Tower of Thorns (43 page)

The men-at-arms came out to watch us as the morning went on, one or two of them at a time, so I had an audience whether I liked it or not. There was encouragement—“Good strike, Mistress Blackthorn!” “Well blocked!”—and advice—“Bend your knees!” “Go for his privates!” And this from the usually aloof Onchú, toward the end: “Morrigan's curse, Mistress Blackthorn, you're a real fighter!”

At around midday Grim called a halt. My arms felt like jelly, my back ached and I was all over sweat. “Enough for now,” he said. “Food, rest.” And, after a pause, “You did good.”

I didn't ask him if he'd ever been a fighting man, though it seemed more than likely. If he wanted to tell me, he'd tell me. Not that there was much time left to tell anything.

•   •   •

Strange, how time seems to speed up when you most want it to slow down. The closer we got to that moment when I'd have to go up the tower, the less prepared I felt. Even with Grim drilling me in warcraft. Even with Geiléis telling me, often, that she truly believed I could do it. She praised my courage until I was sick of hearing it, and on one occasion she offered a generous payment in silver. I wanted to refuse. I wanted to say she should use her funds to help the struggling folk who had the misfortune to live within her borders. But Geiléis was hardly going to do what I told her, and besides, it would be useful for Grim to have something to keep him going when I left. I told her she could pay me—or him—when I'd actually broken the curse.

“Grim,” I said, after a second long day of training. “There's something I want to ask you. Or get your opinion on.”

“Mm-hm?”

We were lying on our beds, ready for sleep. Grim had banked up the fire for the night; in the faint glow from its embers he loomed against the wall, a big dark shadow. A watchdog to keep enemies at bay. A guardian spirit to ward off evil. A listening ear. A shoulder to cry on. The voice of common sense. As familiar as a comfortable old cloak, which was not at all the way I'd intended it to be when I'd first encountered him on the road and agreed to let him walk on with me. It had just happened. A big nuisance, because all that was going to make it so much harder to walk away and leave him behind.

“What?” he asked, and I realized I had drifted off into my own thoughts.

“The story. The curse only giving Lily one chance every fifty years, and that part about her living to see Ash freed. Or to see the curse broken. Which was it?”

“To see him freed. That's the way he told it. Flannan.” A pause. “You thinking it might be her? Geiléis?”

I sat up, surprised. Not that I should have been. Grim was quick at working things out. “So you thought of that too?”

“Did wonder. Only, if it's her, Lily, why didn't she say so from the start? When she came to court? Why tell all those lies?”

“She did say that she'd gone to a chieftain for help and that he'd thought she was crazy. She probably thought that if she said she was over two hundred years old, Oran would just laugh at her.”

“But she could have told you,” Grim said. “You're a wise woman. Strange things don't scare you.”

“She might have reasoned that the more of the truth she told, the less likely I was to agree to do this for her. If it is the truth. It's a bit hard to swallow. If she's Lily, she's known how to break the curse all along. And what would it say about her retainers, Senach and the others? Are they all more than two hundred years old as well? Bound to secrecy? What happens to them when the curse is broken?”

“Nothing in the manuscript about after,” said Grim. “Not the way Flannan told it.”

“Mm.” For me, what happened afterward wouldn't matter. Flannan and I would be gone as soon as I'd completed the task. If Geiléis remembered to give me the bag of silver first, I'd leave it with Grim's belongings. The weakest element of this plan was Grim's dogged capacity for tracking me. In my heart, I knew he wasn't simply going to let me vanish. I could fool myself all I wanted with the notion that he would go home and settle down and meet some nice woman; I could reassure myself with the established fact that he could find work wherever he wanted, and friends, and a home. But he wouldn't. That was just the way it was.

“What?”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You sighed, like you were fed up with it all. Had enough. Wanting to go home.”

“Not yet. I came here to do a job and I'll see it through. Can't put
all that training to waste, can I? But yes, I'll be happy to be gone.” After a bit I added, “You?”

“You want an honest answer?”

“What sort of stupid question is that?” I blinked back sudden tears, furious with myself for losing control. Just as well it was dark. “When have I ever wanted you to tell a lie?”

“All right, then. I'd like us to be back home right now, and all this to be a bad dream. Same time, there's been a good part about coming here. Two good parts. First, those little folk. Seeing them, real as the thumb on your hand. Talking to them. That was magic. Second, St. Olcan's. The garden. The roof. The work, the brothers, teaching the young fellow. Hard for me to make myself do it. Tell you why another time. Thing is, it felt like I walked out into the light for a bit. Went somewhere I never thought I'd be again. Can't say I'm sorry about that. Only thing is, the roof's not finished. Still got the ridge to do, and the creatures. And Midsummer Eve's the day after tomorrow.”

I wished I had not asked him the question. I wished Midsummer Eve was right now and I could just get this over with.

“You all right?” His deep voice in the shadows.

“Fine. Well, not exactly fine, but I'll do. You never said. About St. Olcan's.”

“You had other things on your mind. No need to dump more on.”

Another silence. Then I said, “About Geiléis. Lily, if it's her. I'm not going to ask her. It can't make any difference now.”

“Mm-hm.”

“You know,” I said, “there is time for you to finish the thatching. I'm not going to be able to practice with the ax for another whole day, and even if I was, Onchú or one of the others could help me tomorrow. They all seem to be getting friendlier the closer we get to Midsummer Eve; have you noticed? Even Senach has unbent slightly.”

“No lies, right? Not even the kind that make folk feel better. Give me the choice, I'd leave the roof the way it is and be here keeping an eye
on you. Hurts that I can't go up the tower with you. Hurts that I can't do my job.”

“The best thing,” I said carefully, “will be for you to keep busy. There's nothing to be gained from dwelling on what might go wrong. Work for your hands, that's the best cure. No reason why you shouldn't do a full day tomorrow, or if you're concerned I won't be ready, work a half day, then come back and put me through my paces. And you could work on the morning of Midsummer Eve. You'd be back well before I went to the tower; I think around dusk would be the right time, when the creature's growing quiet. Would that be long enough to get the roof done?”

“If it's dry. And if I make the creatures tomorrow night.” He yawned.

“Another night without sleep.”

“Not as if I'm not used to it.”

“So will you do that?”

“I'll think about it.”

“Good night, Grim. Sweet dreams.”

“Night.” He rolled over; became just one shadow among many. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and lay down again. Beside this, chopping off a monster's head was starting to look like child's play.

“Lady?”

I did not respond. He wasn't supposed to call me that anymore.

“Not crying, are you?”

“Of course not!”

“Just asking.”

Grim

U
p on the roof again. Mind's full of Blackthorn and the monster and Midsummer Eve. Hands working more or less on their own, finishing off the ridging. Plan is to bring home a bundle of reeds, make the creatures tonight, put them up tomorrow first thing. Then straight back to Geiléis's place so I'm ready when Blackthorn heads out. Ready to run up the tower behind her, soon as the thorns let me through. Not sure how we'll all get over to the island. For me that doesn't matter. Unless there's a flood, I can wade. Maybe carry her over, like I did last time. Save her getting her feet wet.

“Grim!”

I look down and there's Brother Ríordán looking back up at me, shading his eyes against the sun. “Fine day,” I say.

“It is. When you're finished, why not come and take a look at that book I mentioned? You know where we are.”

I think about how filthy I am. I think about Blackthorn, and Midsummer Eve being tomorrow, and how we'll be heading home after. I think about Brother Galen and his little pictures curling up and going to ashes in the Norseman's campfire. The ridging's more or less done. I can wash under the pump. And the sun tells me there's still a bit of time to go until midday. Only one problem. That book's in the scriptorium.
Stupid. She's ready to go up the tower and kill a monster, and I can't bring myself to step inside a room full of monks and books, not even to see something Brother Galen's made with his own hands. Something that's like a part of him still alive.

“Thanks,” I call back down. “Won't be long.”

I finish the job neat as I can. Check all along the ridge to be sure it's perfect. Then climb down and have a good wash. The scriptorium. I see it in my mind, only it's not this one at St. Olcan's, it's the one at St. Erc's, and the lovely books are torn and broken and all over blood. Monks lying where they've fallen, arms and legs askew, eyes staring at nothing, faces like tortured ghosts. Brother Galen. Bathsheba. Don't think I can do it. Got to try.

I stop to have a word with Brother Fergal in the garden. Know I'm putting off what I have to do. “Won't be here this afternoon,” I say. “Need to be back at Lady Geiléis's. Things to get done.”

“Midsummer,” says Brother Fergal, looking solemn. “Yes, I have heard that Mistress Blackthorn will be making an attempt to silence the creature in the tower. Father Tomas is somewhat uncomfortable about the whole matter, and prefers that we don't discuss it. But please wish your friend our very best in her endeavor.”

“Thanks.” Not sure how much I should say, how much they know. “Wish she wasn't doing it, to tell the truth. Worried about her. But there it is. I'll pass on the good wishes. A few prayers wouldn't go astray. But then, she's a wise woman, so maybe not.”

Brother Fergal smiles. “God stretches His merciful hand over all of us. The righteous man and the sinner, the faithful and those who have lost their faith.”

“Those who know their path and those who are yet to find it.”

“Ah. You remembered.”

“Liked the sound of that. Only, Blackthorn knows her path. Always did. Straight and true.”

“I will have a word with Him on her behalf. You might consider doing the same. God hears your prayers, Grim. Farewell, now.”

Head for the scriptorium. Halfway there I remember the reeds I'll need to make the creatures. A few bundles left, stored in the barn. Get them first, makes sense. I turn back across the garden. There's Ripple waiting outside the pigeon loft, and there's Flannan coming out the door. Sends a lot of messages, that man. Always in and out of there. I give him a nod. He nods back. Looks as if his mind's on other things. Same could be said for me.

“Heading back early,” I tell him. “Job's finished on the roof. For now.”

“Finished.” He's seeing me now. Question in his eyes.

“That's right. Planning to help Blackthorn with some moves this afternoon. So she's as ready as she can be tomorrow.” Shut it, Grim, I tell myself. Babbling on, trying to put off the time when I open the scriptorium door, because my stupid mind's telling me what I'll see inside is a pile of dead men. “I'll be off, then. Just got to pick up a bundle of reeds. Make the creatures for the top, you know?”

“So it's not finished,” says Flannan, though why he'd care one way or the other I can't think.

“All but. Make the creatures tonight, put them on in the morning, early. Then it's done. Back down to the tower in time to keep an eye on her.” Can't seem to stop talking.

“I see. Please wish Blackthorn the best of luck from me,” says Flannan. “I don't suppose I will see her now until it's all over.”

What? He won't even come down to see her tonight and wish her well? Her old friend that she relies on?

He turns his back and walks away, with Ripple alongside. Just as well, since I was about to say something God wouldn't like me to say in a monastery.

I fetch the bundle of reeds. Good thing these fellows had the supply
all gathered and sorted and stored; made the job a whole lot easier. A thing I like about the life in a monastery. Well organized. Tidy. You always know where you are. Until something goes so wrong there's no putting it right. Not ever.

Pretty soon I'm on the path back down to Geiléis's house, bundle on my shoulder, heart down in my boots somewhere. Just couldn't do it. Just couldn't make myself go in there, even though I know it'd only be monks writing. Even though Brother Ríordán's invited me to see Brother Galen's book. Even though I want to see that book so much it's like a pain in my insides. Fact is, alongside Blackthorn I'm a craven coward. Look what she's gone through. Husband and son burned to death before her eyes. A whole year in that cesspit of Mathuin's. There'll be other stuff too that she hasn't told me about. Thing is, every foul name she's been called, every hurt, every blow has made her that bit stronger. Strong like one of those winds that comes up and sweeps everything clean. Or a fire. A hot, angry fire roaring,
Get out of my way!

This is how it is. Big fierce warrior with a weapon doesn't scare me. What scares me is the things in my head. Things that come out of the blue. I can be walking along and suddenly it's my worst day ever all over again and I'm seeing what I never wanted to see for the rest of my life. If Blackthorn could make a cure for that I'd thank her till my dying day. I know potions can't fix it. Not unless they're the kind that kill a man. Something I have to sort out myself. Thought I was going to do it today. Nearly sure of it. Failed again.

Forget that for now. Got to get a grip on myself. Don't want to walk into Geiléis's house with my face all sad. Set aside my worries; they're nothing beside what Blackthorn has to do tomorrow. So, leave the reeds for later. Take her through a training drill again, not as hard as yesterday—don't want her tired out. Go through the possibilities
once or twice more. Tall monster, short monster, big monster, skinny monster. Sharp claws, maybe. Lots of teeth. Tail he can use as a weapon. She'll need to be quick. She'll need to be really quick. Well, she's light on her feet—that's something. Might ask the fellows if anyone's got a leather tunic small enough for her. A helmet too. Should ask her about magic, whether she can use it in a fight. You never know with a wise woman. Especially her.

Thinking all that through gets me back to Geiléis's. I put my bundle of reeds away. Blackthorn's not in our quarters. Can't find her anywhere. Feel my heart drop, which is stupid. Midsummer Eve's not until tomorrow. And she wouldn't go off to do it on her own anyway; that would be stupid. I go and ask Senach. He tells me she's over at the practice yard already. Which is good. Means Onchú and the others are helping her. I head off to join them. One more day. Morrigan's britches.