by P. C. Cast
“And you’re believing all of this?”
Instead of the anger with which Brighid expected him to respond, Cuchulainn’s expression turned introspective. He took another drink from the wineskin.
“At first I didn’t believe any of it. For days I walked around armed, expecting winged demons to jump out at me from behind every rock.” His brows tilted up and some of his old sparkle lit his eyes. “Demons failed to appear. But can you guess what did jump out at me?”
Brighid snorted a quick laugh. “If you’d left me to lodge with them I think I would have called them demons. Very small demons, but none the less frightening.”
“The children are everywhere. There are so many of them and so few adults that it’s a constant struggle to care for them and keep them fed. Not that they’re helpless—or at least not as helpless as human, or even centaur, children would be at their age. They’re hardy and intelligent. Despite their rather exuberant show when welcoming strangers, they’re incredibly well-behaved.” Cuchulainn met and held Brighid’s sharp gaze. “And they are the happiest beings I’ve ever known.”
“There’s nothing new about the young being happy, Cu. Even your silly wolf cub runs and frolics. It is the way of youth before the responsibilities of the world encroach upon their unrealistic dreams for the future.”
Cuchulainn heard the bitter undertone in the Huntress’s voice and wondered what had happened in her youth to put it there.
“But before Elphame’s sacrifice, the New Fomorian children had no carefree period of innocence. From the day they were born, not only did they have to struggle to survive, but they had to wage a constant war against the dark whisperings within their own blood as they watched their parents succumb to the evil and die around them.”
“If that is actually what happened.”
“I’m tired, Brighid.” Cuchulainn ran a hand across his brow. “I didn’t come here as a hero who would lead them back to their ancestral homeland. I came here filled with hatred.”
Brighid nodded her head slowly. “I know.”
“Elphame didn’t. At least I hope she didn’t. I wouldn’t want her to think that I would betray her trust.” He shook his head and held up his hand to stop her when she tried to speak. “No, I don’t mean that I came here with the intention of slaughtering the hybrids. But I was looking to cast blame and to find a battlefield on which to avenge Brenna.”
“That wouldn’t bring Brenna back, Cu.”
“No, it wouldn’t. And instead of a battlefield or a race of demons I found a people who are imbued with happiness.” He rubbed his brow again. “Happiness is all around me. I’m surrounded by it. But I can feel none of it.”
Brighid felt a rush of sympathy for him. Living within a face that was too old for his years, he looked lost and alone.
“You need to go home, Cu.”
“I need—”
Cuchulainn’s words were cut off by a tapping sound against the door flap followed closely by Kyna’s shining head.
“Ciara said I should come for you.” She grinned at Cuchulainn. Then her bright eyes and smile flashed at Brighid. “And you, too, Huntress. The evening blessing is about to begin. You don’t want to miss it, do you?”
“We’ll be right there, Ky,” Cuchulainn said.
The child’s head disappeared.
“Evening blessing?” Brighid asked.
“They honor Epona every day, both at sunrise and sunset. It’s a little like being back at my mother’s temple.”
“Except for the cold, dreary land, the absence of the riches of Partholon, and the presence of hordes of winged children,” Brighid said.
Cuchulainn tossed the wineskin back to the Huntress and grabbed his cloak.
“Exactly like that.” He paused in front of her on his way out of door. “I am glad you’re here, Brighid.”
“So am I, Cu. So am I.”
The long, low, rectangular building Brighid had mistaken as a shelter for animals when she’d looked down at the settlement from above was really the general meeting place and, Cu explained, it served as a Great Hall for the hybrids. It was there that Kyna, skipping and dancing, led them, and then, with a parting grin and the promise to sit near them during the meal, she scampered to one of the clusters of waiting children.
Although Cuchulainn had prepared Brighid for the number of children, the centaur found herself gaping like an inexperienced foal. There were just so many of them! Winged children were everywhere. It looked as if the entire settlement had gathered in front of the longhouse in a large, loose circle. The children clustered in groups, each surrounding an adult who attentively talked to and kept watch over his or her charges. The sun had almost fallen below the distant western horizon, and the incessant wind had turned even colder and more biting, but not one child cried or complained. They didn’t run around in the undisciplined gamboling typical of youth. They simply stood and waited patiently, even the smallest ones with their tiny wings and wide, bright eyes. Of course they did stare openly at Brighid. But when she met a young one’s gaze, the child returned her look with a wide, sharp-toothed smile. Several of them waved at her. She noticed the boy child, Liam, right away because he made a point to catch her attention by executing a very grown-up bow and sending her a look of total adoration. As if she really was his mentor, she thought with a silent groan.
What in the world would she do with a small winged shadow?
The door to the longhouse opened and Ciara stepped out. She walked quickly to the center of the circle. The winged woman’s gaze skimmed over the group until it came to rest on Brighid. Her smile turned radiant.
“It is a blessed day that is closing!” she proclaimed.
The children made small happy sounds while their heads bobbed up and down in vigorous agreement. All eyes turned to the Huntress.
“Until today we knew of the noble race of centaurs only from memories of our mothers and our mothers’ mothers, and from the stories we have told. But today we are honored by the presence of the famous MacCallan Huntress, Brighid Dhianna. Let us give thanks to our Goddess for yet another day and the new blessing with which she has gifted us.”
Feeling the weight of all of those young eyes, Brighid wanted to fidget or, better yet, escape. Thankfully, when Ciara raised her arms and turned to face the west all the children and adults turned with her, focusing their eyes on the horizon. But as Ciara’s clear voice rang out strong and sweet, evoking the timeless ritual of Epona’s evening blessing, Brighid found curiosity and surprise pulling her eyes from the west to the delicate form of the winged woman.
O Epona, Goddess of beauty and of magnificence
Goddess of laughter and joyous strength.
At this setting day we begin our thanksgiving looking to the west,
the way of water,
and we are washed in the blessings of another day.
Today we thank You for guiding the Huntress to us,
she who is born of a noble race.
Bound in honor.
Rich in tradition.
Ciara was standing with her arms raised and her head thrown back. Her dark wings unfurled and lifted around her, rippling smoothly against the cold evening wind. Brighid drew in a surprised breath. The winged woman’s body was outlined by a glittering haze that during the past two moons had become very familiar to Brighid. It was the same shimmering power she had seen countless times when Elphame called upon Epona’s name.
“You didn’t expect that, did you?” Cuchulainn whispered.
Brighid could only shake her head and continue to stare at the Goddess-touched hybrid.
O Goddess of our hearts
protectress of things wild and free
we thank You for Your bright presence here
and for Your power that works through water…
Arms still raised, Ciara turned to her right, and the group followed her movements.
Through earth…
She turned again to the right.
Through air…
/> Again, the group followed her in the sacred circle by turning to face the south.
And through fire.
Then Ciara and the group closed the circle by turning again to the west. At the moment the sun sank into the earth, she lifted her voice joyously, threw wide her arms, and called,
Strike, Goddess lights!
Brighid gasped as two torches staked just outside the longhouse door flamed into bright, burning light.
This is a day of bounty and of joy,
worthy to be celebrated,
as in times far ancient
our mothers taught us
to honor You, O Goddess.
Your light will ever guide
those who have been lost in the dark.
All hail Epona!
“All hail Epona!” the group shouted and the circle broke as smiling children made their way amidst lots of giggling talk into the longhouse.
Brighid felt like her hooves had been rooted to the cold ground.
“By the hot holy breath of the Goddess, she has fire magic!” Her words exploded at Cuchulainn. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Over the past two moons I have learned that some things must be seen to be fully appreciated. Come on, Huntress.” Much like he would have his sister, Cu wrapped his arm through Brighid’s and guided the stunned centaur toward the longhouse. “I told you understanding them is not as easy as you might think.”
6
“YOU COULDN’T HAVE told me about this, either?” Brighid muttered to Cu as she stepped inside the longhouse.
“There really wasn’t time,” he said under his breath. “And I don’t think the simple telling of it would have been adequate.”
It was a beautiful building. More rectangular than circular the two longest walls supported huge hearths in which fires crackled merrily around enormous, bubbling pots that, from the wonderful smells drifting throughout the room, must be filled with well-spiced stew. Long rows of trestle tables were formed by smoothed wooden planks resting snugly atop stone pillars that had been carved to look like blooming flowers. But what drew Brighid’s eye were the walls of the great building. From the outside they looked like the walls of Cu’s small lodge, but on the inside they had been meticulously smoothed and covered with painted scenes so lovely they rivaled any of the treasured pieces of art gracing the marble walls and hallowed halls of Epona’s Temple.
The centermost scene was breathtaking. A silver mare, silhouetted in the golden light of a rising sun, arched her proud neck and presided regally over the room. The mare’s eyes were wise—her gaze benevolent. All around her vignettes of Partholon had been brought to life with a master’s hand. There was the Temple of Epona, glistening with pearlized walls and stately carved columns. The Temple of the Muse’s elegant grounds were filled with silk-clad women, frozen in time, clustered around each of the nine Incarnate Goddesses, listening in rapt attention to their daily lessons. There was even a scene wherein two centaurs raced through wither-deep grass that Brighid easily recognized as the Centaur Plains. Framing each one of the scenes were intricate knots that hid birds and flowers and animals indigenous to a land much more hospitable than the Wastelands.
“It’s truly amazing,” Brighid said.
“I’m pleased you like it,” Ciara said. With an elegant unfolding of her hand she motioned to a section of one of the tables that had been arranged away from the others. The benchlike sitting area on one side of it had been removed to accommodate Brighid’s equine body. The other side remained fashioned for more diminutive human hindquarters. “I hope this will be comfortable for you. I thought Cuchulainn and I could join you, here apart from the others, so that you would not be deluged with the constant questioning of the young.” Ciara led them to their seats as Liam and Kyna hurried over with trays of steaming food. “Well, with two possible exceptions,” Ciara whispered to the Huntress.
Brighid eyed the eagerly waiting children with suspicion. Their inquisitive looks made her more uncomfortable than a pack of starving coyotes. The moment she sat beside the table, Liam rushed forward and ladled for her a generous portion of thick stew filled with chunks of potato, meat and barley, and a side dish of warm greens that smelled a lot like spinach.
“The wildgreens are special for you, Brighid.” Liam’s nervous excitement brimmed over and spilled around them. “They’re a real treat so early in the spring. I, um, I mean we hope you like them.”
“I’m sure I will. Everything smells wonderful.” Brighid smiled tentatively at the boy. He practically wriggled out of his skin with pleasure.
“Can Fand eat at our table, Cu?” Kyna asked the warrior as he helped himself to the wildgreens she offered.
“Of course, but be sure she stays under the table. Not on it,” Cu said.
“Leave the trays and go eat now,” Ciara prompted when the two children looked as though they would be content to stand all night and watch every move Brighid made as she attempted to eat under their intense scrutiny. They obeyed, but reluctantly, still throwing curious looks over their shoulders at the beautiful centaur.
“The children are enamored with you, Huntress,” Ciara said with a smile.
Cuchulainn glanced up at Brighid from under his brows. “It’s a relief to have them obsessed with someone else,” he said around bites of stew.
Ciara laughed. “Oh, do not think they have forgotten you, Warrior.”
Cu scowled and turned his attention back to his bowl.
Brighid ate silently, letting her eyes dwell on the incredible scenes that filled the walls.
“I sense that you are surprised by our artwork,” Ciara said.
Brighid’s gaze shifted to her. “Yes,” she said frankly. “I am.”
Ciara’s warm smile didn’t waver. “You wouldn’t be if you knew the story of our birth.”
“I know some of it—that your people come from a group of women stolen from Partholon by the Fomorians during the war more than one hundred years ago. When the Fomorians realized they were losing the war, they escaped into the Trier Mountains with as many human women as they could capture. They planned to hide there and grow strong again, replenishing themselves with a new generation of demons born of human women. Eventually they would return to attack Partholon again.”
“Yes, that much is true. What else do you know?”
Brighid lifted one shoulder. “Only what Lochlan told us. That the Fomorians escaped the Partholonian warriors, but they couldn’t escape the plague brought to them by Epona’s outrage at the violation of her women. The demons grew sick and weakened. Then a group of pregnant women, led by Lochlan’s mother, attacked their captors, killed them, and searched through the mountains, helping the other groups of women rise against their captors, too.”
Ciara nodded and took up the thread of the story. “Their plan was to return to Partholon. They knew their pregnancies meant death sentences for them. No human woman had ever survived the birth of a child fathered by a demon. It was their desire to return to their homes where they would die surrounded by their loved ones.”
Ciara’s beautiful face glowed with the telling of the tale and Brighid listened, entranced by the Shaman’s singsong voice.
“But then the impossible happened. As they began the journey back to Partholon, Morrigan MacCallan went into labor and survived the birth. She brought forth a boy child who had wings as well as the spark of humanity. She looked upon her son with the fierce love of a mother, and named him Lochlan. And then another woman survived the birth of her infant. And another. And another.” Ciara paused, holding Brighid’s eyes with her own. “What were the women to do? Some would say they should have killed or abandoned their children and returned to the lives that waited for them in their beloved Partholon. The infants were, after all, the spawn of demons. But their mothers did not see them as such. They saw their humanity instead. So Epona led the young mothers here, to our canyon, where they built new lives from the dreams of their old world. And here we have stayed for more than one
hundred years, waiting to fulfill those mothers’ dreams by returning to the world they loved with a depth of spirit second only to their love for their children.”
“And Epona gave Lochlan’s mother The Prophecy, which he fulfilled after dreaming of Elphame and following that dream to Partholon,” Brighid said quickly without looking at Cuchulainn. She didn’t want to speak of the events that had led Fallon to follow Lochlan to MacCallan Castle. She had despaired of Lochlan fulfilling the Prophecy because she knew he had fallen in love with Elphame. So Fallon killed Brenna to lure Elphame away from the safety of her Clan. “That I know, but it doesn’t explain all of this.” The centaur pointed at the lovely paintings.
“Oh, but it does. You see, the largest group of pregnant women were captured during the great battle at the Temple of the Muse.”
Brighid’s eyes widened in understanding. “So many of you are descended from either Incarnate Goddesses of the Muse, or their acolytes.”
“That’s right. You already know that I am granddaughter of the Incarnate Goddess Terpsichore, Muse of the Dance. This room is filled with descendants of all nine of the Goddesses. Our mothers and grandmothers knew the magic of the Muses, and they passed that knowledge along to us. It was their greatest wish that the wonder of Partholon not die in the Wastelands. Does the beauty surrounding you now make sense?”
“It does indeed,” Brighid said softly. Throughout Partholon the Temple of the Muse was known for its various schools of learning and the exceptional women who lived and trained there. Epona’s own Chosen was always educated by the Incarnate Goddesses of the Muse. The Huntress considered Ciara’s words. There were many more layers to this situation than she had anticipated. And layers meant things were rarely as they at first seemed. “Your mother was daughter to Terpsichore’s Incarnate Goddess of the Dance, and your father?”
Sadness crossed the winged woman’s expressive face. “He was the son of an acolyte devoted to Calliope who was captured by the Fomorians, raped and impregnated when she was thirteen years old. Really just a child herself…” Ciara’s voice trailed off.
