DAVID A. GEMMEL. SWORD IN THE STORM

She sensed a presence close by and was not surprised when she heard the tapping at the door. ‘Come in,’ she called.

The Morrigu materialized in the chair by the fire, holding out her wrinkled hands to the blaze. ‘A cold morning,’ said the Seidh. ‘And how are you today?’

‘I am well. Would you care for some oats and honey?’

The Morrigu shook her ancient head. Thank you, no. But it is good to find you in a welcoming mood.’

Vorna smiled and moved to the hearth, where she stood stirring the hot oats and milk with a long wooden spoon. ‘I have not had the chance to thank you for delivering my babe,’ she called out. That was a kind act.’

The Morrigu pushed her finger into the boiling porridge. Lifting it clear, she sucked it. ‘Not enough salt,’ she said. Vorna added another pinch and continued to stir.

‘Why did you save me?’

‘Why should I not?’ countered the old woman. ‘I can do as I wish. I can save, I can kill, I can curse or I can bless. Perhaps it was a whim.’

‘Was it a whim also that made you return my powers?’

‘It was a favour. I have changed my mind. I will join you for breakfast. It is a long time since I ate. Before you were born, in fact.’

Vorna laughed. Then you must be hungry.’

The Morrigu held out her hand. A pottery jar full of fresh honey appeared there. ‘I have a sweet tooth,’ she said.

They ate their breakfast in silence by the fire, and when they were finished the Morrigu waved her hand, and the dishes and utensils disappeared. Vorna looked at the old woman. Her face was grey, the skin dry, her eyes cloudy. ‘Are you well?’ she asked, suddenly.

‘Well enough,’ snapped the Morrigu.

‘You mentioned a favour.’

The Morrigu leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. ‘Connavar asked the Thagda to return your powers. The Thagda agreed. The child certainly remembers his promises. Unusual in men, I find.’

‘What is it you want of him?’ asked Vorna.

‘Why should I want anything?’

‘Come now,’ said Vorna, ‘even without powers I was not stupid. The Seidh avoid humankind. But not Connavar. You gave him his first knife, you healed him in the lands of the Perdii. You warned him of the danger to his lady. You took his friend’s spirit to live among you, rather than let it roam the dark. Why is he special to you?’

‘I also sent a bear to rip his flesh,’ the Morrigu reminded her.

‘Aye, you did, and I have spent a great deal of time thinking on that. In those first days in my cave I did everything to keep him alive. Even so he should not have lived. You held his soul in place. I know this now. Just as I know you goaded me to give up my power in order to save him. You did not want him dead. You need him. Why?’

‘Such a clever girl, Vorna. It is why I have always liked you. Connavar is important to us. Not just for what he is, but for what he represents. More than that I will not say. I will offer this advice to you, though. If you value your new-found friends do not let them know your powers have returned. Continue to treat them with herbs and such. Let your powers be invisible to them. Mortals are so fickle with their favours.’

‘You do not like us much, do you?’ said Vorna.

‘I like some of you, my dear. Truly I do.’

With that she disappeared.

The morning was bright and cold and Fiallach had risen early, his eyes bleary from the night’s excesses. He recalled the feast, and the dark-haired Gwydia, whose company he had enjoyed. She was almost eighteen and he remembered asking her why she had not yet wed. She told him the right man had not asked her. He shivered at the memory. Then he thought of Tae, and how beautiful she had looked. Fiallach sighed, walked from the hut and drew a bucket of cold water from the well outside. The sky was bright with the