‘I’ll take it from the left, you from the right,’ said Bane, turning towards the king. ‘What are you doing?’
Connavar had unbuckled his sword belt, and was now removing his breastplate and chain mail, his wrist guards and his greaves. ‘Are you going to fight it naked?’ asked Bane.
‘I am not going to fight it at all,’ said Connavar.
‘Then what is your plan?’
Connavar knelt beside the stretcher and pushed his arms under the Morrigu. With one enormous heave he staggered to his feet, his knees almost buckling under the weight. He took one faltering step, then another, and crossed the circle past the tallest stone. The beast lumbered towards him. Bane ran into the circle, ducked under a sweeping talon and lashed his sword against the creature’s belly. The sword bounced clear. Something struck Bane in the chest with terrible force, lifting him from his feet and hurling him from the circle. He landed heavily, but rolled to his knees in time to see Connavar staggering towards the altar. The scaled beast loomed above him, sending out an ear-piercing roar. The king ignored it and reached the altar, laying the Morrigu and her crow upon it.
As her body touched the stone the dome of darkness disappeared. Sunlight touched the scaled beast, and it began to shrink and fade. Bane climbed to his feet and, Vorna beside him, walked into the circle. The Morrigu’s body began to tremble violently. A flame burst from her chest, setting fire to the cloth of her dress. Fire sprang from her fingers, the flesh falling away, dry and stiff, like shards of clay. The veil caught fire, peeling back from her face as flames roared up from her eyes. Brighter and brighter she burned, and the three onlookers stepped further back from the altar, shielding their eyes.
The fires died down swiftly, but the terrible brightness remained. ‘Turn away,’ came the now powerful voice of the Morrigu, ‘for you must not see the Gateway open.’ They obeyed her. Then her voice came again. ‘I have always loved this world, which the Seidh named Tir na Nogh. I have cherished the belief that it will one day feed the soul of the universe from which it sprang. You spoke, Connavar, of spending twenty years seeking to protect the Rigante way of life. I have spent ten thousand years on ten thousand worlds seeking to protect life itself. Life is spirit. One cannot exist without the other. Deep in their hearts the Keltoi understand this. The people of Stone, save for the few Cultists among them, do not. I have seen the fall of worlds, and the conquests and desolation caused by the armies of lust and greed. Here Stone is the great enemy. On other worlds it is Rome, or Cagaris, or Shefnii, or Pakalin. The names change, the result of the evil remains the same: the death of spirit, the death of worlds.’ Her voice faded for a moment, then she spoke to the king. ‘Twenty years ago you asked a gift of me, and I told you there would be a price. That price is a simple one: when your brother calls upon you, do as he bids. No matter what else is pending, no matter the time or the greatness of events. You understand? Do as he bids.’
‘Which brother?’ asked Connavar.
‘You will know. Do you accept this price?’
‘I said that I would,’ said Connavar. ‘I will keep this promise – as I should have kept another promise all those years ago.’
‘That is good,’ said the Morrigu. ‘And now to Bane. Will you offer me a gift?’
‘What can I offer you, lady?’
‘In eight days, on the night of the hunter’s moon, you will return to this circle?’
‘What then?’
‘Whatever you choose. And now . . . farewell.’
The light faded. Vorna turned, and saw that the altar had disappeared.
‘A simple thank you would have been pleasant,’ said Bane.
Connavar pulled on his mailshirt and breastplate, and buckled on his sword belt. Bane approached him. ‘How did you know the beast would not attack you?’ he asked.
‘I too would like the answer to that,’ said Vorna.