‘The fey?’ Risky, saying that, maybe. Thing is, I’m pretty sure that’s what he means. Either he went there, to the Otherworld, or he thinks he went there. Funny about the hands, though. Seems like the kind of thing Conmael could fix in a click of the fingers if he wanted to. Those wee fey folk at Bann, they healed me quick as quick after Flannan stuck his knife in me. Quicker than any human healer ever could.

Bardán shrugs. ‘Might have been a cure. Who knows? Nobody offered. And I didn’t ask. Couldn’t.’

‘Why not, Bardán?’

‘I couldn’t talk, in that place. I could understand all right. But . . . the words wouldn’t come out. Hard to get my tongue around them, even now.’

Morrigan’s curse! All those years, silent. Among strangers. ‘Getting clearer every day,’ I tell him, which is the truth. ‘Just a matter of practice.’ Then I ask, ‘Was it a spell? A charm they put on you, to keep you quiet?’

‘You’ve got a lot of questions.’

‘No need to answer them. Not if you don’t want to. I’m interested, that’s all. Never met anyone who’s been to the Otherworld and come back again. Only –’ I shut my big mouth a bit too late.

‘Only who?’ Bardán’s peering at me with those strange eyes, looking inside my head.

I take a risk. Pretty sure he’s not playing games with me. ‘Only the fey themselves.’ I think of those little folk up in Bann, kind folk they were, only as high as my knee. I think of Conmael, who’s more or less the opposite, though well-meaning in his own way.

‘Where?’ Bardán asks straight out. ‘Where is the place, the crossing?’ Sounds worried. Sounds as if he’s hoping I’ll say I don’t know.

‘Crossing?’

‘To that other realm. The – the portal.’

Getting in deep now. Deep enough to feel like trouble. ‘Don’t you know where it is?’ I look over my shoulder, hoping I won’t see Gormán or Conn coming. ‘Not long since you got back, if I’ve put the pieces together right. Don’t you remember where you came out?’

‘It was dark. Cold. Night time. I ran and ran. And hid away, buried myself deep. Hid from the moon. Hid from the truth. A sad, bad truth.’

My cloak’s on the ground; Ripple’s lying on it. She shifts when I tell her to. I pick the cloak up, put it around Bardán’s shoulders. He’s shaking now. I should know not to do that. Wake up what a man wants to keep hidden. Should know better than most. ‘Sorry,’ I say. He’s put his face in his hands, bowed his head onto his knees. ‘Only trying to help. Big fool that I am.’