‘I am not hungry.’
‘Do not be selfish. You are eating for two. Your son needs sustenance, Vorna. You will not want a sickly child, or a cripple like Riamfada.’
Fear sprang up like a blizzard in the heart. ‘Are you threatening me?’
‘It is not a threat. The child is nothing to me. Be calm, Vorna. Eat your porridge.’
Vorna once more took up the bowl. When she had finished the meal she added another log to the fire and sat staring into the flames. She had no idea what the Morrigu really wanted, but she knew the Seidh would tell her in her own time. The room was silent, save for the crackling flames and the occasional ruffle of feathers from the crow. Vorna glanced at the Morrigu. The old woman seemed to be asleep. After a while Vorna could stand the suspense no longer.
‘Why did you really come?’ she asked.
‘I doubt you would believe me, Vorna,’ said the Morrigu. ‘But I thought you would want someone here when the visitor raps at your door.’
‘What visitor?’
‘A ferryman from the south. He will be here shortly. Go to the door. You will see him crossing the first bridge.’
Vorna pushed herself upright and crossed the room. As she swung open the door she could see a man walking in the moonlight. He was trudging head down as if weighed by a pack. He paused at the third bridge then saw Vorna framed in the doorway. Slowly he walked towards her. Vorna stepped out to meet him.
‘My name is Calasain,’ he said.
‘I know who you are, ferryman. I helped your wife with the birth of your son.’
‘So you did, yes. Yes.’ The old man licked his lips nervously. He did not – could not – look Vorna in the eye. ‘Your man . . . Banouin . . . crossed the river some three months back. My son . . .’ He fell silent for a moment, then took a deep breath. ‘My son is a thief,’ he said, suddenly, the words coming in a rush. ‘He stole from Banouin. I only found out a few days ago. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I would wait for the Foreigner to come back. Then . . .’ he fell silent again.
‘It is late and I am tired,’ said Vorna. ‘Say what you have to say.’
Calasain opened the pouch at his side and pulled clear a brooch. The blue opal glittered in the moonlight. ‘Senecal took this from the Foreigner’s saddlebag. I was going to wait, but it kept gnawing at me. I couldn’t sleep. I just had to bring it here.’ Reaching out he handed the cloak brooch to Vorna.
The former witch leaned against the door frame, her face ashen. Calasain stepped forward just as she fell. Catching her the old man helped her to the chair by the fire. Vorna’s eyes opened and tears fell to her cheeks. Calasain knelt beside her. ‘Are you ill?’ he asked.
‘Your son . . . has killed my husband,’ she said.
‘No, no. I swear he only stole the brooch. Banouin rode off with Connavar. I promise you.’
‘Go away. Get away from me,’ sobbed Vorna, turning her head.
Calasain climbed to his feet. He thought he heard a bird flap its wings and swung round. The room was empty. ‘I am sorry, lady,’ he said.
He stood for a moment, waiting for a response. When none came he trudged out into the night, pulling shut the door behind him.
‘I am sorry too, Vorna,’ said the Morrigu.
‘Get out and leave me in peace,’ said Vorna.
The Morrigu sighed. ‘I have a gift for you. Your powers will return as soon as I have gone. But they will vanish with the dawn.’
Vorna surged upright. ‘I don’t want. . .’ she began. But the chair opposite was empty.
Lost and alone Vorna sank back into the chair and began to cry.
Once more a soft breeze brushed through her hair, and this time she sensed the source. Settling back in the chair she released her spirit and rose from her body. There, by her chair, stood the glowing figure of Banouin.