The naked man was first to step into the footprints of blood, with the others following one by one, standing in the blood for seven seconds before leaving. Only when every man had stood in the carved footprints did the naked man use the friction of two sticks to light a fire on both piles of wood. Waiting until the flames caught hold, he walked through the smoke between both fires. The others followed in a single, silent line.
“The Need Fires,” Bradan said. “The smoke is to purify those who pass through.”
“We have to speak to one of these Druids.” Melcorka had one of her spells of lucidity.
“Well then,” Bradan tapped his staff. “Let's speak; they seem to have completed the ceremony.”
Rising together, Melcorka and Bradan walked openly forward. At first sight of them, the Druids formed a circle around the naked man. One stepped forward, with the hood shielding his face.
“Who are you?” The Druid's voice was deep within his hood.
“I am Melcorka Nic Bearnas of the Cenel Bearnas.”
Bradan flinched. Since Erik defeated her, Melcorka no longer called herself the Swordswoman. “I am Bradan the Wanderer.”
“Why are you here?”
“We seek your knowledge,” Bradan said.
The other Druids gathered around them, silent within their deep hoods. One stepped forward. “I am Bruachan.”
“I thought you were going to be a human sacrifice,” Melcorka recognised Bruachan as the once-naked man, now wearing an identical white cloak.
“We do not sacrifice humans,” Bruachan said solemnly.
“The People of Peace suggested that we ask your advice,” Melcorka said.
“Maelona,” Bruachan said. “We felt her presence in our minds.”
“We need your help,” Melcorka said. “We have a quest and orders from the High King.”
Bruachan met her gaze. “You need our help more than you know, Melcorka Nic Bearnas. Who damaged you?”
“A man named Erik Egilsson. How do you know?”
Bruachan ignored the question. “He was the vessel. Who is controlling him?”
“Erik believes that Loki of the Norse gods made his sword more powerful than mine. Maelona thinks it is something much older than Loki.”
Bruachan threw back his hood, revealing the stern, cleanly shaven face of a man approaching middle age. “Maelona thinks it is the underground one. The forbidden one.”
“Perhaps. We do not know.” Bradan said. “We hoped you might be able to help us.”
Bruachan nodded. “Come with me.”
Each Druid walked away in a different direction, leaving only Bruachan with Melcorka and Bradan. “It's not far,” Bruachan walked as he spoke, covering the ground at speed although he did not seem to move quickly.
The broch rose from a small rise at the edge of the moor, with bogland creating a natural defensive moat. Bruachan walked unhesitatingly across a crooked causeway, pausing at the turns to ensure Melcorka and Bradan followed. The tall gate opened before them, allowing passage past the double walls into a circular courtyard where a stone building hugged the inner wall. Two men stood back to allow Bruachan passage, although they eyed Bradan and Melcorka in some surprise.
“In here,” Bruachan said, and they followed him into a surprisingly spacious apartment of wood-lined stone, where a black pot hung above a smouldering peat fire. “You'll be hungry after your vigil,” Bruachan said.
Removing his white cloak, he sat by the fire, wearing the ubiquitous linen leine and smiling at them. “What did you expect, Melcorka? Bats' wings and toads' heads hanging on hooks?”
Melcorka nodded. “Something of that sort.”
Spooning the contents of the pot into wooden cogs, Bruachan handed them round. “Vegetable broth,” he said. “Best thing after one of these ceremonies.”
“You would be cold standing with no clothes on,” Bradan said. “What was happening?”
“I was being introduced to the highest order of Druids, while we were tapping into the stones,” Bruachan said. “They were here long before the Druids, or the Picts came to Alba.”
“So I believe,” Bradan said. “It is about a god, or a something, from that time that we seek your advice.”
“The forbidden one,” Bruachan said again.
It was comfortable in that small building with the fire giving a warm glow and the blue peat smoke rising to create a haze from the stone ceiling downward.
“Why ask us?” Bruachan asked, and smiled at the expression on Melcorka”s face. “Did you think the Druids were omniscient? Did you think we knew everything about everybody?”
“The stories suggest that you do.” Bradan spoke for Melcorka.
“The stories say we have human sacrifice; the stories say we burn people in huge wicker men; the stories say a lot of things that are not true. We study people and nature, Bradan, as you do, and we create a philosophy of life, as you will do. Three times a year, we exchange information, as you just witnessed.”
“Do you know what these stone circles are for?” Bradan asked in genuine curiosity.
Bruachan nodded. “They are in alignment with the moon, the sun or the stars. The old people built them.” He leaned back. “You did not come to ask me that.”
“No.” Glancing at Melcorka, Bradan explained his mission. “We began by trying to defeat a swordsman known as the Butcher, but now we think there is something much more powerful, and much more evil. I need to cure whatever malaise is within Melcorka, and then we must find and purge this evil.”
Bruachan nodded. “What made you believe you could defeat this Butcher?”
“Melcorka has a sword that retains all the power and experience of its previous owners, as long as she wields it for good.” Bradan hesitated. “We are not sure if it still has that power.”
“Let me see the sword.” Bruachan took Defender from Melcorka. “The People of Peace made this, centuries ago,” he placed the blade against his cheek. “I can feel the power still – Defender is no less than she ever was. You have met a greater evil.” He ran his hands over the blade. “I feel the evil in here, slowly diminishing as the good defeats it. Let me see your wounds, Melcorka.”
“They are on my legs,” Melcorka said, as innocent as a child.
“Show me.”
Bruachan examined the wide