Sword in the Storm

by David Gemmell

'Where is your rat?' asked Conn.

  'I see you are not interested in my philosophy,' said Brother Solstice, with a rueful smile. 'What does interest you, Connavar?'

  Conn shrugged. He did not want to talk to this man of magic. And he cared nothing for the emotions raging within the little round houses below. But the druid stood quietly waiting for an answer. 'The people of Stone,' said Conn, at last. They interest me.'

  'They are the enemy to come,' said Brother Solstice.

  Conn was surprised. 'You have had a vision?'

  'I don't need a vision, Connavar. When the leaves fall from the trees I know winter is approaching. Across the water many druids have been murdered by them. They are a hungry people and their ambition is limitless. Is that why you asked for permission to cross the water? To study these war-bringers?'

  'Yes.'

  'And what exactly will you study?'

  The answer seemed all too obvious. 'Their armies and how they fight.'

  'That would be a beginning. But to defeat them you will also need to learn why they fight.'

  Conn's irritation was growing. 'What does that matter?' he snapped. Brother Solstice fell silent. He closed his eyes, and, for a moment only, Conn felt a cool breeze touch his face. A sense of calm flowed through him, submerging the anger he felt at Arian's betrayal.

  'Can we talk now?' asked Brother Solstice.

  'You cast a spell on me?' replied Conn.

  'Not on you. Around you. It will prove fleeting. I would ask what is troubling you, but I fear such a question would bring back your anger. You are a strong young man, Connavar, but you need to offer your mind the same dedication you give your body. However, I do not wish to lecture you.' He smiled. 'But I would be interested to know how you acquired a Seidh blade?'

  Normally Conn would have said - as he usually did - that it was a gift from Banouin, but, embarrassed by his earlier rudeness, and appreciating he was in the presence of a man who could detect lies, he told the truth: of his determination to seek help in the matter of his parents' continuing separation, and of the fawn he found in the brambles. Brother Solstice listened intently. When Conn had finished the druid looked perplexed.

  'So - apart from the fawn - you did not see a Seidh, nor speak to one?'

  'No.'

  'How strange they are. But know this, young man, they had a purpose of their own. They saw in you something that would benefit them. Gifts from the Seidh are not without a price.'

  'What are the Seidh?' asked Conn.

  Now it was Brother Solstice who shrugged. 'I could not begin to explain their origins. Some believe they are the souls of great heroes, living for ever in a world like our own; others see them as demons or gods. I do not have all the answers. What I do know is that they are vital to the land.'

  'In what way?'

  Brother Solstice smiled. 'You would have to become a druid and accept all our vows in order to learn that secret. But it should be enough for you to know they are a fey race, and often malevolent. And they are old, older than the moon and the oceans.'

  'Have you ever met one?' asked Conn.

  'Only one, and we do not speak her name,' said the druid.

  'Ah,' said Conn. 'I too have met her. She it was who sent the bear to kill me. And when I fought the killers she came to me and offered me a gift. I did not take it.'

  'You were wise to refuse.'

  'If I were truly wise I would have refused the first time, and then the bear would not have ripped away my flesh and cost me my love.'

  'Your love?' enquired the Druid.

  Conn was surprised at himself, for the words had slipped out before he could stop them. And in that moment he realized that he needed to speak of Arian. Slowly he told Brother Solstice the whole story. The druid listened in silence and when Conn had finished he stood lost in thought. Finally he turned to the young man and spoke, his voice sorrowful. 'Her betrayal must have cut worse than the talons of the bear,' he said.

  'Aye, it did. Why did she do it?'

  'I do not know her, Connavar, so I can only guess at her reasons. You have learned a savage lesson. Just because we feel great love does not necessarily mean it is reciprocated. For you it was a wondrous - almost spiritual - moment. For her it was - perhaps - merely pleasure. Or need. Ruathain told me last year that you carried the crippled boy to the falls and taught him to swim. For Riamfada the gift you gave him was greater than a mountain of gold. For him swimming was freedom and a joy he had never before experienced. For you swimming is a refreshing and pleasant diversion. You see what I am saying? To an outsider there are just two boys enjoying themselves. The reality is wholly different.'

  Conn took a deep breath, then sighed. 'You are saying that, with Arian, I am like Riamfada.'

  'More than you probably realize even now,' said Brother Solstice. 'Now let us speak of it no more. She is wed to another, and gone from your life.'

  'I doubt she will ever be gone from my life,' said Conn, sadly.

  'I hope that you are wrong.'

  Below them the hall doors opened and the crowd streamed out, heading for the gates and the winding path to the settlement below. 'You should go back now,' said Brother Solstice. 'It would be discourteous to keep the Laird waiting.'

  Conn thrust out his hand. 'Thank you, sir. And I apologize for my earlier behaviour.'

  Brother Solstice grinned and grasped the offered hand. 'You do not need to apologize. Go now and choose your sword and your pony.'

  The death of winter, and the promise of a new season, was a time of celebration for the Rigante, and the Feast of Beltine was always a joyous occasion. The maidens of Three Streams, and surrounding settlements, dressed in their finest clothes and decorated their hair with green leaves and fresh flowers. The young men, stripped to the waist, daubed blue woad on their faces and upper bodies, and took part in fire dancing, foot races and wrestling bouts. At dusk the people assembled at the centre of the settlement, and, linking arms, danced around Eldest Tree, before forming a torch-lit procession that wound past all the homes, across the Three Streams and back to the feasting pits.

  Banouin watched the scene with both affection and envy. The closeness of the Rigante, their easy tactility, their obvious enjoyment in each other's company, was good to see, yet it was a joy he could not share. Not just because he was a foreigner, though that was a part of it; more because he was a solitary man, not given to any form of tribalism. He understood the need for a community spirit. These people depended on each other. The success or failure of any individual would have repercussions on the community as a whole. But Banouin was different. He liked people well enough, as individuals, but such a gathering as this left him feeling isolated and alone.

  Across the feasting area he saw Connavar, drinking and laughing with his friends, among them the crippled Riamfada. Even from here Banouin could see the terrible scars on Connavar's upper body. He shuddered. To call his survival a miracle would be to understate the matter. To the right Ruathain was talking to the widow Pelain. Her husband, the fat baker, had collapsed and died six days before. Vorna said his heart had given out. Pelain did not seem to be wholly grief stricken and Banouin was amused to see her making obvious efforts to impress Ruathain. Constantly she ran her fingers through her dark hair, her gaze fixed to his face, her body turned full towards him. Banouin looked to the left, where Meria was talking with Vorna and the black-bearded druid, Brother Solstice. Every few heartbeats Meria would glance towards Ruathain, her face expressionless. Banouin thought he could see the anger in her eyes.

  Towards midnight, as Banouin sat quietly beneath Eldest Tree, nursing his sixth mug of strong ale and watching the young dancers twirling in the firelight, the former witch, Vorna, came and sat beside him. She had put on weight in the last few weeks, which had the effect of giving her a more youthful appearance. Banouin was surprised to note that he found her attractive. He gazed into his ale. Could it be that powerful? he wondered.

  'You do not dance, you do not sing,' she said. 'You me
rely sit and watch.'

  'There is joy in that for me,' he told her. 'I love the Rigante, the people, their customs. Everything.'

  'I too.' The music faded as the pipers moved away to refresh themselves.

  'I notice that you do not dance, Vorna. Nor have I heard you sing.'

  She smiled, leaned back against the huge tree, and gazed up through its branches to the crescent moon above. 'I dance in my mind, I sing in my heart.'

  'You sound happy.'

  'Merry,' she said. 'I have drunk too much wine. But, yes, I am happy too. The spring is here, and my people have survived the winter.'

  'There is more to it than that,' he said, raising his voice slightly as the music of the dance started up again.

  She smiled at him. 'Yes, there is more. I feel alive for the first time. My heart is open. There is great strength in magic, and enormous knowledge to be gained. Even so, the magic separated me from my people. In some ways it separated me from me. I feel whole. Complete. Can you understand that?'

  'No, but I am happy for you.'

  'Will you dance with me, Foreigner?'

  'I think that I will,' he said, carefully placing his mug on the ground and pushing himself to his feet. For a moment the ground swayed under him, then he took her arm, and joined the other dancers under the moonlight.

  He was not as drunk as he feared, and found himself moving in perfect time to the music, twirling and leaping, and drawn deeper into the heart of the joy that filled the Rigante. It was a heady and powerful experience, and he lost all sense of time. At the last Vorna took his arm and led him away.

  Banouin found himself at his own front door. There was no lock, only a latch which he lifted, pushing the door open. Stepping aside he gestured Vorna to enter. She stood hesitantly in the doorway.

  'Perhaps I should not come in,' she said.

  'Then again, perhaps you should,' he said, with a gentle smile. 'It has been a long time since a woman graced my home.'

  'Since your wife died,' she said. The pain of memory made him wince. Vorna moved in close to him.

  'I am sorry, Foreigner. When I had the power I knew many things.'

  He took her hand and kissed it. 'Do not be sorry. She was a fine and wonderful woman. I should think of her more often. But it is always so painful.'

  They stood in silence for a while, enjoying the closeness. 'I have never been with a man,' said Vorna. He looked into her dark eyes and saw the fear there, and the loneliness.

  'It is merely another kind of dance,' he said, softly. 'Will you dance with me, Vorna?'

  'I think that I will,' she said.

  Back at the feast, Riamfada was growing sleepy. He could not drink wine. It burned in his chest like a small fire, and he dared not drink ale for fear of wetting himself. He had sat quietly through the feast, watching his friends enjoy themselves, and taking great pleasure from it. He leaned back into the V-shaped board that had been hammered in the grass for him, to prevent him falling, and lifted his heavy blanket over his shoulder. It had been a joyous night. Govannan had been dancing with a young maiden from a settlement some thirty miles to the south. He had tripped over his own feet several times, but she affected not to notice. Connavar had not danced, and Riamfada saw him watching Arian on the far side of the bonfire. She had danced with several men, much to the chagrin of her new husband, Casta, who sat glumly nearby. Further to the right Riamfada saw Braefar. The boy was nursing a slight burn to his leg, caused when he had tried to leap the feasting pit with other taller, stronger boys. He had fallen back and hot coals had pressed against his knee. He was sitting now beside his younger brother, the eight-year-old Bendegit Bran, who was asleep, curled up against the grizzled, white-muzzled old hound, Caval.

  Riamfada yawned, and looked around for his father. Gariapha was sitting at a bench with the Long Laird. Both men were drinking and laughing. Riamfada pulled his cloak around his thin shoulders. A spasm of pain shot through his chest and he grunted. He shouldn't have added Banouin's spices to the beef.

  Connavar wandered over and sat down beside him. 'How are you faring, little fish?' he asked.

  'I am enjoying myself. But I am getting very tired.'

  'I'll carry you home.'

  'No, not yet,' said Riamfada. 'It is a wonderful night. I have been watching people dancing in the torch light. Everyone is so happy.'

  'And you, are you happy, my friend?' asked Conn.

  'The swimming starts next week,' said Riamfada, with a smile. 'I have been looking forward to it all winter.' He coughed suddenly, and his emaciated body shuddered. Conn leaned in, taking Riamfada's weight and lightly tapping his back. The coughing subsided. 'I will be strong again once we are back at the falls,' he said.

  'I will only be with you for a while,' said Conn. 'I am travelling south with Banouin. But Govannan will be taking you at least twice a week.'

  'I heard you were leaving.' Riamfada glanced across to the long dining table. Conn's new sword was leaning there, its bronze hilt flickering in the firelight. 'Will you show me the Long Laird's gift?' he asked. Conn strode across to the table, retrieved the weapon and brought it back, laying it in Riamfada's lap. With difficulty Riamfada hefted it by blade and grip, bringing it close to his face. Then he let it drop. 'I cannot tell if it is good iron,' he said. 'Not in this light. But the hilt is clumsily crafted, so I would guess not. One day I will make for you a special sword, with a hilt designed for your hand alone. It will be a creation of beauty.'

  'I am sure that it will,' said Conn. At that moment Govannan called out, urging Conn to join in the new dance. Conn looked to Riamfada. 'Shall I carry you home?'

  'In a little while. Go. Dance. I shall rest here.'

  Conn grinned and ran to the fire, where he was soon twirling and leaping the flames to the music of the pipes. The sword lay heavily on Riamfada and he struggled to put it to one side. As he did so another piercing pain sliced through his chest. He grunted and fell back against the board. He tried to watch the dancers, but the images were fading, blurring. He could no longer make out individual figures, and the music seemed to be growing more distant, as if the pipers were dancing away from him. I must be more tired than I thought, he reasoned.

  Glowing lights caught his eye. They were drifting through the air towards him. Three of them. How pretty, he thought. They were mostly golden in colour, but there were flashes of blue and crimson within them. They flickered before him and settled down upon the grass around him. Riamfada tried to reach out to them, but found he was unable to move his hand. Strangely this did not concern him. He was at peace. The lights flowed over him, and he heard a voice, whispering in his mind.

  'Come with us. Know joy.'

  In that instant he had a vision of a workplace where every kind of metal could be fashioned by hand alone, without need of heat or hammer. He saw objects of incredible beauty, among them a rose crafted of gold and silver, that was so perfect its golden petals blossomed and opened like a true plant. 'I wish I could work there,' he said.

  'That is what we offer you, child of Man. Come with us!'

  'I do not want to leave my friends,' said Riamfada, though the longing was strong within him.

  'You already have.'

  And he knew that it was true, for there was now no feeling in his body, no heartbeat, weak and stuttering in his emaciated chest.

  'Rise, Riamfada. Walk with us.' A hand, as light as a butterfly wing, touched his own, drawing him upright, and he stood. There was no pain. Slowly Riamfada, surrounded by golden light, moved unseen through the dancers. There was Conn, arm in arm with Gwydia, and Govannan clapping his hands to the music. And there was Riamfada's father, Gariapha, holding his wife close, and kissing her cheek. Riamfada looked back, and saw the small, frail body wedged in death against the boards. Then he looked again at his friends, enjoying their happiness one last time.

  'I love them,' he said.

  'We know.'

  Taking him by the hand they led him towards the Wishing Tree woods. 'Can I
run?' asked Riamfada.

  They released his hands. He suddenly felt the grass beneath his naked feet, the night breeze upon his chest.

  And Riamfada ran towards the distant trees.

  In the house of Banouin, Vorna's eyes flared open. Slipping quietly from the bed she moved to the window, and saw the lights flowing towards the Wishing Tree woods. Despite the loss of her power she could still sense the Seidh, and recognize their magic. And she could discern the difference between Seidh spirit and human souls. Transferring her gaze to the distant lights she tried to make out who the Seidh had taken. But she could not. What she did know, however, was that the human was full of joy.

  'What are you looking at?' asked Banouin, sleepily.

  'A small miracle,' she told him, returning to the bed and sliding under the covers. He took her in his arms and she settled her head upon his shoulder.

  'I hope you have no regrets,' he whispered. 'For I have none.'

  'How old are you, Foreigner?'

  'Forty-nine.'

  'I regret not doing this twenty years ago.' His fingers stroked through her black and silver hair.

  'I fear that sex is not always as good as this,' he said.

  'Prove it,' she said, sliding her thigh over his legs.

  They made love until the dawn, and then slept for several hours. Banouin awoke first, rekindled the fire in the main room, and cooked a breakfast of hot oats, sweetened with honey, and a tisane of dried elderflower petals. He carried the tisane to Vorna, and woke her gently. Then he left her to dress.

  She joined him in the main room and they ate in companionable silence. 'How long will you be gone?' she asked.

  'Four, five months. Will you miss me?'

  'I think that I will,' she admitted.

  'That is good,' he told her, with a smile.

  She fell silent, and sipped her tisane. 'What are you thinking?' he asked.

  Vorna glanced up. 'I was thinking of you, and your geasa.'

  Banouin smiled. 'A wonderful people are the Rigante, but they do suffer some odd customs. Why is it that every tribesman is forced to carry such a curse? It seems nonsense to me.'