‘I love them,’ he said.
‘We know.’
Taking him by the hand they led him towards the Wishing Tree woods. ‘Can I run?’ asked Riamfada.
They released his hands. He suddenly felt the grass beneath his naked feet, the night breeze upon his chest.
And Riamfada ran towards the distant trees.
In the house of Banouin, Vorna’s eyes flared open. Slipping quietly from the bed she moved to the window, and saw the lights flowing towards the Wishing Tree woods. Despite the loss of her power she could still sense the Seidh, and recognize their magic. And she could discern the difference between Seidh spirit and human souls. Transferring her gaze to the distant lights she tried to make out who the Seidh had taken. But she could
not. What she did know, however, was that the human was full of joy.
‘What are you looking at?’ asked Banouin, sleepily.
‘A small miracle,’ she told him, returning to the bed and sliding under the covers. He took her in his arms and she settled her head upon his shoulder.
‘I hope you have no regrets,’ he whispered. ‘For I have none.’
‘How old are you, Foreigner?’
‘Forty-nine.’
‘I regret not doing this twenty years ago.’ His fingers stroked through her black and silver hair.
‘I fear that sex is not always as good as this,’ he said.
‘Prove it,’ she said, sliding her thigh over his legs.
They made love until the dawn, and then slept for several hours. Banouin awoke first, rekindled the fire in the main room, and cooked a breakfast of hot oats, sweetened with honey, and a tisane of dried elderflower petals. He carried the tisane to Vorna, and woke her gently. Then he left her to dress.
She joined him in the main room and they ate in companionable silence. ‘How long will you be gone?’ she asked.
‘Four, five months. Will you miss me?’
‘I think that I will,’ she admitted.
‘That is good,’ he told her, with a smile.
She fell silent, and sipped her tisane. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
Vorna glanced up. ‘I was thinking of you, and your geasa.’
Banouin smiled. ‘A wonderful people are the Rigante, but they do suffer some odd customs. Why is it that every tribesman is forced to carry such a curse? It seems nonsense to me.’
‘The geasa is not a curse,’ she said, ‘it is a protective prophecy. The village witch, or holy woman, or sometimes the druid, lay hands on a newborn and seek a vision. What they are looking for is a pivotal moment in the child’s future. Mostly geasas do not foretell death. They will point to areas of success or happiness. Eighteen years ago I placed a geasa on a baby girl. It was that if she ever saw a three-legged fox she should follow it. Last year she saw a fox that had three legs, and she followed her geasa. She found a young man sitting by a stream. He was a Pannone, and travelling with his uncle. He fell in love with her in that moment, and they were wed at the Feast of Samain.’
‘Well, you are far too young to have been at my birth, lady. And I am far too old to concern myself with superstitious fears.’ Suddenly he grinned. ‘But tell me my geasa anyway – if you know it.’
‘I know it, Banouin. I sensed it on the first day I saw you. Drink no wine when you see the lion with eyes of blood.’
He laughed. ‘I would have thought that to see such a beast I would already have drunk far too much wine.’
‘You will know when the moment comes, Banouin. Be vigilant. I do not want to lose you now. Promise me you will remember my words.’
‘I will remember – and you will not lose me,’ he said. ‘What is Connavar’s geasa’}”
‘He will die on the day he kills the hound that bites him.’
‘Then I shall see he steers clear of dogs,’ said Banouin. ‘But let me understand this. If a man does not break his geasa does he live for ever?’
‘No.’
‘Very well, another question then: Nothing can kill me until I have seen a lion with eyes of blood?’