This was just what Emery needed. If she ever wished to be with Cullen, she'd have to remember who she was so that she could become that person again, and the only chance she had at remembering Emer was to try to place herself where Emer used to be, to return to the place she'd grown up, to Luglochta Loga. Whatever risks the trip brought would be worth it if Emery could just remember. And she wouldn't be entirely foolish; she'd bring the walnut Cathbad had just given her. If she and Oonagh needed help, he'd come!

Emery pulled on her breeches and slipped into a fresh tunic, allowed Oonagh to wrangle her thick, damp hair into a fat braid, cleaned her muddy feet, and slipped into her leather boots. (She was certainly not going to go after the Converse she'd left outside Cullen's door.) Then she strapped on her wide leather belt and tightened its laces, adding her sheathed dagger and a little pouch with Cathbad's walnut in it, and swung a warm but modest sheepskin cloak around her shoulders, lifting its hood to disguise her face. During all these preparations, Emery tried to distract her thoughts from centering on what had just happened with Cullen by talking incessantly to Oonagh, who was surprised to be out-talked. Emery assumed, reasonably, that her friend had somehow acquired passage out of Dun-Dealgan for them. She didn't know how they'd get to the horses without being noticed, but she figured Oonagh knew what to do, as she'd announced her plans with such enthusiasm.

But when Emery noted that she was ready and headed for the door, Oonagh stopped her. "Wait! Where are you going, then?"

Emery smiled uneasily. "Well . . . don't we have to get horses? Or are we going to walk?"

"Neither!" admitted Oonagh, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. The girl fastened her own cloak at her throat, adding secretively, "I never told you this, as it's private information, but I trained with a druidess--my grandmother--for several years, and while I sadly didn't learn much before she passed on, I did learn the basic transportation enchantment."

Emery's eyes widened. "What? And you never told me?"

"Shh! No! I'm not mad, am I? If everyone knew, they'd be asking me to send them all over the place now, wouldn't they? But this is different, Emery. It's something you need--I know it is. Tess spoke to me of it, and it's only natural that you want to see your old home. I figure, with the night being young, we can go and come back by tomorrow late morning, well before you'd be missed. And I've told my mother as much. It's all settled!"

Perhaps, had Emery been thinking more rationally, she may have questioned whether night was the best time to go to a castle in disrepair, where forest had begun to claim the ruins. She might also have wondered more at Oonagh's sudden ability to transport them. But in that moment, Emery was concerned only with what she believed she needed, and that was to know who she was, so she could be that person for him.

Much as Cathbad had done the several times he'd transported Emery, Oonagh enveloped her in her cloak and whooshed them away instantaneously to a dark, damp field. It was too cold and wet for crickets, but the grasses were high, almost up to Emer's knees, and the earth below was spongy when she moved her feet. It was not raining here, though; in fact, the moon shone white and round in the clear, starry black sky, casting a pale green sheen on the forests off to their right and the hills rolling up in the distance. Emery's breath condensed in the chill air as she observed their surroundings. Oonagh, next to her, held her arm.

"I've not been here," Oonagh practically whispered, as if their voices would break something. "I'm not sure where to go."

Emery was unsure, as well. Turning about, she saw no tower or structure of any kind on the horizon, but then she recalled that both Cathbad and Cullen had told her that the forest was beginning to claim the building, so she looked toward the treeline, and there, as she narrowed her eyes, she thought she could make out against the dark forest what might be a mound of stone. "There!" she whispered to Oonagh. "Come on."

The two girls set off through the tall dewy grass, the bottom of their attire soaking through. Emery was a bit nervous about the way the ground tried to grab at her feet with each step; she just hoped she wouldn't hit a really boggy patch before she made it to the ruins. Hadn't Cullen said they'd met at a river? Was there a river nearby? Maybe it was creeping up on the ruins, too. She almost held her breath as she and Oonagh leapt with arms linked toward what they soon realized was a much bigger structure than they'd surmised.

A tower did indeed rise at the edge of the encroaching forest. The field where they'd landed had been a little high, so the tower had been difficult to make out against the treeline, but as they neared its base, it seemed to rise out of the ground until it could be easily differentiated from the forest below. In fact, it was quite imposing, at least four or five stories tall and wide as a feasting hall. Beyond it ran a wall, crumbling in many areas, though it had likely enclosed the tower at one point, and other diverse structures in various states of decay lay scattered about in the darkness. What had happened to this place? Hadn't it been only months--not even a year--since she'd run off with Cullen and been whisked away by her foster father's curse? How could it all have crumbled so quickly?

Stepping to the base of the tower, Emery placed her hands against the cold stone and timbers there. The bottom level was solid, at least, though looking up, she saw gaping holes and jagged edges in the upper layers. Emery breathed deeply in the purple-blue dark, watched her breath form its clouds, and closed her eyes, almost forgetting Oonagh was somewhere behind her. This had been her home. This tower should mean something to her . . . she waited, hoping, believing some vision would arrive, like what the Stone of Destiny had given her. But nothing came. No vision, no memories, not even a feeling of anything. With a sigh,the girl stood back and began to walk around the base of the tower, surveying the construction, looking for an entrance. When she'd made her way back to where she'd begun without finding a door, Emery was confused, but then Oonagh, who'd been standing apart for some time, called to her: "It's there!"

Emery looked at where her friend had pointed and saw, about fifteen feet up, a rectangular opening in the tower that did, indeed, look like a door (it was far too large to be a window, anyway).

"It must've had a bridge, or a stair," Oonagh added.

Dismayed, Emery thought to look for something to climb on, but then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of light flickering from somewhere about fifty yards away, closer to the forest. "Did you see that?" she asked Oonagh. "I think someone's there!"

"Or something . . ."

In spite of their nerves, the two walked away from the tower and toward where Emery had thought she'd seen something, moving a little slower now, more cautious. When they were within about twenty feet of the light's source, they realized that a small fire was lit within a wattle and daub structure, a building not quite a roundhouse but larger than an animal pen. A doorway faced them, and it was wide open, making the fire inside visible from the right angle.

Emery shivered. "Should we go in? Someone has to be in there."

"Or right behind you," croaked a voice.

The girls whipped around to find a short, hunched figure, arms full of firewood, which shoved its way between them and into the hut.

Emery looked to Oonagh, who shrugged, and then stepped into the doorway, asking, "Excuse me--do you live here?"

"What's it look like?" grumbled the old man, as it was now clear he was such. Without looking at her, he hobbled toward the back of the round building and dropped his armload onto some other logs. Then, with some effort, he removed the cloak around his shoulders and hung it on a peg. He was dressed in furs, and his dwelling was modest, with merely a straw pallet for a bed, the firepit in the middle, and a few tools and odds n' ends propped against the walls.

"Can we come in?" Emery asked timidly.

"You already are, then, aren't you?" he returned. And while Emery didn't quite take that as a welcome, she fully entered the hut and gave Oonagh room to follow.

The man moved around a bit, then sat in front of his fire. When he finally faced the girls, Emery saw that both of his eyes were milky white, lacking any sort of iris or pupil. She drew back without meaning to.

"It's the Lady Emer herself, then, is it? Returned?" the man crackled, startling her even more. "Come and sit, then. Don't be affrighted. I'd recognize your sound, your scent, though I be blind or not."

"You--you remember me?"

"To be sure. Sit, Lady. I beg it."

Emery looked to Oonagh, and the two, in tacit agreement, settled next to one another and across from the old man. "How do you know me?" Emery asked, anxious for information.

"Do you not know me, Lady?"

"No, I'm sorry. I've—I've lost my memory. It's why I'm here, to try to remember."

The man grinned, revealing a mouth lacking several teeth. "So it's true, then. Forgall's curse played its role. I'm Peadar, servant to Forgall Manach for all my life, until someone ended his."

Emery's excitement kept her from picking up on the man's tone. "So you must remember me! Oh, tell me—tell me anything you can. Please, I want to remember my life."

"The tower's full of memories, full of yours and his. Didn't I risk my life climbing it to gather and send over your belongings? Happy to rid this place of what remained of you? And now you want more and more of this old blind man."

"Oh . . . I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"And after all he did for you, not even his flesh and blood, some orphan entrusted to him like as punishment, you a bane and nothing more." The man ground his teeth in a somewhat frightening manner, his blank eyes aimed at Emery. "I did warn him. Told him he'd regret taking you in, one day, and didn't I end up right? But who'd listen to old Peadar, who's only devoted his whole life to servitude?"

Emery was beginning to sense this man's animosity toward her, but she couldn't bring herself to get up and leave. She'd risked much to come here, and he might be the only person who'd be able to tell her anything about herself. She had to keep prying. "What do you mean, I was entrusted to him? By whom?"

"Oh, now the questions, Lady Emer? Years of silence toward me, and now you wish for me to answer all you ask?"

"Y-you said I was a--a bane. What did you mean?" She must ignore his asperity, as uncomfortable as he was beginning to make her; the answers seemed so close.

Peadar narrowed his watery milk-eyes at her, and Emery feared for a moment they'd melt and begin to run from his sockets. The man leaned closer to them, over the low flames. "When Forgall fell from your window, I was the only one here to help. He was determined that you and that insolent lover of yours would pay for what you'd done. I see now it's true, at least--you're paying for it--though he bought your pain with his life. I'll tell you nothing, Lady. No, I don't carry on with those marked by the Gods. Was from your very beginning I knew you'd be ill-fated. I warned Forgall, I did. Gods hear me, I did!" He turned blindly up toward the ceiling.

"How did you know?" Emery begged, quietly.

"Eh?"

"How did you know I'd be . . . ill-fated?"

With a grimace, Peadar seemed to forget his vow to remain silent. "Weren't you meant to die? Oh, but Forgall thought he were doing a kind thing, taking in a cursed child, a child meant for sacrifice. A child with no home or name to herself, raised solely for her purpose. That damned coward druid weren't able to fulfill his task. Perhaps then, it's all his fault we are where we are. Haven't I wondered as much in all this time?"

Emery sat back, thinking. Why was what he said somewhat familiar to her?

"The Darkness is coming, Lady, and it can't be stopped. Hundreds of years it's waited, and your death was the last meant to be, to abate the coming, but then that fool man saved you from the flame--Cuchulain he calls hisself, isn't it?--and him damned as well as that coward druid whose blasphemy he aided. And wasn't he bold, then, to come here after six years and try to claim you? After Forgall rescued you from the infamy you'd have surely suffered? Treated you as his own daughter, though he never knew your parentage. Hoped to keep you virtuous, keep you pure--a sacrifice of the highest kind for offering to ward off the Darkness when the time come. The high druids would've paid a pretty price for you. But that Cuchulain come along and turn your head."

It was so much to take in. Emery was trying to piece together what Peadar was saying, but he kept adding layers. Hadn't Cathbad told her that years ago, he'd been asked to participate in a sacrifice, and he'd not done it? That Cuchulain had probably saved his life by asking for his service? And that the sacrifice Cathbad had denied making had been of a . . . a child?

Had she been that child?

Peadar suddenly spit into the fire, snarling, "Your presence is a filth."

Emery sucked in a breath. She glanced fearfully to Oonagh, who took hold of one of her hands and shook her head as if to assure Emery it'd be all right to leave. But Emery couldn't go. Though she was unsure what to make of this man, she was also unwilling to walk away from someone who may have more information for her. As much as Peadar repulsed her, she pressed. "So, Forgall just wanted me in order to sell me off to be sacrificed later?"

"Wasn't it your fate?" Peadar screeched, as if furious that she hadn't quite understood. His crouched shoulders hunched up around his ears; his stringy gray hair trembled along with him as if it, too, were enraged. "Once the druids speak for the gods and choose you for sacrifice, your fate is sealed! It was never fulfilled! You see the forest claiming these lands? You see them? The Darkness is upon us, Lady, and it's your doing! Why Forgall took you in was his understanding, and his alone. But you knew your fate, Emer--and so did that arrogant man of yours--yet you stood in defiance of it. You stand, even now, a spoiled vessel, a spirit defiled, no longer acceptable to the Gods, suitable for vengeance only . . ." As quickly as he'd burst into a tirade, Peadar calmed himself and fell pensive.

Emery realized it was time to go. The man was growing more and more erratic, and while he looked weak enough to be no match for her dagger, he might have some sort of magical abilities up his sleeve--those milky eyes seemed somewhat otherworldly.

"And where is the one you defied fate for? Has he used you and left you as he's like done to others?"

The bitter mocking in his voice made Emery suddenly ill. She rose. "Thank you for your help," she struggled to say. Oonagh also got to her feet, taking hold of Emery's arm. While the freckled girl hadn't said anything since they'd entered, Emery was grateful for her presence.

But before they turned to go, Peadar, seated cross-legged, grinning like an ugly, toothless infant, croaked, "Off you go then, witch, to make your mischief with your quarry. It's been a treat to see you again, Carman."