When the wagons had arrived Vorna had been standing by the first bridge. She saw Meria driving one wagon, but her old friend turned her head away as the wagon passed. It had hurt Vorna deeply. There was no reason she knew of that would cause Meria to treat her with such discourtesy. Had she not saved Meria's son from certain death? Had she not, through her magic, kept her husband Ruathain alive long after his heart should have failed?
She trudged back to the house, placed a kettle on the stove, and made herself a mug of camomile tisane.
There had been a seed of bitterness in Meria's heart ever since her first love, Varaconn, had died. She had then married Ruathain, and the bitterness had flowered, causing the marriage to founder. Then, when near tragedy brought them together again, Meria had seemed a changed woman. She laughed often, and was carefree, her green eyes alive with hopes and dreams. Then Ruathain died in the first great battle against the Vars. Meria had not laughed since.
Yet why she should shun one of her oldest friends was a mystery to Vorna, and a source of grief. Especially when one of her grandchildren hovered at the point of death. Meria knew Vorna was a healer, yet such was her apparent hatred that she would let her grandson die rather than come to the one person who might save him. Vorna sipped her tisane and moved away from the window. Banouin, she knew, had tried to heal Ruathain, and for some days he appeared to have succeeded. But then the boy suffered a relapse, his fever returning.
'I cannot understand it,' Banouin had told his mother, during a spirit visit. 'It seems as if the disease is emanating from within his own body, as if it is at war with itself. Every time I heal an injured organ it begins to wilt again, worse than before.'
Vorna had been able to offer no clue, but had thought about the problem deeply for weeks afterwards. Knowing that the boy was being brought to Three Streams she had hoped to be able to examine him herself, floating her spirit through his bloodstream, seeking to identify the cause of his illness. She knew now that she would not be asked for help.
'What did I do to you, Meria?' she asked aloud. 'What crime have I committed against your family?'
A sharp rapping sounded at the door. Vorna put down her mug and called out for the visitor to enter. A young soldier pushed open the door. He was tall and well formed, his long dark hair hanging between his shoulders in a tight braid. Vorna smiled, seeing both Gwydia and Fiallach in the boy's features. 'Welcome, Finnigal,' she said.
'You know me, lady?' he asked her.
'You look like your father,' she said, 'tall and strong, with the same ferocious glare.'
He grinned. 'Most people say I take after Mother,' he told her.
'There is that too. What can I do for you, soldier?'
'I have been asked to contact the man Bane, to purchase more cattle to feed the refugees. I understand that you are his friend, and that my request might be better-received if I went to him in your company.'
'Come in and sit,' she told him. 'May I offer you a drink? Ale, uisge, or a calming tisane.'
'The tisane would be pleasant,' he said, removing his sword belt and cloak.
'Would you like it sweetened?' she called from the kitchen.
'Aye, lady. I have a sweet tooth.'
She returned with a mug and passed it to him. Then she sat opposite him. 'Bane is your cousin. Why would you need my help to speak to a member of your own family?'
'My father dislikes him, and, though I have not met Bane, I wondered if he would refuse my request because of the bad blood between them.'
'Put your mind at ease, Finnigal. Bane would never see children go hungry because of his quarrel with Fiallach.'
'It sounds as if you like him.'
'Indeed I do. His treatment by his own family has been shameful.' She saw his face harden. 'Reserve your judgment until you have met him, Finnigal.'
'I do not judge him,' the young man told her. 'I do not know him. The Lady Meria says he is – as his name shows – accursed. Ill fortune will follow any who seek his company. She says the blood of a bastard is thin, and that, at heart, all bastards are treacherous and mean-spirited.'
'Ah well, I bow to her judgment,' said Vorna coldly. 'She knows more about mean-spiritedness than any person I have ever met.'
Finnigal rose. 'I did not come here to listen to slanders against the king's mother,' he said. 'Will you aid me with Bane?'
'No. You will not need me. Treat him with respect and he will agree to your request. Be warned though, young man – if you offer him any discourtesy you will pay for it dearly.'
'I was raised to offer courtesy to all people,' said Finnigal.
'Then you will have no problem with Bane,' she said.
Finnigal offered a slight bow, strapped on his sword belt, looped his cloak over his shoulders, and left the house.
Vorna sat quietly, seeking an inner calm, which continued to evade her.
Gwenheffyr had always been reserved, a quiet child who had grown into a shy woman. Her gentle nature radiated harmony, and no-one had ever known her to raise her voice in anger. As a child she had been often ill, and on three occasions had come close to death. 'She will not be long-lived,' some said. 'She is too delicate.'
Slim and small, her dark hair emphasizing the paleness of her features, Gwen was seen as a fragile creature. It had surprised all who knew her that she had given birth to three lusty babes.
She sat now at Ruathain's bedside, little Orrin beside her. Her youngest child, Badraig, was asleep in his cot close by. 'Why doesn't he get better?' asked Orrin, peering at Ruathain's face, eerily pale in the lantern light, and damp with sweat.
'I am sure that he will… soon,' said Gwen, putting her arm round Orrin and kissing his head.
Orrin took hold of Ruathain's skeletal hand, and began twisting the white gold and moonstone ring on his brother's finger. 'It will fall off soon,' said the boy.
Gwen nodded, and tears began to form. She took a deep breath. 'Time for you to sleep, little man,' she said.
'I'm not tired, Mam,' argued Orrin.
'Then just lie down for a little while, then come out and join us by the hearth,' said Gwen, leading Orrin to the second bed. The little boy climbed onto the bed and slid his legs under the covers.
'I won't sleep,' he said.
Then I'll see you soon by the fire,' she told him, leaning down and kissing his cheek. Rising from the bedside she took a last look at Ruathain, and walked out of the room. Meria was sitting by the fire, a white shawl around her shoulders. Gwen moved past her to the door and pulled on a pair of shoes. Then she took a cloak from the peg by the door.
'Where are you going?' asked Meria.
'I thought', said Gwen softly, 'that I would ask Vorna to tend Ruathain.'
Meria glanced up, her features hard. 'To what point?' she asked. 'Her son has great talent as a healer – far greater than hers. If he could not heal the boy, then calling upon her would be a waste of time.'
'Even so…'
'And she is no friend to our family,' snapped Meria. 'I would not wish to see her invited to my home. Let us speak no more of it.'
Gwen sighed, replaced the cloak on its peg and moved to the chair opposite. For a while she looked into the fire, thinking of how strong and healthy Ruathain had been before this dreadful illness. Sadness swept over her. 'I think he is going to die,' she said, tears in her eyes. 'Vorna might know of some remedy…'
'I said we will speak no more of it!'
Gwen sat very quietly, Meria's anger causing her to tremble. She had always hated raised voices and argument. Closing her eyes she thought of Bran, and wondered how such a warm and compassionate soul could have sprung from a harsh and unfeeling woman like Meria. Gwen wished she could have known Bran's father, the first Ruathain. Men still spoke of him with fondness, and talked of his love of family and his affinity with children. Meria had never once hugged Gwen's sons, or shown any genuine affection towards them. It was a mystery to Gwen. Opening her eyes she glanced across at Meria. The older woman seemed to be dozing. Gwen rose from the chair and moved back into the bedroom.