The king sighed. ‘She gave me a gift once, and I have not repaid her. A man should always pay his debts. I will carry her to the Gateway, and if necessary I will cut the heart from the beast.’
‘I fear you will not be able to carry her alone,’ said Vorna. ‘A moment ago I lifted her hand. She appears slender and frail, but her body weight is several times that of a grown man.’
Connavar pushed his arms under the unconscious Seidh and strained to lift her. ‘It is as if she is anchored to the ground,’ he said. He looked at Bane. ‘Will you help me?’ he asked simply.
‘Why not?’ answered Bane. ‘It is not every day you get to see a king fight a demon bear.’
The two men crouched on either side of the goddess and prepared to lift her. At that moment a glow began beneath the Morrigu’s veil. Flickering lights swept along under her skin.
‘Release her!’ yelled Vorna. But it was too late. Both men began to glow, as if fire was burning within them.
Bane opened his eyes. There was something strange about his vision. He blinked, trying to clear his head. He could see better than ever before. No, not better, he realized. Wider! From this prone position he could see the trees behind him and before him. How peculiar, he thought. He tried to rise, and pain pricked him. Startled, he tilted his head and looked down. It was not the sharp brambles in which he was trapped that stunned him, causing his heart to flutter wildly. It was the fact that when he looked down he saw not his own body, but the pale legs of a white fawn. Panicked now, he struggled to rise. The thorns cut deep into his legs and flanks. He tried to call out, but heard only a frightened bleat. His back legs kicked at the brambles and he half rose, then fell back. One of the brambles snapped, and whiplashed across his face, cutting into the soft skin of his long neck. Then he saw the boy at the edge of the brambles. He was around ten years old, red hair framing a pale, freckled face. He drew an old bronze knife. The child advanced into the brambles, which wrapped themselves around him, tearing his tunic and cutting his skin. For a moment Bane thought the child was intending to kill him, and his fawn’s body struggled wildly. The child spoke: ‘Be still, little one. Be still and I will help you.’
The voice was soothing. The fawn that was Bane looked into the strangely coloured eyes of the child. It is Connavar, he thought. The boy slowly cut away the brambles and lifted the fawn clear.
The world spun, and darkness fell over his vision. When it cleared he was still being carried, but this time at some speed. He was lying in the arms of a young man who was running awkwardly over the hills. Bane became aware of his own weakness. His arms were thin, lacking muscle and power. And he could not feel his legs at all. His head turned, though he did not will it to do so, and his eyes saw a huge black bear lumbering across the hills in pursuit. Blood was on its snout. And it was gaining. Bane was now looking up into the straining face of the young man carrying him. It was Connavar, young and beardless. His teeth were gritted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Bane heard a voice and realized it was coming from his own mouth. ‘Put me down. Save yourself.’
The runner stopped, and Bane felt himself lowered gently to the grass. The young Connavar drew a dagger and faced the charging beast. ‘Oh, please run!’ Bane heard himself say.
‘I’ll cut its bastard heart out!’ said Connavar – and leapt to face the beast.
Bane watched in silent horror as the bear’s talons ripped at the frail body of the young warrior, its teeth crunching down on the shoulder. He fought to the last before being thrown aside like a bloody rag.
The darkness fell again, and when his eyes next opened his body exploded with agony beyond enduring. He almost blacked out with it. Indeed he wished he could black out. He was lying face down on a long table, his wounds bandaged, fire burning through his veins. He saw Vorna sitting beside him. She was younger, but her face showed her exhaustion.