The four helpers stand at north, south, east and west. I’m north. Geiléis is east, looking a picture with the sun on her fair hair. Took a bit of persuading, Blackthorn said, to get her joining in and not just looking on. A local farmer’s in the west. Big burly fellow, frowning a bit like he’s thinking hard, wanting to get it right. Onchú’s in the south. When we’re all in place Blackthorn walks around the circle on her own, stopping next to each of the helpers and calling the spirits. Sort of greeting, welcome and thank-you all in one. I’ve got a little basket of soil from down by the river, and when she stops by me I do what she’s asked me to do, take a handful and cast it out like I was sowing seed. Geiléis is holding white feathers, long ones, maybe from a goose or swan, and when it’s east’s turn, she moves them in a sort of dancing pattern.

Onchú’s got a bundle of sticks that Blackthorn bound together and soaked in some mixture or other, then hung up to dry. When it’s his turn he dips the bundle into the fire pot until it catches alight, then blows it out. Smoke coils and twists everywhere. When Blackthorn calls the west, the farmer sprinkles water from the bowl he’s holding.

Through all this the thing in the tower’s screaming, the way it does. We’re far enough away so I can hear Blackthorn, though. She steps into the center. Talks about cleansing and what it means. Talks about what a sad place Bann is, with the shadow of the curse over it. Says it was once like other places, healthy and happy and hardworking, a place where children could grow up without being frightened, and folk could go about their daily business without that sound hurting their ears and filling up their heads with nightmare thoughts. Says it will be like that again, and that even in the darkest times there’s hope. The way she puts it, it’s like poetry, something deep and lovely and powerful. And her face—it’s all lit up with her words, like the spirits she’s talking about are in her, shining out. Hard to believe, looking at her, that she doesn’t believe in gods and spirits anymore after what happened to her family. Hard to believe she thinks she’s useless as a wise woman, though that’s what she’s told me more than once. If she could see herself now she’d know how wrong that was. That look on her face is holding everyone in wonder. Even Geiléis. And me? I’m remembering Brother Fergal saying, God forgives sinners. Funny old world it is.

Blackthorn walks around the circle again. “May all-powerful fire warm all who dwell here; may its light banish the shadows,” she says. “May the sorrows of this place be cleansed by the purity of water. May the peaceful heart of this place be nourished by the good earth. And may the clear air raise us up, as it does the lark and swallow, the dove and raven, and send us forth on strong wings of hope.”