This time there was only silence.

25

Grim

Manage not to bring up my breakfast. An effort. Could have done without Flannan’s company—nothing against the fellow, but it’s hard enough to make myself go up there at all, without having to pretend nothing’s wrong. No easier than yesterday. Makes no difference that I know I can do it now, go to that place and put in a day’s work without losing control of myself. Makes no difference that Brother Fergal’s been kind to me. Makes it worse, in a way. Brings back the past, sharp as a knife. Hard to look at him without seeing that day all over again, only it’s not St. Erc’s I see, but St. Olcan’s with blood and brains spattered everywhere, and a cat with its head crushed to nothing. Fergal and his helpers sprawled dead between the bean rows. The chapel silent, the bells still. Broken men everywhere. Bits of men. I can still feel them in my arms, feel the weight of them, smell the blood. Trying to put them together as best I could. Face running with snot and tears. Howling like a whipped dog. Howling like that thing in the tower’s doing. Flannan’s trying to talk to me, over the noise it makes. I’m answering in grunts, when I answer at all. Man must think I’m an oaf. Nothing new in that.

Halfway there, sunk in my thoughts, I nearly miss it. Moves again, quick as quick, and I spot it. Ripple halts, ears pricked, whole body quivering. All set to give chase, only Flannan says, Ripple, wait, and she holds still by his side, whining under her breath.

“What was that?” Flannan stares into the shadows under the trees. “Look, there it is again! Under the oak, there!”

“Shh!” I hiss. Want to say I’ve seen nothing, but too late now. Anyway, he’s Blackthorn’s friend. No reason to lie. “Don’t point—you’ll scare him away. And hold on to the dog.”

“Scare him? Who?”

“Shh.” I squat down closer to the wee man’s level, though still a bit too high up, and call out to him, not too loud. “Greetings to you! Fine morning.” Wouldn’t show himself if he didn’t want to talk to me, I’m guessing. Must’ve taken courage, with Ripple there.

Little fellow doesn’t come any closer. Stands right by the tree, like he’s pretending to be part of it.

“Greetings, Grim,” he says. “Friend all mended. We thank you again.”

“Friend—you mean the fellow that was trapped? All better? Glad to hear that. You must have good healers.”

“Crafty folk. Wood-crafty. Message for you. For your friend.”

I look sideways at Flannan, who’s standing there with his mouth open, staring. But the wee fellow doesn’t mean him.

“For your healer. Midsummer Eve soon. Tell her, true love’s tears. Do not forget.”

“True love’s tears.” Odd sort of message. “Is that an herb?” Got a feeling I’ve heard of it somewhere. Blackthorn’ll know.