‘I know the stories of you,’ said Bane. ‘Your gifts are perilous.’
She turned her face towards him. He blanched as he glimpsed the corruption under her veil. ‘When you run these hills with your friend you occasionally crush an insect beneath your heel. How might the other insects view your purpose in life, Bane? Would they say, “He was created to kill us”? Would they believe in you as some grim demon fashioned to bring destruction to their race? My purpose here is not to torment man. I care little for man. We inspired you to an understanding of the beauty of the world. But we could not change your nature. You are killers. Greed and lust and cruelty bedevil you, creating in every man a war that is seldom won by the spirit.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘I am not your enemy, Bane. Nor am I man’s enemy.’
Rage moaned in his sleep. ‘His dreams are tormented,’ said the Morrigu. Rage’s fists were clenched and he groaned again. Lightly she touched him with her staff, and he sighed, and slept peacefully. ‘You sleep well, Vanni,’ she whispered. ‘Sleep without dreams.’ There was a moment of tenderness in her voice, which surprised Bane.
‘You know him?’
‘I have known him longer than I have known you, Bane. I saw him first as a young soldier. Four of his fellows had dragged a Keltoi girl into the woods to rape and kill her. Vanni stopped them. Many such small acts of kindness I have seen from him. And then there was Palia.’
‘Palia?’
‘The girl he raised as his daughter. The mother was a prostitute, what the soldiers of Stone call a unit whore. She followed the army on campaigns, and attached herself to Vanni’s unit. She became pregnant, and decided to have the child. The unit paid for her to return to Stone. They joked about which one had fathered the child. It could have been any of the twenty who had paid for her services – including Vanni.
‘Then the real fighting began. It was fierce and terrible. Vanni’s unit was trapped in the mountains, and all but wiped out. Vanni fought his way clear, and carried the one other survivor to safety. The man died under the surgeon’s knife. When Vanni returned to Stone he sought out the whore, and discovered that she had been killed in a side street by an evil man. The child she had borne was being raised by the wife of the man who owned the brothel where she plied her trade. Vanni bought the child, and had her cared for by a good family. He paid for her clothes, and food and lodging, then for her schooling.’
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Bane. ‘He did not know who fathered her.’
‘Why did you save the horse in the river?’ she countered.
‘You were there?’
‘I am everywhere, Bane. But I was talking about Vanni. He called the child Palia, and she grew to be a beautiful girl, both in body and nature. Yet she was delicate of soul. She fell in love with a man who used her, and cast her aside when she became pregnant. Her mind was unhinged by what she saw as his betrayal of her, and soon after the birth she took a knife, slashed her wrists and died.’
‘The ghost Rage sees,’ whispered Bane.
‘Aye, the ghost.’
‘So all he did was for nothing,’ said Bane.
‘Stupid child!’ hissed the Morrigu. ‘Such acts of kindness and love are never for nothing! They feed the world! Like a stone dropping into a pool they send out waves in every direction. They inspire and, in doing so, enhance spirit.’
‘Did Rage kill the man who betrayed her?’
‘No, he did not. The man was a soldier. His only crime was that he seduced Palia. He had made her no promises, and he had already left the city with the army to go on campaign. Vanni had become Rage by then, Gladiator One. But the death of Palia all but destroyed him. He fought on for a while, but his heart was broken. Then came the day when he could fight no more. He walked away from the arena, and brought his granddaughter to Goriasa.’