Screaming and screaming and never getting an answer . . . But how could anyone answer? The monster cried so loudly it must drown out the puny sound of a human voice. Meaning the only time to talk to it, to get through to it if such a thing were possible, would be between dusk and dawn. Though it seemed likely its silence at that time meant it was asleep, and would not hear anyway. And what about the ritual? If I performed it at a time when the folk who came could participate without screams deafening them, most likely the monster would not be aware that it was happening. Unless I held it here on the island, and I agreed with Geiléis on the impracticality of that. It would be too hard to bring folk across with any safety, even supposing they were willing to come. So, if the creature could neither hear nor see the ritual, did that mean it would be a waste of time? Or could I, full of anger and bitterness and doubt as I was, still tap into the old magic of this place and make something good happen? Right now, the tower, the island, the woodland felt empty of hope. Surely the sorrow here was so deep my efforts could achieve nothing at all. Why was I wasting my time in this godforsaken corner of Dalriada?

Conmael, I thought, I never imagined I’d ask for your help, but I could do with some advice now.

My fey mentor did not appear in a magical shower of colored sparks; indeed, he did not appear at all, and I had not for a moment expected that he would, since he was very much his own master. “You’re an apology for a wise woman, Blackthorn,” I muttered. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and concentrate.” And out of the blue a useful thought came to me: when one was dealing with the uncanny, the rules of the human world did not necessarily apply.

I waited until the monster paused in its lament to snatch a wheezing breath, and in that moment of quiet, with my ears still blocked, I whispered, “Tell me what you need. Tell me how I can help.”

Did I imagine that the silence stretched just a little longer this time, while the monster filled its lungs? No time to consider, for as the screaming began again something came hurtling past my head, making me duck. The missile landed in front of me with a crash that was clearly audible, blocked ears or no. Then Grim was beside me, grabbing my arms and hauling me away from the tower.

“No!” I protested. “Wait!”

He couldn’t hear me, of course. I struggled in his grip, trying to point to the object that had been thrown from the high window. Just that. Get that, and I’ll go.

Grim kept hold of me with one hand, as if he feared I might rush toward the thornbushes and impale myself or fling myself bodily into the river. He bent down and stretched out to take hold of the object. It was a stone the size of a man’s fist. Had it hit me on the head, it might well have been the end of me. Especially as I was the only healer in the district. I’d hoped for a signal, some indication the creature had heard my whispered message and answered. Perhaps it had. Perhaps its answer was, Get off my island or I’ll kill you.