Oranus sighed. The best part of me did die there, he thought sadly.
Banouin lay in his bed, his splinted arm throbbing, his head aching. But these discomforts were as nothing to the terror haunting him. He had believed he had known the nature of fear; being chased and tormented, being beaten and threatened. He knew now that his years among the Rigante had merely touched the surface. The fears he had lived with were caused by external forces, like Forvar and his friends. Nothing he had ever experienced could have prepared him for what he had now discovered.
Banouin had always felt safe within his own mind, but now it was as if a gateway had opened inside his skull which, at any moment, he could fall through, and spin away into a bottomless pit of dread from which there would be no return. He could feel it pulling him even now, as if he were standing on the edge of an abyss, and losing all sense of balance. He shivered and sat up, drawing the blanket around his shoulders. I should never have ventured into the water, he told himself. That was my undoing.
Vorna had always assured him that his Talent would one day flower, that he would develop skills beyond those of normal men. Banouin had eagerly looked forward to the day. But the skills had not manifested themselves, and he had spoken to Brother Solstice about the problem. The druid had been walking the high hills, and had stopped at the house for a cool drink. Banouin had approached him at the well, where Brother Solstice had splashed water onto his black and white beard, and run his large hands through his silver-streaked hair. A huge man, broad of shoulder and thick of waist, Brother Solstice looked more like the fighter he once was than the druid he had chosen to become.
Banouin had asked him about developing his Talent. Brother Solstice had sat down on a bench seat beneath a spreading oak and gestured Banouin to sit beside him. ‘Why is it that you want these powers?’ he asked.
‘Why does anyone want power, Brother?’ he countered.
‘You think they will make you special, and earn you respect among your peers.’
‘Of course. And how wonderful it must be to see the future, or read a man’s thoughts.’
‘Why would it be wonderful?’ asked the druid.
‘I would know if a man intended me harm.’
‘I see. So you perceive these powers to be merely of use to you?’
‘Oh no, Brother, I would use them for good purposes.’
‘And people would be grateful to you, and shower you with praise. You would become, perhaps, a great and valued man.’
‘Yes. Is that wrong?’
Brother Solstice shrugged. ‘I try to avoid examining issues on the basis of right or wrong. It seems to me they always come down to perspectives. What is right for one man becomes wrong for another. The Talent you seek is a gift from the Source. And such gifts fall like seeds. In the right soil they prosper and grow. If they fall upon rock, they wither and die. Are you rock or soil, Banouin?’
‘How can I tell?’
The druid smiled. ‘Look to your actions, and how you live your life.’ Then he had climbed to his feet, patted Banouin on the shoulder, and walked away.
Now, a year later, Banouin knew the answer. He had been rock. He recalled Bane’s words, just before they rescued Lia and her father from the river. ‘You really don’t see, do you? You have complained all your life about people disliking you. Yet when have you done anything for anyone else? Last year when Nian’s barn caught fire, and everyone rushed there to try to save it, where were you? You stayed home. As we walked back through Three Streams, covered in soot and ash, you came walking by, clean and bright. You might just as well have been carrying a sign that said, “I care nothing for any of you, or your troubles.” One day you will realize that you are what you are because you chose to be that way. It has little to do with your blood.’