“The evil?” Bradan put a comforting hand on Melcorka's shoulder. “I do not think there was ever evil in Melcorka.”
“The Butcher put it there,” Bruachan placed both his hands in a pot of green paste that stood beside the fire. “There is evil on his sword. It entered your body when the Butcher cut you.” Bruachan sighed. “The evil created your worst enemy, Melcorka, depression within your mind. It limited you by causing doubt and confusion. If you accept a limitation, then it becomes what you are.” He looked at Bradan. “Has Melcorka acted differently since her wound?”
“Indeed – she has lost all confidence,” Bradan said.
“That is the poison of evil within her,” Bruachan placed his hands on Melcorka's scars. “This will hurt, Melcorka, but it is necessary. Brace yourself.”
“What are you going to do?” Bradan asked as Melcorka's eyes widened.
“I am going to remove the evil,” Bruachan said. “Bradan; you may have to hold Melcorka down.” Taking his small, leaf-bladed knife, Bruachan made a small incision in the scar.
“That did not hurt,” Melcorka watched without flinching.
“This will.” Going down on all fours, Bruachan dipped into the pot of green liquid and smeared the contents on to the open wound. Melcorka stiffened.
“What is that?”
“An antidote to the evil.” Bruachan said. “The People have cured the physical injury. This solution should cure the emotional and mental wounds. You'll have noticed you have been lethargic recently.”
“I have not,” Melcorka denied.
“She has,” Bradan confirmed, nodding. “There is no spirit in her at all.”
“The evil has subdued it. If we remove the evil, Melcorka will recover.” Inserting his finger into the fresh wound, Bruachan pushed the ointment deep into Melcorka's leg. “It is in her blood, coursing through her body to her brain, removing all that made her Melcorka.” He continued to push as Melcorka writhed. “Evil is a depression, eating her spirit, removing her will to live, to strive. It reduces people to shells with the appearance of humanity but without the life force.”
Sweat poured from Melcorka's body as she lay on the stone-flagged floor, writhing in agony as Bruachan's ointment battled the evil in her veins.
“When my potion reaches her heart, you will know,” Bruachan said. “Then you will have to hold her, Bradan. When it reaches her brain, you may not be sufficiently strong. Pray for strength, Bradan, for you and Melcorka.”
“Oh God!” Melcorka opened her mouth to draw in a breath. “What have you done to me?”
“Your body is a battleground,” Bruachan told her. “The good of nature is fighting the evil of spiritless within you. I do not know which will be victorious. It depends on how much of the essential you remains to help the fight. It depends on your spiritual strength.”
“Bradan!” Melcorka yelled, twisting, clawing at her chest. “Bradan!”
“I am here.” Bradan held her hands, suffering with her. “I am always here, Melcorka.”
“For the love of God!”
Bradan leaned closer, trying to help, willing Melcorka to fight. “I'm here, Melcorka; take my strength.”
Melcorka twisted, holding herself as Bruachan's ointment battled the poison that infected her blood, contesting the depression that crushed her spirit and removed her power of decision and joy. Sweat streamed from Melcorka's every pore to form a puddle beneath her as her eyes widened until they bulged from their sockets. She groaned, no longer able to articulate, and the veins on her forehead and neck swelled.
“Bruachan,” Bradan pleaded. “What can I do to help?”
“Be there.” Bruachan was watching, with his fingers deep inside Melcorka's scar. “Hold her. Allow your mind to meet hers.”
“My mind?” Bradan did as Bruachan said, desperate to help as Melcorka moved beyond pain into a realm where nothing matters, a place only known to a few. There was no peace there, only torment so great it became the sole reason for existence.
“Melcorka.” Bearnas's voice was gentle. She stood beside Melcorka, alongside others of her family, warrior women and men stretching back in time.
“We are here, Melcorka. We are here. Take strength.” Bearnas leaned closer to Melcorka. “You are not alone. You are never alone.”
The black-and-white birds were there, oystercatchers circling, ready to guide
Melcorka to whichever side she chose, the left path or the right path.
“You are not alone, Melcorka.”
“Yes, Mother.” Even through her agony, Melcorka heard herself speak.
“Melcorka's mother is dead,” Bradan said to Bruachan. “Is Melcorka with her, or with us?”
Bruachan shook his head. “I do not know.”
“Mel.” Bradan pressed his hands on Melcorka's head. “Take my strength, Melcorka. It's all yours.” Her head was damp with sweat as she thrashed on the flagstones, moaning. She reached up, taking hold of Bradan with both hands.
“Bradan? I saw you walk away with another woman when I was dead on the sand.”
“You are not dead, Melcorka, and there is no other woman.”
“She knows it's you,” Bruachan said. “She is coming back.”
“Melcorka!”
“It is not yet her time,” Bruachan said. “Look; she is over the worst now.”
Melcorka's writhing eased until she lay still on the ground. She stared upwards. “Bradan? Is that you?”
“It's me, Mel,” Bradan heard the catch in his voice. “You're back, again.”
“Where have I been?”
“The other place,” Bradan said. “You have been away for some time.”
“I have things to do,” Melcorka”s voice was already stronger, and there was a fire in her eyes Bradan had not seen since she fought Erik.
“You have to gather your strength first,” Bradan warned.
“I'm strong enough, damn it!” Melcorka said. “And tell that Druid to get his hand off my leg or I'll cut it off at the wrist.”
Chapter Fourteen
“That is Bruachan,” Bradan said. “He brought you back.”
Melcorka sat up. “I remember now. My mother was here. And Bradan. Thank you, Bruachan.”
The Druid removed his hand. “I'll keep my wrist intact, I
