow pool, and in the cave, a stack of wood. The rain fell steadily; my clothing was wet. But this hearth was protected by the rock shelf above it, and I would be able to make a fire and dry things out. As for the tracker, he’d have a choice: emerge and show himself, or stay out there and get soaked through.
When I’d kindled the fire and was building it up, I saw him. He was only a darker patch under the trees, motionless. Then a gust of wind brought down a small branch, and he flinched as it landed close by him. I peered through the curtains of rain, but already he’d shrunk back from view. Not coming out, then. Well, it wasn’t my problem if he died of an ague. I’d never asked him to follow me.
I’d caught a fish earlier in the day, and now I made it into a kind of soup with a handful of greens I’d gathered along the way. What I did not eat now I would have in the morning. I made a makeshift frame to hang my damp clothing on, but with the tracker so close I was not prepared to strip. I draped my shawl and stockings over the frame and set my boots in the warmth. I was beginning to think the pack Conmael had given me had a fey charm of some kind on it, for the rest of my belongings, including the two rolled-up blankets, were quite dry.
The fish soup smelled appetising. My supplies included a bowl, a spoon and a cup, all fashioned from a strange pale substance, neither pottery nor bone, but smooth as silk to the touch and carven with little creatures, hedgehog, owl and fox, peering out from a twine of ivy. They were far too fine for the likes of me. I filled the bowl, draped one of the blankets around my shoulders, then settled by the campfire to eat.
Beyond my place of shelter the rain was coming down in remorseless, drenching sheets. I watched the stream broaden and the little dam overflow its confines. My fire was the only light in the darkening woods; the moon would not show her face tonight. I gazed toward the spot where I had last seen the tracker, but it was too dark now to make him out. If he had any sense at all he’d back off, leave this dogged pursuit and find himself somewhere dry to sleep. Such pig-headed persistence. It reminded me of something. It reminded me of . . .
Morrigan’s curse! Surely not. Why in the name of all the gods would Grim follow me miles across country, and if he did, why would he act as if he was on some kind of secret mission? No, it couldn’t be. I squinted out through the rain again. Had those glimpses of the tracker matched the hulking lump of a man who’d shared my imprisonment day in, day out for the last year? Why would he do this? It couldn’t be him. But in my mind I saw Grim performing those exercises in the near-dark of the cells, every single night, every endless, mind-numbing night, hauling himself, pushing himself, keeping himself strong as if tomorrow would be not another day in the dank horror of Mathuin’s prison but a day of challenge and hope and heroism. For pig-headed persistence, Grim was the man.
‘Danu save us, Grim,’ I murmured, remembering the way he’d lifted me out of the place. After it happened, after we saw open sky above us, that had been the first thing he’d done. ‘That day you were waiting for really did come.’
What now? I might be wrong. I might call out only to see a complete stranger, armed and dangerous, heading up the hill in response to my kind invitation. But if it was him, and I didn’t call out, I might go out there in the morning and find a sodden corpse, dead from cold. I hated obligations. I didn’t want to owe Grim anything – wasn’t my agreement with Conmael bad enough? – but I couldn’t turn my back on him. There was no way I’d have got out through that broken roof by myself.
Right, then. I’d need to make it quite clear that all I was offering was a share of fire and food for tonight, and a spot to sleep out of the rain. He could explain why he was here, and I’d tell him I didn’t want company on the road, either open or covert. And in the morning we’d go our separate ways.
I stood up and yelled through the downpour. ‘Grim! If that’s you, get yourself up here out of the rain, you stupid man! What’s the point of escaping if you’re only going to drown?’
No answer that I could hear, but there was some movement down there under the trees. A shambling shape, like a troll or giant from an old story, made its way slowly out and up the hill toward me. Even as I set the little pot back on the fire, I slipped my knife from my belt. Grim free might be quite a different man from Grim behind bars. Who knew what acts of violence he might have in him, what old offences might be preying on his mind, what wrongs he might believe needed righting? One well-aimed blow with his big fist and I’d be gone. He’d sleep by my fire, help himself to my belongings and be on his way, and the sodden corpse wouldn’t be him, it would be me.
‘Hurry up!’ I snapped. ‘Get that cloak off, you’re dripping everywhere. Move in by the fire, here.’
He was shivering with cold; his clothing must have been soaked right through. This sorry specimen wasn’t going to be making any explanations until I got him warm and dry. I’d never called him Bonehead the way the others had. Right now the name seemed perfectly apt.
‘Listen,’ I said, putting the knife back in my belt. ‘Forget modesty, we’ve seen the worst of each other already. I’ll turn my back, you take those clothes off and wrap this blanket around you. Let me untie that –’
‘No . . .’ It was a feeble protest; his attempt to push my hands away was equally pathetic.
‘All right, do it yourself, then. But hurry up; the longer you keep those wet things on, the longer you’ll take to warm up. Tell me when you’re decently covered again.’ It was beyond ridiculous, after that place, for there to be any need for privacy between us. The things we’d seen in there made a mockery of the niceties of life outside. On the other hand, we were outside now, and I at least would have to teach myself, all over again, how to behave around ordinary people, the kind of people who didn’t realise places like Mathuin’s lockup even existed. With my back to Grim, I got the way-bread out of my pack and broke off a good-sized piece. Then I waited. And while I waited it came to me that small courtesies like this should not be dismissed. That the ability to give a person a few moments’ privacy was a worthwhile thing; it was to offer the gift of respect.
‘Lady?’ Grim’s voice came eventually, deep and uncertain. ‘You want this pot stirring?’
‘Can I turn around without offending your modesty?’
‘Blanket’s a bit small. Nice and warm, though.’
I turned. Had things been different I might have smiled, but I had too much on my mind to be amused by the spectacle of a very large man draped curiously in an inadequate length of cloth. ‘Black Crow save us,’ I muttered. ‘You’d better have the other one as well, here.’
‘You’ll be cold –’
‘I have a perfectly good shawl and my clothes are dry. And I have a full belly. Sit down here and eat, it’ll help warm you up.’ I poured the remaining fish soup into the bowl, stuck the spoon in and handed it to him. ‘And this.’ I put the way-bread down beside him.
‘You don’t want me eating your supplies –’
‘Shut up, Grim. Not another word until it’s all gone. That’s an order.’
He ate; I busied myself draping his sodden garments over bushes and stones around the fire. His prison rags were gone; at some point during the three days since our escape, he had acquired a set of plain clothing, trousers, shirt, tunic, cloak, boots. If he had a pack or weaponry, he’d left it out there in the woods.
The food was soon gone; it would be way-bread for breakfast. I hoped the fish wou
ld be biting again tomorrow.
‘First good meal I’ve had in days,’ Grim said. His voice was markedly steadier, but he was avoiding my eye. ‘Thank you, Lady.’
One thing needed sorting out quickly. ‘I’ve got a different name now. Blackthorn. Don’t call me Lady.’
There was a pause, then he said, ‘Blackthorn. That’s a healer’s name, isn’t it? A wise woman’s name.’
‘That’s right. It’s what I was, a long time ago. But Blackthorn’s not my old name, it’s a new one, from the day we left that place.’
‘Mm-hm. Good choice. It suits you.’
‘Prickly and difficult.’
Another silence. ‘Not how I’d put it, but yes, that too.’
‘Grim.’
‘Mm?’
‘I’ve got a bit of a story to tell you. About what happened that day. But first, who got out? Apart from us, I mean?’
The silence stretched out so long this time that I thought he was not going to answer at all. Then he said, ‘Poxy and Dribbles. Got out and away as far as I know.’
‘Nobody else?’
‘Just them and us, Lady. I mean Blackthorn. Have to get used to that.’
No, he wouldn’t, because after tomorrow morning we’d never need to see each other again. ‘You’ve got some questions to answer,’ I said. ‘But first I’ll tell you the story.’ As simply as I could, I told him about the fey benefactor who had come from nowhere, and had offered me freedom provided I went to Dalriada and didn’t come back. I explained that I had promised to go back to my old craft and use my skills to help people. Conmael’s other requirements, I did not share; there was no need for Grim to know. But he did deserve an explanation of the strange event that had killed our cellmates. ‘I don’t think Conmael cared at all who was hurt or who died,’ I said. ‘Only, for some reason, that I should get out before Mathuin’s men came to make an end of me. Thank you for helping me that day.’
‘That was nothing,’ he mumbled. ‘Just wish I could have got the others out too. All of them.’ And after a moment, ‘I don’t trust the fey, and you shouldn’t either. Full of tricks. They say they’re helping you, and all the time they want something from you. You need to be careful. Why would this fellow do that when he was a stranger to you?’
‘I have no idea. But I can look after myself.’
We sat there awhile without talking. The rain was easing off; I hoped the morning would be dry so I could move on quickly.
‘Grim?’
‘Mm?’
‘Why did you follow me? Why are you here?’
His only response was a shrug.
‘Come on, Grim, you can do better than that. Why come after me, and why be so secretive about it? For a while there I thought you were Mathuin’s men. You scared me.’
He shot me a glance, then looked down at the ground again. ‘Thought you weren’t scared of anything.’
‘There’s a difference between being afraid and letting people see that you are,’ I said, pushing back an old memory that threatened to surface. ‘Grim, answer the question, will you? You must have somewhere to go, your old home, your old work. But here you are, sitting by my campfire, eating my food. Why?’
Nothing; he just sat there hunched over in his blankets, head bowed. From time to time a shiver ran through his large form.
‘Come on, Grim.’
‘Stupid,’ he muttered. ‘Thought you might need help. Protection, you know? On your own, suddenly back out here, no resources, weakened after so long locked up . . . Seemed as if I might make myself useful.’
I made myself count up to five before I answered. ‘That was kind of you. But completely unnecessary. I’m well able to fend for myself, and thanks to Conmael’s people I didn’t start the journey with no resources at all. I appreciate your concern, Grim, but I’m not in need of a bodyguard or a travelling companion. In fact I prefer to be on my own. You were in that place too; you’ll surely understand.’
‘I’ll be off, then.’ He made to get to his feet.
‘Don’t be stupid! You’re not going anywhere until you’ve had a night’s rest and got your clothes dried out. In the morning you can head off on your own business and I’ll be on my way north.’ One part of my question remained unanswered. ‘Why didn’t you just come up to me and ask if I needed help? Why track me? Though I have to say, for a big man you’re quite good at it.’ I knew nothing of his life before we were locked up; neither of us had ever spoken of those times.
Grim sighed weightily. ‘Because I thought you might say what you just said. That you didn’t need me.’
‘If you’d heard it earlier, you could have saved yourself a lot of effort. And stayed dryer.’
‘I should go.’ He tried to get up again.
‘Stubborn, aren’t you?’ Something about this was really bothering me, but I couldn’t quite put a finger on it. What was I missing? ‘You’re not going off tonight in the rain. Especially not wearing my blankets. And if you weren’t too tired to think straight, you’d see how ridiculous you’re being. Settle down and get some sleep, and in the morning there’s to be no running off before I wake up, understand? I have a job for you before you leave.’
‘What job?’
‘Cutting this off.’ I gestured toward my matted locks.
I had his full attention now; he looked horrified.
‘No! Why would you want that?’
‘Why wouldn’t I? It’s disgusting. Washing it was no help at all.’
‘I could comb it out for you.’
‘Hah! If you believe that’s possible, you’ll believe anything. I want it chopped off close to the scalp. So no disappearing, all right?’
‘If you say so.’
It was only later, when we had banked up the fire and settled ourselves to rest a discreet distance apart, that he came out with it. ‘Lady?’
‘You mean Blackthorn.’
‘Sorry.’
‘What, then?’
‘It’s just . . . it’s just, I’ve got nowhere else to go. I thought . . . I did think . . .’
I opened my mouth to retort, Then you thought wrong. But the clouds parted for a moment, admitting watery moonlight, and a bird called, deep in the woods, and I realised that if I had spoken those words aloud, I would have added another year to the seven I owed Conmael, and lost one of my five chances. This was a cry for help if ever I heard one. A pox on the man, how dare he do this to me? With an effort, I spoke in calm, even tones. ‘What did you think, Grim?’
‘Thought you’d say no. But wondered if you’d surprise me. Hoped you might let me come with you, and . . . and keep guard. Keep an eye out for trouble.’ After a moment he added, ‘There’s a few things I can do. Handy things.’ And a little later, ‘But you wouldn’t be wanting someone like me around. I understand that.’
And suddenly my mind was awash with contradictions, too many of them to make sense of in the middle of the night. One thing was certain; I was going to be stuck with a travelling companion, for now at least. ‘We’ll see,’ was my inadequate response. ‘In the morning, we’ll see.’
5
~GRIM~
Turns out she doesn’t know the way. Just walking north by whatever tracks she finds and hoping she’ll end up in Dalriada. Which maybe she would, but not as quick as with me helping.
The first morning, she makes me cut her hair. Makes me toss the pieces of it in the fire. That’s hard. But, in a way, funny; her hair always was like flames. In that place, I’d look across and see it all glowing red, and I’d think of the things a fire gives you: warmth, light, a feeling like being home.
It’s good sitting by our campfire at night, out in the woods or in a cave or wherever Blackthorn, as she calls herself now, decides to stop. Just the two of us all quiet, and the crackle of the flames. Our little patch of brightness in the big dark. It’s good b
eing free, and it’s good being with her, and it’s even better having a job to do. Seems like she does think I can be useful to her. Even though they called me Bonehead, meaning stupid.
After I cut her hair, I do mine to match. Couple of days later I get her a kerchief off someone’s washing line, but she makes me put it back. In time, she says, she’ll earn a living at her craft – I guessed already in that place that she was some kind of wise woman, with all her talk about plants – and she can pay for her own kerchief if she wants one. Anyway, she says, she likes the wind in her hair, what’s left of it. Makes a change after being shut up so long. I keep quiet about where my new clothes came from. Wonder what she thinks I should have done, tapped on some farmer’s door, looking like the wild man of the woods, and asked if they needed an honest worker?
We cross over the border from Mathuin’s land to the next chieftain’s. I have to tell her we’re safe; she doesn’t know the area at all. We climb to the top of a hill, and I point back south to the place we’ve come from, lost in a haze and too far away to see clearly. We’ve just crossed a bridge, and I make sure she knows that’s got us out of Mathuin’s grasp. Chase us over here, and he’d get himself in a lot of trouble with his neighbour. Most places you go, there’s some kind of war on, a little war between rivals. About whose cattle can graze where or who’s supposed to keep bridges mended, that kind of thing. Probably no different in Dalriada, but I don’t say anything about that.
‘You’re sure?’ she asks when I tell her where we are. ‘That really is the border?’ I see her thinking, How would he know that sort of thing?
‘It is. Now turn this way.’ I show her the view northward: rolling hills, patches of farmland, lakes and forests and a range of higher hills lying purple-blue in the distance. It’s a pretty sight. ‘You’re looking across the kingdom of Mide,’ I say. ‘Those hills, the big ones, they mark the border with Ulaid. And Dalriada’s in the far north. Don’t know about your place, Winterfalls. But we can worry about finding it when we’re closer.’