Midnight Falcon

'It would be pleasant to think so,' said Brother Solstice. 'Yet harmony is often achieved by violence. Forest fires are terrible, but without them the forest itself would not survive. The deer rely on the wolf to cull the herds, eliminating the weak, ensuring that the food supply will be adequate for their survival. If the Source had decided upon a world without violence he would surely not have created the hawk and the lion.'

Banouin thought about this for a moment. 'Is it your argument then that the Source in some way desires this coming conflict, and the slaughter which accompanies it?'

'I am not arrogant enough to even guess at the answer to that, my friend. My heart is heavy with the thought of the dead to come. But, I tell myself, evil must always be countered. We did not ask the soldiers of Stone to invade our lands. We did not request them to enslave our women and butcher our children. So what are we to do? Allow them to achieve their aims? When a man sits by and allows another to kill and rape and plunder, then he is as guilty as the offender.'

'According to that argument,' said Banouin, 'you should be carrying a sword and shield tomorrow.'

Brother Solstice smiled. 'Believe me, my boy, were I standing close to a mother and her child, and a soldier of Stone was advancing upon them, I would take up sword and shield. I am not as holy a man as I would wish to be.'

'Then you accept that holy men should avoid violence, no matter what lives are threatened?'

'I do accept that we are pledged to uphold the sanctity of life,' said the druid. 'And I revere those men who can live by such a code. I am not – yet – one of them.'

Banouin pushed open the flap of the tent and stepped out into the early-morning sunlight. Cookfires had been lit all over the valley, and thousands of soldiers were moving around, some tending to their horses, others sharpening weapons, or playing dice bones. Brother Solstice dismantled the tent and Banouin helped him fold the canvas, then roll it.

'In Stone,' said Banouin, 'there was a group known as the Tree Cult. They believed in non-violence and they were killed in their thousands. Not once did they raise their hands against their killers. And they won, for they are now accepted among the citizens.'

'I have heard of them,' said Brother Solstice, 'and I admire them enormously. My first spiritual teacher – a wonderful old druid named Conobelin – told me that you can change the minds of men by argument or debate, but you ca

Banouin shook his head. 'The Morrigu talked of feeding the spirit of the land. She said that man alone among the animals has the talent to do this. Every kindly thought and deed, every moment of compassion and forgiveness, is like a raindrop of spirit to the earth. But war? War is a torrent of dark rain that poisons the earth, bringing us one tiny step closer to the death of the world.'

Brother Solstice put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. 'Yes, it is, my friend. It is vile. But when the fighting is over you and I will move among the wounded and heal them as best we can. And we will – if it pleases the Source – watch them return to their farms and their lands and hug their wives and their children. We will see them smile at the infinite beauty of the sunset, and dance on Feast Nights with all the joy of life. And we will hope that they will put aside hatred and teach their children to love their friends and neighbours, so that future generations can avoid wars and thus replenish the spirit of the earth. It is all we can do.'

'But first comes the slaughter,' said Banouin softly.

'Aye, first the slaughter.'

In the hour before dusk Bane rode to the edge of the Wishing Tree woods. The mare refused to cross the tree line, shying back as he tried to heel her forward. She then stood still, her flanks trembling. Bane dismounted and stroked her neck. 'I have no wish to enter either,' he told her. Trailing the reins he left her there and walked into the shadow-shrouded trees. There was no mist, but as he walked Bane thought he could hear whispers on the wind, and felt eyes upon him. He followed the trail down to where they had first seen the Morrigu, then continued up the slope opposite, coming at last to the circle of golden stones. A young man was sitting on a rock close by. He was slender and golden-haired, his face gentle. Beside him, resting against the rock, was a golden shield of fabulous workmanship. The rim was shining steel, the centre like a spider's web of golden wire flowing around a grey, shimmering stone the size of a man's fist. The young man looked up and smiled as Bane approached.

'She said you would come,' he said, his voice low, almost musical.

'And I did,' said Bane. 'Who are you?'

'I am… was… Riamfada. Will you sit awhile?'

'My horse is waiting beyond the woods, and I have a long way to travel. So can we make this brief? Tell me why the Morrigu asked me here.'

'Your mare is already wandering back to Three Streams, from where it will be returned to the farm you gifted to Gryffe and Iswain,' said Riamfada. 'Should you decide to travel to the coast I can send you there through the portal, and save you weeks of journeying.' Riamfada lifted a slender hand and gestured towards the stones. The air rippled and Bane found himself staring down a sloping hillside at the port of Accia. The air rippled once more, the vision disappearing. 'Sit for a while,' said Riamfada. 'I have long desired this meeting.'

'Who are you?' asked Bane again. 'Or perhaps that should be what are you?'

'Once I was human, like you.' He smiled. 'Well… not exactly like you. My legs were crippled and I could not walk. But I was Rigante, and I dwelt in Three Streams. I died there before you were born. On a Feast Night, surrounded by my friends. The Seidh brought me here to dwell among them.'

'And now you are Seidh?'

'No, you ca

Bane reached out and touched the young man's arm. It was solid, the flesh warm to the touch. 'You are no ghost then?'

'No, not a ghost.'

Bane sat down on a flat rock. 'So why am I here?'

'To make a choice. As I said I can speed your way to the coast – or beyond if it pleases you. Once I could have transported you to Stone itself, but they tore down the circle that stood on the Fourth Hill to make way for a bathhouse and a market. But I can send you to a circle some twenty miles north-east of the city.'