The baby slept on beside the tower, through the day and into the twilight. Then, as the last finger of the sun made its way over the tops of the trees, the breathing silence of the glen was sundered when something fought its way through the protecting circle of trees.
Ivy's mother, leaves caught in her black hair and streaks of dirt on her brown dress, entered the clearing, breathing hard. Her frightened eyes swept across the clearing. She gave a painful laugh as her eyes spied Ivy nestled in the ferns, and she ran to the tower side to reach out and pick her babe up.
As she pulled Ivy up to her, a thorn dug into her skin, creating a long tear from her elbow to her wrist. Geneviene gasped and set her child by her feet, clasping a hand to stop the blood that welled up red. She glanced back at the tower, holding her injured arm protectively against herself. The vines that laced up the tower's wall were free of any thorns. It was as if the tower had grown teeth and bit her.
She pulled her hand away from the cut, and blood dripped down it to land on and mingle with the crimson petals of the flowers that flourished near the tower. Her entire palm was stained red.
Ivy stirred, opening her eyes to smile sleepily up at her mother. Her smile wavered as her vision blurred. Memories of a dark-haired woman flowing white merged with the brown-clad figure of her mother. Ivy's smile dimpled. The lady who had led her here had come back to take her home, she thought. Pretty lady…
The answering smile Ivy's mother had worn when her daughter had waked disappeared, to be replaced by fear. She could read that look in Ivy's eyes. Ivy did not recognize her mother. She saw some other. Geneviene cradled Ivy, staring stony-faced up at the stony-faced tower.
"She's mine…" she whispered, clasping Ivy tighter.
The tower made no answer. Geneviene walked slowly backwards, staring up at its heights far above the trees, then turned and ran out of that place as fast as her sore feet would bear her.
The forest seemed to clear more readily for her then, but as she ran on, dangerously tilting ground and whirling trees forced her to stop from time to time. The dizzy spells confused her even more, as the events in the forest spun round her head until she too wondered if she was really Ivy's mother, or some spirit bearing her away to a land beyond ken. Her speed slowed, and she left a trail of blood dew on the leaves behind her as she drifted through the forest.
Her husband met her at the fringes of the forest, taking Ivy and guiding Geneviene home. When he saw Ivy's bloodstained smock he searched her for wounds, but Geneviene gave a high-pitched, delirious laugh, showing him her sliced arm and staring at him out of white eyes, the pupil shrunk to a black point. He shivered, wondering at what had happened since he last saw her diving into the lightless forest to find Ivy.
It took them an hour for the usual fifteen minute walk between forest and house. Geneviene would stop, staring into the forest as if she saw something there, shake all over like a nervous horse, then take off toward the house, tripping several times until she fell. She would lay there, face pressed against the grass, until her husband picked her up and the process would be repeated all over again. It was the longest hour he had known yet.
When they reached the house, Geneviene curled up in the only padded chair, staring at the fire he was building with unfocused eyes. Even when the fire licked the logs eagerly and sent out a cozy warmth she still shivered. He handed her a mug of spiced milk he had been warming by the fire, and she looked full into his face with more of a living look to her than he had seen since she stepped out of the Wood.
"Ronan…" she said.
He smiled at her, relieved, pressing the mug into her hands. He sat down into a chair opposite hers, and placed Ivy on the floor between them. The confused look was back on Geneviene's face again, and she looked down at the cup of milk in her hands as if she was wondering what to do with it. Ronan leaned closer, guiding the mug to her lips.
"Geneviene, what is it? What happened? Did something bite you? A snake?"
She laughed her humorless laugh as Ivy looked back and forth between them.
"The tower. The tower bit me. It bit me." She stared down at her arm, letting the mug slide from her hands. It spilled milk across the wooden floor, where it reflected red in the firelight. She stared down at it, wondering if the cup was bleeding as she was.
She's feverish, he thought. He half-carried her to their bed, wetting a cloth with cool water and placing it across her forehead. Ivy toddled in after him, clutching one of the posts of the bed as she rested her chin on the top of the bed, staring at Geneviene. What was wrong with her mother?
Ronan tended to her wound, pulling a tourniquet around her arm. Once beneath the covers, she lay silent, clutching the blanket with white fingers as he cleansed the long gash with more water and an infusion of herbs.
Later, when Ivy had been put to bed, Ronan sat up, staring into the fire. Even he could not decide what he saw, but his wife's fevered eyes were in everything. Geneviene, staring up with those same fevered eyes at the dark ceiling, saw blood red flowers and blood red milk. Ivy saw the wild woman who had led her to the tower, so like her mother, beckoning with a warm smile and cold eyes and slim white hands.
Nobody slept that night.
