Brighid's Quest

by P. C. Cast

  Brighid snorted softly to herself. The young imp had said he’d known all along he was supposed to be a Huntress; he had just been waiting for Brighid to admit it. By the Goddess, what was she going to do with the boy!

  “Your apprentice looks well this morning,” Cu said, following her gaze and nodding in response to Liam’s grin and wave.

  “Don’t remind me,” Brighid grumbled.

  “Don’t remind you that he looks well?” Cuchulainn raised his brows.

  “No, don’t remind me that he’s my apprentice. The boy thinks he’s a centaur Huntress.”

  Cuchulainn tilted his head to the side, and scratched his chin with an exaggerated, considering gesture. “Would that make him gender or species confused?”

  “Both,” Brighid grumped.

  Cuchulainn laughed, a full, heartfelt, joyous sound. If taking on such an unusual apprentice had prompted Cu’s open, infectious laughter to return, Brighid thought it might very well be worth it.

  “The Masters would like to join us for our morning blessing ceremony,” Ciara said. Her beautiful dark eyes sparkled as she smiled sweetly up at the laughing Cuchulainn.

  “Excellent.” Cu returned the winged woman’s smile. “I think it would do them good to witness one of your rituals to Epona.”

  Brighid watched their friendly exchange with a quiver of irritation. Of course Ciara would materialize the instant Cu laughed. The two of them obviously had some kind of connection. But watching them beam foolishly back and forth at each other was damned annoying. It also made Brighid feel more than a little invisible.

  “I would like to offer our thanks to the Goddess outside of the walls of Guardian Castle—on the soil of Partholon,” Ciara said.

  “Excellent idea. You lead, and we will be close behind.”

  Ciara smiled again, this time at both of them, before hurrying back to bring the Masters with her to the front of the castle. Cuchulainn clucked to his gelding and kneed him forward. Brighid moved with him.

  “You don’t think a ceremony outside the castle walls is a good idea?” Cu asked.

  Brighid slanted a quick, sideways look at him. “It’s fine.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he said quietly.

  “Do what?”

  “Shut down like that. You’ve chastised me for it often enough, but now you’re doing the same thing.”

  This time she let his gaze catch hers. His turquoise eyes were warm and concerned. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Not a problem. That’s why we make such a good team. Neither of us is perfect.”

  He squeezed her shoulder, and suddenly something besides irritation quivered through her. It felt hot and slick, and it lodged low in her gut, making her draw in a quick, surprised breath.

  “Now, want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “I was thinking about the trip,” she lied. “It’s maddening that it’s going to take us at least four or five more days, when if we had wagons and horses we could get there in half that time.”

  “Well, we discussed it with Fagan. They had a couple wagons they could spare, but they aren’t a typical castle. Partholon gives them provisions in payment for their vigilance. The castle doesn’t trade goods, so they don’t keep wagons for hauling.” He shrugged. “You know they offered to send word to Laragon Castle and ask them to bring enough wagons for us.”

  She shook her head, wishing she could rattle back into place whatever part of her mind had suddenly come loose. “By the time the wagons got here we would be halfway to MacCallan Castle,” she answered him absently.

  “So we travel as we are. Keep your chin up, Brighid. You might be surprised at how quickly the next days pass. And I don’t mind admitting that I am damned glad we’re finished with the Wastelands—” he lowered his voice “—and Guardian Castle. I find it no less oppressive than it was during my school days, and the ghosts of the past feel too…” He hesitated, searching for the right word.

  “Alive?”

  “Yes, alive,” he said.

  She nodded and mumbled a vague affirmative. Goddess knows she’d been too immersed in ghostly visits of her own lately.

  “This should be interesting.” Abruptly Cu changed the subject, pointing his chin in the direction of Ciara and the four Masters. “She was pretty subdued last night when she said the evening prayer and lit the campfire. I don’t expect such a tame performance for the first time she enters Partholon.”

  “Uh-huh,” Brighid said, wondering just how much Cuchulainn had come to care for the Shaman. Could he be falling in love with her, or was he just infatuated with her exotic allure? Was accepting their relationship what Brenna had meant last night when she had made Brighid swear an oath to keep an open mind about the future? No…it didn’t fit. Brenna had said to keep an open mind regarding the impossible. Once the warrior was healed, Cuchulainn falling in love with Ciara didn’t seem impossible at all. Actually it was logical. His sister had been handfasted with the leader of Ciara’s people. The New Fomorians were going to settle at MacCallan Castle, which is where Cuchulainn had chosen to live, too. It would make for a cozy little arrangement.

  Then why did the thought of it make Brighid feel so damn annoyed? It was almost as if she was jealous of the Shaman. Ridiculous. Completely, utterly, ridiculous. Why should she feel jealous? He was her friend. It wasn’t like he was a centaur male and she and Ciara were vying for his affection.

  The sudden inhalation of awe behind her broke into Brighid’s tumbling thoughts. The great iron gates of Guardian Castle had been pulled completely open, and Partholon stretched before them, green and magical in the soft light of the blush-colored morning sky.

  Ciara rushed down the wide, well-trodden road until she came to the tree line. She stood very still then walked purposefully to the east until she stood before a lone oak whose mighty branches were covered with the slick green of spring leaves. She sank to her knees, pressing her palms against the earth and bowing her head. The children didn’t wait for her cue. With a glad cry, they surged forward forming a familiar circle around their kneeling Shaman. Brighid and Cuchulainn moved to join the four Masters, who stood a little way apart from the circle. With a slight movement, Cu motioned back to the castle. Brighid glanced over her shoulder. The wide walls were filled with dark warriors, all silently watching. Then Ciara began to speak and all eyes were riveted to her winged form.

  Magnificent, loving Goddess

  today Your people have been richly blessed.

  The instant Ciara said the word Goddess the air around her shimmered. Not with the tame, earthy light Elphame evoked, or even the golden, flame-kissed glow of Ciara’s other blessing ceremonies. This morning the winged Shaman blazed with a vibrant, powerful light that crackled and pulsed like fire. As she continued to speak, the brilliance of the light grew, and Ciara brought her hands out, away from her sides, palms open, rapturously embracing the living presence of her Goddess.

  Mother of animals, She who listens to our pleas,

  Epona, Great Goddess, I call to Thee.

  Guardian of horses strong and free,

  Epona, Great Goddess, I worship Thee.

  Thine are the blessings of liberty and peace,

  Thine are the gifts of happiness and grace,

  and whenever I ask a blessing of Thee,

  its burdens I do fully embrace.

  Unexpectedly Brighid felt a chill run over her skin that contrasted sharply with the flamelike warmth radiating from Ciara. The Goddess’s gifts all come with a cost…whispered the memory of her mother. She knew that—she did not take Epona’s gifts for granted. Remember, she told herself, thinking of how power had corrupted and changed her mother, remember that with great blessings come great responsibility.

  Epona, Mother Goddess, today we celebrate with Thee,

  through Thy power we return to Partholon, finally free.

  For long, cold years You guarded us as if we
were a rich treasure,

  through our exile You kept alive within us a joy beyond measure.

  Ciara stood and the New Fomorians rose with her. They did not obstruct the sight of the shining winged Shaman, if anything they were like a frame that accentuated the beauty of a master’s piece. Ciara’s wings unfurled and her graceful hands and delicately rounded arms lifted to trace mythical patterns in the magic that licked like tendrils of flame through the air surrounding her.

  Epona was present. The power of the Goddess was thick and tangible and unforgettable. No one who witnessed the New Fomorians’ entry into Partholon would ever say otherwise. Brighid tore her eyes from Ciara to look at Cuchulainn. He stared unblinking at the Shaman. The Huntress looked from him to the four Masters. They, too, were staring at the winged woman. The Horsemaster, Glenna, had one hand pressed against her mouth, as if to hold back a startled cry. The pessimistic Master of Combat, Bain, had fallen to his knees. Tears streamed unheeded from his eyes. Brighid glanced over her shoulder at the wall of the castle. Many of the warriors were kneeling and reverently bowing their heads.

  Shining Goddess, Thy promise has been fulfilled.

  Never again shall Your children roam outcast.

  With Thy loving hand a new home we shall build.

  And by Thy flame of love our frozen years are past.

  Ciara flung her arms up over her head and, as if she had called it into the sky, the sun burst over the eastern tree line, blazing with a fierce, joyful glory that spoke eloquently of Epona’s presence among them.

  “Hail Epona!” Ciara cried.

  “Hail Epona!” The New Fomorians echoed their Shaman.

  “Hail Epona!” Brighid joined Cuchulainn and the warriors of Guardian Castle in the joyous shout.

  And then, miraculously, a voice was heard above theirs as, over the rise in the wide road poured wagon after wagon led by a stunning redheaded woman on a prancing silver mare. The same fire crackled in the air around the pair, except it was smoother. No less powerful, it was more focused and controlled, with an aura of maturity and experience.

  “Hail Epona!” the woman cried again, her voice magically magnified by the Goddess.

  With a loud cry of gladness, Ciara ran to the woman and knelt before her. The woman slid gracefully from the mare and without hesitation, lifted the Shaman into her arms.

  Brighid could hear the murmurs of the warriors and the Masters, murmurs that turned into shouts of welcome as they recognized their new visitor. Cuchulainn clucked to his big gelding. “Will you join me in greeting my mother?” he asked Brighid.

  Brighid gave him a surprised look, and he shrugged his shoulders.

  “Don’t you know her? I assumed she visited MacCallan Castle shortly after I left.”

  “She did, and, yes I have had the honor of meeting your mother,” Brighid said.

  “Well, then come with me,” he said, kneeing his gelding forward.

  The Huntress jogged at his side. “I thought you might like to present Ciara to your mother alone.”

  The warrior’s brows drew together. “Why would you think that? This isn’t exactly a private setting.” He waved a hand at the group of children descending upon his mother, Epona’s Beloved Incarnate Goddess, and the silver Chosen mare.

  Feeling more than foolish, Brighid clamped her lips together. She sounded like a petulant schoolgirl.

  “Anyway, I’ll need your help rescuing her,” Cu said.

  Brighid looked from the shining Beloved of Epona to the long line of wagons that stretched down the road behind her.

  “How did she know we were here and that we needed the wagons? There was no way a message could have arrived at Epona’s Temple in the space of one night,” Brighid said.

  “There’s one thing you should learn about my mother—between her, that mare and their Goddess, she literally knows everything. Or at least, as she has often told me, she knows everything that is important.”

  As they pushed their way through the group of laughing, talking, singing children, Brighid sent silent and semiblasphe-mous thanks to Epona that her own mother didn’t know everything—whether it was important or not.

  25

  “I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT that being in the company of children makes time seem to pass more quickly.”

  Brighid snorted with even more than her customary sarcasm, causing Etain to toss back her head of glorious hair and laugh with full-throated exuberance. Brighid tried to maintain a sober expression, but quickly gave it up. It was impossible not to laugh with Etain.

  “I suppose they keep us busy, because there never seems to be enough time for…for…any thing when they’re around, so they do appear to make time pass more quickly,” Brighid conceded.

  “There. I knew I’d get you to admit that the past two days have flown by.”

  It was true. If they kept up their brisk pace, by dusk they would reach MacCallan Castle.

  Now, the High Priestess of Partholon grinned, looking more like a fresh-faced young bride than a woman who had seen the passing of sixty springs. The Beloved of Epona laughed again. “Flown by! Those are well-chosen words. Would it not be a wonderful thing to experience? Whenever I see one of the children running by with that amazing, gliding gait of theirs I wish I could grow wings and join her.”

  Brighid could only stare at Etain in shock. Was it blasphemy to imagine Epona’s Beloved with Fomorian wings?

  “Oh, I know. Your look reminds me far too much of my husband. You must be another centaur who can not abide heights.”

  “Heights and equine limbs are not compatible.”

  Etain’s silver mare blew heavily through her nose, as if she had been listening and was agreeing with the centaur. Actually the mare probably was listening—and understanding—Brighid reminded herself. She was the Chosen equine incarnation of Epona, and much, much more than an ordinary horse.

  Etain stroked the mare’s slick neck fondly. “No, I won’t be taking you near any cliffs, my beauty. I do remember how you rebelled the last time.” The High Priestess glanced at Brighid and lowered her voice to an exaggerated, conspiratory level. “You might say that the Chosen is deathly afraid of heights. You might say it, but don’t say it too loudly. She is usually utterly fearless.”

  Brighid smiled back at the beautiful priestess. “I’ll consider it our secret.”

  “Then you, my fine Huntress, will have the eternal thanks of Epona!” Etain’s tone was teasing and light, but by simply mentioning her Goddess’s name, the air around her filled with the sweet scent of lavender and violet-winged butterflies appeared, circled the priestess, and then disappeared into the dense forest.

  Brighid just smiled and watched, taking it all in. Etain was simply incredible. And now she knew where Cuchulainn, or at least the part of his spirit that was nothing but joy, had inherited such a strong sense of happiness. Etain’s passion for life was infectious. Traveling with Epona’s Chosen for the past two days had been a much more pleasurable experience than Brighid had anticipated when the High Priestess of Partholon had arrived so unexpectedly at the gate of Guardian Castle with her fleet of wagons, handmaidens and palace warriors who had temporarily been relegated to the job of wagon drivers.

  The truth was, Brighid had been rather nervous and uncomfortable around Etain at first. She hadn’t had the opportunity to get to know Epona’s Chosen during Etain’s short visit to MacCallan Castle. Etain had spent most of her time closeted with her daughter and Elphame’s new mate, Lochlan. Brighid had been busy hunting for the suddenly increased number of mouths to feed. Not that her impression of Partholon’s High Priestess had been negative—in fact it had been just the opposite. Brighid had been awed by the presence of the Beloved of Epona, and impressed by the obvious love she showed for Elphame. Brighid knew what it was like to have a powerful mother, and she had been surprised by the tenderness Etain had shown her daughter and Lochlan. Several mornings Brighid had even seen Etain praying alone at Brenna’s tomb, in obvious mourning for her son’s
lost love.

  And then there was the devotion Etain showed Cuchulainn. Brighid had watched closely when Cu had first approached his mother, waiting for Etain’s reaction to the physical changes that grief had caused in her son. Brighid’s mother would have chastised her, probably publicly, for allowing herself to appear less than perfect. Etain had simply opened her arms and embraced him, then laughed and wiped away what she called tears of joy at seeing her beloved son again.

  Etain had to notice the difference in Cuchulainn. It didn’t matter that Cu was obviously trying to put on a happy facade. The warrior had probably smiled and talked more in the past two days than he had in the past two moon cycles. He’d made a good effort to cover his pain, but there was no doubt that the High Priestess and Beloved of Epona was completely aware that her son’s soul was shattered and that he had come precariously close to giving up on life. Brighid kept waiting for Etain to lecture him, or to purposefully let slip little comments about how he should be doing this…or thinking that…or to show that she was disappointed in him for being broken and battered by something that was over and done with. But it didn’t happen. Etain loved her son, completely and without judgment or conditions.

  How different would Brighid’s life have been if her own mother had known how to love her children, as well as be High Shaman of the Dhianna Herd?

  “That’s a serious look, even for you, Huntress,” Etain said.