At the altar steps, Ben found what remained of the stone cross. Its stem was wider than he had expected. To shatter it in such way, as to leave only its base, must have taken great time and effort, and good reason for investing both. The area around it had been cleared. Chloe was right: the church wasn’t as abandoned as the villagers had led him to believe. Someone had removed the debris from when the ceiling collapsed. There were white tracks like chalk where it had been dragged across the floor. Too cumbersome for the arms of a single man, this was a group effort, and hard work at that.

Ben found the angels protruding from the walls on either side, their faces disfigured. No features remained, merely a cavity, like a gunshot wound at point-blank range. He ran a finger over their injuries, trying to imagine that childish innocence before it was brutalised. A chisel or similar tool had mutilated them but left their torsos intact instead of removing the carvings outright. The act wasn’t enough. They left just enough evidence to memorialise why they had done it – the very question that played on Ben’s mind.

It was such a desolate place; broken, cold, and dark. A house of worship should inspire hope. The skeletal remains of Tír Mallacht’s church served only to drain it.

‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ he muttered as he turned to leave.

He flinched back when his eyes raised to the door.

Someone had followed him.

Through the restless haze, Ben watched as the figure approached the church – like the last believer of a forgotten faith. It couldn’t have been Chloe. Whoever it was didn’t have a furry collar sprouting from their shoulders. They looked to be wearing a hood. A flurry of rain spun through the church, howling through cracks and breathing life into all those dead leaves. Ben shielded his face and when his eyes reopened, Nu was standing there, framed by the door’s arched stone, shawl pulled tight over her skull. Ben could see where its damp wool had fallen in the folds of her skull. Bare legs and feet were tarred in mud, trembling in the morning air.

‘Nu, are you okay?’

Her golden eyes were drawn by the raindrops rolling overhead like a ghostly murmuration.

‘Would you like me to take you back to the village?’ he asked.

Nu stared at him, so sadly that the rain could have passed for tears on her cheeks. ‘She told you, didn’t she? You should have left here when I asked you to. I’ve told her before not to talk about him, but she doesn’t listen to me. I don’t think she listens to anyone. She’s bold.’

‘Were you around our campsite last night, Nu?’

‘No,’ she replied, looking down at the muck lodged between her toes. ‘She’s so bold.’