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By the time it stops, when the season changes, the damage is done. I have never encountered anything like it. My folk turn to me for answers, but I have none for them.”
    â€œIt stops when the season changes?” says Blackthorn. “So this thing has been there for more than one summer?”
    â€œThis is the second. When it fell quiet last autumn I believed it gone. But alas, it returned with the first summer days.”
    Odd that she’s waited this long to ask for help. Not for me to say, though.
    â€œThe monastery you mentioned earlier,” Blackthorn says. “Where is that in relation to the tower?”
    â€œMy home lies between the monastery and the tower. St. Olcan’s is a significant foundation; the brethren there are widely known and respected for their tradition of scholarship. The monks have been helpful, to the extent they can be. But I do not believe this is a demon to be driven out by Christian prayers. It has been suggested to me—this will sound odd—that the creature may be a manifestation of the Otherworld. Something old and dark, whose influence cannot be broken by ordinary means. My folk are frightened, Mistress Blackthorn. Burdened; weighed down. I do not know how to help them.”
    â€œDoes this curse, if that is what it is, lie over the monastery too?”asks Blackthorn. “Can the brothers travel these paths unaffected? And what about their stock, house cows and the like?”
    â€œTheir grazing field lies at some distance from the ford, and thus far their cows have been spared. As for the fell magic that disturbs the minds of men and animals and causes them to stray from the paths, the monks too are susceptible to it if they wander into the area close to the tower. To travel west with any degree of safety, one must go by circuitous ways. So this is difficult for St. Olcan’s too. They are accustomed to accommodating traveling scholars, and to making visits to other monastic houses. It is fortunate that the brethren keep pigeons for the purpose of sending and receiving messages; otherwise they would be quite isolated.”
    â€œWhat about the owner of the land on the Tirconnell side of the river?” Donagan asks. “Has he taken any action to drive this thing out?”
    â€œA chieftain of the Uí Néill oversees that district. I sought help from him some time ago, and my concerns were brushed aside as a madwoman’s ravings. His stronghold is located at a significant distance from the river, and his folk generally travel by the main road and the bridge, farther north. As far as he was concerned, not only was I out of my mind, but it was a Dalriadan problem and not his responsibility.”
    â€œTwo summers, you say. How did this thing come to the tower?”
    â€œNobody saw it arrive, Mistress Blackthorn. One day the tower was empty; the next the woods were full of screaming. Soon after, the misfortunes began.”
    â€œIt sounds like something from an old tale,” says Prince Oran. “And that makes me wonder if there are precedents. Mistress Blackthorn thought she remembered the Tower of Thorns from a story. Have you looked in the lore for answers, Lady Geiléis?”
    For a bit, the lady doesn’t say anything. My guess is, she doesn’t want to tell us this part, whatever it is. “I have done some investigation, yes,” she says. “There are no tales about the Tower of Thorns. Only snippets, fragments. Rumors about the woods by the Bann. Theysuggest that something similar may have happened before, long ago. The same creature; the same enchantment or curse. The same misfortune. Endured not only once, but several times over by my forebears.”
    We’re all staring at her. My guess is, I’m not the only one wondering if she really is a bit wrong in the head.
    Blackthorn asks a good question. “Do these snippets include anything about what folk did the last time it happened, or the