Through grief and pain, through many trials, through betrayal and loss, your feet will walk a straight path.’
She began to fade before my eyes, the deep blue of her cloak merging with the darkness of the foliage behind her.
‘Wait –’ I started forwards across the clearing.
‘Sorcha?’ It was Father Brien’s voice, calling me from within the cave. And she was instantly gone, as if there had been nothing there but afternoon shadows shifting in the breeze. Father Brien emerged from the cave mouth, drying his hands on a cloth.
‘I see we have a visitor,’ he said mildly. I glanced at him sharply, then away into the shadows. Emerging cautiously into the clearing, as if uncertain of her welcome, was the dog, Linn. It seemed she had trailed me all the way up here. I spoke kindly to her and she ran to me in frenzied response, her whole body wagging in belated recognition and the urgent need of affection.
‘Come inside,’ said Father Brien. ‘Bring the hound, she can do no harm. We need to talk about this boy, and quickly. The effects of my draught are all but gone, and I hesitate to give him more. But if he cannot be convinced to cooperate, I will be unable to attend to his injuries.’ He turned to go inside. ‘Are you recovered?’ he added gently. ‘He knows where to aim his words for most hurt. This is perhaps the only weapon he has left to him.’
‘I’m all right,’ I said, my head still full of my vision. I put a hand down to touch the dog’s rough coat, and the rasp of her tongue on my fingers reassured me that the real world was still there, as well as the other. ‘I’m fine.’
The boy sat hunched on the pallet, his back to us. For all his defiant words and angry looks, the set of his shoulders reminded me of a small creature chastised too hard, who retreats into himself in bewilderment at a world turned wrong.
‘His wounds must be cleaned and dressed,’ said Father Brien in our own tongue. ‘I’ve managed quite well while he was half-asleep, despite his fear of my touch. But now …’
‘He must come off these herbs,’ I said, ‘if you want any chance of returning him home in his right mind. We should clear the air completely, and he should be taken outside in the warmth of the day, if we can manage it. Can he walk?’
A look crossed Father Brien’s placid face briefly; a chilling look that mingled disgust and pity.
‘I have not dared to move him, save to tend to his injuries,’ he said carefully. ‘He is still in great pain, and withdrawing the soporifics too quickly will be hard for him to bear. Without them, sleep will be difficult, for he fears his dreams.’
My vision still bright before my eyes, I felt a strong sense of what must be done, though truth to tell, the Lady had given me little by way of practical instructions. But something within me knew the path.
‘Tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow he must be shown the sun, and the open sky. From now on, just the one herb, just goldenwood, and it must be cut at night. I’ll do that later. Now what about dressing these wounds?’
I moved towards the pallet. Linn slipped past me and padded trustingly up to the boy on her large hound paws. She knew that he was not Cormack; but he was close enough. She sidled forward and thrust her cold nose into his hand.
‘Easy, Linn,’ I said in the language the boy knew. After the first instinctive clenching of his fist, he let his fingers relax and she licked them enthusiastically. He watched her through narrowed eyes, giving nothing away.
Father Brien had prepared a bowl of warm water with chamomile and mallow root; and soft cloths. There had perhaps been an attempt to start the task while I was outdoors, for the bedding was disarranged and more water had been spilt. He moved towards the bed.
‘I said, no.’ The boy spoke with finality.
‘You must know,’ replied Father Brien, unperturbed, ‘as a soldier, what happens if such wounds are left untreated; how they attract evil humours, and turn foul, and how fevers then overtake the man so that he sees apparitions and, burning, dies. Would you invite such an end for yourself?’ His tone was mild as he washed his hands with care and dried them on the cloth.
‘Let her do it.’ The boy threw a glance at me without turning his head. ‘Let her see what her people have done, and so pay penance for it. I spoke plain truth. My body is witness to that.’
‘I think not,’ said Father Brien quickly, and for the first time there was an edge to his voice. ‘Sorcha is a child; such injuries are not fit for a girl’s eyes, and it shames you to suggest this. It is man’s work, and I will do it.’
‘Touch me again and I’ll kill you both.’ He meant this all right; and might just have enough strength to try. ‘Let the girl do it, or leave me to rot. I can go no lower, surely.’
‘I doubt if you could manage to do what you say, however much you might want to,’ I said. ‘But I’ll tend your wounds, on one condition.’
‘Condition?’ the Briton snapped. ‘What condition?’
‘I’ll do everything that needs doing,’ I told him firmly. ‘But only if you cooperate. You must listen when I talk to you, and do as I bid, for I have the power to heal you.’
He laughed at me. It was not a pleasant sound.
‘Arrogant little witch, aren’t you? I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather be left to the decay and the fever. Still, the end result might be the same, anyway. What do you think, old man?’
‘I don’t like it, and neither would your brothers, Sorcha. You should leave this to me.’
‘Then why did you bring me here?’ I asked simply. And since he had no answer to this, he fell silent.
‘Out,’ said the boy, knowing a victory when he saw it, and Father Brien went, reluctantly submitting to the inevitable.
‘I’ll be just outside, Sorcha,’ he said in our tongue, of which it seemed the boy had no understanding, ‘and this time don’t wait so long to call. What you see will distress you, and I can offer no help for that. Treat him as you would a sick animal, and try not to take the guilt for what was done on yourself, child.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ I said, for the spirit of the Forest Lady was still on me and my sense of purpose strong.
I will not dwell on what came next. To strip before me and submit to my ministrations was painful for him, both in body and spirit. To witness his injuries, to comprehend the vile nature of man’s imagination, was an experience that burned as deep into my heart as the instruments of torture had into his body. He would never be whole again, or know that heedless joy in his manhood that I had seen in my brothers as they wrestled together for sport, or flirted with a likely lass. That another man could do this to him was unthinkable. As I worked, I told him the rest of the tale of Isha, for that took both our minds beyond the dreadful task; and Linn sat anxiously by the bed, licking delicately at the Briton’s tightly clenched fist. Still he cringed from my touch, but having agreed to the bargain, he was stoical under the pain, and only cried out once.
At last, the tale was almost finished, and my work over. My body drenched with sweat and my face wet with tears, I eased the patient into the most comfortable position that could be managed, and spread a fresh blanket over his cleanly wrapped body. In the few moments it took me to fetch the pitcher of water, the dog was up on the bed and stretched out beside him, tail thumping gently. Her expression told me she hoped I would pretend not to notice.
‘Well done, Simon,’ I said, holding a cup of water for him to sip, and this time he did; he was too exhausted to protest, beyond fear. ‘Perhaps you can sleep now – one of us will be here if you need us. Linn!’ I snapped my fingers. ‘Down!’
‘No …’ His voice was a thread of sound. ‘Leave her.’ His hand curled into her wiry grey coat.
I moved, thinking to fetch Father Brien. I was too tired to feel hungry, but my work for that day was not over yet.
‘No.’