Plenty of those. Good girls, most of them.'
'Then how do you have a granddaughter?'
Rage lifted the jug and shook it. 'All gone,' he said. 'Full and now empty.' He chuckled. 'Like life.'
'You drank all of that?' said Bane, worried now, for he had known of men who died after consuming that much uisge.
'I think I'll sleep now,' mumbled Rage. He leaned back and fell from the log. Bane tried to rouse him, but the older man was unconscious. Bane took hold of his arms and tried to heave him upright, so that he could drape him over his shoulder and carry him home. But Rage was a big man, and too heavy to lift as a dead weight. Bane laid him down.
The temperature was below zero, the little fire making no impact on the cold. If he couldn't get him back, Rage would die out here. Bane swore, then pulled Rage close to the fire, and covered him with his own cloak. He would have to go back to the house and wake Telors. Even as he thought it he knew Rage could die of cold before they returned. He cast around, gathering more fuel for the fire. It was growing colder and Bane shivered and huddled close to the flames.
Suddenly the cold eased away, and Bane felt the warmth of a spring breeze upon his back. A crow fluttered down to stalk around the unconscious Rage. Bane turned slowly.
An old woman, leaning on a staff, came walking from the edge of the trees.
'Greetings, Rigante,' she said, her voice muffled by the heavy veil she wore. Sitting down upon the log she stretched out her hand to the fire. Flames leapt up, circling her fingers, then danced upon the palm of her hand. Her fingers closed around the flames, and Bane saw her fist glowing like a lantern. He glanced back the way she had come. There were no footprints in the snow. Fear touched him then. All Rigante knew of the Seidh, the gods of the forest. But of them all the Morrigu was the most feared, and few among the Keltoi tribes ever spoke her name aloud. It was said to bring ill luck.
'You are the Old Woman of the Forest,' he said. 'You came to Banouin at Cogden Field and made the ghosts appear.'
'I did not make them appear,' she said. Her veiled head tilted down to look at Rage.
'He is a good man,' said Bane. 'And my friend. Do not seek to harm him.'
'I have no wish to harm him, child.' The crow hopped along the ground until it was alongside Rage's head. Bane drew his knife.
'If that foul bird pecks at him I shall cut its damned head off,' he said.
'How like your father you are,' she told him. 'Using anger to drown fear. You sit there, heart hammering, limbs trembling, and yet still you are defiant. Your knife, however, is useless here.'
'What do you want? I need no gifts from you to torment me and see me die.'
'Such is the arrogance of man,' she said. 'When the Seidh were first formed the world boiled and storms raged across the planet; storms of a ferocity you could not possibly imagine. Molten rock spewed from broken mountains, and the earth trembled and crashed against itself. The Seidh were there, Bane. We have seen the death of stars, and the birth of man. We watched your slug-eating ancestors creep from their caves, and slowly, oh so slowly, begin to learn. And we helped you, inspired you. We lifted you from the mud and showed you the sky, and the stars beyond. We fed your spirit. And so you grew. But your minds are small, and filled with pettiness. You make everything small to match your own lack of understanding. Torment you? See you die? Child, I saw your great- grandfather die, and his great-grandfather. And what torments could I offer that you do not already possess?'
'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.'
'You say you are fond of him,' said Bane,' and yet he is a killer. Is this not a contradiction?'
'You are all killers,' replied the Morrigu. 'But there is in Vanni a desire for spirit, and a great measure of goodness, kindness and compassion. He has what the Seidh term a great soul.'
Bane glanced down at the sleeping Rage. The cold of winter swept over the snow and Bane shivered.
'Ah there you are,' said Telors, emerging from the tree line. Bane flicked a glance to his right. But the Morrigu had gone. The black-bearded gladiator trudged across the snow and knelt by Rage. 'I knew he'd do this,' he said. That's why I stayed the night.'
Together they hauled Rage upright. Dipping down, Telors heaved the sleeping man over his shoulder, staggered, then began the long walk back. Halfway there, with Telors exhausted, Bane took over. Both men were more than weary as they reached the farmhouse. Bane laid Rage down on the rug by the fire in the main room. Telors took a cushion from a couch and placed it under Rage's head, then they covered him with a blanket and walked back into the kitchen. Telors lit a lantern, and poured himself a goblet of water.
