“If I had to guess, I would say she’s a Lady Grim.”
“I had heard churchyard grims were animals—usually dogs.”
Sorcha nodded. “Traditionally, the first living thing buried in a churchyard is an animal whose spirit guards the resting places of all who follow. But if that is not done, then the duty to protect the spot lies with whomever was buried there most recently. That person’s spirit remains until someone else is buried, who then takes up the role, which is later inherited by the next to be laid to rest.”
To the still silent and still watchful Lady Grim, he said, “We mean no harm. We have come only to fetch water from the mouth of the gargoyle. We need it to cure a very ill young girl in our village.”
The Lady Grim said nothing. She watched him, but her expression changed from anger to something very nearly pleading.
“Is there something you need from us?” Sorcha asked.
The Lady Grim motioned with her ghostly hand toward a nearby grave. Duncan hunched down low enough to face the stone. He wiped the dirt from its face, making the inscription clear. The grave belonged to a woman buried more than one hundred years earlier on what, according to the inscriptions, was to have been her wedding day. She had been merely twenty-five years of age.
From his position, he looked up at the ghostly guardian. “Is this you?” he asked gently.
She nodded.
“No one has been buried here since?” Sorcha asked.
The Lady Grim shook her head.
Duncan stood once more, looking at the dilapidated church and thinking about the crumbling village they’d walked through. She was the last person to have been buried here. And no one lived here any longer. No one else would ever be buried in this churchyard. She was trappedas the guardian of this place, held here for more than a century, unable to obtain her eternal rest.
“She is a prisoner here,” Sorcha said, following his thoughts. “There must be a way to free her.”
“I’ve never freed a grim,” he said. “Is it even possible?”
Sorcha shook her head. “Grims aren’t freed; they are exchanged.”
They stood in silence for a time. Surely neither of them was meant to die and be buried here for this journey to be completed. Granny Winter would never have subjected Sorcha to such a fate.
He looked to the Lady Grim, who watched him with a sad, silent countenance. How desperately she must have wanted to leave, but it was not in her power to do so. He felt called to be a doctor, a healer. He did all he could for those amongst the living, but he had no ability to heal the dead.
“I am sorry,” he said to her. “I don’t know how to right this wrong.”
She still didn’t speak, didn’t move.
Duncan tried to take a step toward the church. He was immediately flung back by an unseen hand. He landed on the ground, painfully but not injuriously.
Sorcha helped him to his feet. “It seems the only way to reach the church is to release her.”
“Exchanging a life is out of the question,” Duncan said.
“Whoever began this churchyard did not spare her this fate. There is no means of freeing her other than finding someone to take her place.”
“I will not sacrifice either of our lives for this.” He could not. Hewouldnot. “The past two days have been life-altering despite the danger. I could never again imaginemy life without you in it. I refuse to believe Granny Winter would send us on a journey that would bring us together only to tear us apart again.”
She set her hand lightly on his arm. “I cannot imagine my life without you either.”
There had to be another way to free the grim and save Donella. This could not be the end of their perilous journey.
“If only a true grim had been buried first,” Sorcha said. “Animal spirits do not require an exchange.”
Animal. “Does that hold true only if the animal is thefirstto be buried?”
She shook her head, her expression turning to one of deep consideration. “An animal could take over the duties of a grim even now.”
And they had an animal. He pulled Granny’s bag off his back and opened it. All that remained was the stuffed vole and the bottle. The small animal had seemed such an odd thing, but it now made perfect sense.