I expected her to seek explanations. Why did I warn her not to go out alone? Why would I take it upon myself to say such a thing? I have no good answer ready; I cannot tell her what Knut said. She would go straight to Johnny, and Johnny would confront Knut, and in one form or another, disaster would follow. Knut will stop at nothing to keep me from talking. Whatever lies behind this veil of forgetting, it must be powerful indeed. The only way I can keep Sibeal safe is by leaving Inis Eala. I am not strong enough yet, but Gull will help me. He trained Knut to expertise with the sword in seven days, after all. Surely he can train me to walk, to run, to be my own master again. Then I will go. I had planned to tell her I have decided this. Instead I say, “You talk, Sibeal. I will listen.”

So she tells me: the vision she had of a falling man, seen over and over before it came true, and how she did not act until it was too late. She describes the dead man down on the rocks, his head broken open. She doubts that she should perform the burial rite, although she has already agreed, for she thinks perhaps she is not fitted for the calling of a druid after all. Inadequate. Confused. These are only some of the things she calls herself. I sit silent, listening.

“How can I do it?” Sibeal asks, not expecting an answer from me. “How can I go out there and speak prayers over the body of a man who, but for my lack of insight, might still be alive today? All I needed to do was talk to someone, describe the man in the vision, work out who he was and warn him. But my mind was on other things, and I didn’t tell anyone. What would Ciarán think of me?” I see something remarkable: tears spilling from her eyes and flooding her pale cheeks. She seems unaware of them. “Ardal, I know the Sight does not always show the truth. It doesn’t predict the future or reflect the past—it shows us images we can put together to make answers. You understand that, don’t you? Oh, gods, now it sounds as if I’m making excuses . . . I can’t get past the belief that this is my fault. That I was warned so I could stop it from happening and that I was too slow to act. What would Rodan’s family think if they knew he would be laid to rest by the person who let him die? Why can’t I get this right, Ardal, why?” She turns her brimming eyes on me, then buries her face in her hands.