“Indeed, I was once just such a man. I know the power of a cause, and how it can blind you to reality. Finbar sees this already. Perhaps your mission in life will be to learn it.” Father Brien was reflective.

“What do I care for your missions! I am fit for nothing. As fast as she patches me up, I fall apart, stinking of decay. You would have done better not to meddle, but to leave me where I was. The end would have been quicker.” Simon’s voice was still under control, but a convulsive shiver ran through his body. I opened my mouth to speak, but Finbar got in first.

“I’m taking my sister home,” he said. “I thought to help you, and so did she. But I will not have her hurt or threatened. We have done what we can, and it seems you have no further need for our services.”

Simon laughed derisively. “Not so fast, big brother,” he said. “I still have my knife, and I am not quite helpless. The little witch stays with me. You sent her here to heal me; so let her heal me. For she seems to believe the impossible can happen, if we do not.”

“You forget that she is just a child,” said Father Brien.

“Child? Huh!” Simon gave a mirthless chuckle. “Outwardly, perhaps. But she’s like no child I’ve ever known. What child knows the properties of herbs, and a thousand stories each stranger than the last, and how to…” His voice faltered. Finbar glanced at Father Brien, who gazed back at him reflectively. My arm was starting to hurt a lot, where Simon’s fingers clutched it.

“It’s not up to you to decide,” I said as firmly as I could. I looked at each of them in turn—Finbar with his ashen face and clear gray eyes, the mild, penetrating gaze of Father Brien. Simon’s touch communicated his pain and despair. “I have a job to do here, and it’s not finished. Between you, you’ve already undone most of my good work this afternoon. Finbar, you must go home, and leave me to my proper task. Believe that I am safe here, and best left alone. I will call you when I am ready.”

He needs me, Finbar.

I won’t leave you here. He tried to keep me out of his thoughts, but he could not quite conceal his guilt and confusion. This worried me. Wasn’t Finbar the brother who was always so certain, who always knew what to do?

You must leave me. This is my choice.

And so he did, eventually. It was fortunate that Father Brien trusted me and believed in what I was doing, for it was he who persuaded my brother to move back into the cottage and leave me alone awhile with my patient. Simon let them go, silent. It was only after they were out of sight, and the cottage door closed with a thud, that the restraining grip on my arm changed to a clutch for support, and he let out his breath in a long shuddering gasp. Between us, the dog and I got him back into the cave and lying down, and I broke all my rules and made up draft that would give him a reasonable sleep.