Midnight Falcon, Page 2

  Parax climbed wearily into the saddle. 'I don't think so,' he said. 'I may be old, Bane, and my physical skills faded and gone. But my mind is still sharp, and it hunts the truth as well as it ever did. Why did you not wait for the trial, and walk free? And once you decided to run why did you remain in these hills playing catch-as-catch-can with the hunters?'

  'Because I am a free man, and I live as I please.'

  'No, it is because you want it to end,' said Parax. 'Grief-stricken at the loss of your mother, and hurting from a life of rejection and denial, you are waiting for death. Longing for it perhaps. So I hope you are right, boy. I hope you will ride from here and spend time developing your skills. For, like Connavar, you have it in you to be a great man. And, like him, I don't want to see you dead.'

  With that Parax heeled the pony forward and rode from the clearing.

  Most people felt the years had been kind to Vorna the Midwife. Now in her fifties, her long hair was still predominantly black, though streaked with silver, her skin smooth. She looked like a woman ten years younger as she sat on the porch of her house, watching the last of the sunshine bathing the settlement of Three Streams.

  Such is the power of Wicca, she thought. The earth magic ran in her blood, slowing down the ageing process. Once she had been widely known as Vorna the Witch, respected and feared by the populace. Now, with them believing her powers to be gone, she had found popularity, and treasured it. It was pleasant that people waved and smiled when they saw her. It was good when they invited her into their homes.

  Yes, she thought, the years have been kind to Vorna.

  She shivered suddenly, though it was not cold. From here she could see Nanncumal's forge, and hear the steady thumping of his hammer, and, to the right, the house once occupied by Connavar's parents, Ruathain and Meria. Vorna sighed as the old memories flowed. She glanced at the towering peaks of Caer Druagh, the fading sunlight turning the snow to pale gold. So little has changed in the mountains, she thought. And yet so much in our own lives.

  Looking back over the meadow to Ruathain's old house Vorna pictured him strolling across the grass, her son on his massive shoulders. Ruathain had always seemed so full of life and strength. Vorna closed her eyes. Living with regret was futile, she knew. A waste of time and emotion. But as one got older it became harder to avoid it. Best to endure it, and let it pass.

  Sitting in the sunshine Vorna saw again her own husband, the little Stone merchant, Banouin, setting off on his last ride, the young Connavar beside him. Banouin had turned and waved, then blown her a kiss. The memory still brought a knot to her stomach and a lump to her throat. He had not lived to see his son born.

  Now the young Banouin had also ridden away. He too had turned and waved from the hilltop. And Vorna was alone once more - just as she had been all those years ago, before Connavar had fought the bear. Before she had danced with Banouin on Feast Night. Before she lost her witch's powers. Before she had secretly regained them.

  Vorna stood and walked to the first stream, stopping to enjoy the beauty of the pale purple foxgloves growing along the banks. Her thoughts were mellow, almost to the point of melancholy, and it seemed to her that the ghosts of the past were standing close. The mighty Ruathain, the earth maiden Eriatha, the crippled Riamfada, and the tormented Arian.

  'I hope you are now at rest, child,' whispered Vorna. Thinking of Arian brought thoughts of her son, Bane. Such a terrible name to give a child. It meant 'curse' in the old tongue. Arian, in her selfishness and her grief, had wanted all the Rigante to know of her suffering.

  Yet despite the burden of his name the boy had developed well -save for his word-blindness. The king had decreed that all Rigante children should learn to read and write. For some reason that Vorna could not understand Bane, despite his intelligence and the quickness of his wit, could not grasp the skill. The druid, Brother Solstice, who taught the children of Three Streams, sent Bane to her home, to study with Banouin, who had mastered the lessons with ease. But even with the tireless help of Banouin the young Bane struggled.

  Bane had other skills, however, and some of them brought great delight to Vorna. She smiled as she remembered the badger cub.

  Looking round to make sure she was alone she knelt and drew a circle in the air, then whispered three Words of Power - ancient words in a language no longer spoken by men. A silver circle glowed into life among the foxgloves. Vorna gently blew a breath into it. The air within the circle rippled like a heat haze and an image formed there. Vorna gazed once more at the nine-year-old boy and the blind badger cub. Kneeling among the flowers Vorna watched the silent scene unfold, her mind drifting back to that early summer night eight years before.

  The sun had been down for around an hour when she heard the rap at the door. Climbing from her bed Vorna had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and walked out into the night. Bane was standing in the moonlight, a very young badger nestling against his leg. As she opened the door she saw the badger's shoulders bunch, its black and silver head swaying from side to side.

  'What are you doing with that beast?' asked Vorna, keeping her voice low.

  'I was in the woods,' said the child. 'I saw it. It moved past me, then bumped into a tree. Then it stumbled over a rabbit hole. There's something wrong with its eyes, Vorna.'

  'How did you get it back here?'

  'It took a long time,' said the boy. 'Watch!' He moved away from the cub, then knelt and made clicking noises with his tongue and teeth. The cub swayed from side to side, then moved towards the sound. As he reached Bane the boy stroked its brow. 'It was like this. I got him to follow me, but he kept wandering away. It took hours to get him here. Can you heal him?'

  '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 whi
spered. 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.'

  'He was always kind to me,' she said, 'but let us not argue the point. I am far too fond of you to wish to see you angry.'

  'I couldn't be angry with you, Vorna,' he said. 'Next to my mother you have been my greatest friend. I see Banouin has already left. You think he'll come back?'

  'That will depend on whether he finds what he's looking for,' she said, her voice heavy with sadness. She looked into Bane's strange eyes. 'It will also depend on whether he survives to find it.'

  'You think he is in danger? Have you had a vision?'

  'I have many visions, but none concerning my son. Or you. I think my love for you both blocks my power. What I do know is that he is riding south, through a wartorn land full of violence and destruction. And he is not a warrior, Bane. You know that.'

  'Aye, I do. He is not . . . strong,' he finished lamely.

  'You are a good friend to him,' she said, with a smile. 'You always were.'

  He blushed. 'I know I always got him into trouble, and you were constantly scolding me.'

  She shook her head. 'You never were very comfortable with compliments. Even as a child.'

  Bane chuckled. 'Never received enough to become accustomed to them.' He walked to the window and pushed open the shutters. Then he scanned the hills. The sound of hammering was still coming from Nanncumal's forge. 'Poor grandfather,' he said softly. 'First his wife, then his daughter. He has suffered much.'

  'You have forgiven him?' asked Vorna.

  'Aye, I have. It was hard for him to have a disgraced daughter back in his house. In some ways I think he blamed me. But he was never harsh to me. He was even kindly in his own way. When I saw him weep at my mother's death all the anger just flowed away from me.' Turning back towards her he gave a rueful smile. 'Difficult to hate a man who loved someone that you loved.'

  'That is a good lesson to learn,' she said.

  'I'm not awfully good at learning lessons,' he admitted. 'I can write my name and the word for horse.' Returning to the fire he sat back, resting his blond head on the back of the chair. 'I have always liked this room,' he said. 'It is so calm here. I feel at peace.'

  'I know what you mean,' Vorna told him. 'It is a good house. Many happy memories are stored in these walls.'

  He sat up. 'I spent three nights in your old cave. Threw the hunters off the scent. How long did you live there?'

  'Twenty-five years.'

  'I was going out of my mind by the fourth morning. How could you dwell in such a desolate place?'

  'I was a different person then. Younger, more bitter.'

  That's where you saved Connavar's life,' he said. 'I thought of that often as I hid there.'

  'Had I not done so you would never have been born,' she pointed out. 'And I would not have wed Banouin's father. Hence no Banouin. And what would the world have been without you two?'

  'Duller,' he said. His smile faded. 'Tell me about Connavar and the bear.'

  'What is it you wish to know? Everyone knows the story.'

  'Aye, they do. But is it all true, Vorna? Did he really stand against the beast to save his crippled friend? Or was there another reason?'

  'No other reason. He tried to carry Riamfada away from danger, but the bear was coming fast. So he put his friend down and turned to face it, armed with just a dagger. He was two years younger than you are now.' Vorna sighed. 'Do not look so disappointed, Bane. Would you want your father to be a coward?'

  'Probably. I don't know, Vorna. Everywhere I go men talk of his legend. His battle against the Sea Wolves, the ride of the Iron Wolves to smash the Stone Panthers at Cogden Field, the siege of Barrow Hill. The great Connavar! The hero! How could such a hero desert my mother? How could he let his son grow without even a gesture of parental affection?'

  Vorna took a deep breath. 'Perhaps you should ask him.'

  'Maybe I will one day.'

  She saw a touch of sadness cross his face. You are so young, she thought. Little more than a boy. But then another fear touched her. 'What are you planning to do?' she asked him.

  'Do? Why, I shall run the hunters ragged until they catch me.' He gave a bright smile, but she held to his gaze.

  'Speak to me with truth,' she said softly. 'What are you planning?'

  'I have no plans, Vorna.' He sighed. 'Do you think my mother really liked me?'

  'What do you mean? Of course she liked you. She loved you. Why would you ask a thing like that?'

  'Sometimes she would look at me strangely, then she'd cry and tell me to get out of her sight. Once she even told me I was the cause of all her suffering.'

  'Aye, she could be thoughtless sometimes,' said Vorna. 'You were not the cause, Bane. Neither was Connavar. We are all victims of our own natures. Arian was not perfect. But she loved you. I know this to be true, and you know I would not lie to you.'

  'I know, Vorna. I saw the old hunter, Parax, yesterday. The king sent him to find me.'

  'If anyone could find you it is Parax,' she said.

  'Yes indeed,' he said. 'He's a canny old man. Very wise. Predicted my future. Anyway, I should be going. I want to thank you for everything you've done for me.'

  The fear in Vorna grew. Reaching out with her Talent she touched his mind. Grief, anguish and emptiness filled her, and with it a desire for death. 'Wait!' she said, as he walked to the door. 'If you have no plans there is something I would like you to do for me.'

  'I'd do anything for you, Vorna. You know that.'

  'Find Banouin. Travel with him and keep him safe. It would mean a great deal to me,' she added, as he paused in the doorway, 'to know that you were together.'

  Bane glanced out of the open door. 'Ah, here they come,' he said. 'Riding like the wind! Time for me to go.' Then he grinned, and Vorna relaxed, for it was the old Bane she saw now, bright and full of life. 'Don't worry about Banouin,' he said. 'I'll find him and ride with him.'

  'I hoped that you would,' she said. 'But it does my heart good to hear you say it. Now go quickly.'

  He gave a wide smile, stepped back into the room and hoisted her high, planting a kiss on both her cheeks. 'You take care,' he told her. 'There are not many in this world that I love.'

  Bane put her down. Vorna reached up and stroked his face. 'Ride now!'

  He ran from the house. Vorna stood in the doorway and watched as he thundered the grey across the meadow, leapt the three-rail fence, and galloped towards the southern hills.

  The twenty hunters swung their mounts and gave chase.

  'You will not catch him,' said Vorna softly.

  Not for the first time Banouin reined in his chestnut gelding and looked back towards the north. Through
a gap in the tall pines he could still just see the distant peaks. He glanced to the south, and the beckoning lowlands, and knew that as soon as he crested the last rise Caer Druagh would become but a memory. Sadness touched the young man, and this he found surprising.

  Banouin had never enjoyed life among the Rigante. As a child he had loathed the boisterous play, the emphasis on physical strength, the feuding and the fighting. The Rigante, he had discovered to his cost, were a hot-headed, volatile people, quick to anger. And yet his spirit was heavy as he thought of his departure.

  The day was bright and clear, the sun warm. Banouin pushed his hand through his dark, shoulder-length hair. I must cut it before crossing the water, he thought. Citizens of Stone wear their hair short, close-cropped. They also shave daily as beards or moustaches are for barbarians. His thoughts drifted away from the wild Druagh mountains, and he pictured the legendary city of Stone: the city of his father.

  People had always spoken highly of the first Banouin - the little Foreigner who had come to live among the People, and who had married the former witch, Vorna. A fine man, they said, kind and brave. He had been murdered by the Perdii king nineteen years ago.

  With one last glance at Caer Druagh, Banouin heeled the gelding forward and started down the slope.

  'What was my father like?' he had once asked his mother.

  'He was not tall, but he was handsome and dark-haired, like you.'

  'Did he have blue eyes like ours?'

  'No, they were dark.'

  'Did people bully him when he was a boy?'

  'We never spoke of his childhood, my son. They did not bully him as a man, however.'

  Banouin rode on. He had crossed the river yesterday, and was, as far as he could judge, a day's ride from the Southern Rigante settlement of Gilrath. His horse - a gift from the king - was still fresh and strong, though it was a little too spirited for Banouin's taste. Each morning it would stare at him balefully, and, when saddled, would buck several times, jarring Banouin's bones. The young rider felt the horse did not like him, and was only allowing him to ride under sufferance.

  'He's a good mount,' Connavar had told him. 'He will not let you down.' Banouin always felt uncomfortable in the presence of the king. He was a man of immense physical power, a known warrior and leader, but it was the eyes that disturbed Banouin. They were just like Bane's, one green, the other gold. And when he looked at you it seemed as if he could read your heart.