Tower of Thorns (14 page)

“Extraordinary,” said Flannan. “It sounds like something from an ancient tale. I heard nothing at all.”

There was a note of doubt in his voice, which surprised me. “Every ancient tale has truth at its heart,” I said. “That's what I've always believed, anyway. But after years and years of retelling, the shape of those old stories changes. What may once have been simple and easily recognized becomes strange, wondrous and magical. Those are only
the trappings of the story. The truth lies beneath those fantastic garments.”

Geiléis was gazing at me with apparent interest; she had set aside her food almost untouched. What unusual eyes she had, of a light gray-blue with a darker rim. The sort of eyes that belonged in just such an ancient tale as we were discussing.

“But Lady Geiléis's monster exists now,” Flannan pointed out. “And it sounds as strange and wondrous as the oldest tale in the world.”

“Indeed, Master Flannan.” Geiléis's tone was cool. “When we reach Bann, you can assess for yourself how accurate my description was. Though you, I suppose, will continue on to St. Olcan's. You will find Father Tomas hospitable.” She frowned. “But perhaps you have visited that foundation before in your wanderings.”

“I have not, Lady Geiléis, though it has long been known to me by reputation. I look forward to spending some time there.” Flannan glanced at me. “And to assisting Blackthorn with her quest, should she need me.”

“You are old friends, I gather.”

“We knew each other long ago.” I hoped my tone would cut off further questions. “As for assisting me, Flannan, it would certainly be useful if you spoke to the monks at St. Olcan's about the monster. The older men in particular. You may dismiss ancient tales as fantastical, but they often contain the solutions to puzzles; the answers to mysteries. One of those monks may know something that will help us.”

“I have spoken to Father Tomas about this, of course. On numerous occasions.” Lady Geiléis rose to her feet, brushing down her skirt. “He had nothing to add to what I already know. Rumors, whispers suggesting this is not the first time the creature has haunted the Tower of Thorns. Hints that it can only be driven away on Midsummer Eve. Those snippets did not come from the brethren at St. Olcan's, but from folk out in the community.”

“I'll be talking to them as well,” I said. “As will Grim. The more
we can find out before midsummer, the better our chances of success.” Grim had contributed nothing at all to this conversation. He hadn't moved from his spot under the tree.

“Of course, your man would also be welcome to stay at St. Olcan's.” Geiléis gave Grim a brief glance. “He could ask his questions there while you did so more widely. No doubt you'll receive requests for your services as a healer. As I mentioned, we have neither wise woman nor druid close to Bann. If folk ask, you must say no. We have so little time.”

“It's up to Blackthorn if she says yes or no.” Grim spoke at last, making no concessions to courtesy. “That's her job, tending to sick folk. What if a babe was wrong way round, or someone got a nasty kick in the head from a cart horse? You wanting her to say,
Sorry, I'm too busy to save your life
?”

“You defend her with some passion.” This time Geiléis's gaze stayed on him longer, and he flushed.

“Just saying.”

“He's right.” I hated to see that look on Grim's face, the one that appeared when folk treated him like a simpleton or doubted his judgment. He was all too ready to believe their assessment of him true. “Under circumstances like those I would feel obliged to help; that's what a wise woman does. I understand the need to find a solution for you before midsummer, Lady Geiléis. And yes, time is short. But I can't make any promises other than that Grim and I will both do our best. I've already made that clear. And as for accommodation, it's more convenient if Grim and I are housed together. That rules out St. Olcan's.” In fact, if I decided to go south with Flannan, having Grim stay elsewhere could make evading him easier when the time came. But I wouldn't suggest that now—it would alert him to something not right. We always stayed together. He couldn't get through the nights on his own.

“Should be moving on,” muttered Grim. “Time being so short and all.”

“Indeed,” said Flannan, rising in his turn. “Quite apart from that, I'm becoming somewhat saddle weary. The relative comforts of a monastery are starting to sound quite appealing.”

Grim

I
t's hard. No chance to talk to Blackthorn on her own, no chance to tell her what I've seen. Hoping when we get to Bann we'll have a spot that's just ours, bit of privacy. She'd want to know. Odd, it was. Oddest thing I've seen since we've been on the road together. Odder even than Conmael and his cronies popping up out of nowhere the way they do. And it could be useful.

Don't know if she heard what I heard. A howling, long way off, sad enough to bring tears. Reminded me of looking down at Strangler's face after I'd heaved him out of the lockup and hauled him to safety in the woods. Looking down and seeing his dead eyes. Reminded me of . . . No. Won't think of what's coming and the bad dreams that'll come with it. Got to be strong. Got to set all that aside. But this sound was sad as sad. Was it the monster? No knowing. Only after I heard it the birds all went quiet.

Turned back for the camp thinking I'd tell Blackthorn. Then I saw something. Long grass moving a few strides from me, like there was a creature there, a rabbit or squirrel. Reached for my knife, thinking of fresh meat for supper. Thing started running, and I got a better look. Wasn't any sort of animal, at least not one I've got a name for. It was something in a fur cloak with a hood. Little thing with a basket. Going
on two legs. Only as high as my knee. There, then gone. Didn't see its face. Gave me the creeps. Gave me that tingling feeling I get in Dreamer's Wood. The fey. Only not Conmael's kind. Something else.

Can't tell her, though. Flannan's right beside her, talking and waving his hands around, and there's Lady Geiléis listening in to everything. Can't come straight-out and ask if the fey live around here, and if some of them are tiny folk. You'd think she'd have said. So I keep my mouth shut.

After a bit we ride on. The lady sends two of her men ahead to tell her folk we're nearly there. Whatever it was I heard, it's stopped now. We take a winding way past some farms and some woods. Nobody comes out to pass the time of day. Feels odd. So quiet here, not a soul in sight. Glad to see smoke rising from a hearth fire and a couple of cows heading into a barn, so I know we haven't wandered into some different world, an empty one.

The track passes through a beech wood. Pretty spot, little stream gurgling by, afternoon sun through the leaves. Path gets steeper. Big rocks under the trees. We slow down. Don't want any horses going lame.

“When we ride clear of these woods,” says Lady Geiléis, “we will be on a rise, looking down over my holdings. You will see the forest, the river, the tower in the distance. And you will hear the creature's voice. My men will ride in front and behind; I will be beside Mistress Blackthorn, with Master Flannan and Grim close after. Do not let the crying distract you. Be assured, we can reach my house without entering the area that is . . .” She trails off, not finding the words.

I don't tell her I've already heard the monster. If that's what it was.

“Enchanted?” Blackthorn says.

“It could be put that way. You will be safe if you do not break from the formation.”

The crying comes again, and Blackthorn's face tells me she's
hearing it too. Louder here, and sadder. Fit to shake up a man's bones and chill his blood. Like before, it brings the bad times, the sad times, the times I've failed, the times I haven't matched up to the man I should be. I'm guessing Blackthorn'll be thinking of Cass and Brennan burning and how she couldn't save them. She'll be thinking of standing up to Mathuin and being laughed at. Flannan—can't tell if he can hear it. Don't know a lot about the man. But he'll have something in his past that he wishes was different, same as us. Doesn't everyone? This monster, it makes a man feel like a dog kicked out the door on a winter day.

I want to say I'll ride with Blackthorn, but I keep quiet and do as I'm told. Truth is, with all those men-at-arms she doesn't need me right now. Deep down, though, I know I'm the only one who can really keep her safe. If that makes me a fool, then I'm a fool. Bonehead, that's what they called me in that place of Mathuin's. Meaning stupid. Stupid to think I can do better than a team of armed guards who know the lie of the land. But that's just what I do think.

Up the top of the hill this bit of forest comes to an end, though not for long. We're looking down over a river—the Bann, must be—and there's a bigger forest between us and it, oaks mostly. Glimpse of farmland, a bit farther away. Just got time to take a breath or two and the sound comes again, loud as loud. Nobody could miss it.

“Halt!” calls Onchú, who's in charge, and we all rein in our horses. Onchú dips into his pouch and brings out what looks like a wad of wool.

“The sound is hard to bear, even for those who are accustomed to it,” says Lady Geiléis. “For you, it will soon become intolerable. You should block your ears.”

Onchú's pulling the wad into smaller pieces. He passes a couple to Blackthorn.

“Once dusk falls, of course,” the lady says, “the creature will be silent. Be glad of that. To hear that sound both day and night would drive you out of your wits.”

Flannan rides forward, takes the wool Onchú's offering and brings it back. Hands half to me.

“What about you?” Blackthorn's looking at the lady, brows up. “And your men?” None of them're blocking their ears. Though they're not looking keen to ride on either. Ripple's got her tail between her legs.

“The passage of time has enabled me to develop some resistance.” Lady Geiléis is a nasty shade of white. Looks worn-out all of a sudden. “The wailing still has its effect,” she says, “but I have learned to withstand the worst of it, as have the members of my household. It would be impractical to go about with one's ears blocked all day, every day. But you are new to this. You are here to help me, Mistress Blackthorn, and you will not be able to do so if you fall victim to the spell.”

“If I did fall victim,” says Blackthorn, “what would happen?”

“The sound would not only hurt your ears and give you a severe headache, it would also fill your mind with unwelcome thoughts. Recollections of past failures. Memories of sorrow and loss. If you traveled unguarded, you would soon find yourself swept away in a tide of self-reproach. The curse would leave nothing of you. Only a hollow shell in which regrets rattled about like dry seeds in a gourd.”

Makes me wonder why Prince Oran hadn't even heard of this lady before she turned up at court. Nobody knew about her or the monster or any of it. Such a strange tale, you'd think everyone in Dalriada would be telling it. And the lady did say it had been going on for a while. Long enough for word to get out, I'd have thought. But what would I know?

“This has actually happened to folk?” says Blackthorn. “The sound has turned them witless? Are the effects permanent?”

“The effects are long-lasting,” Lady Geiléis tells her. “Believe me, you and your friends should block your ears.”

Blackthorn turns a look on her. “If you want me to solve your mystery,” she says, polite as if she was asking Geiléis to pass the salt, “you must allow me to make my own choices. I will carry the wool. That's
only common sense. If I think I need to use it, I will. Grim can make his own decision. We will remain with the escort; I give you my word.” She looks across at Flannan. “You should stop your ears from the start, Flannan.” She speaks softer when she's talking to him. “Nobody's asked you to investigate the monster; no reason to put yourself at risk. But I must be able to hear. Time is short for this quest. I should listen and learn.”

Lady Geiléis is not having this. Doesn't like anyone else trying to take charge, that's plain. “But, Mistress Blackthorn—”

“Past failures, you mentioned. Memories of sorrow and loss. Grim and I are accustomed to those. They walk with us day and night.” Blackthorn glances over at me again, not quite smiling. “Besides, I've been hearing your monster's voice clearly for some time now. It started while we were halted by the lake. You?” It's me she's asking.

“Mm-hm.” Not saying any more than that. I put my share of the wool wadding in my pouch. Blackthorn's right about sorrow walking beside us. Surprised to hear her speak up about it, though. Got a weight of bad memories, the two of us. Doubt if a wailing monster could make it much heavier.

Lady Geiléis signs to her men to ride on, and we all move forward. I'm behind the lady. Her back's stiff. Angry, but holding it in. Or upset. Because she hasn't blocked her ears any more than Blackthorn and me have. She's hearing what we're hearing. And that's a sound that's getting sadder with every step the horses take. My animal's shivering under me. And Ripple doesn't want to walk on; Flannan has to keep calling her. Why didn't we block
their
ears? I want to ask, but I don't. Didn't the lady say, in her story, about cows dropping dead calves? Stock wandering into the river and getting drowned? But maybe these riding horses are used to it, same as the men. Not the animals we've brought from Cahercorcan, though. Seems a bit cruel to put them through it.

We get down the hill, ears full of the wailing, and the escort picks up the pace. Light's starting to fade. Nightmares in my head. Finding
Blackthorn's red kerchief neatly folded on my bed and thinking she was gone forever. Our house burning. Hearing her screams and thinking she was trapped inside. And farther back, Strangler and the other lads and that place of Mathuin's. The stink, the sounds, the pain, the dark. The way I failed the others.

Blackthorn hasn't blocked her ears, so I'm not blocking mine. Job to be done. Need to match her, help her. Listening. Solving a puzzle. Back in Mathuin's lockup, when the bad things got too loud, I shut them out with words. Worked sometimes. Not always. I try it now. Keep my voice down, though the monster's making enough racket to drown out anything.
Dominus regit me, et in loco pascuæ id . . . ib . . . ibi me collocavit.
Funny how it comes back. Been a long time. Still there, though, tucked away inside.
Super aquam refectionis educavit me.
Steady and soothing, the words are. Even when a man's long ago lost his faith in gods.

Maybe Flannan's ears aren't stopped up tight enough. Keeps glancing over at me. I drop my voice to a whisper.
Nam, et si ambulavero in medio umbræ mortis, non timebo mala: quoniam tu mecum es.
Walking in the shadow of death. Been there. Know it like I know my right hand. Feel myself shivering; make myself breathe strong, be the man I should be. Should have been.
Et misericordia tua subsequetur me omnibus diebus vitæ meæ.
Mercy. Fine thing. Wish I could believe in it. Tears in my eyes. Stupid fool.

Getting darker. The monster's voice is not so much of a wail now. Sounds more like a child who's been crying so long he's all out of strength. Harsh, rasping sort of sound. Sobbing. Like he's defeated, giving up. Makes my throat hurt to hear it. For just a bit, I wonder if this monster's not yelling threats and curses, but calling out
Help!
In my head there's a little boy fallen down a well, or shut up in the dark, or stuck up a tree with night coming, and nobody to hear him.

“Look through that gap between the trees,” says Lady Geiléis to Blackthorn, “and you will see the tower.”

I look too, and there it is. Eerie, with the light starting to fade.
Made all of pale stone, taller than the trees, and they're old oaks, some of them. Window at the top. Can't see if the shutters are open. Can't see if the creature's there, but the sound's still coming, cracked and broken. Wisps of mist coming up from the river, creeping between those big trees, making a shroud for the place. Of course, it's on an island. That's what the lady said. Woods are so thick around the tower, all I can see of the river is a gleam here and there.

Birds, suddenly. Birds all around the tower, a dark cloud of them. The sun's sinking; nearly dusk.

“Ride on,” says Lady Geiléis.