‘Better that than to become like them. That is the real danger, Caretha. Evil cannot be overcome by evil. The Seidh – at the last -understood that.’
‘Why did they leave us?’ said the Wyrd. ‘They could have helped us, guided us. Then there would have been no wars, no plagues, no disease.’
‘Once they too believed that,’ said Riamfada. ‘For thousands of years they tried. They saw man relentlessly devouring the magic, sowing the seeds that would inevitably lead to destruction and an end to all life. And slowly it dawned upon some of them that they too were parasites. The Seidh also fed on the magic, and were part of the cycle of destruction. Then the Seidh too went to war, Caretha. Among themselves and among humans. The most powerful of them, a being known as Cernunnos, triumphed for a while. He took human form and became a king. He ruled for three hundred years, gathering massive human armies and waging wars across many lands. Then he was overthrown, his body destroyed. After that the Seidh slowly began to leave the world. The last to go was the Morrigu. I was with her when she passed – which pleased me greatly for she was the one who brought my spirit into the Seidh world, and I loved her.’
‘Where did they go?’
‘Far out among the stars. I do not know exactly what lies there.’
‘Yet you remained.’
‘I am an earthbound spirit, child. This is where I belong.’
Suddenly she sat upright, staring at the night sky above her. ‘They are back,’ she said.
‘I see them. Stand between the stone pillars,’ said the voice from the light.
The Wyrd pushed herself to her feet. Her shawl fell from her shoulders and she caught it and swung it back into place. Bright light blazed around her once more. For a time she floated weightless, spinning in the air. Then, with a lurch, she felt her body pressing down upon soft earth. The light did not diminish. Opening her eyes against the glare she saw that it was no longer night. The sun was low in a clear blue sky, and it shone down on a foreign landscape. All around her were trees of colossal size, their trunks red, their uppermost branches seeming to pierce the sky.
Beside her dust rose from the ground, swirling as if caught in a tiny whirlwind. Slowly it formed the shape of a man. Colours began to appear, blonding the hair, painting the eyes blue. A white-tipped eagle feather materialized on a shirt of painted buckskin. When the movement in the air had subsided Riamfada stood before her, dressed as she had never seen him. He wore a loincloth and soft moccasins, and there were painted symbols decorating his shirt – a handprint in red, and a series of circles in white, at the centre of which were depictions of birds and deer.
Before the Wyrd could speak she felt a ripple of earth magic flow across her, as if caught on a breeze. Dropping to her knees she stretched out her arms. The strength of the magic was awesome. It seemed to seep up from the ground, flowing out like mist.
‘Is this paradise?’ she whispered.
‘It is at the moment,’ he said. ‘This is Uzamatte. You see that tree?’ He pointed to her left. She looked round, and stared in disbelief at the redwood. It was ten times – perhaps twenty times – as thick as any tree she had ever seen. ‘It is over two thousand years old,’ Riamfada told her. ‘This tree was ancient when Connavar fought the armies of Stone. The magic feeds it. There were trees like this in your world across the ocean, Caretha. No longer. Man has used up much of the magic there, burned it away in his wars, suffocated it with his greed. One day he will come here. He will look at these trees and will see no majesty. He will see timber. He will gaze upon the mountains and the waterfalls and he will see gold and silver. And far below the earth he will tunnel and burrow.’ Riamfada sighed, and gave a small smile. ‘But not yet.’