‘Come to mock me?’ he asked, his eyes red-rimmed from the tears he had shed.
‘No, Draig. I have come to help Eain.’
‘You’re a bit too late.’
‘He is still here, Draig. He is a little confused. He doesn’t know why you are weeping, and he doesn’t know why you can’t hear him.’
‘So you have come to mock me after all,’ he said. ‘Go away, woman. Leave us in peace.’
‘Give me your hand, Draig Cochland,’ she ordered. At first Chara thought he had ignored her, but then he looked into her eyes, and at her outstretched arm. Finally his own huge hand reached across and touched her fingers. ‘Now look up.’ Draig did so, and drew in a sharp breath. ‘Aye,’ said the Wyrd, softly. ‘There he stands. Now, say these words after me. Seek the circle, find the light, say farewell to flesh and bone. Say them, Draig.’
The big highlander repeated them, softly, and the Wyrd spoke again.
‘Walk the grey path, Watch the swan’s flight, Let your heart light Bring you home.’
Chara watched them both. She felt the hairs on the nape of her neck rise, and shivered. Both of them were staring at the far wall. There was nothing there that Chara could see.
‘Where has he gone?’ asked Draig.
‘Wherever his heart light took him,’ said the Wyrd. ‘Now we have work to do, for when the children wake we do not want them frightened by the bodies. We must remove them from the cave.’
‘I don’t want Eain lying alongside them bastards,’ said Draig, pushing himself wearily to his feet.
Together with Chara they dragged the bodies of the assassins out into the night. Draig loosely covered them with snow. Then he returned, and, with Chara’s help, lifted Eain’s body to his shoulders. With the Wyrd beside him he struggled further back along the cliff face to another cave, where he laid Eain down. Then he began to weep again.
‘I can’t just leave him here,’ he said. ‘He’s my brother.’
‘He is not here, Draig. In the spring we will return and carry his body back into Rigante lands. We will lay him alongside others of the clan.’
‘He didn’t want to come, Dweller. He didn’t want to get involved. It should have been me who died.’
‘Of course he wanted to come. Why else was he here? You didn’t force him, Draig. He came because you were his brother and he loved you. He could have left at any time once the pursuit began. He made his own choices. Just as you did. Just as I knew you would.’
‘Because I have Rigante blood?’
‘In a way,’ she answered. ‘Now let us go back. You need to rest.’
Once by the fire again Draig lay down. The Wyrd touched his brow and he fell asleep. ‘Would you like to sleep too, Chara?’ she asked.
‘Not yet, Dweller. There is so much here that I do not understand. Why would the Moidart want Feargol dead? Why would the Cochlands risk their lives for us? What is happening here, Dweller?’
‘It is not the Moidart – though soon it could be. As to the Cochlands, well, they are highland men, Chara. Draig asked me if they had acted so because of their Rigante blood. The truth is they wanted to act so because of what the word Rigante had come to mean to them. Honour and courage, nobility of spirit. The Rigante are like a banner flying high above an army. Men look at that banner and feel inspired. What of you, though, Chara? How do you feel?’
‘Confused,’ she admitted. ‘I did not want to walk out into the wilderness with these men. I was frightened by them. Now?’ Chara sighed. ‘Now I feel as if everything has changed. As if I have changed. I’ll never forget that time in the dungeon. Never. Yet somehow its hold on me has gone. I know this. I feel … I feel like that time when the first sunshine of spring touches the face, and you know that winter has passed.’
‘From now on you will be able to remember the dungeon without reliving it,’ said the Wyrd. ‘That is the gift the Cochlands gave you.’