Cathal’s smile was all self-mockery. There was not a trace of amusement in his eyes. “A bond of kinship is not necessarily a guarantee of trust,” he said. “But here we are, with little knowledge of the realm we stray in, facing the need for life or death decisions. If I were you I would consider these Old Ones as benign as anyone can be in such a place. When it comes to the final audience, or whatever it is that awaits you, you’d be best to rely only on yourself. Trust no one.”

“Except you, you mean.”

“When it comes to the end that may not be relevant, Clodagh. Now wrap yourself up and get some rest. I’ll stand watch until morning.”

The night seemed long. I slept in fitful bursts, my slumber a tangle of troubling dreams, and woke from time to time to see Cathal on guard, seated before the fire or standing close by, gazing out toward the hedge of thorn, which was invisible in the thick darkness. At one point I was woken abruptly as the silent voice of my twin sister broke into my thoughts: Clodagh! Answer me! I slammed down my mental shutters, blocking Deirdre out. Tonight I simply did not have room for her in my mind.

A little later, Becan awoke and I tended to him, then lay down again with him next to me, knowing it would be the last night I would feel his curious, sharp-edged body snuggled close to mine. It was almost time to say goodbye. I hummed to him as he fell asleep, using the tune of my ballad, but not the words. That song was too sad for a little child. Out in the forest, the wailing creature added its sorrowful voice to the music.

There was a dawn of sorts. A faint light filtered down through the trees; birds uttered tentative cries. Maybe, maybe! called one, and another answered, Too soon! Too soon! It wasn’t a particularly encouraging start to the day, but at least it was bright enough to see what we were doing. Cathal walked the perimeter of the hedged area and reported that apart from the birds there was no sign of life outside it, though he had looked over the gate and discerned footprints on the soft earth there. I built up the fire and prepared food. At home my father, an early riser, would be sitting down to his porridge and perhaps devising a strategy to deal with whoever had attacked Glencarnagh. Men would still be out on the search for Finbar. By tomorrow night or the day after, perhaps we would be walking back into the courtyard with the baby safe and sound. Be strong, Mother, I willed her. I’m bringing him home.