Brighid's Quest

by P. C. Cast

  Brighid made herself smile at the woman she had come to like as well as respect. “I was just thinking about—” She hesitated, surprised at the sudden desire to tell Etain the truth.

  “About?” Epona’s Beloved prompted.

  Brighid noticed that even the silver mare had pricked her delicate ears as if she, too, was waiting for Brighid to finish her sentence.

  “I was just thinking about my childhood,” Brighid said softly. “It’s hard for me to talk about.”

  Etain’s green eyes were wise and kind. Instead of questioning her further she simply nodded and continued to ride easily at the Huntress’s side. Slowly, Brighid relaxed again. Their surroundings helped ease the tension that thinking of her mother had automatically triggered. She and Etain were at the head of the long line of wagons, which were filled with laughing, singing New Fomorians. For the moment they were alone. Cuchulainn had ridden back to check one of the wagons reputed to have a loose wheel, and Ciara was…

  Goddess only knew where Ciara was. All of the New Fomorians were excited by the beauty of Partholon and the thick wildness of its eastern forest, but since Ciara had stepped into the land she had been utterly enamored. It was as if she had been deprived of water for days and Partholon was her cool stream of salvation. Etain had said the winged Shaman was a spiritual conduit for her people, so it was only natural that the entry to Partholon had affected her more dramatically than it had the others. Brighid noticed that the High Priestess took special care with Ciara, and that Etain encouraged the Shaman’s exploration of her new land.

  And the morning and evening rituals of blessing! Brighid felt a surge of joy just thinking about them. Etain and Ciara had performed them together. Once again, the Beloved of Epona had shown herself to be a kind and gracious High Priestess. She could have very easily excluded the winged Shaman, or patronized her and made her abilities look immature or inconsequential. Instead Etain had shared the ritualistic words of some of Partholon’s most ancient blessings, weaving her calm, experienced voice with that of the young Shaman’s. She had even praised Ciara excessively and publicly when she used her affinity with the spirits of fire to light the campfire.

  Etain’s benevolence and love for her people, be they humans, centaurs or even hybrid Fomorians, was a deep commitment between herself and her Goddess. She truly was the Incarnation of Epona’s love.

  Brighid was as drawn to Etain as she was amazed by her, but the Huntress said little. She just observed and made mental notes. She watched and waited for Cuchulainn to show his mother that he was beginning to have special feelings for Ciara. Brighid expected Etain to be thrilled to learn of her son’s affections. But nothing of the sort happened. Cuchulainn spent very little time with Ciara. He was always kind to her, but he definitely didn’t make a point to spend any extra time alone with her and, as far as Brighid could tell, he had spoken to his mother about her only in the polite terms he would use when discussing any Shaman.

  Of course, none of them had time for much privacy or many prolonged personal discussions. Brighid hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said the children left no time for anything except their care. While they were in the Wastelands, so much of their lives had been spent on survival that the youngsters hadn’t had the freedom to get into much mischief. The trip through the Partholonian forest was a different story indeed. Brighid was just glad they had been able to take small, rarely used roads and skirt the larger towns and most of the villages. The Huntress internally shuddered when she thought about the horde of exuberant, questioning, ceaselessly moving winged children descending upon sleepy, unsuspecting Partholon villages. The children didn’t understand that not everyone was as pleased to meet them as they were to meet Partholon.

  “I don’t think I’ve told you this, but you remind me very much of Elphame,” Etain said, breaking the easy silence that had fallen between them.

  Completely surprised, Brighid stared at her, wide-eyed.

  “Oh, don’t look so shocked. The two of you have become close friends, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, but…” Brighid gulped nervously. “Yes, Elphame and I have become close friends.”

  “You know you and Brenna were the first friends she had outside our family.”

  Brighid hesitated, thinking before she blurted something inappropriate. “I don’t think El ever told us—that is Brenna and me—in those words, but we knew it without her saying anything.” The Huntress drew a deep breath and met the priestess’s eyes. “I don’t think many people wanted to get too close to a living Goddess.”

  “That’s what El said. More times than I care to count. But you were willing to get close to her. Why?”

  “She accepted me as I am,” Brighid said without hesitation. “That’s why Brenna became friends with her so quickly, too. It wasn’t that El didn’t see Brenna’s scars—it was impossible not to. Just like it was impossible not to see that joining Clan MacCallan was an escape for me. It’s not that the scars and the radical centaur family didn’t matter to your daughter, it’s just that she accepted them. Easily. Without conditions.”

  “And in return you accepted her—Elphame—not the Goddess the rest of the world sees.”

  “Oh, I saw the Goddess. I still do. So did Brenna. It’s just that we mostly saw her. And Elphame is a mixture of both—woman and Goddess, centaur and human. And now she’s friend as well as Chieftain.” Brighid sighed, frustrated by the inadequate words. “Does that make sense? When I say it, it sounds…I don’t know…not enough.”

  “I know exactly what you mean, child,” Etain said. “Which is why I said that you remind me of her. You and Elphame view the world the same. You’re both strong, logical females who don’t tolerate nonsense and don’t want to waste time on pretenses and excuses. I like you, Huntress. I like that you are friends with my daughter. And I believe that very shortly I will owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  “I am honored, my Lady,” Brighid said roughly around the knot of emotion that had lodged in the back of her throat. “But you owe me no debt. I hold no voucher for my friendship with your daughter.”

  “The debt is not for Elphame. It is for Cuchulainn.”

  “Cuchulainn? But I haven’t really done anything—” Etain’s candid turquoise eyes met Brighid’s and the Huntress clamped her lips together, ending her protestation. “Of course you know that his soul has been shattered.”

  “I’ve known since the day it happened.”

  “The day Brenna died,” Brighid said.

  Etain nodded. “It’s been maddeningly frustrating for me—knowing of my son’s pain and not being able to use my powers to fix it…to make it better for him.”

  Brighid opened her mouth to question Etain, but couldn’t make the words come. How does one question the Beloved of Epona?

  “Brighid, I am Partholon’s High Priestess, and the Chosen Incarnate of Epona, but I am also a mother and a woman who laughs and cries and loves like any other woman. There is no need for you to be afraid to ask me questions.”

  Brighid looked at the beautiful, regal woman who rode beside her and was, again, amazed at Etain’s honesty and accessibility. No wonder the people of Partholon were so wholly devoted to her. Brighid drew in a deep breath before she spoke.

  “Why can’t you fix Cu? Why can’t you retrieve his shattered soul?” she asked quietly.

  Etain sighed. “First of all, I am not a Shaman. Yes, I can travel to the Otherworld—I do so regularly, but I do so to be in the presence of Epona and to do the Goddess’s business. I rarely interact with the spirits that inhabit the different realms. Not that I haven’t ached to search for Cu’s shattered soul. That was my initial reaction when I realized what had happened to him.” The priestess’s smile was small and quirked a little to the side. “Epona had a very different view of what I should do.” She looked at Brighid and moved her shoulders that were draped in luxurious golden fabric. “I have a tendency to want to rescue my children, even though they are no longer children. My logic tell
s me this is not good for them. My heart tells me something else entirely. I am grateful that my Goddess stays near to my heart, even when she forces me to keep to my logic.”

  Brighid frowned. “So Epona kept you from fixing Cu?”

  “At first. Then I realized that this was not a pain from which a mother could protect her child. He needed to grieve for his lost love, even if his grief was tearing his soul asunder. Grief is part of the healing process. And I believe you’ve witnessed the alternative for yourself.”

  Brighid blinked in surprise. “You mean the shattered part of Cu’s soul.”

  “Yes. He’s come to you in your dreams, hasn’t he?”

  Brighid snorted. “Cu said you know everything.”

  Etain laughed. “Just everything important.”

  “Yes,” she admitted, “he’s come to my dreams.”

  “And what did you learn about him except that he is a terrible rogue?” Etain’s eyes sparkled at the Huntress.

  “That he’s singled-minded about his pleasure and…”

  “And?”

  “And endearing and charismatic and boyish,” she muttered.

  Etain smiled. “That he certainly is. But what did you learn about him that was not so endearing?”

  “He’s completely in denial. He can’t, or won’t, face any emotional difficulty. The instant I mention Brenna or try to talk to him about what’s really happening in the world—versus the happy pretend place he’s retreated to—he disappears.”

  “Exactly. If I had stepped in and scooped Cuchulainn up after Brenna’s death, and had done what my heart was begging me to do—cushion him from pain and surround him in the power I have to duplicate Epona’s love—he would not have grieved and he would be eternally as the shattered part of his soul is now, unable to face reality. He would have become a weak, emotionally bereft man who spent a sad life running from his problems. He had to grieve.”

  “I understand that. But he has grieved. He’s even begun to work through his pain.”

  “Which is why your soul-retrieval will be successful,” Etain said, quickly shaking her head when Brighid began to protest. “This is not the job for a mother. Nor is it a job for Ciara. He needs you to do this for him, Brighid. But more than that, Epona has decreed that it is part of your destiny.”

  Brighid felt jolted by the Goddess Incarnate’s words. “Epona has spoken of me?” She didn’t realize she’d said her thought aloud until Etain answered her.

  “Of course. Why would that surprise you? Epona’s presence is very strong in your family.”

  “But my family…” Brighid floundered, not knowing what to say about the Dhianna Herd’s radical beliefs that centaurs and humans should not interact.

  “Brighid, you do not need to feel such guilt. Epona has given her people free will—all of her people. Even those who have been richly blessed by her. Along with the gift of free will comes the possibility of mistakes. Rest assured that the Goddess knows your heart is clear of hatred. Epona does not hold a daughter responsible for her mother’s sins.”

  Brighid tried to speak, but could not. The relief that poured through her was almost too much to bear. Epona did not blame her. She had not been branded or rejected by the Goddess.

  Then Etain touched Brighid’s arm, and into the tumult of Brighid’s emotions flowed a soothing balm of kindness and love. The Huntress drew a long, shuddering breath.

  “Thank you,” she told Etain, speaking to the woman and the Goddess she represented.

  “Don’t let it haunt you, child.” With Etain’s words there came a swirling of the air around her, and suddenly within Brighid’s mind she heard the echo of a thought, so filled with power and warmth that it filled her eyes with tears.

  Know that I am with you, precious one.

  Brighid gasped. Then the swirling air and the whispering voice were gone.

  “I—I think Epona…” Brighid stuttered, “She—she…”

  “Her touch is breathingtaking, isn’t it?” Etain asked kindly, as if she hadn’t been feeling the Goddess’s presence for most of her life.

  Brighid blinked and swiped the back of her hand across her wet cheeks. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes it is.”

  “Here, child.” Etain turned and dug through one of the butter-colored saddlebags strapped behind her and pulled out two silk handkerchiefs. She handed one to the Huntress and kept the other so that she could delicately dab at her own eyes. “I’m always prepared for a good cry. It cleanses the soul.”

  Brighid wiped her face, still in awe of the voice that had sounded through her mind. Epona had spoken to her! Her! And she was not being rejected because of her mother’s choices.

  “Better now?” Etain asked.

  “I think so,” she said.

  “Good! I should go back there and find Ciara. She should pass the word that the children can break out their finery. It never hurts to look ones best.”

  “Wait!” Brighid cried, and the silver mare stopped midturn. “I don’t know how to retrieve a soul.”

  Etain smiled at her. “You’re doing just fine. You’ve already called him to you in your dreams.”

  “But not recently. He stopped coming to my dreams the night we got to Guardian Castle.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that. He’ll come again. When you’re home, with your Clan about you, ready yourself for your spirit journey, just as you would use your powers to track new prey.”

  “You—you know about that?” As soon as the words escaped, Brighid felt ridiculously foolish. Again. Of course Epona’s Chosen would recognize her affinity with the spirits of animals.

  “Using gifts granted to you by Epona is nothing to be ashamed of,” Etain said firmly.

  “I’m not ashamed of the gift,” Brighid insisted, anxious that Etain understand. “I’ve been ashamed of how my family has used its gifts. I didn’t want to be like…” She paused. The priestess’s gaze was kind, motherly, understanding.

  “Go on, child. You can say it.”

  “I don’t want to be like my mother,” Brighid said in a rush.

  “Did you ever consider that it is possible for you to be like her in that you have been gifted greatly, and be unlike her in the way you choose to use those gifts?”

  “Yes! That’s why I only use my affinity with the animal spirits. The rest of it—I didn’t even really realize I had more until recently.”

  “But you do have more than a simple affinity for the spirits of animals. Isn’t your denial a victory for your mother?”

  “I’ve never thought of it that way.” Brighid could almost hear her mother’s hard voice, You will follow me as proper High Shaman, or you will be nothing.

  “Perhaps you should think of it. And don’t worry about not being able to find Cu’s spirit. When you’re ready, he’ll come to you.”

  “And then what?” Brighid blurted, mind whirring with Etain’s words.

  “You’ll know, child. You’ll know what will bring him back. I’m sure of it. I have faith in your abilities, Brighid.” Etain smiled, turned the mare so that she was pointed back down the wagon line, and trotted jauntily off, leaving Brighid with a silk handkerchief and unanswered questions.

  26

  SHE LIKED THE quality of light that filtered through the forest just as the sun was rising, or as it was now when it was almost ready to set. The connection between dawn and sunset was like a coin with two faces. Alike, yet separate. Similar, yet not the same. There was a simplicity and rightness to thinking of the two as reflections of one another…beginning and ending…and then beginning again…just another part of the great circle of life. The thought brought Brighid peace, and it was one of the many reasons she preferred to hunt during the shifting of the day.

  “Brighid!”

  The Huntress sighed.

  “Brighid!”

  She rolled her head, trying to relieve some of the tension that was settling in her neck.

  “You’d better see to him. You know he’s not going to leav
e you alone,” Cu said.

  “He’s injured. He needs to be still and stay where he is,” Brighid said firmly.

  “Brrrrighiiiiid!”

  Swathed in golden silk and draped with jewels, Etain definitely looked the part of Epona’s Chosen as the silver mare trotted up to join her son and the Huntress at the head of the line. “Your apprentice is calling for you.”

  “I know that,” Brighid ground out between clenched teeth, trying hard to keep her tone civil.

  “Take the word of a mother. Ignoring him will not make him go away,” said the Beloved of Epona. The Chosen mare blew firmly through her nose in agreement.

  “Go back and talk to him,” Cu said. “It’s the only way we’ll get any peace. Just remind him that we’re almost there. Soon he should have a lot more to think about than you.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Brighid grumbled. “You don’t have an annoying winged apprentice shrieking your name day and night.”

  “He’s just restless. He’ll be fine when he can move about again on his own,” Etain said.

  “Huh,” Brighid snorted. “You didn’t know him before. He was just as annoying.” Setting her jaw, she fell out of the forward position and cantered back to the first wagon, sure that she heard Etain’s musical laughter floating behind her.

  Like small flowers following the sun, all of the little heads in the first wagon turned in her direction. She met the gaze of the haggard-looking wagon driver. He nodded politely, even though his eyes said he’d rather be just about anywhere else, including the heat of battle, than cooped up with the cluster of chirping, laughing, chattering children.

  Brighid gave him an understanding smile.

  “Brighid! Brighid! Brighid!” Liam started to hop up and down while he clutched the edge of the wagon’s frame, but one sharp word from Nara, who was sitting beside the wagon driver, was enough to make him hold himself very still. All of himself, Brighid thought, except for his mouth. “Can I come up with you? I really should come up with you. I’m your apprentice. I should be with you. Don’t you think? Isn’t that right?”