‘There is no herb for blindness, Bane,’ she said.
‘But can you heal him?’
‘What makes you think that I can?’ she had asked, warily.
‘I can keep secrets,’ he countered. ‘And you can trust me.’
She looked into the child’s odd eyes and smiled. ‘I think that I can,’ she said. Then she had knelt by the badger and gently placed her hands on its head, allowing her spirit to flow into the beast’s bloodstream, and on through its body. The badger cub fell into a deep sleep. It was badly malnourished, and infested with fleas and worms. But the worst of the problems lay in the brain. A cancerous growth was pressing against its skull, causing the blindness. Opening her eyes she turned to the boy. ‘There is a shoulder of cold ham in the larder. Put it in a bowl and fetch it here. And try not to wake Banouin!’
Bane ran off and returned with the meat. Placing one hand on the ham, the other on the badger’s head she closed her eyes once more. Now she flowed within the cancer, feeling the pulse of its life, its need to grow. With infinite care she honed her concentration, and began to draw the rogue cells into her own body, sucking them through her bloodstream, breaking them down, reconstituting them, transmuting them from flesh to energy. The cold ham began to writhe under her hand, maggots crawling over her fingers. Sweat beaded her brow, and ran in rivulets down her cheeks. Still she held the focus. At last, satisfied that she had removed all trace of the cancer from the cub, she sat back and opened her eyes. Bane was staring in horror at the putrid, writhing mass that the ham had become.
‘Those maggots were in the badger?’ he asked.
‘In a way. Take it and bury it. Then we will wake the little beast and feed it.’
‘I will tell no-one, Vorna. Your secret is safe with me. I promise you that.’
‘How long have you known?’
‘I saw you light a fire last year with a flick of your fingers. I was outside the window. I have told no-one.’
‘Why did you keep the secret?’
‘Because it was your secret,’ he said. ‘And I thought you would not want people to share it.’
‘You were right. Now bury that meat.’
Vorna smiled at the scene in the circle, then flicked her fingers. The circle vanished and she rose to her feet. As she did so she saw a rider angling a dappled grey down from the eastern woods. ‘Reckless boy,’ she whispered. But she felt her spirits lift a little as the young fugitive crossed the bridge and cantered across the meadow. He drew up in front of the house and leapt down, a wide smile on his face, sunlight glinting on his golden hair.
‘I hope you have food ready,’ he said. ‘I was tempted to stop and eat the horse.’
‘Foolish child!’ she admonished him. ‘Of all the places to come. Do you want the hunters to find you?’
‘Ah, you worry too much. Anyway, they are miles away and will not be back until well after dark.’ He grinned at her, then led the grey gelding into the barn. Vorna sighed, shook her head and walked into the house. Cutting a large slice of meat pie she scooped it onto a plate and laid it on the dining table. Bane stepped into the room, pushed closed the door and sat down. Vorna poured him a mug of water, then sat by the hearth, waiting until he had finished his meal.
It was cool in the room and Vorna whispered a Word of Power. Flames sprang up in the fireplace, licking around the dry wood.
‘I never tire of seeing you do that,’ said Bane, rising from the table and seating himself in the old horsehide chair opposite Vorna.
She smiled as she looked at him. He had his father’s eyes and his mother’s beauty. ‘What are your plans?’ she asked him.
Bane shrugged. ‘I have none. But I do have a bag of gold. A present from my loving father. Ah, but his kindness touches the heart.’