The runner stopped, and Bane felt himself lowered gently to the grass. The young Connavar drew a dagger and faced the charging beast. 'Oh, please run!' Bane heard himself say.
'I'll cut its bastard heart out!' said Connavar – and leapt to face the beast.
Bane watched in silent horror as the bear's talons ripped at the frail body of the young warrior, its teeth crunching down on the shoulder. He fought to the last before being thrown aside like a bloody rag.
The darkness fell again, and when his eyes next opened his body exploded with agony beyond enduring. He almost blacked out with it. Indeed he wished he could black out. He was lying face down on a long table, his wounds bandaged, fire burning through his veins. He saw Vorna sitting beside him. She was younger, but her face showed her exhaustion.
'How are you feeling?' she asked him.
'Better,' he heard himself say.
'You will take time to heal, young man.'
'I must be strong by the time of the Feast,' he said. 'I am to wed Arian.' Bane felt the surge of love and need within the youngster, but he saw also the sadness in Vorna's eyes.
'You must rest now,' she ordered him.
Bane-Connavar was sitting upon a pony. He was very tired and weak. Crowds were lining the way, cheering and clapping, and he saw that he was riding into Three Streams. His body was still ablaze with pain, but his head turned back and forth, seeking out the golden-haired girl he had dreamt of for so long. Bane felt his anguish when Connavar realized she was not among those cheering him.
He was helped from his pony, and Bane saw Meria and Ruathain. They helped him to a bed and laid him upon it. The scene shifted and became dark, and from the darkness came a voice. 'I suppose you haven't heard about Arian. She married Casta at the Feast of Samain.'
A groan came from the stricken youngster, and Bane felt sorrow engulf him.
'I'm sorry, Conn. I tried to tell you that she didn't care for you,' said the voice.
Bane felt the grief, and with it almost a seeping away of the will to live. All that saved the young man was a seed of anger, which flowered in his heart like a rose tipped with acid.
'Bane! Bane!' The voice seemed to come from far away, and he felt Vorna's hands upon his shoulders, dragging him back from the body of the Morrigu. He groaned and sat down upon the earth. Then he looked across at the still figure of Connavar, crouched over the Old Woman. Bane rolled to his knees and rose unsteadily. Staggering to the king he dragged him back and laid him on the grass,
'What happened?' Bane asked Vorna.
'Her spirit flowed into you. I thought it would kill you.'
Bane rubbed his hands over his eyes. 'I saw things, Vorna. I watched Connavar fight the bear. I saw… him, in the cave, speak to you about my mother.'
'He loved her very dearly,' she said softly. 'They were to be wed…'
'I know. She… betrayed him.'
'Do not think of it as betrayal,' she said. 'Arian was a fey and troubled woman. She needed someone to lean on, to keep the darkness at bay. Everyone thought Conn would die. This terrified Arian. So she wed Casta. But all this is in the past now. Let it go.'
The king grunted and sat up. 'We will need to make a stretcher,' he said. 'I could not go through that again.'
'What did you see?' Vorna asked.
'We must cut poles,' said Connavar, 'and thread them through Bane's cloak. It is the strongest cloth we have. I believe it will take her weight.'
He pushed himself to his feet. Vorna moved to stand before him. 'What did you see, Conn?'
'Too much,' he told her. Drawing his sword he walked away into the trees, returning with two stout lengths of wood. Taking his dagger he chopped twigs and leaves from the lengths. Then he spread Bane's sheepskin cloak upon the earth and cut a series of slits along both sides before sliding the poles through them.
'We've still got to lift her onto it,' said Bane.
'Aye,' agreed Connavar. 'Let's do it quickly.'
Laying the stretcher alongside the Seidh they took up their positions and heaved her onto it. This time there was no flickering light. Bane and Connavar gathered up the stretcher and followed Vorna towards the south-east. It was heavy going and both men were sweating profusely as they climbed down the last hill. Before them, in a large clearing, was a circle of standing stones, shining golden in the dawn light. 'I can't… see any beasts,' grunted Bane, his muscles aching.
'Not yet,' said Vorna.
Slowly they approached the circle. Once more a mist swelled beneath their feet, swirling over the stones, rising higher and higher, blocking the sunlight. Then the mist thickened, growing blacker and darker, forming a dome of night over the stones. At the centre of the circle, beside a long flat altar, a glowing form appeared. Bane and Connavar carried the Morrigu to the edge of the circle and gently laid her down. A low growl came from the creature by the altar. Bane drew his sword, and let out a long, low breath. As Vorna had described, the creature was almost eight feet tall, its body covered with silver scales. Its long arms ended in wickedly curved talons. Bane looked into the beast's face. It had a long snout, almost like a wolf, yet with teeth like dagger blades.
'I'll take it from the left, you from the right,' said Bane, turning towards the king. 'What are you doing?'
Connavar had unbuckled his sword belt, and was now removing his breastplate and chain mail, his wrist guards and his greaves. 'Are you going to fight it naked?' asked Bane.
'I am not going to fight it at all,' said Connavar.
'Then what is your plan?'
Connavar knelt beside the stretcher and pushed his arms under the Morrigu. With one enormous heave he staggered to his feet, his knees almost buckling under the weight. He took one faltering step, then another, and crossed the circle past the tallest stone. The beast lumbered towards him. Bane ran into the circle, ducked under a sweeping talon and lashed his sword against the creature's belly. The sword bounced clear. Something struck Bane in the chest with terrible force, lifting him from his feet and hurling him from the circle. He landed heavily, but rolled to his knees in time to see Connavar staggering towards the altar. The scaled beast loomed above him, sending out an ear-piercing roar. The king ignored it and reached the altar, laying the Morrigu and her crow upon it.
As her body touched the stone the dome of darkness disappeared. Sunlight touched the scaled beast, and it began to shrink and fade. Bane climbed to his feet and, Vorna beside him, walked into the circle. The Morrigu's body began to tremble violently. A flame burst from her chest, setting fire to the cloth of her dress. Fire sprang from her fingers, the flesh falling away, dry and stiff, like shards of clay. The veil caught fire, peeling back from her face as flames roared up from her eyes. Brighter and brighter she burned, and the three onlookers stepped further back from the altar, shielding their eyes.
The fires died down swiftly, but the terrible brightness remained. 'Turn away,' came the now powerful voice of the Morrigu, 'for you must not see the Gateway open.' They obeyed her. Then her voice came again. 'I have always loved this world, which the Seidh named Tir na Nogh. I have cherished the belief that it will one day feed the soul of the universe from which it sprang. You spoke, Connavar, of spending twenty years seeking to protect the Rigante way of life. I have spent ten thousand years on ten thousand worlds seeking to protect life itself. Life is spirit. One cannot exist without the other. Deep in their hearts the Keltoi understand this. The people of Stone, save for the few Cultists among them, do not. I have seen the fall of worlds, and the conquests and desolation caused by the armies of lust and greed. Here Stone is the great enemy. On other worlds it is Rome, or Cagaris, or Shefnii, or Pakalin. The names change, the result of the evil remains the same: the death of spirit, the death of worlds.' Her voice faded for a moment, then she spoke to the king. 'Twenty years ago you asked a gift of me, and I told you there would be a price. That price is a simple one: when your brother calls upon you, do as he bids. No matter what else is pending, no matter the time or the greatness of events. You understand? Do as he bids.'