He was itching for a few moments alone with Banac, but as soon as Mother saw him she sent him out for firewood; and when he had brought the firewood she asked him to stack pots; and when he had stacked the pots she asked him to tidy the bed-clothes; and he had no choice but to obey.
Even when he had finished all of the tasks she had given him there was still no opportunity to talk, with Mother and Father sitting so close by. Balor fidgeted and played with his fingers, the desire to share his news eating away inside him. Banac did not seem bothered, and this made Balor even more restless. Did he not want to know what had been said in the hall? Was he not even the least bit interested?
It was the longest evening of Balor’s life. Every time it seemed that Mother and Father were about to get up to go to bed, something always changed their minds. Mother cleaned out the soup-pot; Father put more wood on the fire; Grandfather made some remarks to Father about the stranger that Balor did not really understand, and Father became agitated and replied in a less-than-respectful tone. It would have developed into a full-blown argument were it not for Mother’s intervention, telling them not to discuss such things in the children’s hearing. She did not know that the children had things they needed to discuss out of the adult’s hearing, and that Balor would have welcomed an argument at that point, because after arguments in the evening everyone tended to go to bed early.
After what seemed like an age Father rose and stretched himself, and he and Mother went down to the far end of the house where they had a makeshift bed laid out. Grandfather told the boys to lie down and go to sleep, because it had been a long day and it would do them good to get some rest; then he, too, went to bed.
The fire died down. The creaks of the adults moving around slowly petered out, replaced by the sound of deep, steady breathing. Pitch blackness descended on the house as the night wore on, and Balor lay wide awake, shivering with anticipation.
When he could not bear to wait any longer he rolled over and whispered, as quietly as he could, “Banac.”
“I’m awake.” Banac’s whisper came back immediately.
“Oh. Good.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, as both boys wondered how to broach the incredibly important subjects they had to discuss. As always, it was Banac who spoke first:
“So what did they say? What did you find out?”
Balor was ready for this question. “I’ll tell you — but first you have to tell me what happened in the clearing that day,” he said. “I want to know what you saw, and where you got that ... thing from. And I want to know what happened last night, and where you went. Tell me all that, then I’ll tell you what I heard.”
Banac did not answer straight away. Balor could tell he was thinking hard. It was a good few minutes before he sighed impatiently and said, “All right. I’ll tell you. But I’m warning you: it’s not as much as you think it is.”
Balor turned over to face him, snuggling down in the blankets, as Banac collected the fragments of his thought together the best he could, and began.
He started with a description of the white-skinned corpse in the hollow by the standing stones, and when Balor heard this his breathing quickened, half from excitement and half from fear.
“I think someone put him there,” Banac said. “He’d been killed, I think. Someone cut his throat. It was horrible. That’s why I didn’t want you to see. He was wearing the torc, on his wrist. I didn’t see him at first — all I saw was the gold. It was only after I got it I realised he was there ...”
They both looked over at the sleeping stranger.
“He’s wearing one too.” said Balor. “I saw it on his arm, the same as the one you found.”
“Yes.”
“So what does it mean?”
Banac shook his head in the darkness. “I don’t know.”
* * *
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