• • •

“I will give you the best wedding gift anyone could dream of,” she said, as the voice from the tower fell silent. “A happy ending.”

33

Blackthorn

Everything conspired to slow my progress that afternoon. That was how it seemed, anyway. It rained, not a light summer shower but a downpour that came in drenching sheets, turning the tracks to mud and rendering the steeper stretches slippery and perilous. Donncha led me on a winding course that seemed often to loop back on itself. I asked him if he was sure he’d chosen the most efficient route, and he answered that he was following a path that would get us to our destination in the wet without damage either to ourselves or to the horses. The alternative, he pointed out, was to abandon the visit and try again tomorrow. There was no arguing with that.

The tracks were overgrown; there was little sign that horses or men used them. There was no indication that pigs had been brought into the woods to forage, or that local folk came here to gather mushrooms or berries or to fish in the various streams and pools. Fat fungi clustered in the shade of the oaks; medicinal herbs were abundant, but I had no time to gather them. I thought I spotted the elusive true love’s tears, a plant of modest proportions, easy to overlook. But useful; especially useful if the local people had an ongoing need for headache remedies. It was almost invisible beneath a tangle of more aggressive growers. Dead trees lay where they had fallen in winter storms, with neither limbs nor bark stripped away. Where did these folk get their firewood? Did the curse prevent them from harvesting anything at all in this abundant woodland? Even here, where distance made the monster’s voice less penetrating, did the curse keep them at bay?

No sign of the little folk today, though I kept my eye out for them. Not that I could do anything if I spotted one; Donncha’s presence ruled that out. We rode on through the forest, and eventually out of it onto grazing fields tenanted by a few scrawny cattle. The undulations of the land made it difficult to see far ahead, but there was a dwelling or two scattered about, and smoke rising. The ride had taken us quite some distance south. We had bypassed St. Olcan’s entirely, though I had heard the bells as we rode.

“How much farther?” I asked. An hour’s ride each way, Senach had said. It felt to me as if at least an hour had passed already.

“Not far.”

“Show me.”

Donncha reined in his horse; I did the same. “The path leads across those hills”—he pointed to the southeast—“and then through a wooded area. There’s a stream where we can water the horses. From there it is only a short distance to the place I have in mind.”