by P. C. Cast
She sighed, methodically blowing out the scented candles, until the only light came from the flickering hearth fire. What was she going to do about Liam? She’d proclaimed him her apprentice. She’d have to begin training him. Tracking, she thought with satisfaction, set him at scouting out different tracks—identifying…following…naming…categorizing. Tracking took most apprentice Huntresses years to master. She’d just keep him busy.
If she got lucky, he’d lose interest.
Ignoring the hard lump of the turquoise stone in her breast pocket, the Huntress shrugged out of her vest, and poured fresh water from the pitcher to the bowl that waited atop the dresser. Using the thick linen towel she found hanging from a hook shaped like a dagger, she freshened herself, and then she sighed deeply as she settled on her bed. Tonight she would sleep soundly. Tomorrow she would consider all the ramifications of the turquoise stone and the soul-retrieval and the damned silver hawk she had conveniently been too busy to mention except to Cuchulainn. Tomorrow would be soon enough…
She wasn’t aware of dreaming. She was just content, drifting on a cloud of serenity. There were no children in her dream…no dead friends…and definitely no damned men, soul shattered or otherwise.
The sound of her door slamming shut and the feel of a rough hand shaking her awake dissipated her contentment like smoke in the wind.
“Brighid! Wake up!”
The Huntress opened one eye. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, but the man held a taper in his hand. She opened her other eye.
“Cuchulainn?” Her voice was rough with sleep.
“There, I knew you’d be awake,” he said, and set about lighting the candles that she’d all too recently blown out.
She sat up and brushed long, silver hair from her face. “Is it morning?”
Finished with lighting the candles, he crouched in front of the hearth, feeding the fire logs and coaxing it into life. He glanced over his shoulder at her. His eyes slid down to her naked breasts before snapping back to her face.
“No. It is not morning. Get dressed.” He turned his back to her and resumed poking at the fire.
Brighid’s cheeks warmed as she rose from her bed and retrieved her vest. But even as she put it on her mind raced. What was wrong with her? Centaurs often went naked. There was no shame in baring her breasts. And even fully clothed in the traditional beaded leather vest, her breasts were often at least partially visible. Why was she blushing like a youth? He had burst into her chamber, waking her and causing her to feel…naked. It was ridiculous.
“Cuchulainn, what is this about?” she snapped. “I’m tired. And I didn’t give you permission to come in here and—” she gestured at the lighted candles and the hearth “—wake everything up.”
He stood and faced her. His tangled hair was wild around his head like the mane of a great beast. He brought his hands together, interlocking his fingers in a grip that was so tight it whitened his knuckles, and then lifted them to his brow and closed his eyes, as if he meant to beseech her with a prayer.
“Cu?” She was worried now. The man before her looked haggard and broken.
“Help me,” he said, keeping his eyes closed. “I can’t do this anymore. Can’t live like this for one more day.”
“Of course I’ll help you. We’ve already talked about this.”
“No more talk.” He opened his eyes. “Now or not at all.”
Brighid felt a little flutter of panic. “Cu, be rational. Now is not the time.”
“It has to be.” He unlocked his hands with a violent cutting motion. “I can’t be here and not be myself.”
“You know it won’t change your pain, Cu. It won’t make it go away.”
“I know that!” He raked his fingers through his hair and paced back and forth in front of the hearth. “I’ll have to learn to live without her, but I can’t do that unless I’m whole, and I can’t stand being here—home—back where I met her and loved her and then lost her. I’m breathing, so I’m living, but not really. I—I can’t explain it any better. You just have to believe that I’m ready. Either you help me tonight, or in the morning I will ride away.”
“Running won’t solve this.”
“I know that, too!” He rubbed his forehead, and then he lifted his eyes to hers. “Help me, Brighid. Please.”
“I don’t know if I can do it!” she cried.
He almost smiled. “Is that all that’s bothering you? You’re worried that you can’t get to the part of me that’s missing?”
“What do you mean, is that all that’s bothering me? Of course that’s bothering me! Cuchulainn, I am not a Shaman,” she said clearly and distinctly, as if he was a thickheaded child.
“But it—” He broke off at her frown. “I mean him, or me, or whatever you want to call that missing part.”
“He,” Brighid said.
“He has already come to you. He will again.”
“You seem sure.”
Then he did smile. “I am sure, Huntress. We like you—he and I. You’re prickly and too tightly wrapped for your own good, but we still like you. He’ll come to you. Just call.”
Brighid ignored the skittery way his words made her gut feel. Of course Cuchulainn liked her. They were friends—comrades—members of the same Clan.
“Either help me, or go with me right now to explain to my sister and mother that I will be leaving again first thing in the morning.”
She frowned at him. “That sounds vaguely like a threat.”
“It’s not vague and it’s not a threat. It’s clearly blackmail.”
Brighid met his turquoise eyes again, all kidding gone from her voice. “I’m scared, Cu.”
“Of what?”
“Of failing…and of succeeding.”
Surprising her, he nodded slowly. “It’s the spirit realm. You don’t want to go there. I understand that, and I’m sorry that I have to ask you to do this for me. If there was another way…”
“No,” she said quickly, “it’s not the going that bothers me. I’m afraid of what I might discover there.” She ended the sentence on a whisper.
Cuchulainn’s face paled, but he didn’t look away from her gaze. “You know what you’ll discover. It’s just me, Brighid. Shattered or not—bodiless or not—it’s still just me.”
“This is changing me, Cu,” she said. “I can Feel it.”
“I know…I…” His jaw tightened. “Forgive me for asking this of you.”
She stared into his eyes and felt suddenly ashamed of herself. Cuchulainn was pleading for his life. She needed to push aside her childish fears and get this job done. She carried the blood of a powerful Shaman in her veins, as she had for her entire life. The only difference now was that she was going to tap into that heredity and use it to her advantage.
“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m being foolish. Let’s get this done.” She glanced around the room. “Build up the hearth fire, but I think you should blow out these candles.”
Cuchulainn quickly moved from candle to candle, then he returned to the hearth and added more wood to the fire, prodding and coaxing until the flames danced and crackled. Then he stood, rubbing his hands together nervously.
“What’s next?”
Brighid had the urge to yell at him. His guess was as good as hers—she didn’t have any idea what to do next. But the look in his eyes stopped her. He was counting on her. She didn’t know why, but she was destined to help him. She sighed.
“We have to lie down,” she said, retreating back to her soft pallet. The centaur folded her legs and reclined, in almost the same position she had been in when he burst into her room. She glanced up at him. He was still standing in front of the hearth. “Cu, you don’t have to travel to the Otherworld, but you have to be relaxed and ready to accept the return of your soul. My guess is that’s easier to do lying down.”
“Where?”
She rolled her eyes and pointed to the empty place beside her. “I’m going to retrieve a piece of you
r soul. You can’t be afraid to lie next to me.”
“I’m not afraid. I’m just…” He raked his fingers through his wild hair. “By the Goddess, I’m nervous. I don’t know what to do!”
“Try lying down.”
He nodded, grunted, and strode to the other side of the Huntress’s pallet. He lay back, crossing and then uncrossing his arms.
“I don’t know what to do with my hands,” he said without looking at her.
“I don’t care what you do with them as long as you hold them still.”
“Sorry,” he said.
She turned her head so she could look over at him. “This is what I’m going to do. I’m going to relax and take myself to the same place I go to when I’m preparing for a hunt. Then I’m going to go deeper into…well, into wherever the trail takes me.”
His brows shot up.
“The only way I can do this is to compare it to a hunt,” she said in exasperation.
He started to hold his hands up, like he was fending off an assault, but then he stopped and held them tight to his sides.
“However you want to do it is fine with me,” he said carefully.
“Oh, stop it!” she snapped.
“Stop what?”
She raised herself up on her elbow and jerked her chin at his stiff arms and motionless body. “You’re acting like you’ve never been in bed with a female before.”
This time only one eyebrow went up and his lip twitched like he was trying to hide a smile. “Is that how you’d like to relax me?”
She frowned at him. “Of course not.” She wouldn’t think about how having him there, so close beside her, made her stomach tighten. She wouldn’t think about it, and she certainly wouldn’t mention it. She reclined back on the mound of bedding. “But you sound more like yourself now.”
“You’re a wily one, Huntress.”
“Just close your eyes and concentrate on being open. Remember, I can’t force your soul back. He has to want to come, and you have to accept him.”
“I’m ready.”
By the Goddess, she wished she was.
29
SHE REACHED INTO her vest pocket and pulled out the turquoise stone. Holding it tightly in her fist, she closed her eyes. Think of it as a hunt, she ordered herself. It’s not that different. Today it’s a shattered spirit I’m tracking instead of an animal. Brighid drew in a deep, slow breath and centered herself. As she did each day before a new hunt, she imagined a powerful light originating deep within the base of her spine, and as she breathed out, the power flowed around her. When she drew her next breath she imagined breathing in the light and letting it fill her body; then she breathed out again, again filling the space around her with the brilliant, powerful light.
As she continued to center herself, she imagined where she would begin the hunt—and for a moment she faltered. Where was her prey? Usually she would cast her thoughts out to the surrounding forest, seeking the flitting spark that she could always Feel as distinctly different for each animal. Finding the creature’s light always showed her where to seek her prey. But Cu had looked exactly like himself—she had no idea what color his spirit light would be, or even if it had a light at all. Consequently she had no clue as to where Cu’s habitat would be.
Should she break her meditation and ask him about his favorite places? No…he’d come to her before. She hadn’t had to seek him. He’d visited her favorite place—the Centaur Plains. Feeling suddenly more confident, Brighid focused her mind on the homeland of her youth.
She didn’t know her spirit had left her body until she felt the warm breeze on her cheeks. Even before she opened her eyes she knew she was there—the breeze had told her. It smelled of tall grasses and freedom.
Brighid smiled, and opened her eyes. She had returned to the crosstimbers near her family’s summer settlement. She could hear the Sand Creek tumbling lazily through the shady grove of oak and ash and hackberry trees directly in front of her.
In her dream she had heard Cuchulainn’s laughter, and that had led her to him, so she stood quietly, listening to the caressing breeze. Hearing only birdsong, she sighed in frustration.
Track him, she reminded herself. The Huntress studied the ground. Nothing. How was she supposed to track a spirit?
Ask for help, child…
Etain’s voice whispered on the wind. Brighid started, and looked around her. She saw no one, but her instincts told her she was not alone. Etain’s presence was watching, and Brighid couldn’t decide whether that made her feel better, or even more nervous. Stop worrying and think! she told herself.
Ask for help…
She squared her shoulders and, feeling a little foolish, the Huntress called into the wind. “I’m out of my element in this particular hunt, and I could really use some help!”
The familiar cry came from above her, and she looked up, shielding her eyes against the bright spring sun. The silver hawk circled over her head. Brighid felt a rush of excitement. The bird must truly be her spirit ally.
This time no words formed in her head, but the hawk dipped its wing and changed direction, heading away from the Sand Creek and out into the grassy plain. Without hesitation, Brighid cantered after it, trying not to get lost in the sensual experience of moving through the waving grass. The plains called to her blood. She could run there forever. Dividing her attention between the land and the hawk, she increased her pace, moving from canter to gallop and taking fierce pleasure in the bunching of her equine muscles and the satisfying way her hooves struck the rich earth.
She would have galloped past him if he hadn’t called her name. Cuchulainn stood on a gentle rise. Hands on his hips, he watched her slide to a stop and then gallop back to him.
“So, I see you took the gelding away from me. Why? Afraid that he would beat you in a race this time?” Then his gaze purposefully lingered on the slick equine muscles of her hindquarters. “Are you slowing up, old girl? You are looking a little…healthy. What have you been eating?”
Brighid opened her mouth in shock. Was the scoundrel saying she was old and fat?
Cuchulainn tipped his head back and let his laughter roll, which caused the Huntress to scowl darkly at him. “Oh, Goddess!” He held his side, gasping between chortles. “You should see your face!”
“You should see yours. You look ridiculous laughing like a village fool,” she grumped.
Still chuckling, he flopped down on the ground, looking boylike and terribly young, especially when she contrasted this carefree warrior with the haggard, world-weary man whose body rested beside hers at MacCallan Castle.
“What shall we do today, Brighid? Go back to the creek and fish? Or, if you’d produce my horse we could track some bison. I’ve always wanted to hunt bison. Tell me, are their tempers as evil as my father says?”
Instead of answering, the Huntress studied him. She had been wrong when she had thought Cuchulainn didn’t have a light of his own. How could she not have seen it before? The warrior shone like a young, golden god. He was filled to overflowing with life and joy.
Cu needed this part of himself, and the young godling needed the strength of the mature warrior who had stayed with his body and chosen to cling to life and try to survive the pain of loss.
Undaunted by her silence, Cuchulainn smiled at her. “Fine. We’ll do what you want to do. It is your dream.”
“It’s time to come home now, Cu,” she said.
The warrior shrugged and jumped lithely to his feet. “It’s your decision—your dream. Of course there aren’t any bison there, but the deer are amusingly suicidal. Want to see who can bring one down first?”
“No hunting. No dreaming. No more pretending. It’s time to come home.”
He huffed out some air on a strangled half laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brighid. Like I said before, it’s your dream. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Stop it,” she snapped, surprising them both with her vehemence. “This charade dishonors her me
mory. I understand grief. I understand loss. But I do not understand dishonor.”
Cuchulainn’s face lost some of its golden glow. “You’re not making sense.”
“Enough, Cuchulainn. You remember, I know you do. It’s time to face the real world. Back there we’re not rebuilding Elphame’s chambers. That was almost three cycles of the moon ago. Your sister’s chamber is finished. Much of the castle has been rebuilt, but you haven’t been there to see it. You’ve been in the Wastelands in self-imposed exile, grieving for Brenna.”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong.”
“No,” she said wearily. “I wish I were wrong. I wish I could undo it. But I can’t. You loved Brenna, and she was killed.”
“Why are you doing this?”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “When Brenna died, it shattered your soul. Since then part of you has been living and breathing and trying to cope with grief and guilt and pain. Trying to go on with everyday life. And I can tell you it has been damned hard for him because the part of his spirit that loves life—that’s filled with joy and hope and happiness—is here,” she spoke softly. “That’s what you are, Cu. A piece of a whole. Look inside yourself. You’re incomplete and you know it.”
He kept shaking his head back and forth. “No…”
He took a step away from her, but she moved quickly, covering the space between them, and put a restraining hand on his shoulder, surprised that he felt so real, so solid and warm.
“Not this time,” she told him. Brighid reached into her pocket and brought out the turquoise stone. She held it out to him on her open palm. “Whose is this, Cu?”
His face drained of the last of its color. He stared at the stone.
“Whose is this?” she repeated.
“It’s Brenna’s stone.” His voice had lost all of its youthful exuberance and he sounded like the warrior back at MacCallan Castle. “She said it was a gift from Epona.” He looked up at Brighid, his expression that of a lost boy. “She said it’s the same color as my eyes.”
“It is, my friend,” Brighid said.
“I loved Brenna,” he said slowly.
