by P. C. Cast
Brighid nodded her thanks. Except for the ever-present sentries atop the thick walls, this part of the castle was deserted. Torches from the warrior’s walk above shed pale, shadowy light. When the wall turned to the right she felt the earth beneath her rise until it peaked in a rounded corner. The area was raised, and small tors had been mounded all along the wall. There were no effigies or carved tombs. Instead the Guardian Warriors had chosen to lay their dead to rest within man-made burrows.
Curious, Brighid slowed and approached the first hill-like mound respectfully. An arched doorway had been set into the side of it, and its gray stone was beautifully carved with knots in intricate forms.
“Fagan says that in the summer they are covered with blue wildflowers.”
Cuchulainn’s deep voice startled her. “Could you give me a little warning? What is it with you and Ciara? Do you enjoy scaring the sense out of me?”
“Sorry,” Cu said gruffly. “I thought you knew I was here.”
“I knew you were here, but not here.” She pointed to where he had stepped from the dark shadow beside one of the larger tors. “And just exactly why are you here?”
“Because of them.”
Cuchulainn moved aside. The grave’s door was decorated with a single carved design that Brighid instantly recognized as the Healer’s Knot—that of a huge oak interwoven with knots. Its branches reached high into the sky. Its roots dug deep into the earth. Yet all were woven together, signifying the interconnectedness of all things: earth, sky, life, death. And she suddenly realized what had drawn Cuchulainn here.
“Brenna’s family,” she said. “I had forgotten that she’d lived at Guardian Castle. I’m ashamed to say that I had even forgotten her parents were dead.”
“I never asked her about their deaths, or about the accident that scarred her. I was curious, and I meant to ask, but it didn’t seem as important to look back as it did to focus on our future. It seemed we had forever to unearth the past…” Cuchulainn’s words faded and he touched the symbol of the tree. “Did you know it was Brenna’s accident that caused the death of her parents?”
“No,” Brighid said softly, feeling a wave of sadness for her dead friend. “Brenna didn’t talk about the accident. I didn’t even know her parents were dead until the two of you became formally betrothed and you had to go to Elphame for permission to post the bans because Brenna had no living family.”
“I didn’t know, either. Just as I didn’t know that Brenna’s mother had been a Healer, too. Fagan told me the story. Brenna was ten years old, not much older than Kyna. She’d been helping her mother prepare poultices for a particularly nasty cough that was making its rounds through the castle. Fagan said she was a smart, happy child—but that she was always daydreaming and rarely paid close attention to her mother’s words.” Cuchulainn paused, swallowing hard as he remembered the shy, serious woman the gregarious child had grown into. He had seen only glimpses of the child still within her—especially after she’d accepted his love.
“You don’t have to tell me this, Cu,” Brighid said. “Not if it’s too hard.”
His gaze caught hers, hot and intense. “Yes I do! You’re the only one here I can tell, and maybe if I say it aloud some of the pain of it will go away.”
Brighid nodded, understanding his need to purge himself.
“Brenna mixed up the buckets. She was to put water in one and oil in another. It had been a cold day, and she had been standing too close to the hearth. The end of the shawl she tied around her head caught on fire. Brenna screamed and her mother instinctively reached for the bucket that was supposed to hold water and tossed it on the shawl.”
“Oh, Goddess…” Brighid breathed, horrified at the image of a mother setting her own child afire.
“Her mother blamed herself. Brenna was her only child, and her only child was dying horribly because of what she had done. Fagan said she went mad. That same day her mother doused herself in oil and set herself aflame. She left a letter saying she had chosen to join her daughter.”
Brighid felt her head shaking back and forth, over and over.
“Her father fell into a deep depression. He didn’t eat. He didn’t drink. He didn’t sleep. He refused to visit Brenna. One morning not long after his wife’s suicide, they found him dead.”
“Poor Brenna, that poor child. To have gone through that terrible fire, and then to recover only to find that her parents were dead,” Brighid said. She shuddered. “What awful knowledge to have as a child—that your mother…and your father—”
“Died of a shattered soul,” Cuchulainn finished for her. He met Brighid’s gaze. “That’s what happened to him. I know it. It was happening to me.”
“Was?”
Cuchulainn ran his fingers lightly over the Healer’s symbol on the tomb’s door. “Was,” he said firmly. “It won’t happen to me. I can’t let it. Can you imagine the pain it would cause Brenna for me to meet her in the Otherworld, and for her to realize she had caused the deaths of two men she loved?” He shook his head. “No. You’re going to have to make the broken part of my soul return.”
“I don’t think I can actually make him do anything, Cu. He’s too damned much like you—well, only decidedly happier. You’re going to have to invite him to return, and make sure he believes it’s a true invitation.”
Cuchulainn grunted. “I’ll work on it.”
“You have until we reach MacCallan Castle. That is when I’ll make the Otherworld journey, may the Goddess help us.”
“So, a few more days,” he said. Then he stroked the Healer’s Knot one last time. “I’m ready to go back.”
Did he mean back to MacCallan Castle, or to life? When he stopped to look at the graves one last time, she stayed respectfully silent. This was something Cuchulainn would have to work out. She could help him find the shattered piece of his soul, but the rest was up to him.
“Blue wildflowers.”
Brighid cut her eyes at him, surprised by the laughter in his voice. “Why are blue wildflowers funny?”
His eyes were filled with unshed tears, but he was smiling. “Brenna loved blue wildf lowers. She said they reminded her of my eyes. She even collected things that were the exact shade of my eyes long before she met me.”
“Really?”
“She kept them on her altar to Epona. There was a feather from a bluebird, and a turquoise stone of the same shade, she even had a pearl that…”
A turquoise stone of the same shade. In the pocket of her vest she felt the weight of the blue stone pressing against her breast.
“What happened to the turquoise stone?” She interrupted him.
“I put it, and the rest of the things from her altar, in the tomb with her.”
Slowly the Huntress reached into her pocket and drew out the stone. Placing it flat on her open palm, she held it out to Cuchulainn. As soon as he saw it the warrior’s face paled. With shaking fingers, he picked it up and turned it over and over, studying it.
“Where did you get it?” His voice was thick with emotion.
Resigned, Brighid spoke the words aloud that she had barely admitted to herself. “A silver hawk, who I think is my spirit guide, dropped it on me. I—I think it’s supposed to be my soul-catching stone,” she finished in a rush.
“It came from the spirit realm?” he asked in a shaky voice.
“Is it the same stone you entombed with Brenna’s body?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it,” he whispered, staring at the stone.
“Then it definitely came from the spirit realm.”
“Do you think that means Brenna is somehow here, watching us?”
“I can’t answer that, Cu. But I do think it means your spirit is meant to be whole again, and I am meant to help you make that happen.”
Cuchulainn handed the stone back to her, and she slipped it into her vest pocket.
“We are a confused pair, Huntress,” Cuchulainn said.
“We most certainly are, my friend.”
Cuchulainn’s grunt of response was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Brighid quickly changed the subject.
“Ciara doesn’t think we need to keep watch over the camp tonight. She says the only malice she senses is from Fallon. She trusts the Guardian Warriors.”
“Let us just say that we’re tending the campfire then. We are within walls, but it’s still a cold part of the world. I would prefer the second watch,” Cuchulainn said.
Brighid’s eyes met his in perfect understanding. “Then I will take the first. That way our campfire will never be in danger of dying out.”
“Agreed.”
As they walked back to the campsite Brighid felt the warmth of the turquoise stone near her heart. Surprisingly it comforted her.
24
BRIGHID DIDN’T WANT to dream. Not in Guardian Castle, home to too much ugly history. As she made herself comfortable within the pelts that were still warm from Cuchulainn’s body…still smelled of him…the Huntress took firm rein of her mind.
Not tonight, she ordered herself. She took three cleansing breaths and focused. Not tonight! She powered the thought with every bit of innate Shaman instinct in her blood and sent it hurtling out into the Otherworld—aimed directly at Cuchulainn’s shattered soul. Tomorrow, under the open skies of Partholon she would be better prepared to deal with the charismatic missing part of Cu. Tonight the story of Brenna’s tragic life was too fresh, and the castle surrounding her too filled with ghosts.
She fell asleep hoping the happiness Brenna had found at the end of her life had made up for the pain and tragedy of her youth.
At first Brighid didn’t realize she was dreaming. She was just happy to be back at MacCallan Castle. Home! And everything was heartbreakingly real. It was early, not yet dawn, so the Main Courtyard was deserted. The statue of the famous MacCallan ancestor, Rhiannon, pouredmusical water into a graceful marble fountain surrounded by benches and potted ferns. The ceiling—newly restored by MacCallan hands—had been left partially open to the sky so that predawn light mixed harmoniously with the wall sconces creating a soft, rose-colored glow.
The scene was familiar and dear. Normally Brighid woke before most of the castle, broke her fast, and hunted early. She smiled at the beauty of the mighty marble columns of the courtyard, marveling anew at the delicate knot work that meshed the plunging MacCallan mare with animals of the surrounding forest. From habit, she made her way through the spacious heart of the castle to the Main Courtyard.
The enticing fragrance of freshly baked bread wafted from the hall that served as both dining room and general meeting chamber. The room was usually empty this early—unlike the kitchen. But Brighid was used to breaking her fast alone. She enjoyed the solitude and the chance to order her thoughts for the hunt that day. Through the wall of etched beveled glass between the Great Hall and the Main Courtyard, Brighid was surprised to glimpse someone already seated for breakfast. Probably one of the cooks taking a much needed break. No matter, she liked the cook staff and wouldn’t mind the company.
The Huntress entered the chamber and stumbled to a shocked halt. Brenna sat at what had been her usual place at the Chieftain’s smooth pine table. Brighid had the sudden urge to blink and rub her eyes, but there was no mistaking the Healer. Her thick dark hair hung over her right shoulder, partially obscuring the latticework of deep scars that covered the right side of her body.
“I am dreaming,” was what blurted from Brighid’s numbed lips.
“You are, my friend.”
Brenna looked up at the centaur and smiled, and Brighid felt her heart squeeze. That dear, familiar lopsided smile! Tears filled the Huntress’s eyes, spilling over and running down her cheeks.
“Oh, Brighid, no! Please don’t do that.”
Brighid wiped quickly at her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Brenna. I didn’t expect…I didn’t even realize that I was dreaming until now. And I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Brighid.”
The Huntress wiped at her face again and drew a deep breath before approaching the spirit of the little Healer. Brenna looked so much the same! So real! Brighid mentally shook herself. Brenna was real—she was just spirit instead of body.
“No more tears?” Brenna said.
“No more tears.”
“Good. Our time is too short to waste.” Brenna sighed and let her gaze roam wistfully around the Great Hall. “It turned out so beautiful—just as I pictured it would when Elphame was describing it to us.”
“You haven’t—” Brighid hesitated, unsure how to frame the question “—been here since…” She trailed off awkwardly.
“You mean have I been haunting MacCallan Castle?” Brenna laughed, a shy, sweet sound. “No. Tonight is a special night. I felt compelled to come here…and to talk with you…” Her eyes took on a faraway look, as if she could see something beautiful through the stone walls. Then Brenna laughed again, and her eyes turned back to her friend. “MacCallan Castle already has one ghost. It doesn’t need another.”
“I didn’t know there was a limit,” Brighid said.
“There isn’t. But it wouldn’t be good for me, or for Clan MacCallan, if I lingered here. It’s important for all of us to move on.”
“You mean Cuchulainn.”
“Yes, I mean Cuchulainn.” When Brenna spoke his name her voice softened to a verbal caress. “But not just him. El, you, me—we all have our destinies. I met mine, and it would not be just if I stood in the way of the rest of you meeting yours.”
Brenna’s words chilled Brighid.
“Is there something I should know, Brenna?”
“I didn’t come to your dreams as a harbinger of doom. You are fated to live a long life, my Huntress friend. I just want to make sure it is a long and happy one.”
Brighid blinked in surprise.
Brenna smiled. “You didn’t expect that, did you?”
“I thought you were here because of Cuchulainn.”
“I am, in a way. What I want you to know will help both of you.”
“What is it, Brenna?”
“The turquoise stone was my gift to you. Use it to heal Cu.”
“I will, Brenna. He’s already better. He visited your parents’ graves today after Master Fagan told him what had happened to your family. He vowed that he would not—” Brighid broke off, horrified by what she had almost blurted. Where was her mind? Would she never get control of her habitually too-honest tongue!
The Healer’s spirit form reached out and laid a cool, almost weightless hand on Brighid’s arm. “You can say it, my friend. Death has healed that old wound. The past cannot cause me pain.”
“Cu vowed that he would recover so that you would not be responsible for the death of another man you love,” Brighid said softly.
“Good. If learning of my past did that for him I only wish that he had known it earlier. Perhaps he could have begun healing sooner.”
She straightened her shoulders and pushed back her hair. Brighid could only stare. The terrible scars that had given the right side of her face a melted appearance had faded, leaving her skin whole and astonishingly beautiful.
“Oh.” Brenna lifted her hand to her smooth cheek. “They’re gone. It’s odd. I don’t take a physical form often, and when I do sometimes the scars are there, sometimes they are not. I find that it matters little.”
“That’s how Danann carved your image, without scars,” Brighid said. “He said he didn’t even realize he was doing it, he just did as his memory directed him.”
Brenna’s smile was bright. “I always thought that old centaur was more spirit than body.” Then the little Healer’s eyes took on a faraway look and her body wavered and became less substantial.
“Brenna?”
The spirit blinked and pulled her attention back to the Huntress. “I don’t have much more time. The most important thing I came to tell you is that I want your oath that you will keep an open mind.”
“About what?”
“About
everything that may seem impossible.”
“Brenna, can’t you be a little more specific?”
“I can, but you’re not ready for that. Yet. And anyway, it’s something you’re going to have to discover on your own. I can’t help you any more than I already have. So, just give me your oath, please.”
Brighid frowned. “All right. You have my oath.”
Brenna looked relieved. “Thank you, Brighid.”
“Do you want me to tell Cuchulainn anything for you?” Brighid said quickly, concerned that, like a beautiful sketch slowly being erased, her friend’s form was fading.
“You can tell him about this visit, but not now. It’s not the right time.” Brenna’s voice was taking on the breezy quality of an echo.
“Wait! When will it be the right time?”
“You’ll know. Freely, and without any hesitation, I leave him to you, my friend. Remember that…freely…Sleep now, Brighid, and may your future be richly blessed…” The spirit faded into nothingness.
Brighid slept deeply. For the rest of the night she dreamed only of the fresh scent of pine trees on an early-morning hunt.
The children had eaten a morning meal of venison sandwiches and hunks of goat cheese and, with the help of the Guardian Warriors, had broken camp before the sun had seen fit to peek above the horizon. Brighid couldn’t blame them. She was in a hurry to be on her way, too. Not that Guardian Castle hadn’t been hospitable, but she was more than ready to exchange the thick gray walls for the ancient forest that covered the northeastern part of Partholon. The Huntress needed to think through her dream, and ponder the message from her unexpected visitor.
The New Fomorians were lined up like little warriors behind Cuchulainn and Brighid, waiting semipatiently as they finished the business of thanking their hosts.
“We do so appreciate the loan of the cart,” Ciara was saying to the four Masters, who shrugged off her thanks.
As well they should. It was their fault the boy needs to be carried in it, Brighid thought, glancing over at Liam who reclined comfortably on pelts and down-filled pillows—all gifts from the Guardian Warrior who had wounded him. The boy’s face was pale, but he was wide-awake, and when he caught Brighid looking his way he grinned cheekily at her. She smiled back at him but mouthed the word, rest. Liam nodded, but the happy smile stayed on his face and his wide, curious eyes took in everything around them. As they had anticipated, the boy had been completely annoyed that he had missed what he called “all the fun” with the Guardian Warriors, and was only slightly mollified by the news that Brighid had formally proclaimed him her apprentice.
