‘He won’t be alone. There are hundreds of warriors to stand with him.’
But he had gone. And he had died.
She had tried so hard not to blame Ruathain for his death, but the bitter seed, once planted, had grown in the empty place of her heart.
Then, three months after the angry words that had driven Ruathain away, the witch Vorna had come to her as she was picking mushrooms in the Yew Glade. ‘You are wrong about your husband,’ said Vorna. ‘I think you know it.’
‘Go away and leave me be,’ Meria told her. ‘You do .not understand.’
‘I understand you are nursing a lie to your heart. It sits like a black rat, chewing on all that is good.’
‘He promised to keep my Varaconn alive!’ shouted Meria, her eyes filling with tears.
‘Aye, it is the nature of men to make large promises. Come, walk with me.’
Vorna took Meria’s arm. A mist grew up around them, seeping from the damp earth. It was cold and dank, and soon became as thick as a winter fog. Meria could hardly see Vorna’s face. Holding fast to Meria’s arm, the witch kept walking.
‘Where are we?’ asked Meria.
‘Nowhere,’ answered Vorna.
In the distance Meria heard the sound of war trumpets, and the clash of blade upon blade. The sound was strangely muted. ‘Is there a battle?’ she whispered.
‘There was a battle,’ said Vorna. ‘Keep walking.’
Slowly the mist cleared and the two women found themselves walking across a ghostly battlefield. All around them were fighting men, their shapes pale and insubstantial, their cries thin and wavering. The women moved on. The fighters were oblivious to them. Meria stared around her, stunned by the chaotic ferocity of the battle. Many of the warriors wore horned helms and mailshirts, and she realized these must be Sea Wolves, the raiders from over the water. Vorna tugged her and she stumbled on. Now she saw the Rigante charging. Her heart thudded in her chest.
There. There was her love. Varaconn, swinging his bronze blade two handed as he fought alongside Ruathain. Meria sighed and wiped tears from her eyes. He seemed so frail alongside the blond giant. A man with a spear ran at Varaconn. Ruathain saw him and leapt to intercept, smashing the man from his feet. Twice more, when Varaconn was in danger, Ruathain hurled himself forward to thwart the peril.
And then it was over – or so she thought. The raiders fell back. She saw Varaconn raise his sword and shout with delight. She heard his voice cry out, ‘I am alive!’
Suddenly a small group of raiders burst through the chasing line and ran at him. Ruathain leapt to meet them. At that moment
Varaconn dropped his sword and tried to flee. Ruathain cut down the first two raiders, but the other three had caught Varaconn. One plunged his sword into the fleeing man’s back. Ruathain gave a great shout: ‘No!’
The raiders ran on, hacking and slashing at Rigante warriors until they were cut down. Ruathain dropped to his knees alongside his friend, pulling the body into his arms and hugging it close. Meria saw Varaconn’s hand reach up to grip Ruathain’s arm, and she saw his mouth move. But she could not hear the words. She struggled to get closer, but Vorna held her back. Varaconn’s head sagged against Ruathain’s chest.
‘Time to go,’ said the witch. The mist swelled around them. For a moment Meria stood, eyes straining to catch a last glimpse of her dying lover. Then he was gone. She stumbled back with Vorna, and when the mist cleared again they were standing in the yew glade.
‘Why did you show me that?’ asked Meria, her voice breaking.
‘Why do you think?’ Vorna said as she walked away.
Meria called after her: ‘What am I to do?’
But the witch did not answer.
For days the vision she had seen haunted Meria. And the awful truth of Ru’s words sank into her like the claws of a cat. ‘Any woman who would wed a man she believed bad connived in the murder of her husband is no better than a pox-ridden whore. And I’ll have no part of her. Not now. Not ever.’