DAVID A. GEMMEL. SWORD IN THE STORM

‘If you are too frightened, then teach me!’ stormed Meria.

Anger touched the witch, but she fought to hold it back. There was no energy to waste at this time. ‘You could not learn it, Meria, for you have been touched by man. I have not. That was the price I paid to receive the power. No warm penetration for Vorna, no children to watch playing under the sun. Yes, I have used the Merging, and borne the pain of childbirth for other women. But never for Vorna.’ Despite her attempt to control it, the anger seeped through. ‘Vorna lives alone and will die alone, unloved and unmourned. Too frightened? Aye, I am frightened. I am thirty-seven years old. I surrendered my youth and my dreams to help my people. Now you say, give it all up, Vorna. Lose your power that my son may take a drink of water before he dies.’

‘Is he doomed then?’ asked Meria, her voice breaking.

‘I do not know. That is the simple truth of it. And the struggle to keep him alive is all but killing me.’

Meria sighed, then reached out and took Vorna’s thin hand in her own. Unused to the touch of others, the simple warmth of the contact caused Vorna to tremble. Meria instantly withdrew her hand. ‘I am sorry, Vorna. Forgive me. I do not wish to seem

ungrateful. But tell me, is there a way I can help him? I would give my life for his.’

‘I know,’ replied Vorna, wearily. ‘You are his mother, and you love him dearly. I wish I could tell you that there was a role for you. I know it would ease your pain. But there is not, Meria, save in prayer. Go home now, for I must return to his side.’

As Vorna struggled to her feet Meria put her arms around her, kissing her cheek. Vorna felt the warmth of tears touching her skin. ‘Whatever happens I will always be grateful to you,’ she said. Vorna patted Meria’s back, then pulled away and walked back to the cave.

For several hours she rested, then she moved to Connavar’s side. The fever was building and his heartbeat was wildly erratic. The tortured flesh of his back was an angry colour, and pus was seeping through the stitches. From a shelf on the western wall Vorna took a large pottery jar, resting it on a slab of rock. Then she rubbed dried lavender onto a linen scarf and wrapped it around her face, covering her mouth and nose. Vorna drew in several deep breaths, then returned to the jar and loosened the wooden lid. A stench filled the cave. Even the lavender mask could not overcome the hideous smell and Vorna felt her stomach heave. Reaching into the jar she removed what had once been a joint of bacon, but was now covered in a slimy blue-green mould, writhing with maggots. This mould she gently smeared over Connavar’s back.

Moving from the cave she washed her hands in the stream, then removed the linen scarf. Daylight was fading when she returned to the boy’s side. The stench had gone, and the maggots were feeding on his infected flesh.

Sitting beside him she placed her hand on his red-gold hair. He would not last the night. ‘Where are you, Connavar?’ she whispered. ‘Where does your spirit walk?’

There was no movement from the boy, only the writhing of fat maggots upon his back.

Meria’s face came to Vorna’s mind. She saw again the sad green eyes, the pride, and the willingness to die for her son. If I had a son would I be willing to die for him? Vorna wondered. ‘You will never know,’ she said, aloud.

Her right hand still on his head, she gestured with the left towards the far wall. It shimmered and seemed to dissolve. Blue sky shone over hills of rich green grass. Three youths were running, one of them carrying the boy, Riamfada. Vorna watched as the bear burst from the undergrowth, moving after them. She gestured again. Now she could see Connavar’s face clearly. He was sweating under his burden. He glanced back, then stopped and set Riamfada on the grass. Vorna leaned forward staring at Connavar, reading his expression, feeling his rising fear. She watched him leap at the giant beast, plunging his knife into its chest – and winced as the bear’s claws tore into him.

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