There was not the least doubt in my mind that the woman who stood there was not of our world; she was exceptionally tall and slender, her face milk-white, her black hair down to her knees, and her cloak the deep blue of the western sky between dusk and dark. I stood up slowly.

“Sorcha,” she said, and her voice was like a terrible music. “You have a long journey before you. There will be no time for weeping.”

It seemed crucially important to ask the right questions, while I had the chance. Awe made me tongue-tied, but I forced the words out.

“Are my brothers evil, as this boy tells me? Are we all cursed?”

She laughed, a soft sound but with a strength in it beyond anything human.

“No man is truly evil,” she said. “You will discover this for yourself. And most of them will lie, at least some of the time, or tell the half-truths that suit them. Bear this in mind, Sorcha the healer.”

“You say a long journey. What must I do first?”

“A longer journey than you can possibly imagine. You are already on the path set out for you, and the boy, Simon, is one of its milestones. Tonight, cut goldenwood. This herb you may use, to quieten his mind.”

“What else?”

“You will find the way, daughter of the forest. Through grief and pain, through many trials, through betrayal and loss, your feet will walk a straight path.”

She began to fade before my eyes, the deep blue of her cloak merging with the darkness of the foliage behind her.

“Wait—” I started forward across the clearing.

“Sorcha?” It was Father Brien’s voice, calling me from within the cave. And she was instantly gone, as if there had been nothing there but afternoon shadows shifting in the breeze. Father Brien emerged from the cave mouth, drying his hands on a cloth.

“I see we have a visitor,” he said mildly. I glanced at him sharply, then away into the shadows. Emerging cautiously into the clearing, as if uncertain of her welcome, was the dog, Linn. It seemed she had trailed me all the way up here. I spoke kindly to her and she ran to me in frenzied response, her whole body wagging in belated recognition and the urgent need of affection.

“Come inside,” said Father Brien. “Bring the hound, she can do no harm. We need to talk about this boy, and quickly. The effects of my draft are all but gone, and I hesitate to give him more. But if he cannot be convinced to cooperate, I will be unable to attend to his injuries.” He turned to go inside. “Are you recovered?” he added gently. “He knows where to aim his words for most hurt. This is perhaps the only weapon he has left to him.”

“I’m all right,” I said, my head still full of my vision. I put a hand down to touch the dog’s rough coat, and the rasp of her tongue on my fingers reassured me that the real world was still there, as well as the other. “I’m fine.”