I take a step back. What the hell is going on? I wonder again if I’m dead.
‘You know Cillian?’
‘I do. And despite what your mother might have thought, you have nothing to fear from the Huntsman, either. At least, not in the way she thinks.’
I stare at her, confusion crossing my face. ‘He brought me here to kill me.’
‘No, he was never going to do that, Niamh. He might have thought it was the right thing, but he’s worked it out. He believes that you have killed Kin and there is no choice except death, but he’s wrong.’
‘I thought it was because Vittoria ordered him to.’
The old woman shrugs. ‘Vittoria instigated the hunt, certainly, and Cillian is duty-bound to obey. He thinks he has no choice but to marry Vittoria and was willing to give up—’ She smiles at me again. ‘Well, I’m sure you understand. Tryto be patient with him. In his own way, he tries to do the right thing.’
I definitely do not understand, and am only able to stare at her, open-mouthed.
‘He told me that if I didn’t reach sanctuary before dawn, that if he didn’t capture and kill me, something worse would come after me.’
‘He was telling you the truth. Follow the stream to the loch. In the middle of the loch there is a monastery. Ask for sanctuary there.Thoir fasgadh dhomh– give me shelter.’
‘But I want to go home. I have a life?—’
‘You will have no life if you are dead, Niamh. Seek sanctuary for now. Only the Court can resolve this when it’s strong enough, and until then, the only sanctuary is at St Marnox. No harm can come to you within its walls.’
‘St Marnox? But?—’
‘Good, you know of it? Then you will recognise it when you see it. Hurry, before dawn breaks.’
‘I will but?—’
The old woman lifts the item she is washing from the basin and dumps it into the stream. I step back as she then pulls it from the water and flaps it, water droplets flying out from it in all directions. I turn and cover my face to stop water splashing me, but when I look back, she’s gone.
I’m tired, panicked, and running for my life. Last night I was drugged, threatened with death and then chased down by a man who seems to both want and not want me at the same time. Apparently, my life choices right now are limited. I laugh to myself, I guess listening to the advice of an old woman washing clothes in a stream is as good a choice as any right now.
She told me to follow the stream, but should I cross it or not? This may be the only fording point for miles. Deciding that the fact that she met me at a crossing point is probably significant, I make my way cautiously across. The mist is clearing faster downstream, so I head that way. And by the time the stream widens out into a large, still loch, with an island in the middle of it, the mist has all but gone. I’m in a glen surrounded by hills on every side– odd, given that I don’t remember going up or down any hills as I ran. There’s a change in the air, and behind me I can sense the darkness starting to be burned away by the dawn. I have to reach the island.
There are buildings on it that I recognise from the logo on the beer it produces– and from the Stox bottles, of course. St Marnox.
Do I do what I’ve been told and head towards the sanctuary? Or do I keep going with no clue where I’m going or even where I am? Cillian said that something worse would come after me if I didn’t reach the sanctuary in time. I stumble, and a stone digs into my foot. My shoes are splitting at the seams, hardly surprising given that they’re meant for dancing rather than for running through a forest.
Beside me, the water in the loch is getting lower, almost as though it has a tide, and up ahead a line of shingle is now exposed, forming a causeway between the shore and the island. Behind me I hear the howl of… something, and whatever it is, I don’t want it to catch up with me. Another howl echoes and Itake off, running as fast as I can towards the causeway. My heart is thudding in my chest, and every breath is painful by the time I reach the island. As I take my first step onto the island itself, a painted wooden sign readsSt Marnoxand warns of crossing only when the causeway is fully visible. I risk a glance behind to make sure nothing has followed me, surprised that the causeway has already disappeared beneath the surface of the loch once more. There’s no sign of Cillian, nor of any of the howling creatures. For now, anything chasing me will either have to wait until the water retreats again or find another way to cross the loch. I’m safe, I hope, even if it’s just for a little while.
I sit down to catch my breath and look around. The island is mostly flat; grass stretches from shore to shore, not a smooth, well-manicured lawn but harsh, uneven, tufted grass interspersed with patches of purple heather. In places, rocky outcroppings break up the plant life, and a small flock of sheep is watching me, looking puzzled as they graze. I relax, it’s the first sign of wildlife I’ve seen in hours, apart from the deer Cillian shot, and there’s something calming about the presence of these animals. They seem peaceful, which steadies my nerves.
To my right, the buildings follow the shoreline, graceful stone arches and columns appearing a little too grand for the remote spot. Close by, a wooden jetty juts out into the loch, but there’s no sign of any boats on the water. To my left, is a small graveyard full of haphazard rows of weathered stones and monuments. The brewery logo shows the buildings in ruins, but this place is far from desolate. It must have been restored since the original design was created.
The main buildings have been constructed from weathered sandstone. Rain has etched channels onto every surface and many of the carvings are worn beyond recognition. But generally, it looks well-maintained. The grounds are neat and cared for. Overall, the island feels safe. And inhabited.
Having taken in my surroundings, I start up towards the entrance to the sanctuary. There’s nothing on the sign to state that it’s a brewery, but I only have to close my eyes and breathe in to smell the scent of hops.
When I open my eyes, St Marnox looks like it does in the drawing, half-ruined and crumbling in places. Then I blink, and it’s restored to its current glory once more. I shiver, thinking of all the strange visions I’ve been subjected to over the course of the last twelve hours. They haven’t been real, surely? Cillian chasing me? His tattoos coming to life? I look at my finger where the serpent bit me. The two small puncture wounds are definitely there. And the old woman? Clearly, some things I never thought I’d believe in might actually be real.
‘Hello?’ The voice startles me. A monk wearing long brown robes with his hood pulled up steps out of a shadowed doorway in the monastery wall. ‘Are you lost?’
‘Not exactly,’ I say. ‘I was told to come here.’
I tremble as I walk towards him. I shouldn’t be feeling this vulnerable, surely? It’s a monastery. He’s a monk. A holy man. He watches as I approach, but it’s only when I’m in front of him that he brings his hands forward and lifts the hood from his face.
‘This is no place for a woman.’
