“Bradan.” The name rasped in her throat. “Are you there?”
There was no reply. “Bradan?” When Melcorka tried to move, the green darkness thickened, choking her until she gasped. Unable to move, unable to breathe, she drifted into unconsciousness.
With the darkness came the pain. It came in waves, spreading from the deep wounds in her thighs to crash across her body. She lay still, fighting the fear, battling the pain, not sure where she was or why she was there. She could feel herself slipping away as her life forces ebbed.
“Melcorka!”
“Mother?” Melcorka looked up into the sternly loving face of Bearnas, her mother. “Are you in Elfhame too?”
“No, Melcorka. I am in another place,” Bearnas said.
“I thought you were dead,” Melcorka said. “I thought Egil the Norseman killed you.”
“Egil the Norseman did kill me, little one,” Bearnas said.
“Am I dead?” Melcorka tried to sit up, but the pain forced her back down again.
“Only you can decide that, Melcorka.”
“How can I decide?” Melcorka asked.
There was no reply. Bearnas had gone, and she was alone in a world that consisted only of pain and doubt. She closed her eyes, feeling the pain grow until it consumed her, spreading from her legs to every part of her body. Unable to resist, she groaned, trying to push the pain away. There was something additional to the physical agony, a mental darkness she did not understand, something that gnawed at her very essence, something that drove her lower than she had ever been before.
“Melcorka?” The voice came from outside her reality, from somewhere that people walked and talked and laughed. That was not Bearnas.
“Melcorka?”
The voice did not matter. It was nothing to do with her. Melcorka felt herself sliding downward, headfirst into a great hollow of frozen light. She was not reluctant – it felt natural for the brightness to draw her as a flame attracted a moth, or the headwaters of a river attracted spawning salmon. She was going home, travelling to the ultimate destination of all life. It was comfortable here, with so many other souls heading in the same direction. There were no worries, no decisions to make, no cares. The voice intruded again, jarring her easy descent.
“Melcorka.”
“No,” Melcorka said. “Leave me alone.” She tried to ignore the intrusion, tried to allow herself to drift back into the pleasant nothingness.
“Melcorka.”
“Go away.”
The light was beckoning, its glow gentle beneath her, so alluring she could nearly touch it. Once her fingers could grasp that welcoming softness, Melcorka knew she would be home. She reached out, stretching for peace.
“Melcorka. It is not your time.”
“Leave me.” Melcorka”s fingers scrabbled at the edge of that inviting light. As her downward slide halted, she tried to pull herself the final few inches, desperate for the comforting peace that was so close.
“It is not your time.”
The voice was familiar; Melcorka had heard it before, somewhere, not here.
“Come back.”
“No! Leave me alone.”
The light was further away as Melcorka moved in the opposite direction to the souls that slid toward the brightness. Melcorka passed them at increasing speed as something dragged her further and further away from the comfort of the light.
“No. Leave me. I want to go there.” It was easier to accept than to resist, more natural to slide down than to toil.
Movement surrounded her and the harsh sounds of life. People were there, talking, laughing, faces all around, some concerned, others relieved, some she knew, others she did not know. Melcorka cringed under the babble of noise and colour, trying to return to the place of welcoming light.
“Is she alive? Melcorka, are you back with us?”
“Bradan?” Melcorka tried to sit up, only for strong hands to push her firmly back down. “Where am I?”
“Elfhame,” Bradan said. “We thought we had lost you.”
“How?” Melcorka looked around her. “How did I get here? I was fighting Erik Egilsson on the Bass Rock.”
“The oystercatchers brought us.” Bradan was on his knees at her side, his face gaunt, lined with worry. “Don't you remember?”
Melcorka shook her head. “I remember fighting Erik. Did I defeat him?”
“No.” Bradan”s face loomed closer, his eyes sunk deep into his head with exhaustion. “He defeated you. He sliced your legs open.”
“My legs?” Melcorka looked down. She was lying naked on a bed of leaves, with bandages covering each leg from hip to knee. “I remember. Erik had Legbiter, his sword.”
“Defender was powerless against it,” Bradan said. “He cut you and left you to bleed to death.”
“I remember,” Melcorka said as the memories slowly returned. “Where is he now? I must stop him.” Groping for Defender, she tried to rise, until that new blackness overcame her and she sank back down.
“Not yet, Melcorka.” A new voice joined in as an ethereal woman knelt at Bradan's side. “You are not ready. Do you remember me?”
“Queen Maelona,” Melcorka said. “You were Queen of Alba when we left. Why are you back in Elfhame?”
“There is an evil,” Maelona said.
“I can't remember,” Melcorka tried to regain lost memories from her confused brain. “What happened?”
Maelona shook her head sadly. “You helped me gain the realm,” she said, “and I married Aharn, remember?”
“I remember. That was long ago,” Melcorka said. “He is a good man.”
“He was the best of men.” Maelona spoke with infinite sadness.
“Was?” Melcorka struggled to sit up. “What happened to him? Where is he now?”
“He is dead,” Maelona said, “in common with many of the good men of Alba. There is an evil stalking the realm, Melcorka, something that will only get worse, infinitely worse.”
“How did he die?” Melcorka asked, though she already guessed the answer.
“Erik Egilsson, the Butcher.” Maelona said. “Erik and his companions are a plague.”
Melcorka had seen too many good men and women killed to be shocked by the death of one more. All the same,
