Tower of Thorns

  I ordered myself to go to sleep. I shut my eyes tight, rolled the blanket around me and buried my head in the soft goose-feather pillow. But my thoughts still roiled and swarmed like angry bees, setting my whole body on edge.

  Once, during the night, I heard Grim muttering to himself from the darkness of his own bed. The words were unclear. Maybe nonsense, maybe not. It made me sad. It took so little to send him—or me—right back to that place, with the stink and the crying and the last spark of hope all but crushed. In the dark. Among the others, but alone. Almost alone.

  “Grim.”

  A movement across the darkened chamber as he sat up abruptly. “What?”

  “You all right? Just, you were talking to yourself.”

  “Sorry. Keeping you awake. Need your sleep.”

  “Not as if I’m not used to it,” I said. “And I was awake already.” And would not be sleeping; that had become quite obvious. I got out of bed, wrapped my shawl around me and went over to the hearth. It didn’t take much to coax the ash-covered coals back into flickering flame, thanks to the handy supply of wood. I settled on the bench close by, letting the warmth soothe me. After a bit, Grim got up too and came to sit opposite me, his blanket around his shoulders. The light flickered over his plain, strong features, showing me the small, sad eyes, the heavy jaw, the nose that looked as if it might have been broken more than once. What would happen to him if I did go? Back at Winterfalls there was work for him, a home, friends who knew he was a good man. Maybe he’d be better off without me.

  “Why did you change your mind?”

  The question came out of the blue, startling me. “What do you mean?”

  “About coming here. Leaving court, leaving Lady Flidais. Taking the risk. What changed your mind?”

  He hadn’t asked me before. I’d thought he wouldn’t. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just decided it was something I should do, that was all.”

  “Mm-hm.” A weighty silence. Grim was hunched over, looking down at his linked hands. “It was him, wasn’t it? Flannan. He changed your mind for you.”

  Too close to the truth. “Not exactly. But it did make a difference that he wanted to visit St. Olcan’s, yes.”

  The silence filled with unspoken questions. Grim and I didn’t talk about our past. We didn’t ask each other about our lives before the time when we met as fellow prisoners. Only, if one of us wanted to talk about that time, the other one listened. I didn’t want to now, but it felt necessary. I couldn’t have him putting the pieces together and guessing the truth.

  “Flannan and I are good friends. Having him survive, salvaging something worthwhile from that terrible time . . . I knew he’d be moving on at some point. That’s his life now. Coming here instead of staying at court—it means I can spend a bit longer in his company, yes.”

  “Mm-hm. So you turn your back on another friend and go off to fight a monster. Something nobody else has managed to get near.”

  “What do you mean, another friend? Are you talking about Flidais? She gave me permission to go. Don’t make more out of this than it merits, Grim. We’re here now, we have a job to do and we’ll do it. And . . .” I couldn’t say, Then we’ll go home. “And don’t say Mm-hm again or I’ll scream and wake up half the household.”

  Instead, he said nothing.

  “A brew would be good,” I said after a while. “Tomorrow I’ll ask that steward for a pot and a couple of cups. And I’ll gather a bit of this and that in the woods. We can head out after breakfast and have a look around.”

  “Something I forgot,” Grim said. “Something I was going to tell you. Saw a little person, when we stopped by that lake. One of them, you know. Only not like Conmael’s folk. Even stranger than them. Tiny. With a basket. Scurrying away across a field. Thought it was a squirrel, but no. Wearing a cloak with a hood. Like something out of an old tale.”

  “Not a child?”

  “Not a human child. All wrong for that.”

  “Why didn’t you say?”

  He twisted his fingers together, not looking at me. “Didn’t feel right to speak up, when all of them could hear. Not as if they know about us and Conmael, is it? Didn’t get a chance to tell you on your own.” After a little he added, “Sounds as if Flannan doesn’t believe in the fey, anyway. He’d have thought I was crazy.”

  “Perhaps not. Nobody could visit this place without feeling the—the strangeness. That touch of the Other. And that’s even without the monster wailing. Little folk with baskets might be the least of the surprises.” I glanced at him. “You must be feeling it. The same as at Dreamer’s Pool, only more so. Magic everywhere, and I can’t tell if it’s good or bad.”

  “Both, maybe,” said Grim, who was a lot wiser than folk gave him credit for. “Could be what a body makes of it. One thing I know. That crying makes a man sadder than an old house with the roof half gone and the rain coming in.”

  “Mm.” He was right, of course. And it wasn’t as if Geiléis hadn’t warned us. Could be my churning stomach and warring thoughts owed as much to the monster’s influence as to anything else. “Sadder than a dog watching over its dead master,” I said.

  “Sadder than a pot of porridge with nobody to eat it.”

  “Sadder than a sausage left to go cold in the pan.”

  “I’m partial to a cold sausage, myself,” said Grim, making me smile.

  “I daresay Geiléis’s retainers could oblige, if we asked them,” I said. “They seem helpful, though not exactly given to chat. We’d better try to sleep. In the morning we’ll brave those woods, if only to gather the makings of a brew. You keep an eye on me; I’ll keep an eye on you. Just in case this curse inclines one of us to wander into the river and drown, or stray into some trackless part of the forest, never to be seen again. As for the curse addling folk’s thoughts, mine feel addled enough already.”

  “Easier to fall asleep thinking of a sausage than that.”

  “True. Good night, Grim.”

  “Night.”

  • • •

  Nobody could have slept past dawn in this household. As the sun rose, the crying began anew. Although the thick stone walls damped the sound, nothing could have shut it out entirely. If I had not fully understood Geiléis’s desperation before, now it made a terrible sense.

  We rose and dressed, observing modesty by the simple means of turning our backs to each other. I was heading out to the privy, thinking to draw water from the well for a brisk wash, when a servant came to our door with a jug of hot water, a bowl and a soft cloth. Another manservant. I realized I had not seen any women here yet, save Geiléis herself.

  “What is your name?” I asked the man.

  “Dau, Mistress Blackthorn.”

  “Have you been working in this household long?”

  “A good while.”

  He looked no older than eighteen; a clear-eyed, golden-haired lad. “Does the creature’s crying trouble you? Or are you used to it by now?”

  Dau set down jug, bowl and cloth on the bench. “We serve the lady,” he said. “The creature is what it is.” He gave a little bow, then left the room. Whether he meant yes or no, I had no idea.

  Another serving man came to the door not long afterward, offering to escort us to the dining chamber. There, breakfast was laid out on a long table with benches to either side. A platter held fragrant loaves; cold meat was fanned out in tidy slices. In addition there were several kinds of cheese, a dish of porridge, and a jug of ale. No sign of Lady Geiléis, but Flannan was there before us and rose to his feet as we came in. Ripple came out from under the table to greet us.

  “Good morning.” Flannan sounded in excellent cheer. “I hope you slept well.”

  I grimaced. “Could have been better. You?”

  “Best night’s rest I’ve had in a while. I daresay tonight will be less comfortable; monasteries are generally s
omewhat austere in their accommodations. Come, sit here. The steward said we’re not to wait for Lady Geiléis. She’ll be breakfasting in her own quarters.”

  The men were hungry and ate well. I drank some ale and made myself consume a bowl of porridge, though I was strung too tight to enjoy it. The servant had slipped silently away. But even with the three of us alone together, I found it hard to sustain anything like a normal conversation. I was relieved when the steward, Senach, came in to ask whether we needed anything.

  “The breakfast is very good, thank you.” I forced a smile. “Might I borrow a basket? I plan to gather some herbs this morning. And we’d like a kettle and some cups for our bedchamber. Grim and I don’t sleep well; it’s useful for us to be able to make a brew when we need it.”

  “You need only ring the bell, Mistress Blackthorn, and one of our folk will bring you whatever brew you wish, no matter how late the hour.”

  “What, wake folk in the night to wait on me? I don’t think so, generous as the offer is. Just the things I’ve asked for, Senach, nothing more.” Plainly this fellow didn’t understand that boiling the water, tending the fire, chopping the herbs, all helped to settle restless minds and quiet tormenting voices in the night. No obliging servant could replace that.

  “Of course, Mistress Blackthorn. Consider it done. As for going out to gather herbs, you should wait until Lady Geiléis has risen. I believe she may advise against wandering into the woods. She has told you, I expect, that folk often go astray in these parts. And there is the . . .” He glanced toward the shuttered windows, beyond which the monster’s wails could be heard, faint but distinct.

  “Keep the shutters closed all day, do you?” asked Grim.

  “Only when we have visitors to the house,” said Senach. “Those who live here are accustomed to the sound.”

  “Open them if you want,” I said. “We’re here to investigate Lady Geiléis’s problem, after all. We can’t do that very well if folk are constantly shielding us from its influence.”

  Senach regarded me gravely. “I would require Lady Geiléis’s permission for that. Let us wait for her. I am sure she will wish you to take an escort.” He turned to Flannan. “Speaking of escorts, Master Flannan, yours will be here soon. With your permission, I’ll send someone to pack up your belongings.”

  “No!” Flannan got abruptly to his feet, then checked himself. “That is, I have very little with me, and I prefer to pack for myself. My writing materials, you understand—they are somewhat delicate, and I’m happier if nobody else handles them.”

  Senach managed, with the slightest lift of the brows, to convey that he thought this about as ridiculous as guests wanting to brew their own tea in the middle of the night. “As you wish, Master Flannan. When the monk arrives, I will let you know. Meanwhile, please ring the bell if there is anything you require.” And he was gone.

  “Odd old place,” muttered Grim.

  “No odder than any house where serving folk tend to grand lords and ladies,” I said. Though that was not entirely true; Winterfalls was different. Prince Oran conducted the business of his household in an unusual spirit of equality. He treated his serving people, and his community, with a friendly respect that belied his status as crown prince of Dalriada. He let everyone have a say, yet when it came to the hard decisions, he was not afraid to make them. A pity there weren’t more like him. When his time came, he would make an interesting king.

  “We might walk part of the way to St. Olcan’s with you,” I said to Flannan. “Surely Geiléis won’t object if we have a monk as escort. Grim and I can come back through the woods, gather an herb or two and have a look around on the way.”

  “So, not quite breaking the rules?” Flannan flashed a grin.

  “They’re not my rules. We’ll be fine if we exercise common sense. Stick to the path. Stay together. Head for home if anything odd happens. And don’t let the screaming get to us.”

  “I’d best go and pack up my things,” Flannan said. “I don’t quite trust that fellow to leave well alone, and I suppose the monkish escort will be here any moment. I’ll leave you to your breakfast.”

  When Flannan was gone, Grim put down his spoon and looked across the table at me.

  “What?” I said, unable to sound less than snappish. I was tired. I didn’t especially want to say good-bye to Flannan, even if he wouldn’t be far away. And I didn’t want the complication I could see was coming. Grim looked uneasy. Almost unwell. “You disagree with the plan?”

  “No need to go to the monastery. You want to find herbs, you want to have a closer look at the tower, we should go the other way. Toward the river.”

  “It’ll be useful to know the way to St. Olcan’s,” I said. “We’ll be wanting to talk to everyone in the district, monks included. Someone must know more about the monster and how it came to be here. Monks know a lot of old stories.” He really was pale. “Are you all right? You look terrible.”

  The door opened, and in came a youngish man with the part-shaven head of a Christian cleric. His homespun habit, his rope sandals and the wooden cross at his belt completed the picture. “Oh,” he said, looking around the chamber. “My apologies; I was looking for Master Flannan, the scholar.”

  Since, as far as I knew, the fellow had never seen Flannan before, this was a backhanded insult to Grim. “Gone to pack up his belongings,” I said. “You’re the escort, I presume?” If he could be rude, I could be ruder.

  “So sorry—my name is Dufach. Yes, sent by Father Tomas to accompany Master Flannan to our foundation at St. Olcan’s. And you are . . . ?”

  “Blackthorn. A healer. A wise woman.” Just to make it quite clear. If Father Tomas’s community was going to object to me, best get it over quickly. “This is Grim. We’re friends of Flannan’s. But we’ll be staying here with Lady Geiléis.”

  The monk gave a nod. The expression on his face told me he had no idea what to make of us. Perhaps Lady Geiléis had few visitors. Though if what she had told us was correct, St. Olcan’s must see many linger within its scholarly walls. Or must have done, before the monster came.

  “Are your devotions much disturbed by this creature at the ford?” I asked him. “I know you are a little farther away, but its voice is loud. Lady Geiléis has told us of a curse . . .”

  Dufach was about to reply when Grim got up abruptly, mumbled something, and bolted out of the chamber. “Excuse me,” I said, and followed him; I knew those signs all too well. He wasn’t in the hallway. He wasn’t in our bedchamber. I went outside to find him doubled over in the yard near the privy, bringing up his breakfast with some violence.

  I drew water from the well; filled the cup that stood on the rim and brought it to him. “Should’ve told me you were feeling sick.”

  “Be fine in a bit. Nothing wrong with me.” He straightened, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, accepted the water and drank. He was shivering.

  “I’m a better judge of that than you are. If you were my patient I’d order you back to bed. You look appalling.” I surveyed him as I would any person showing signs of illness. “Though not quite as bad as you did before. Sometimes all it takes is to empty your stomach.”

  “Waste of a good breakfast.” He drank again, then went to refill the cup. “I’m all right.”

  “We’ll see. Sit down awhile. That came on rather suddenly.”

  “I’ll be fine. I said so.”

  There was no arguing with Grim on this sort of thing. There was no leaving him behind if he believed he should be with me. So I went off to collect a basket from the kitchen, and a few provisions in case we got hungry while gathering herbs, and when Flannan reappeared with his belongings the four of us set off together: the scholar and the monk, the so-called wise woman and . . . If this were an old tale, what name would I give Grim? The bodyguard? The companion? The protector, the keeper? The friend? He was all of those and more.

 
It seemed that one bout of vomiting had rid his stomach of whatever had disturbed it. But he still looked pale, and there was a tightness about his features. I’d seen Flannan eat the same breakfast as Grim, but he had not been visited by the same sudden sickness. Whatever had caused it, it was not the food.

  The path to St. Olcan’s led up a rise, under a fine stand of old oaks. We passed under an arching canopy of green. Ripple danced along beside us, making short forays from the path when interesting smells drew her attention. It would have been a lovely walk, had it not been for the creature’s voice, ringing through the woods, piteous and terrible in its sorrow. The sound not only assaulted the ears, it crept into the very bones.

  As he walked, Brother Dufach recited a prayer under his breath; at least, I assumed it was a prayer. My knowledge of Latin was limited to what I needed as an herbalist and healer. Since I had given up believing in gods of any kind, I would not use prayer to distract me from that dreadful voice, not even a form of prayer that had once had meaning for me. And it might seem insulting to the monk if I suggested we tell a story. The look on Grim’s face was worrying me. It was bringing back memories I had no wish to revisit.

  We reached the top of the rise.

  “Might stop to catch my breath a moment or two,” I said, fishing out the water skin I had brought in my bag. “Drink, Grim?”

  He took it; his hand was shaking.

  “Go on if you like,” I said to the others, trying to sound offhand. The last thing Grim would want was for me to draw attention to what he would see as weakness. “How much farther is it, Brother Dufach?”

  “A mile or so. Down through the beech wood, along by the stream and up over another hill. You’ll see a copse of willows by a drystone wall. That is the edge of the monastery land. Then you simply follow the wall around to the gate.” The monk glanced at Grim, who had his back turned to the rest of us. “If you wish to come all the way, we can offer you refreshment before you return to Lady Geiléis’s residence. We have a guest area where women can be received.” He paused. “Our establishment is far enough from the ford to render the creature’s voice much less troubling. Within our walls it can barely be heard.”