Tower of Thorns (44 page)

Geiléis

O
ne more day. Less than a full day, since they would make the attempt in the morning. She would have preferred dawn, but they must wait until Grim was out of the house, or he would insist on following Blackthorn like a big clumsy shadow. She could not risk the possibility that he would get in the way somehow, stop the wise woman before she finished it. Who knew what would happen with the thorns, once she cut her way through? Besides, Blackthorn herself did not want her so-called companion there. She'd told him that the attempt would be made just before dusk. He would be out of the way, at St. Olcan's, until the deed was done.

As for the scholar, who knew what game he was playing? A man who would turn his back on an old friend could not be trusted. He too must be kept at a distance until it was all over.

All over. At last, the end of this. Could it be? There had been so many times of hope before, and so many bitter disappointments. She moved to her mirror and drew away the cloth that veiled it. The woman who gazed back at her seemed calm; there was no sign of the
anticipation that gripped her body from head to toe.
Tomorrow. Oh, gods, let tomorrow be the end.

A tap at her door. “Come in, Senach,” she said without turning.

“It's Onchú, my lady.” His broad-shouldered figure appeared in the mirror behind her.

“Ah.” She turned. “How is Mistress Blackthorn progressing with her training?” The lengthy rehearsal was pointless; if the curse could be broken, it would be broken no matter how inept the woman was with her ax. She needed only to go up there and do it. Something her predecessors had not managed. But at least Blackthorn's activities in the practice yard were keeping her busy. If she was occupied in swinging her weapon, she might not spend too much time thinking. Questioning. Reaching conclusions.

“She's being fitted out with some protective garments, my lady, at Grim's request. We saw no harm in doing that.”

“Perhaps it's a wise precaution. None of us can anticipate exactly how this will unfold. Onchú, Grim will be here this afternoon. Make sure the others are careful with their words.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Another thing. Tomorrow, when we go to the island, I want a presence of guards at the house, watching out for Master Flannan. Should he come down from the monastery while the attempt is under way, he must be stopped. He must not reach the island. I don't want him speaking to Mistress Blackthorn again.”

“Stopped?”

“By whatever means are required. Including lethal force.”

“Yes, my lady. And if Grim should return early?”

“The same would apply.”

There was a silence; then Onchú said, “Stopping Master Flannan would take, at most, two men. Grim would be another matter.”

“I'm sure it is not beyond your capabilities, Onchú.”

He bowed his head. “Yes, my lady. Lady Geiléis?”

“What is it?” There was a new note in his voice, one that unsettled
her. They all knew what might be coming. They all wanted this brought to an end.

“I will obey your orders, of course. If you wish me to remain at the house myself, I will do so. But . . . I ask that you allow me to accompany you to the island. Myself and Donncha. The men are all expert. We have sufficient guards to watch the track and to deal with anyone who might happen to arrive.”

“You've given me loyal service, Onchú. I wish I could reward it with something better than this. I will leave the deployment of guards to your expertise. Just make quite sure that neither Flannan nor Grim can reach Blackthorn before this comes to its conclusion.”

“I will, my lady,” Onchú said, somber-faced. “Thank you.”

“It is hardly worthy of thanks. But I am glad you will be there. You and Donncha. Tell him I said so.”

“Yes, my lady.”

He left, closing the door behind him. Geiléis threw the cloth back over the mirror. How was she to spend this day, this last full day of the curse? Odd that now, after the years of waiting, on the brink of success time seemed to have slowed; it was as if the day were a year long. She moved to her storage chest and opened it. There had never been a maidservant, only Senach and his faithful men, tending to everything. And Caisín, of course. Caisín was clever with the needle and kept Geiléis's clothing in excellent condition. But she did not like having Caisín too close; the girl made her feel guilty, even after so long. Geiléis had learned to dress herself. To look after her own hair. She was no longer the privileged child she had been when she first saw a light in the Tower of Thorns and climbed out her window to investigate.

Tomorrow she would see him again. Tomorrow she would climb the tower stair and he would be there waiting, a monster no longer. She had changed over the years, though in that respect the curse had been kind—she looked perhaps two-and-thirty, no more. Her skin still pale and fresh; her hair still glossy. But what of Ash? The long punishment
must surely have taken a toll on him. He had been forced to endure the unendurable.

“It doesn't matter,” she murmured, lifting one gown after another from the chest. They were layered with lavender sprigs; the smell was wholesome and sweet. “It doesn't matter how you look. Only that you will be free. Only that I can put my arms around you at last, at long last. Only that I can say
I love you
face-to-face.”

Ah! Here it was. The gown Caisín had made at her special request: a simple style, fashioned in finespun wool dyed willow green, edged with darker ribbon. It was twin to the one young Lily had worn on the day she tried to wade to the island and nearly drowned, and Ash ran down from the tower to save her. The day she first felt his arms around her. In her memory, that day shone bright. It was innocence and first love and summertime. It was joy and awakening. She was not that bright-eyed sixteen-year-old anymore. But she would wear the gown, in honor of that girl and her long-ago dreams.

She draped the garment over the chest, ready for the morning. It was not yet time for the story. Still day, still the endless day. But she climbed to her high window anyway, to gaze out over the trees and listen to the sad voice from the tower. To shape in her mind the words she would speak to him later, as dusk fell on his last day in the Tower of Thorns.

•   •   •

Once upon a time there was a girl named Lily, who was the apple of her father's eye . . .

Blackthorn

N
either of us slept much that night. Grim's big, clever hands were busy with his bundle of reeds and his sharp knife, working minor miracles. As for me, my body was protesting after the day's unusual activity, and my mind was teeming with misgivings, unanswered questions, and—though I didn't like to admit it even to myself—hideous visions of how this whole thing might go wrong. I must have been crazy ever to agree to it. Two days of training were hardly going to equip me to defeat a monster, even if that monster had once been a man. Any one of Geiléis's guards would have beaten me in a fight within the count of ten. Five, most likely. And they were men.

We didn't talk. Not much. I kept the fire going and made a brew or two. Grim sat in the light of two lanterns, narrowing his eyes over the intricate work. Raven, dove, cat, fish, that was what he'd planned. Only when the night had worn on until it was nearly dawn, and I lay on my bed watching him through half-closed eyes, I saw that the last creature was not going to be a fish after all. Unless he was so tired that he had forgotten a fish does not have four legs.

“What's that one?”

My question made him start. “Thought you were asleep,” he said.

“I can't sleep. There's too much going on in my mind. What is that, Grim? It looks like no fish I've ever seen.”

“Changed my mind.” He used his knife to feather the reeds that formed the tail, making it into a brush. “Red fox. This one's for you.”

“Me? Why would St. Olcan's want a symbol of an unbeliever, and a woman at that?” I could understand why he'd chosen a fox. Apart from the obvious—red hair—a fox was wary, aloof, inclined to snap. Fiercely protective of her own. Cunning, folk said. I didn't feel very cunning right now.

“Maybe they wouldn't,” said Grim, forming the fox's ears into a more pointed shape with a quick twist of the fingers. “But I'm the one making the roof. Fox'll remind them of what you did. Not just for them, for the whole district. Breaking this curse, that's no small thing.”

“I haven't done anything yet. But thanks. You've earned a fresh brew. I'll get up and make it. I might even creep out to the kitchen and find you some food. That was a long night's work. You'll need to catch some sleep later.”

“Nah. Want to get these up on the scriptorium roof and be back as quick as I can. Make sure I'm here when you need me. Time enough to sleep after. When it's all over.” He glanced across at me. “Unless you were planning to pack up and leave straightaway.”

I froze, thinking that he had somehow guessed what Flannan and I planned. But no, of course not. He meant himself and me. The two of us going back to court. Answering would require me to tell another lie. I got up, found the ladle, refilled the kettle from the bucket of clean water, making sure my back was turned to him. “Not today. It'll be too late. And we'll all be tired out, no matter what happens. I imagine Geiléis will be happy to house us for another night, especially if I really do manage to break the curse. She offered me silver; did I tell you? We should take it, when this is over. It would be useful back home.”

“Lady,” said Grim, which was a sure sign he was heading into deeper waters, somewhere I did not want to follow, since my self-control was not at its best right now.

“Don't call me that. I don't want to think about that time. There's enough churning around in my head already.”

“You don't have to do this,” said Grim. “She never asked you, did she? Not straight-out. So you're not bound to it.” A weighty pause, during which I said nothing at all. “Thing is,” he went on, “no matter how brave you are, no matter how much you practice, you could . . . you could come to grief. It's not just cutting off this thing's head. It's a curse. Magic involved. Anything could happen.”

“What are you suggesting? That I tell Geiléis,
I'm sorry; I've changed my mind
, and head off home? She's counting on this. They all are. Even the creature in the tower. This is his only chance in fifty years to become a man again. And the little folk—I'll be setting them free, letting their king out of the thorns. They helped me. I should do it even if it's just for them.” The idea of turning tail and fleeing back to Cahercorcan was all too appealing right now, not only because of the thing in the tower, but also because of Mathuin of Laois, and the perilous mission that would take me south tomorrow, far away from all this. Far from Dalriada, and from Lady Flidais, who was expecting me back. Far from the cottage at Winterfalls and young Emer who was such a good learner. Far from Grim.

“Thing is,” he said, using his knife to trim a few stray ends of reed from the little fox, “what the wee folk said to
me
was go home. Both of us go home.”

I stared at him. “They did? When was this? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Back a while. That day when you told the clurichaun story. Thought it might be all in my head. The curse, you know, making me crazy.”

For a while we didn't talk. I made a brew; he set his handiwork aside and cleared up, sweeping the remnant reeds into a neat pile and tipping them into the kindling basket. He wiped down the table, then went outside to wash his hands. I caught a glimpse of the sky when he came back in. I didn't think I was imagining the first faint traces of day.

“Too late now,” Grim said, sitting down on the bench. “To ask the wee folk about it. I know that. One says go. One says stay. Could be they're like clurichauns, can't agree about anything.”

“Or one choice might be better for us, and the other one better for them. Grim, I don't want to talk about this anymore. By the end of today it'll be all over, one way or another.”

“Be a lot happier if I could come up the tower with you.”

“We know you can't, so there's no point worrying about it.”

Interesting, how silence can sometimes say so much more than words. He sat there with his elbows on his knees, looking at the floor. I tried not to think about the fact that after today's breakfast I would never see him again. Ordered myself sharply not to let tears fall.

“I'll go and find us some food,” I said. “Where's that candle?”

But when I tiptoed through the house and gently pushed open the kitchen door, it was to find the room lit by lamps and all the household serving folk gathered there, sitting or standing with cups of mead in their hands. The remains of a modest meal were on the table, with a neat stack of used platters. They'd been talking in hushed voices, but the conversation ceased as I went in.

“You're up early,” I said, noting the pale faces, the tight lips. “I was just looking for something for Grim to eat—he's been up all night making the finishing touches for his roof.”

“Let me find you something, Mistress Blackthorn.” Senach moved with his usual smooth competence to the larder, picking up a tray as he went. “I hope you got some rest.”

“I haven't slept. But thanks.”

Nobody commented, but I guessed it had been the same for all of them. They had spent the last night of the curse together, in what I imagined must be a mixture of hope and doubt. I suspected that Geiléis would be awake in her quarters, as tight with anticipation as I was.
Perhaps she was up at her high window, waiting for the dawn. Thinking that this might be the last day that voice rang out to play with folk's minds and to turn all within her holdings sour and sad.

“I hope I can do it,” I said quietly. “I can't promise I'll succeed. But I can promise to do my best for you all.”

“Let me carry this through for you, Mistress Blackthorn.” Senach was by my side, the tray in his hands laden with sufficient food to make breakfast unnecessary.

“Best if I take it myself. But thank you.” I set my candle on the only free corner of the tray and headed back.

We ate the food, though neither of us had any appetite. We tidied up and got dressed. Dau came to the door and asked if we wanted breakfast and we said no. Grim packed his reed creations carefully into two bags. Raven and dove, cat and fox. I watched him. He suggested we might pack up the rest of our things, since we'd most likely be leaving tomorrow morning, and I said no need, there would be plenty of time in the evening. Then we waited. All too soon the sun came up, the creature in the tower began its daily lament, and it was time for Grim to head for St. Olcan's where, according to him, they would be singing Prime and after that sitting down to breakfast. The pattern of daily prayers meant monks were up before first cockcrow.

“I'll walk out to the courtyard with you,” I said.

“If you want.”

He didn't know this was good-bye forever. And if I had any wits at all, I'd make sure I did nothing to put that idea into his mind. We walked out side by side, he with his two bags and his knife in his belt, I in my ordinary clothes. The leather breastplate and cap the guards had fashioned for me were in the bedchamber. I was not quite sure yet if I would wear them; it felt like pretending to be something I was not.

At the small gate in the wall Grim halted. “See you later, then. Be a good idea to catch some sleep this morning, if you can.”

“I'll try.” I ached to stand on tiptoes and kiss his cheek, to give him a hug, to tell him without words that I was sorry. To say that if I did
one worthwhile thing in my life, it would be going to Laois and seeing Mathuin brought to justice, and that I had to take the chance Flannan had offered. And that I was leaving him behind, not because I did not want him, but because, in the long run, he would be so much better off without me. But if I touched him I would cry, and he would decide he couldn't go to St. Olcan's after all, and I wouldn't be able to get away without him. “I hope the monks like your creatures. They don't know how fortunate they are to have such fine work for their roof.”

Grim smiled. “Should be good luck for the place. For everyone who works in there. Scribes, scholars, folk that love books and learning. I'll be getting on. Sooner I finish the work, sooner I'll be back. You all right?”

“Fine,” I said. “Or as fine as I can be with this thing to do. See you later, then.”

He walked out the gate and was gone. Just like that. I pressed my lips tight together.
You're a warrior. Be strong. You managed just fine without him before, and you can now.
I turned and walked back to the house. We would wait just a little, to be quite sure he was gone. Then we would head for the tower.