Banouin would have hated this retribution, and he would not have desired such dreadful revenge. A cold breeze blew across the tents. Conn shivered. ‘I did not do it for you, Banouin. I know that now. I did it for me. I tried to drown my grief in blood.’
‘It is in your nature,’ said a familiar voice. Conn turned slowly to see the Morrigu standing behind him, her ancient frame silhouetted by the corpse fires. ‘You let the bear loose, Connavar. And you will do it again.’
‘No. I have learned from this.’
‘The bear is a part of you, human. It will have its day.’
‘I do not wish to argue about it,’ he said. ‘I had hoped that revenge would be like honey upon the tongue. It was – as my blade plunged home. But when I saw the boy . . .’
‘The taste turned to bile in your belly,’ said the Morrigu.
‘Aye, it did.’
‘You did not destroy the Perdii, Connavar. You were merely a soldier. Whether you had come here or not they would still have died. Your cavalry charge saved a few hundred Stone soldiers, but did not, ultimately, alter the course of the battle.’
‘I wish we had never come, Banouin and I.’
‘Wishes are dishes the poor feed upon,’ she said. ‘Come, we will walk together in the high hills, where the air is still fresh and I can smell the new leaves.’
It surprised Conn that he wanted to accompany her, but then he realized that, despite her malevolence, she was – at least -someone from home, a familiar form, a creature he had last seen in the sanctuary of the Rigante mountains. Together they climbed the hills, and moved beyond the tree line. The Morrigu found a small hollow, tapped her foot at a tree root, which then writhed up from the ground forming a seat for her. She sank down on it, resting her head against the trunk of the tree. ‘That is better,’ she said. Conn sat down on the ground.
From here he could see the fallen chariot. Carac’s body had been removed.
‘He broke his geasa,’ said the Morrigu.
‘Who?’
‘Carac. I told him that if any royal blood was spilled he would not live past his fortieth birthday – which, incidentally was today. So he drowned his brother, strangled the wife and poisoned the son. He thought he had cheated fate. But the wife cut him as he attacked her. Carac had already killed his brother, and had seized the crown. He was, therefore, king, and, by definition, royal. His own blood doomed him.’
‘Had she not cut him I would still have reached him,’ said Conn.
‘No. You were killed in the cavalry charge.’
‘I wasn’t killed.’
‘Forgive me,’ said the Morrigu. ‘For a moment I forgot I was speaking to a human, and, for you, the passing of time is like the journey of a leaf, from bud in spring to withered autumn.’
‘And for you it is different?’
‘So different your mind could not encompass it. I have seen you born a hundred times, and watched you die in a hundred ways. In one life you caught a chill and did not reach your first birthday. In another the bear killed you.’
‘And where do I live in all these lives?’
‘In the shadow of Caer Druagh.’
‘Then why have I never seen myself in these other lives?’
The Morrigu closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Were I not so weary I would slap myself in the face for ever beginning this conversation. Let us put aside the question of multiple reality and return to the prosaic.’ She opened her eyes. ‘Why were you out walking tonight?’
‘I had a dream . . .’ he began, then fell silent. ‘At least I think it was a dream.’ He told her of seeing Banouin with the boy he had killed.
‘It was a dream,’ she said. ‘Not a vision.’
‘You are sure? It would grieve me to think that Banouin had turned against me.’
‘I am sure. Banouin’s spirit has passed over the water, and on from the world of men.’
‘He did not see my revenge, then?’