I had seen dead people before. The nature of my craft made this inevitable. But never, till now, someone close to me. Father Brien lay on the cave floor, where he had fallen. There was no time to grieve. Had there been longer, I might have wept over him, and I might have found out the cause of his passing. Perhaps it had been natural, a spasm of the heart or a rush of ill humors in the blood. It could equally have been poison, or a thumb cunningly applied to the neck. I closed his sightless eyes and touched his cheek. Whatever had occurred, his face now showed the tranquility of deep, abiding acceptance. He was at one with himself and with the great wheel of being. They say the spirit does not leave the body, not fully, until the third morning after death. My old friend had not been gone that long, but his inner self had flown, out into the arching expanse of sky he used to watch from the top of Ogma’s Peak, out above the dark treetops and the wide waters of the lake, and on into the west. I placed the wooden cross between his hands and the words of a Christian prayer were in my mind, but I said nothing. Who knew where his spirit would fly? He had always been open to both ways; in death, many doors would open for him.

I had no wish to abandon his body, even untenanted as it was, without further ceremony. There should have been burning, but to kindle a fire was to ask for discovery. Besides, I must pack and leave while it was still day. There was time only to sprinkle rue and tansy leaves, and a little of his store of monkshood. Linn hovered in the doorway; she would not come in. I did not weep for him. Instead, I felt a cold sense of purpose take hold of me. The grief was still there, and the emptiness. But I was able to focus on what must be done, and I moved swiftly through the necessary tasks.

More than once I blessed the good Father for his practicality. His old horse was there, tied up under the trees. Because of the need for speed and concealment, I would not take the cart, but the animal could carry a load, and so aid me well. For I had no doubt I must live alone, and fend for myself, for quite some time. If I had known then just how long it would be, my courage might have failed me. Six shirts, I thought. That could take at least until midsummer. And I would meet nobody during that time, so I would need food, and seeds, and medicines, and the wherewithal to make fire and to sew and spin and weave. Father Brien had not foreseen that part, but nonetheless he had prepared well, expecting to provision me and my brother for a trip well beyond the forest’s boundaries. I had abandoned my own bundle back on the lakeshore when I had fled in terror. I would not have my clothes, or my special salves and remedies, or the remnants of my ruined garden which Finbar had gathered so carefully for me. I felt in the pocket of my gown. The small, smooth piece of wood with its carved symbols was still there.