'Yes,' she told him. 'It is very pretty there.'
'I plan to build a house there. I plan to build it with stone.'
'Stone? Why would you have a house of stone?'
'I want it to last. I want my children and my children's children to come there, and know the joy I experienced. I intend to have large windows facing west, so that the setting sun can shine upon my hearth. I mentioned this to my horse, and he did not snort once.'
'Then you must do it,' she said. 'One should never ignore the advice of a wise horse.'
He laughed then, and she smiled. Never before had she made a joke, and though it was not a particularly good one it was a breakthrough for Gwen. She wished he would tell her his name.
'Do you have other wise animals?' she asked him.
'No. I have a very stupid hound. We call him the Old One. He does not like other dogs, but will pad across the meadows in the early morning, ignoring all the rabbits. They are so used to him that they carry on feeding as he passes by. He likes rabbits. One of my other hounds – a young rascal named Piga – took off one morning on a rabbit hunt. The Old One charged at him, nipping his shoulder and driving him from the meadow. Then he sat down, and all the rabbits came back out of their burrows and began feeding again. I am very much mocked by my fellows for the antics of the Old One.'
A red-headed woman approached them. 'There you are,' she called. 'Come, Bran, as the Master of the Feast you should be at table.'
He waved at her. That is my mother, Meria. Commanding, isn't she? Well, I must go and do my duty.' He rose and strolled away.
Gwen found that she missed his company even as he began the walk back to the feast tables. Suddenly he turned and strolled back. 'Come,' he said, holding out his hand. 'We can dine together.'
Fear flickered once more, but she took his hand and he raised her to her feet. They were married five weeks later.
Now, as she gazed around the house in which Bran had grown to manhood, Gwen felt only sadness. Her son had been so strong, so quick and so full of life. It amazed her how swiftly that strength had evaporated. And now he was gone.
The door opened and Meria strode in. 'Can you believe the stupidity of that woman?' she said. The calm atmosphere disappeared in an instant.
'Which woman?' asked Gwen, returning to her chair.
'Vorna. She had a dream that Sea Wolves were coming across the land to Three Streams, and that we should all just leave and run away into the wilderness. I'm sure some people will. Idiots all of them.'
'It is said she once had great power.'
'Aye she did. But not any more. Now she is merely wilful.'
'Why do you hate her so?' asked Gwen.
'She befriended the bastard Bane – the man who has sworn to kill Connavar. Can you imagine that? Such treachery? She should have been hanged!'
Gwen said nothing. She walked back into the bedroom, anxious to be away from Meria and her radiated unpleasantness. Orrin was still sleeping. It had been over four hours now, and he rarely slept so long in the daytime. Gwen sat beside the bed and gently shook his shoulder. 'Time to wake, little one. I shall toast some bread for you.'
He did not stir. Gwen rolled him to his back. His eyes were dark-ringed, his skin gleaming with sweat. 'No!' she whispered. Then she cried out: 'Orrin! Orrin!'
Meria came into the room. 'What on earth is this noise about?' she asked. Then she saw the still figure of the child. 'Oh no!' she said, rushing to the bedside. 'It cannot be!' She placed her fingers upon the child's throat, feeling for the pulse. 'He is alive,' she said. 'But his heart is racing!'
'It is just like my Ru,' cried Gwen. Meria said nothing. The evidence was all too clear.
Gwen gathered the child in her arms and lifted him from the bed.
'What are you doing?' Meria asked.
'I am taking him to Vorna.'
'I forbid it!' shouted Meria, storming to her feet.
'I have one dead son,' replied Gwen. 'I will not lose another because of you.'
She carried Orrin out into the dusk and across the field to the house of Vorna.
Chapter Twelve
Vorna laid the comatose child upon her own bed and looked up at the mother, seeing the terrible fear in her eyes. 'Go to the kitchen,' she said. 'Boil some water for a tisane.'
'He cannot drink,' said Gwen.
'No, but we can. Go. Do it now while I examine him.'
'Please don't let him die!' said Gwen, dissolving into tears.
'I will do what I can. Go. Make some tisane for us. I take mine unsweetened. You will find camomile in the blue jar beside the oven.'
Turning away from the woman Vorna laid her hand on the boy's head. Closing her eyes she allowed her spirit to flow into the child. He was dying. Of that there was no doubt, the organs of his body close to collapse. At first Vorna could find no reason for his condition, and she flowed deeper, her spirit merging with the blood streaming through his veins. His kidneys were the greatest source of concern, and Vorna concentrated her power there, strengthening the tissue. Even as she healed the organs she felt them come under fresh attack. It was just as Banouin had told her, concerning his treatment of Ruathain. Every time an area underwent healing it almost immediately began to weaken again.
Orrin's labouring heart suddenly gave out. Vorna sent a burst of energy into it. It flickered, then began to beat once more.
Vorna honed her concentration, flowing yet deeper into the bloodstream. Now she could feel the vital elements within the flow. Still she could detect no sign of disease. The liver began to fail, and Vorna strengthened it. Then the kidneys weakened once more, and she boosted them with fresh energy. She was tiring now, and still there was no clue to what was killing the child.
Vorna withdrew from the boy. His colour was a little better, his breathing easier. Gwen returned to the room, carrying mugs of tisane. Vorna saw her spirit soar as she looked down upon her son.
'Do not get your hopes up, Gwen,' said Vorna sternly. 'I cannot yet identify the source of his sickness. Sit quietly by and do not in any circumstances speak to me unless I ask you to. You understand?'
'Yes,' said Gwen meekly.
Vorna gazed at the child's waxen skin. Think, she told herself. Whatever is causing this is powerful indeed, and yet why had he not succumbed earlier? If it was a sickness, surely he should have caught it from Ruathain far sooner than this. As should the mother, and any others with close contact to the boy. Therefore it was not like the plague or any contact-borne sickness. Yet there had to be a link.
The boy's heart stopped again. Vorna's spirit eased once more through the skin, sending a bolt of energy to the stricken organ. Orrin's body convulsed, then the heart began again. Vorna withdrew and turned to Gwen. 'You say the sickness began only today? No indications before this?'
'None. He has always been healthy. Aren't you going to do something?'
'I am doing something, Gwen. Stay calm.'
Vorna returned her attention to the child. The surface of his skin was hot, his body battling to bring down the fever temperature. Vorna flowed deeper, once more repairing the liver and kidneys. She had never come across anything like this before. It was as if the disease was continually invading the child.
For another hour she fought on, but she was now tiring rapidly. Pulling back from his body she slumped in her chair and sipped her cold tisane. Whatever had killed Ruathain was now destroying his brother. Again she turned to Gwen. 'How long was Ruathain sick?'
'Almost a year now. At first he just felt weak, and had no appetite. He would sleep all the time. Then, as the months passed, he grew weaker and weaker. He rallied when Banouin tended him – but only for a while. Why has it struck Orrin so savagely? He looks now like my Ru at the end.'