by P. C. Cast
Cu grunted and frowned. “I don’t want to worry them.”
She snorted and jerked her head back at the silent multitude. “They’re quiet. They’re never quiet. I think we can safely assume they’re already worried.”
“You’re probably right,” he said.
When he didn’t say anything more she prompted, “We should talk to them. Before they’re face-to-face with the warriors of Guardian Castle.”
“Agreed. We’ll gather them at the mouth of Guardian Pass. You can speak to them there,” he said.
“Me?” Her brows arched up. “I’m not going to speak to them!”
“But you just said—” he began, but Brighid cut him off with a sharp motion of her hand.
“No! Not me. They’ve only known me for a handful of days. You’ve lived with them. The children idolize and trust you. If you tell them something, they will believe you. I’m just The Centaur Huntress—you’re their warrior, their Cuchulainn.”
Cuchulainn scowled.
“If you don’t believe it’s the truth, ask Ciara,” she said.
His scowl deepened, but he stayed silent. Like a big, grumpy bear, Brighid thought. Being with the joyful part of his soul in her dreams had made her realize just how much she missed the old Cuchulainn. This warrior was so damned grim and silent and…
“Uptight,” she said aloud, meeting Cu’s questioning look. “That’s right, you’re too damned uptight. And you said I never relax.” The Huntress snorted. “You certainly got that all wrong.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t say you never relax.”
“Yes, you did. Last night.”
“Last night we barely talked.”
“Actually we talked quite a bit. And the night before.” Brighid drew in a deep breath, hoping her instincts were leading her tongue because she certainly had no idea why she’d suddenly decided to tell Cu about the dreams. “You visited me. Twice. In my dreams.”
Cuchulainn stiffened, his face a carefully maintained mask of indifference. “It wasn’t me.”
“Oh, it was definitely you. Or, more accurately, it was the you that existed before Brenna’s death.”
The warrior’s expressionless face paled. “Then you found it—the shattered part of my soul.” He glanced at her, barely meeting her eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to bring it here? Tell it to return? Something?”
“First of all, Cu, it’s not an it.” She shook her head at him. “And it feels wrong for you to call him that. It’s you.”
“I’m me.”
“No,” she said quietly. “No, Cu, you’re not. What you are right now is only a piece of you.”
The warrior grunted, keeping his eyes focused on the rocky trail ahead of them.
Brighid sighed. “And the man who has visited my dreams is only a piece of you, too.” She paused, not sure how much to tell him, then she puffed out a frustrated breath. She didn’t know what was right or wrong. Help me, Epona, she prayed silently. Just don’t let me cause him any more pain. “The Cuchulainn from my dreams thinks we’re still at MacCallan Castle. He believes that it’s the night after we first began readying Elphame’s chamber.”
At that, Cuchulainn’s blank expression faltered, and his voice became rough with suppressed feeling. “He thinks Brenna is still alive?”
Brighid smiled sadly. “Not really. Some part of him knows she isn’t—he’s just denying it. Without the strength you have within you now, he is just an exuberant, fun-loving young man—completely unable to cope with disappointment or sadness or hurt. He’s not whole—he’s just a fragmented piece of you.”
“And without him I can’t seem to bear to live life.”
“You have to want that part of you back, Cu. I can’t reach him on my own. Every time I try, he fades away,” she said.
“Maybe that part of me doesn’t want to come back to reality. I can’t blame him. If I could deny Brenna’s death, I would, too.”
“Would you?” Brighid said. “I don’t think you would. That full-of-life part of you hasn’t just denied Brenna’s death, he’s also chosen to forget the love you found with her. Is that what you want, Cu? To completely forget Brenna?”
“Of course not!” he snapped. “You know me better than that.”
“Then you need to try harder!”
“I’m doing everything I can!” he roared.
The flutter of wings announced Ciara’s arrival, and Brighid clamped her jaw closed. The Shaman looked from the Huntress to Cuchulainn.
“You two argue as if you had been mated for years,” she said.
“Goddess forbid!” Brighid said.
Cuchulainn’s grunt had considerably more animation than usual. The winged woman laughed.
“You even protest like a mated pair. But I didn’t come to talk with you about your relationship. We’re nearing the entrance to the pass. Before we begin crossing into Partholon we should take a moment and beseech Epona’s aid and protection.”
“How do you know we’re near the pass? Have you been here before today?” Brighid asked.
“Of course not. I only know it from our mothers’ stories.” She opened her hand, gesturing in a wide sweep at the land around them. “We were told the rocks became redder, more bloodlike, as you neared Guardian Pass. Our foremothers warned us to stay away from the east. To flee from the scarlet rocks and the pass that spewed them from Partholon.”
Cuchulainn looked around, chagrined that he’d been too busy arguing with Brighid to notice the change in the jagged rocks that flanked the mountains. He knew the deepening of color signified the pass was near.
“It makes sense,” Brighid was saying thoughtfully. “Of course the women would tell you to stay well away from Guardian Pass. They would fear your capture.”
“And our deaths,” Ciara said softly.
“It will be different now,” Cuchulainn said.
Ciara’s bright, guileless smile returned. “Of course it will be! We have the two of you, and the sacrifice of your sister. All will be well.”
Cuchulainn grunted, wishing she didn’t look quite so naively confident. Partholon had spent over a century hating the Fomorians. It would take more than his sister’s word and the presence of one warrior and one Huntress to win over a people who still remembered all too well the slaughter perpetuated by winged demons.
“Cu and I were just talking about the pass. We think Cu should talk to the children—reassure them—before we go any farther.”
Ciara’s smile was radiant. “They would love that, Cuchulainn! I’ll pass the word.” The winged woman squeezed the warrior’s arm before hurrying away.
“Apparently that was the right decision,” Brighid said with forced nonchalance. Ciara’s smile and the intimate way she touched Cu were good, she told herself, Cu needs the touch of a woman to feel the fullness of life.
“There,” the warrior said, pulling up his gelding. He pointed to a slash in two dark red rocks. No vegetation grew nearby. The sides were sheer, and the wind howled eerily through the gap. “It’s the entrance to Guardian Pass and the way into Partholon.”
Cuchulainn stood in the mouth of the pass facing the New Fomorians who watched him carefully. He glanced up at the sky. The sun had traveled past its midday position, but it still hung high in the blue-gray heavens. There would just be time for them to reach Guardian Castle before darkness. His gaze dropped to the silent crowd. He realized it was probably his imagination, but even the goats seemed subdued.
“Go ahead,” Brighid whispered, moving to his side. “They’re waiting, and we’re running short on time.”
He scowled at her, even though he knew what she said was true. Actually the Huntress was proving to be annoyingly right about too many things. The broken part of my soul has been visiting her dreams. The knowledge of it astounded him. So she’d been right about that, too. That’s why I can’t get past Brenna’s death. That’s why I feel so empty and lost. Which meant if she was right about that, she was probably right about him h
ealing when his soul was whole once more. Then he could live without Brenna. He might even learn to be happy again.
Is that what he wanted?
“Cu!” Brighid whispered.
By the Goddess! He’d been daydreaming while the entire group stared at him, waiting for him to speak. Broken soul or not, he needed to pull himself together—figuratively if not literally.
Clearing his throat, Cuchulainn stepped forward.
“You’ve done well on our journey. The Huntress and I are proud of your strength and endurance.”
There was a happy rustling of wings and the children’s bright eyes smiled up at him. He met those gazes, looking from child to child, making each of them feel as if he chose his words specifically for him or her.
“You know that Fallon went mad and killed Brenna?”
The children responded with vigorous nodding of little heads.
“And that Fallon is imprisoned in Guardian Castle, awaiting her execution.” He barely paused long enough for their nods. “Then you must be prepared for the warriors at the castle to distrust you.” Instead of the denials and various degrees of upset responses he expected, the children grew very still again. Their eyes never left him. “But I don’t want you to be afraid.”
Brighid had been studying the children while Cu spoke, but his last words drew her eyes to him. He sounded so gentle—so much like the old Cuchulainn—the man who was more than just a gifted warrior. He had so much depth, which was why Brenna had finally allowed herself to love him. And Brighid surprised herself by thinking that when he looked so world-weary, yet sounded so gentle, she could understand why her friend had been unable to turn away from him.
“I will be with you,” Cu continued, “as will Brighid. But you have more than that—more than our protection could ever command. You have the goodness within you that the warriors of Guardian Castle will see.” Cuchulainn drew a deep breath and raked his hand through his disheveled hair. “I know it’s true because I was once as they are—worse actually. When I came to you I was looking to place blame for Brenna’s death. I wanted to find barbaric creatures on which to vent my hatred.” His hard expression softened. “Instead I found you. And…” The warrior faltered, wiping his hand across his face as emotions he had been keeping at bay for weeks overwhelmed him. “And I…”
“Don’t worry, Cu!” a little voice rang from the front of the group as Kyna jumped to her feet. “We understand. You didn’t know us then.”
“Yeah, you didn’t know us then,” Liam echoed.
Then, like tidewater breaking through barriers, all the children were on their feet surging toward the lone warrior. Brighid snorted and backed away quickly as they engulfed him, patting him with their small hands and offering childish words of comfort. Cuchulainn stood for a moment, a giant in the middle of young winged shapes, looking helplessly down at the throng. And then, with a deep sigh, he crouched and opened his arms to them. Disbelieving, Brighid watched as silent tears made wet paths down Cuchulainn’s face.
“Thus it begins,” Ciara said.
The Huntress wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad sign that Ciara’s eerie ability to sneak up on her had begun to feel normal.
“What begins?” Brighid asked.
“His healing. He’s allowing himself to feel again.”
“The part of his soul that is broken has been visiting me in my dreams,” Brighid said, keeping her voice pitched low so that only the Shaman could hear.
“That doesn’t surprise me. You and he have a strong bond. It would be easy for Cuchulainn to hear you calling to him, and natural for him to respond.”
Brighid turned to face Ciara. “And what about you and him? What kind of bond do the two of you have?”
Ciara smiled. “I do not think you would call it a bond. Cuchulainn appreciates female grace and beauty—that is all.”
Brighid narrowed her eyes at the flippant answer. “Don’t hurt him.”
Ciara’s laughter was alluring and musical. “You need not worry about me hurting your warrior, Huntress, and someday soon you will realize it.” Still laughing, the Shaman clapped her hands together and called the group of milling children to order. “Let us ask Epona’s blessing.”
The children parted and Ciara walked through, smiling at Cuchulainn as she took the warrior’s place in the center of the circle. Cu nodded respectfully to Ciara before he backed away to stand beside Brighid. He wiped his face, and then ran tear-dampened hands through his hair.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He looked at her and shrugged a little sheepishly. “I hadn’t planned on getting emotional.”
“I think it was exactly what the children needed.”
He lifted his brows. “And me? Is this exactly what I needed, too?”
As Brighid opened her mouth to respond, Ciara lifted her face to the sky and evoked the name of the Goddess.
“Blessed Epona!”
The Goddess’s name shivered through Brighid’s body—like heat and ice filling her all at once. The Huntress gasped, and when she spoke she knew the words came more from Epona than from herself.
“Yes, what you need is here, too. In time you will see that.”
Cuchulainn stared at the centaur. The power in her words was almost visible in the air between them. Like when Elphame is touched by the Goddess.
Suddenly like a magical tableau come to life, Ciara’s arms and wings raised over her head and she prayed in a voice that was sweet and clear.
We enter Partholon today
through the strength of Epona;
by the light of Her sun,
the radiance of Her moon,
the splendor of Her fire,
the swiftness of Her wind,
the depth of Her sea,
and the stability of Her earth
we walk with our Goddess
surrounding us and touching us,
protecting us and loving us.
Hail Epona!
“Hail Epona!” the children cried. “Hail Epona!”
Cuchulainn could feel the heat from the magic against his back, but he didn’t turn to join the Shaman and her people in their praise. Instead he continued to stare at the Huntress, mesmerized by the silver-white light that colored her words and settled around her body like a gossamer veil. Brighid returned his gaze, her violet eyes filled with wonder.
“I spoke Her words,” Brighid whispered to Cuchulainn.
“I know. I can still see the Goddess’s hand upon you,” he said.
Brighid shivered, and then Epona’s presence vanished. “Why?” Brighid’s voice was husky with emotion. “Why did Epona use me and not Ciara to speak those words to you? I’m not a Shaman, Cu!”
“I don’t know, Brighid. I don’t pretend to understand the ways of Epona.”
But deep within the warrior something stirred. The small breath of a thought, more insubstantial than fog, whispered through his shattered soul. If I could, I would choose Brighid to speak Epona’s words to me.
Perhaps he was beginning to understand the ways of Epona…
16
THOUGH IT WAS wider and easier to navigate than the secret entrance Lochlan and his people had discovered, traversing Guardian Pass was far from easy. Entering the great scarlet-colored maw had been like walking into a cave, or, Brighid thought uneasily, a blood-drenched tomb. The pass varied in width, from a narrowness through which a single horse could barely pass, to wider more spacious areas that could hold several mounted warriors. But narrow or wide, the pass was a challenge. It snaked like a twisting gorge. Jagged rocks littered the ground, which was made of shale—slick and hard enough so Brighid had to concentrate to keep from misstepping. And she found concentration difficult. She was still struggling with her shock. It was unbelievable that Epona had spoken through her. But there was no mistaking it. The words Brighid had said to Cuchulainn had not been her own—and the power that had rippled through her body had been the result of Epona’s touch.
She wished Elphame had been with them. Her friend wielded the power of the Goddess easily, naturally. El could advise her—or, better yet—if El had been there then Epona would probably have used her as a conduit instead of a Huntress who had no desire to be the mouth of a Goddess.
Brighid frowned and looked quickly around her, worried that someone would overhear her blasphemous thoughts. She didn’t mean to be unfaithful to Epona. But she could barely manage the problems in her own life. She’d be a poor choice for the gift of the Goddess’s touch, she was too damned imperfect.
“The rocks are changing color. We must have crossed the halfway point,” Cuchulainn said.
The pass had widened and the two of them walked side by side. Brighid looked up at the steep walls that flanked them. The blood color was giving way to marbled fingers of gray.
“This time I haven’t been too busy arguing with you, so I actually noticed the color change,” he said with a faint smile. “When all the red is gone, we’ll have arrived at Guardian Castle.”
“I hadn’t realized the rocks changed colors again,” Brighid said, glad to have something harmless to talk about.
“It’s odd. There’s so much red in the Trier Mountains, except in the area surrounding Guardian Castle. There everything is gray. I trained there for four years, and during all that time I never got used to the starkness of the castle or of the area surrounding it.”
Brighid raised an eyebrow at him.
“Oh, I know, warriors are supposed to thrive in the austere setting. The official line is that it’s conducive to honing concentration on the art of swordplay and the physical demands of battle.” Cuchulainn grunted. “I found it bland and miserable, conducive only to making me work hard so that I was rewarded with frequent visits home where there were more aesthetically pleasing benefits.” He barked a quick laugh. “I suppose I owe the foundation of my legendary abilities with the sword to my youthful distaste for dreary scenery.”
Brighid tilted her head and gave him an appraising look. “That sounds like something the old Cuchulainn would say.”
