Sword in the Storm (20 page)

The Long Laird stepped forward. “Tonight Brother Solstice will come to you. He will write your account of the deed. This account will be sent to your father, as will mine of how you met your death.” Two guards moved in and took hold of the prisoner’s arms. Lexac began to weep piteously. The crowd, still stunned by the Druid’s magic, was silent as the prisoner was led away.

Brother Solstice strode from the hall into the bright sunlight beyond. The rat in his hand began to shrink until it was no more than it had always been, a piece of black fur two inches square. The blood had come when Lexac in his panic had bitten his own lips. Only the Long Laird knew the secret, and even he could not quite comprehend at first why Brother Solstice used such magic.

“We all know your skills, Brother,” the Long Laird had said. “If you just tell us a man is guilty, we will execute him.”

“That is not safe, my friend. You are right. I always tell the truth in these matters. But evil can strike anywhere: in a peasant, in a laird, in a Druid. In days to come, when I am long dead, another Druid might come, a liar and a cheat. It would be dangerous to establish a precedent that says his word alone can bring about the death of an accused man. As it is, my little truth seeker ensures that the guilty man himself confesses his sin.”

In the bright sunshine outside the hall Brother Solstice drew in a deep, cleansing breath and let the power pass from him. His heart was heavy, for the condemned man had not been wholly evil. Indeed, there was much good in him. Now
the good as well as the evil would be confined to the murky waters of the peat marsh.

Brother Solstice was not anticipating with any pleasure the evening he would spend with the prisoner.

Connavar left the hall and wandered toward the high palisade. Wooden walls crafted from sharpened tree trunks circled the hill fortress, creating the image of a crown high above Old Oaks. Climbing a set of wooden steps, Connavar reached the battlements and stared out over the settlement far below. Hundreds of small round houses stretched south for over a mile to the river, with larger homes decorating the eastern hills. The fortress of the Long Laird was an impressive structure that three times during the last fifty years had withstood sieges from Sea Raiders. The hill on which it was set was steep, and attackers, with no cover, were prey to a hail of missiles raining down on them from the defenders.

Connavar strode along the battlements, gazing across to the woodlands far to the south. Thoughts of Arian filled his mind. How could she wed another? Especially after that night of passion by the stream. It had been the most perfect time of his young life, and he felt that their spirits had bonded together in a manner so wonderful as to be unique. No one in the world, he believed, could have ever known such magic, such harmony. And yet she had betrayed him.

Now that passion and those anguished moans were for Casta. He felt the anger building within him and pictured his blade plunging into Casta’s belly, ripping free his soul. Guilt followed instantly. Casta was not to blame. He had not forced her to wed him. She had done so willingly as Conn lay close to death. It was all so confusing. She had said she loved him. And it had been a terrible lie. Why, then, had she said it? What was there to gain?

Hearing the rampart steps creak behind him, Conn turned to see Brother Solstice climbing to the battlements. The man
was powerfully built, looking every inch a fighter, which to Conn made nonsense of the ankle-length white Druid robe he wore. He had never seen anyone look less like a priest. As he came closer, Conn saw a scar similar to his own showing beneath the Druid’s black beard.

“I fought in three battles,” said Brother Solstice, touching the scar. “But that was before I heard the call.”

“You read minds,” said Conn, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

“Yes, but that would be discourteous. I merely noticed you staring.” Brother Solstice wandered to the wall and gazed out over the land. “It is beautiful from here, high above the sorry troubles of the world. Look at the homes. Do they not seem tranquil and uniform? Yet each of them houses a host of emotions: love, lust, anger, greed, envy, and hatred. And, to a sadly lesser degree kindness, compassion, caring, selflessness. The view may be beautiful, but it is unreal.”

“Where is your rat?” asked Conn.

“I see you are not interested in my philosophy,” Brother Solstice said, with a rueful smile. “What does interest you, Connavar?”

Conn shrugged. He did not want to talk to this man of magic, and he cared nothing for the emotions raging within the little round houses below. But the Druid stood quietly waiting for an answer. “The people of Stone,” said Conn at last. “They interest me.”

“They are the enemy to come,” said Brother Solstice.

Conn was surprised. “You have had a vision?”

“I don’t need a vision, Connavar. When the leaves fall from the trees, I know winter is approaching. Across the water many Druids have been murdered by them. They are a hungry people, and their ambition is limitless. Is that why you asked for permission to cross the water? To study these war bringers?”

“Yes.”

“And what exactly will you study?”

The answer seemed all too obvious. “Their armies and how they fight.”

“That would be a beginning. But to defeat them you will also need to learn
why
they fight.”

Conn’s irritation was growing now. “What does that matter?” he snapped. Brother Solstice fell silent. He closed his eyes, and for a moment only Conn felt a cool breeze touch his face. A sense of calm flowed through him, submerging the anger he felt at Arian’s betrayal.

“Can we talk now?” asked Brother Solstice.

“You cast a spell on me?” replied Conn.

“Not
on
you.
Around
you. It will prove fleeting. I would ask what is troubling you, but I fear such a question would bring back your anger. You are a strong young man, Connavar, but you need to offer your mind the same dedication you give your body. However, I do not wish to lecture you.” He smiled. “But I would be interested to know how you acquired a Seidh blade.”

Normally Conn would have said, as he usually did, that it was a gift from Banouin, but embarrassed by his earlier rudeness and appreciating that he was in the presence of a man who could detect lies, he told the truth, about his determination to seek help in the matter of his parents’ continuing separation and the fawn he had found in the brambles.

Brother Solstice listened intently. When Conn had finished, the Druid looked perplexed. “So, apart from the fawn, you did not see a Seidh or speak to one?”

“No.”

“How strange they are. But know this, young man: They had a purpose of their own. They saw in you something that would benefit them. Gifts from the Seidh are not without a price.”

“What are they?” asked Conn.

Now it was Brother Solstice who shrugged. “I could not
begin to explain their origins. Some believe they are the souls of great heroes living forever in a world like our own; others see them as demons or gods. I do not have all the answers. What I do know is that they are vital to the land.”

“In what way?”

Brother Solstice smiled. “You would have to become a Druid and accept all our vows in order to learn
that
secret. But it should be enough for you to know they are a fey race and often malevolent. And they are old, older than the moon and the oceans.”

“Have you ever met one?” asked Conn.

“Only one, and we do not speak her name,” said the Druid.

“Ah,” said Conn. “I, too, have met her. She it was who sent the bear to kill me. And when I fought the killers, she came to me and offered me a gift. I did not take it.”

“You were wise to refuse.”

“If I were truly wise, I would have refused the first time, and then the bear would not have ripped away my flesh and cost me my love.”

“Your love?” inquired the Druid.

Conn was surprised at himself, for the words had slipped out before he could stop them. And in that moment he realized that he needed to speak of Arian. Slowly he told Brother Solstice the whole story. The Druid listened in silence, and when Conn had finished, he stood lost in thought. Finally he turned to the young man and spoke, his voice sorrowful. “Her betrayal must have cut worse than the talons of the bear,” he said.

“Aye, it did. Why did she do it?”

“I do not know her, Connavar, so I can only guess at her reasons. You have learned a savage lesson. Just because we feel great love does not necessarily mean it is reciprocated. For you it was a wondrous—almost spiritual—moment. For her it was—perhaps—merely pleasure. Or need. Ruathain told me last year that you carried the crippled boy to the falls
and taught him to swim. For Riamfada the gift you gave him was greater than a mountain of gold. For him swimming was freedom and a joy he had never before experienced. For you swimming is a refreshing and pleasant diversion. You see what I am saying? To an outsider there are just two boys enjoying themselves. The reality is wholly different.”

Conn took a deep breath, then sighed. “You are saying that with Arian I am like Riamfada.”

“More than you probably realize even now,” said Brother Solstice. “Now let us speak of it no more. She is wed to another and gone from your life.”

“I doubt she will ever be gone from my life,” Conn said sadly.

“I hope that you are wrong.”

Below them, the hall doors opened and the crowd streamed out, heading for the gates and the winding path to the settlement below. “You should go back now,” said Brother Solstice. “It would be discourteous to keep the laird waiting.”

Conn thrust out his hand. “Thank you, sir. And I apologize for my earlier behavior.”

Brother Solstice grinned and grasped the offered hand. “You do not need to apologize. Go now and choose your sword and your pony.”

The death of winter and the promise of a new season was a time of celebration for the Rigante, and the Feast of Beltine was always a joyous occasion. The maidens of Three Streams and the surrounding settlements dressed in their finest clothes and decorated their hair with green leaves and fresh flowers. The young men, stripped to the waist, daubed blue ocher on their faces and upper bodies and took part in fire dancing, footraces, and wrestling bouts. At dusk the people assembled at the center of the settlement and, linking arms, danced around Eldest Tree before forming a torch-lit procession
that wound past all the homes, across the Three Streams, and back to the feasting pits.

Banouin watched the scene with both affection and envy. The closeness of the Rigante, their easy tactility, and their obvious enjoyment in each other’s company were good to see, yet it was a joy he could not share. Not just because he was a foreigner, though that was a part of it, but more because he was a solitary man not given to any form of tribalism. He understood the need for a community spirit. These people depended on each other. The success or failure of any individual would have repercussions on the community as a whole. But Banouin was different. He liked people well enough as individuals, but a gathering such as this left him feeling isolated and alone.

Across the feasting area he saw Connavar drinking and laughing with his friends, among them the crippled Riamfada. Even from here Banouin could see the terrible scars on Connavar’s upper body. He shuddered. To call his survival a miracle would be to understate the matter. To the right Ruathain was talking to the widow Pelain. Her husband, the fat baker, had collapsed and died six days before. Vorna said his heart had given out. Pelain did not seem to be wholly grief-stricken, and Banouin was amused to see her making obvious efforts to impress Ruathain. Constantly she ran her fingers through her dark hair, her gaze fixed to his face, her body turned fully toward him. Banouin looked to the left, where Meria was talking with Vorna and the black-bearded Druid Brother Solstice. Every few heartbeats Meria would glance toward Ruathain, her face expressionless. Banouin thought he could see the anger in her eyes.

Toward midnight, as Banouin sat quietly beneath Eldest Tree, nursing his sixth mug of strong ale and watching the young dancers twirling in the firelight, the former witch Vorna came and sat beside him. She had put on weight in the last few weeks, which had the effect of giving her a more
youthful appearance. Banouin was surprised that he found her attractive. He gazed into his ale. Could it be that powerful? he wondered.

“You do not dance, you do not sing,” she said. “You merely sit and watch.”

“There is joy in that for me,” he told her. “I love the Rigante: the people, their customs. Everything.”

“I, too.” The music faded as the pipers moved away to refresh themselves.

“I notice that you do not dance, Vorna. Nor have I heard you sing.”

She smiled, leaned back against the huge tree, and gazed up through its branches to the crescent moon above. “I dance in my mind, I sing in my heart.”

“You sound happy.”

“Merry,” she said. “I have drunk too much wine. But yes, I am happy, too. The spring is here, and my people have survived the winter.”

“There is more to it than that,” he said, raising his voice slightly as the music of the dance started up again.

She smiled at him. “Yes, there is more. I feel alive for the first time. My heart is open. There is great strength in magic and enormous knowledge to be gained. Even so the magic separated me from my people. In some ways it separated me from me. I feel whole. Complete. Can you understand that?”

“No, but I am happy for you.”

“Will you dance with me, foreigner?”

“I think that I will,” he said, carefully placing his mug on the ground and pushing himself to his feet. For a moment the ground swayed under him, then he took her arm and joined the other dancers under the moonlight.

He was not as drunk as he had feared and found himself moving in perfect time to the music, twirling and leaping, drawn deeper into the heart of the joy that filled the Rigante.
It was a heady and powerful experience, and he lost all sense of time. At last Vorna took his arm and led him away.

Banouin found himself at his own front door. There was no lock, only a latch, which he lifted, pushing the door open. Stepping aside, he gestured Vorna to enter. She stood hesitantly in the doorway.