Fear touched him, and he glanced around. Nothing was to be seen, save for the four Barrows and the bright moon. The fear grew, unfocused and all-consuming. His mouth was dry, his heart beating wildly.

Then he felt their presence…

At first all he could see was the night mist, rolling across the field; then it changed, flowing and rising until Banouin could see grey forms, the figures of men, cold and silent. For a moment he thought the scene was born of his fear, unreal – invented. Then the figures took clearer shape, becoming ten ranks of fighting men moving slowly across Cogden Field. Clad in helms of ghostly iron with embossed ear-guards, they carried long, rectangular shields and short stabbing swords.

This was the long-dead army of Stone. Banouin stared at them. Their forms were translucent, and shimmered in the moonlight. When they reached the Barrows, instead of climbing them, they passed right through. There was no sound. The advancing line broke into a run. Banouin glanced to his right. There, pale and spectral, was another line, this time of brightly armoured horsemen. Silently they charged at the enemy, swords as pale as moonlight slashing into them. Banouin saw a man stagger back, his arm hacked from his body. Then a spear ripped through his guts and he fell, the spear snapping in two. Horses fell, pitching their riders, who were stabbed mercilessly as they struggled to rise. All the terrible sights of war unfolded in eerie silence before his eyes.

A black crow glided down to the grass close by and stood, its baleful glare fixed on Banouin. Then a voice sounded from behind, startling him. 'These are scenes men sing of, and brag of, and lust after.' Banouin spun round. An old woman stood there, her shoulders hunched beneath a threadbare shawl, her hands clasping a long, crooked staff. Her hair was thin and wispy white, like mist clinging to her skull. She was impossibly ancient. Banouin's heart began to beat wildly. He knew of this woman, this creature of the Seidh. This was the Morrigu, whose promises tasted of nectar and burned like poison. The young man said nothing, but his dark eyes flicked towards the sleeping Bane. 'He cannot hear me, and he will not wake,' said the Morrigu. 'Will you bid me welcome to your hearth?'

'You… are not welcome here,' he forced himself to say.

'How that cuts me,' she said with a sneer. 'You, who I delivered safe when nature had decreed your death.'

'I don't know what you are talking about,' he told her.

'Vorna did not speak of me, then? How disappointing. On the night you were born her life was in danger. The babe – the you that was to be – was breeched, and there were no midwives, no druids on hand to save her – or you. So I came. And you were delivered by these old hands.'

'I don't believe you.'

'Yes, you do, Banouin. It is part of the Gift. You always sense when people are lying.'

'Even if you did save me, I don't doubt you had your own reasons,' he said, his voice firmer.

'Indeed I did.' She paused. 'Well, if I am not welcome here, will you at least walk with me awhile?'

'Why would I wish to?'

'Perhaps to prove to yourself that you are not the coward you believe yourself to be. Perhaps to repay your debt to me. Perhaps out of curiosity.' She stepped closer, and he could see that the skin beneath her right eye had peeled back, exposing the bone beneath. Banouin recoiled. 'Or perhaps because of your love for your sleeping friend.' Once more Banouin looked down at Bane. Something moved upon his friend's chest, and Banouin saw it was a coiled snake. It slithered up, then laid its flat head on Bane's neck.

'Don't kill him,' pleaded Banouin.

'I have no wish to kill anyone,' said the Morrigu. 'All I wish for is a walk across this field of the slain.'

'I will come with you,' he said. 'Make the snake disappear.'

'What snake?' she asked. Banouin glanced down. Bane was sleeping peacefully. The serpent had gone.

The Morrigu trudged past Banouin, leaning heavily on her staff. The young man followed, and they walked out onto the battlefield. The struggle was titanic, with neither side giving ground. The army of Stone fought with discipline and courage, while the tribesmen battled with passion and desperate bravery. Time and again Banouin saw acts of individual heroism that went unnoticed by the participants: a slim Rigante, standing astride a fallen comrade, trying to protect him; a soldier of Stone, his sword broken, charging into the mass of tribesmen, slamming his shield at them, and trying to wrest a fresh blade from the hands of the enemy.

'Why do they still fight?' he asked the Morrigu.

'They do not know they are dead,' she answered.

'How can they not know?'

'The arrogance of man,' she replied.

They walked on. Banouin saw a tall, handsome Stone officer, with close-cropped hair, waving his short sword above his head. Like a windblown echo he heard a thin, piping call to arms. 'One more charge, lads! One more charge and we'll have the day!'

'Who is that?' he asked.

'That is Valanus – the most famous of all Stone generals.'

'Famous?' queried Banouin. 'It is my understanding that to speak his name aloud in Stone is a criminal offence. He was the first Stone general to lose a major battle against barbarians.'

'That is still fame,' she said. 'Every man knows of him and his deeds. It is what he wanted. Indeed, it is what he asked for.'

The ghostly fighting continued until not one of the combatants was still standing. Banouin and the Morrigu reached the top of the nearest Barrow and the young man looked down upon the field of the fallen. A cool breeze blew across the shimmering silvered grass and slowly the dead began to rise again, whole and mended. Then they trudged back to their battle lines and formed up once more.

And the battle began again.

'Why does someone not tell them they are dead?' said Banouin. 'Then they could pass over the Dark Water and be free of this life.'

The Morrigu laughed. The sound made him shiver. 'Come, then,' she said. 'You can tell Valanus.'

Banouin followed her back into the battle. As she reached the Stone general she tapped at his form with her staff. He turned and looked not at her, but directly at Banouin. 'Who are you, spirit?' he asked.

'I am not a spirit, sir, but a man. You are the spirit. This battle was fought many years ago, and you died here. It is time to move on.'

'Died?' said Valanus, with a wide smile. 'Do I look dead to you? Get thee gone, demon. This is my day. And when it is over I shall be lord of this land.' Turning away he raised his sword. 'One more charge, lads! One more and we will have the day!'

'Well, you told him,' said the Morrigu. 'But it is in the nature of men never to listen. In death as well as in life.'

'Why are you here?' he whispered.

'For reasons of my own. What is it you wish for?'

Banouin laughed. 'Do you think me stupid enough to tell you? Like poor Valanus, whose name is now accursed?'

'Would your request be as his, child? Would you want fame and glory? Would you want riches?'

Banouin turned his back on the ceaseless, silent warfare raging around him and walked back to the campsite. Bane was still sleeping, and the fire was burning low. The Morrigu moved alongside him. 'Can you feel Caer Druagh calling you?' she asked.

'I find I miss the mountains,' he admitted. 'I had not thought I would.'

'Do you know why the Seidh exist?'

'No.'

'One day you will. And on that day you will return to Caer Druagh.'

'What is it that you want from me?' he asked her. 'I am not a warrior. I have no lust for battle and glory. My intention is to reside in Stone and study.'

'Then do so, Banouin. Look through all the ancient texts. Look for the truth hidden within dusty pages and yellowing scrolls. You will not find what you are looking for. The answer, when it comes, will come from your heart.' She sank down to the ground and rubbed her hand across her face. Skin peeled back and fell away, exposing more bone. Banouin turned his face away.