‘Then you saw Bane,’ said Vorna.
‘Aye, I saw Bane. And in him I saw Varaconn. It was as if he had stepped through a gate in time. Oh, Vorna! What have I done with my life?’ Tears began to fall. ‘I let my grandson die. I almost doomed the settlement. I have become a harridan, unloved by all. But worse, far worse, I turned my back on Connavar’s only son.’
‘Yes, you did these things,’ said Vorna coldly, ‘and they cannot be changed. All our deeds have consequences, and we must face them. You are now facing yours.’
Meria brushed away her tears. ‘You are not making this easy for me, Vorna.’
‘No, I am not.’
‘Do you hate me so much?’
‘I do not hate anyone,’ Vorna told her. ‘Once we were friends, and I treasure those memories. Now we are not. I can live with that. It interests me to know why you chose to end that friendship.’
‘I was wrong to do so,’ said Meria. ‘It was weak of me, and petty. It happened after I learned of Ruathain’s death at the Great Battle. Brother Solstice told me that Ru had a diseased heart, and that you had been tending him. He said that you had warned Ru not to fight. But I did not know of his condition. You recall my son’s geasa?’
‘Of course. I prophesied it. He will die on the day he kills the dog that bites him.’
‘Exactly. And Conn was bitten by a dog. The hound’s teeth locked onto Conn’s wrist guard and did not break the flesh. When I told Ru he said that this was not a true bite. I took no notice. I was so terrified that Conn would be killed in the following day’s battle that I urged Ru to go with him, and defend him. I told him – may the gods forgive me – that he had once promised to defend Varaconn and had failed, and that he must not fail again.’
‘And he did not fail,’ said Vorna. ‘He fought all day alongside Connavar. His heart only gave out after the battle. But why did this cause you to hate me?’
‘I did not have the courage to blame myself for his death,’ said Meria, ‘so I convinced myself that had you told me of his condition I would never have sent him into battle. Thus his death became your fault, not mine. And then, when you befriended Bane, my hatred grew. I look back at what I have become and I am ashamed, Vorna.’
‘Then change,’ said Vorna, ‘but know this, it is too late.’
‘Too late? What do you mean?’
‘It is too late for you to forge a relationship with Bane. He needed you as a babe, as a toddler, as a child. He does not need you now. Nor does he want you.’
‘But you are his friend, Vorna. You could explain to him . . .’
‘What would I explain to this twenty-year-old warrior who has grown to manhood despised and rejected by his family? He needs no explanations. He knows. He watched his mother die before her time, weighed down by the contempt of others who blamed her alone for Connavar’s loss. Now he is a man, and through the disappointments of his childhood has no desire for familial affection. Your time to build a relationship with Bane has long gone. If you truly desire to change, then let that change show with those children who might yet benefit from it, your own grandchildren, Orrin and Badraig.’
‘Then you will not help me?’ said Meria, her face hardening, her green eyes gleaming in the firelight.
Vorna laughed. ‘Now that is the Meria I know.’
Meria slumped back in her chair, the light of anger fading from her eyes. ‘I suppose that it is,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to be her any more. Tonight I tried to cuddle Orrin and he ran away from me. He was frightened.’
‘These things take time,’ said Vorna, her voice softening. She rose from the chair. ‘I will make some tisane, and we will talk of happier days.’
Three days passed with no news of the great battle being waged between the Rigante and the Vars near Seven Willows. The people of Three Streams went about their business, but they were fearful. What if Connavar was to fail? What if – having defeated a few hundred Vars – ten thousand were to appear in the distance? Scouts were sent out to watch the eastern horizon, and people left many of their clothes and belongings packed ready for flight.