Chapter 15 #2
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.’
The monk has ginger hair, thick but short, a neatly trimmed beard and an Irish accent.
His face is pale, with patches of sunburn visible on his skin.
He looks to be around thirty, and tall enough that I have to look up to meet his eyes.
I’d prefer to say his expression was blank, but in reality, there’s a definite hint of suspicion there.
The door behind him creaks open, and another monk appears.
The first one doesn’t react at all to his fellow monk approaching, but I watch his progress.
His hood is down, and he’s older, scarred where someone has slashed him across the face and down his right cheek with a knife.
They’re old scars, well healed, and the diagonal one has left only a very thin stripe.
The other is wider. He’s not an unattractive man – the scars might make him seem more dangerous, but his salt-and-pepper hair gives him an air of distinction that I’m not sure he’d have had as a younger man.
‘Who is this, Brother Declan?’
‘She hasn’t said, Brother Dominic,’ Declan says. ‘Yet.’
‘I… My name is Niamh.’
The two of them exchange a glance, and my heart sinks. The old woman’s words come back to me. Ask for sanctuary. And those strange words.
‘Niamh Whyte,’ I say and, feeling like I’ve just stepped into some kind of medieval fantasy realm, I add, ‘I am seeking sanctuary.’
‘Sanctuary?’ Declan says. ‘And what makes you think we would offer such a thing?’
‘This is a monastery. You’re monks…’
But Declan merely smiles. ‘That is how we appear to the … public, yes.’
‘Then it’s just a brewery and you’re just playing at dress-up? It’s not Halloween.’
Declan shrugs. ‘All part of the St Marnox branding. Such an enchanting idea, don’t you think? Wholesome. A selection of craft beers brewed in a medieval monastery by monks.’
‘Stox is far from wholesome,’ I point out.
‘We can’t control everything about our image,’ Declan says. ‘However, we don’t get many visitors and the robes make it easier than having to decide what to wear every morning.’
As Declan speaks, Dominic moves closer to me. I have to force myself not to step away from him, sure that if I show any sign of weakness that he’ll use it against me. He stops too close to me and lifts his hand as if he’s going to touch my face, but then he freezes and sniffs.
‘You smell like Cillian Hunter.’
I step back. I smell like Cillian? That’s not a weird thing to say at all. ‘He … he was hunting me.’
Dominic moves so fast, I don’t have the chance to evade him as he reaches for the strap of my dress and looks at where it has been ripped then fastened with a safety pin.
Then, he grips the front of my dress and squeezes.
He lifts his hand and looks at it, then shows it to Dominic. It’s covered in blood.
‘What did you do?’ Declan asks. Nothing happens for a few moments.
I don’t know if I should just turn and run?
But where to? I’m stuck on an island. Why did I follow the guidance of a random old woman in a forest?
What was I thinking? Well, I guess I wasn’t.
God, the whole thing’s ridiculous. I’m cold and tired and probably delirious, given the visions I’ve been seeing.
Declan tilts my chin up with a single finger, forcing me to look at him. ‘No woman has ever outrun the Hunter before. Did you bribe him to let you go?’
I shake my head. The Hunters’ businesses are supplied by this brewery. I can’t work out whose side these men would take, so it’s probably best not to tell them any more than I need to.
‘You don’t look like one of his … toys,’ Dominic says, sounding intrigued by the idea that Cillian might have hurt me.
What sort of man – let alone a monk – refers to women as toys?
Aren’t they supposed to be respectful or …
I don’t know, something? But they clearly think I’m one of Cillian’s girlfriends, and despite the way he kissed me, that is one thing I am not.
I have no idea what I am to him. He’s spent the last few hours hunting me down to kill me.
And while he was attempting to justify that on the basis of me having killed a man, without a proper trial surely even his Unseelie Court couldn’t justify killing me for it.
Plus, he’s marrying Vittoria Riali and I’m not the kind of woman who goes about stealing other people’s men.
Both Dominic and Declan continue to stare at me with near-blank expressions, clearly expecting an answer.
‘I’m not one of Cillian’s…’ I can’t bring myself to say it. ‘I’m not anything to Cillian. I’m his sister’s best friend.’
‘And why has he sent you here? To us?’
I swallow again. Should I explain that it wasn’t really Cillian who sent me here? I stare at Declan for a long moment, then shift my gaze to Dominic. Deflection, however, is something I’ve been studying for the past four years, so I answer his question with a question.
‘Will I be safe here?’
‘All who are granted sanctuary are safe within these walls.’ Declan speaks with a tired acceptance, but Dominic’s fists clench as if he is anything but happy about that fact.
‘You didn’t answer his question,’ Dominic points out. My breath catches as I wonder if they’ll take my avoidance as a lie. ‘Whatever story you’re trying to invent in your head right now, stop. Why has Cillian sent you here?’
But Declan puts a hand on his arm. ‘Dom,’ he says, stopping him. This time I follow my instinct and back away.
‘Some men … attacked me. In a nightclub, with Rose, Cillian’s sister. And these men, they tried to—’ I stop, not really wanting to put the whole thing into words. ‘They drugged us and—’
‘Did they hurt you?’ Declan asks, sounding deathly calm.
‘They didn’t get a chance. Cillian came and—’
‘What happened to the men?’ Declan’s voice is like ice, and between him and Dominic, they look like avenging angels. Except that they’re far too late, the sounds and smells of the events of last night will haunt me forever.
‘Cillian killed one, and Vittoria another. Then, I don’t know what happened. There was a knife on the ground. And then it was in my hand. One of them … he fell onto it.’
Dominic gestures at me. ‘Hence, the blood on your dress?’
I nod. ‘Vittoria said that because he was Kin, I had to die. Then Cillian took me into the woods and—’
‘You killed Kin?’ Dominic says.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ I assure them. ‘I don’t know how it happened. He attacked me and then I was holding the knife and…’
The two of them exchange shocked looks.
‘It is not often I agree with Vittoria Riali,’ Declan says. ‘But you escaped from the Huntsman, so we may be able to help.’ He looks at me expectantly.
I’ve seen Gaelic written and tried to pronounce it before, so it’s unlikely what I remember is anywhere near correct, but I manage to form sounds as similar to the old woman’s words as I can manage. ‘Hor fasgah yov.’
Dominic lets out a long whistle and turns to look at Declan, whose brow furrows.
‘Doesn’t … aren’t you obliged to give me sanctuary?’
The two men step aside and gesture towards the door behind them.
‘If you can open the door, then sanctuary has been granted,’ Declan says.
I walk up to the door slowly, realising that there’s no handle.
I look back at the two men, but both are standing with their arms folded, waiting – most likely for me to fail.
I place both my hands on the warm wood and lean forward until my lips are almost touching the door.
As soon as I whisper the words again, the door swings open.
‘Welcome to St Marnox. I’ll show you to your room,’ Declan says. ‘But it’s not a free ride, for any of us. You’ll need to earn your keep.’
Dominic chuckles, and the sound fills me with dread.
‘Doing … doing what?’
‘We’ll find you an appropriate task,’ Declan says. Dominic smirks, looking me up and down.
‘I can think of—’
‘Dominic!’
‘If she’s willing, what’s the problem?’
‘I’m not!’
‘No one will touch you without permission, Niamh,’ Declan assures me. ‘We are bound by rules towards the other seekers.’
‘Seekers?’
‘Of sanctuary.’
‘I’m not the worst, Declan,’ Dom says. ‘You know that. There’s never been a woman here before. It’s going to draw attention—’
‘You can’t harm another in sanctuary, or you’ll forfeit your own place, Brother Dominic.’
He turns to me. ‘Dominic does have a point, though. Seven men, living together in this ancient monastery out here on this … barren moor, with no other female company…’
‘But I thought you said…’ He’s trying to scare me. Seven men? At that moment, I realise I’ve simply had enough. I straighten my spine and look up directly into his face.
‘Will they be willing to answer to Cillian if anything happens to me?’
A smile teases the corners of Declan’s mouth.
‘So, you’re not Cillian’s, but you are Cillian’s?’
‘Yes.’ I nod. Nothing else in this place makes sense, so why should I?
‘Now, that’s more like it,’ Declan says, stepping aside. ‘Come inside and we’ll get you settled.’
I’m shaking as I follow Declan through the door into the cool interior of the monastery, grateful when Dominic doesn’t follow.