by P. C. Cast
“Can you tell if he’s become a High Shaman?” Brighid asked.
“I don’t sense that power in him. Not yet. But Shaman blood runs thick in your herd’s veins.”
“Da, what do the centaur runners say about the herd activity?” Elphame asked.
“This is what is most disturbing,” Etain said, twining her arm through her husband’s. “We have no word at all. None of them have returned from the Centaur Plains.”
“Several Huntresses have also left their posts, avoiding me and any of my warriors,” Midhir said grimly.
What he left unsaid hung heavy in the air around them. A centaur would not lie to Partholon’s High Shaman. No matter his or her allegiance, their bond of respect for Midhir would not allow it. Obviously the centaurs who were joining Bregon’s revolt were judiciously leaving Partholon so as not to be confronted by the High Shaman of all centaurs. And the fact that none of Midhir’s loyal runners had returned from the Centaur Plains meant that they were either being held there against their will. Or they had been killed.
Centaur against centaur…centaur against human…It was those nightmarish thoughts that swam through Brighid’s tumultuous mind. This was her responsibility. She was a Dhianna centaur. With her mother’s death, leadership of the herd shifted to her shoulders, and the weight of it seemed to press into her soul. It didn’t matter now that she had yearned for, and then chosen, another path in life. Brighid swallowed down the bitter taste of fate that rose thick in her throat.
“Midhir, will you help me journey to the Otherworld and drink of Epona’s Chalice so that I may become a High Shaman?” she said grimly.
36
“HE CANNOT.” ETAIN’S clear voice was a spark that sizzled in the silence following Brighid’s request.
“What do you mean he cannot?” Cuchulainn said. “A High Shaman always guides another on his or her quest to find Epona’s Chalice.”
“You should have paid more attention to your teachers when they attempted to educate you about the Otherworld, my son,” Midhir said, tempering the harshness of his words with a quick smile.
“Mairearad should have guided Brighid on her Otherworld journey,” Etain said.
“But my mother is dead.”
“She could still guide you,” Etain said softly.
“No! I won’t accept her guidance. It won’t come without a price, and I know it will be too costly—for my soul as well as for the Dhianna Herd.”
“The spirit guide must be one who is closely tied to you, through blood or lifemate bond,” Midhir explained. “Though I am Partholon’s High Shaman, I cannot usurp that position.”
“I will have to find the Chalice on my own,” she said slowly. And as she spoke the words she felt a chill of despair at the prospect of the lonely, dangerous ordeal ahead of her. “My brother is the only blood relative I have left to me, and it is his position I will assume if I become High Shaman. He would not aid me in taking it from him.” This is impossible, Brighid told herself. Becoming a High Shaman is difficult enough. Alone I will have little chance of success. But I have no choice, and I must get used to being alone. If I succeed I will return to a life that breeds loneliness.
“Then your guide must be your lifemate,” Cuchulainn said.
All eyes turned to the warrior, but his attention was focused on Brighid. “I admit that, as my father has already said, I did not mind my lessons on the Otherworld. It is well known that I have never wanted any traffic with that realm, but it seems my fate must lie in that direction. I’ve tried to deny it—it will not be denied. I’ve even run from it—I will not be foolish enough to do so again. I can’t guide you, but what I can do is give you my oath that I will not let you walk that shadowy path alone. My strength will be yours if you are in need. My sword arm will always be raised to protect you. Perhaps together we can finish this quest and claim your birthright.”
She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Didn’t he understand that—?
“But you’re not my lifemate!” Brighid blurted.
“I will be if you accept me.”
She shook her head, wondering if everyone could hear the painful pounding of her heart. “You don’t have to do this just to help me. I’m not afraid to travel to the Otherworld alone,” she lied. “A lifemating is not something that should be undertaken to help a friend in need.”
Cuchulainn’s smile was intimate and knowing. He stepped close to her and took her hand. “We have been friends. But, my beautiful Huntress, we have become much more. My soul tells me that I am willing to gamble on a lifemating with you. What does your soul tell you?”
She shook her head. “What my soul tells me is not important if I cannot become a High Shaman. Think, Cuchulainn! If I can’t shape-shift you have shackled yourself to someone who cannot truly be your wife.”
His hand tightened on hers, and even though his next question was directed at Etain, his gaze never left Brighid’s. “Mother, if Father lost the ability to shape-shift, and could never come to you in human form again, would you still be his wife?”
“Of course. It’s not your father’s form that binds me to him,” Etain said firmly.
“But they’ve had years together,” Brighid said. “They’ve had children and shared each other’s lives and bed for decades.”
“I’m willing to bet that we will, too,” Cuchulainn said.
“You’re willing to bet your life and your future?”
“I am, because I’m willing to do something I’ve not allowed myself to do until now—I’m going to listen to my own spirit. I’m done running from my fate.” He shrugged and smiled at her. “I also believe that you will make a very fine High Shaman. So, Brighid Dhianna, what does your soul tell you?”
She looked into his turquoise eyes and felt lost—and found. “It tells me that this is an impossible dream, but one that I don’t want to end.”
His smile was filled with promise. He kissed her quickly and then turned, and dropped to one knee before Elphame.
“Elphame, as Chieftain of Clan MacCallan, I ask your permission to make your Huntress my lifemate.” He grinned, and for a moment he looked every bit the rakish warrior of his youth. “I would ask her brother’s permission, but I believe, all things considered, that would be rather unwise.”
Instead of returning Cu’s smile and automatically awarding her blessing, Elphame’s expression was strained and sober. “You said it yourself, Cu. You have shunned the Otherworld and the Realm of Spirits. Will you help or hinder Brighid? More rests upon this mating than a life bond. If this joining is the wrong choice, all of Partholon will suffer the ramifications.” Elphame looked from her brother to their mother. “I cannot give Cuchulainn my permission unless Epona approves of this mating.” She ignored her brother’s grunt of annoyance, along with Brighid’s sharp, questioning gaze, and continued to beseech Etain. “Would you ask Epona’s blessing on them? If the Goddess grants it, I will gladly give my permission.”
“Elphame, what—” Cuchulainn began, but his mother cut him off.
“You are a wise and responsible Chieftain, Elphame. I am proud of you.” Etain crooked her finger at her frowning son. “Come.” And then while he got to his feet, she held a hand out to Brighid. “And you, too, child.”
Feeling her stomach tighten with nerves, Brighid took Etain’s hand. Cuchulainn took her other.
The Beloved of Epona smiled at them. “You must link hands, too, and complete the circle.”
Cu’s frown softened when he laced his fingers with Brighid’s. He squeezed her hand and she held tight to him. Then the High Priestess lifted her face and evoked the presence of her Goddess.
My Epona, Goddess of shimmering beauty
for whom the stars are shining jewels,
and the earth Your sacred trust,
weaver of destinies
and protectress of things wild and free.
As Your Chosen One, Beloved and touched by You,
I do ask now if You will grant
<
br /> Thy blessing upon this mating.
Show us through sign, or vision, or word
Your wisdom and Your will.
Instantly the air above the circle made by their linked hands began to swirl and shimmer. Two forms took shape within the brilliance. Brighid gasped as she recognized Cuchulainn’s torso, naked and muscular, shining with his golden light. And then another torso took shape from the diamond-sparked mist. It shimmered with a bright silver light. It was her own naked body wrapped within Cuchulainn’s strong arms. When the apparitions’ lips met, Brighid was filled with the liquid heat of newly awakened passion. She heard Cu’s deep intake of breath, and knew he felt the joining of their spirits, too. Then the air spiraled, whirlpooling into a mass of glittering sparks before the vision dissipated with the sound of rain-soaked wind.
Etain smiled. “You have the Goddess’s blessing, my son.”
Cuchulainn lifted Brighid’s hand and pressed it firmly to his lips before he broke the circle and returned to kneel in front of Elphame.
“Now, sister-mine, do I have your permission to take your Huntress as my lifemate?”
Elphame smiled down at her beloved brother. “Gladly, Cuchulainn.”
Cu stood and hugged his sister, lifting her and making her laugh. Brighid still felt flushed by the hypnotic vision, and was more than a little overwhelmed as Partholon’s High Shaman and Epona’s Chosen congratulated her warmly and welcomed her to their family.
“Mother, will you honor us by overseeing the oath-giving?” Cuchulainn asked.
“Of course, my darling.” Etain smiled fondly at her son.
“It will have to be today.” Brighid thought her voice sounded out of place, and too serious. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to celebrate and laugh and revel in the magical and unique surprise with which Epona had gifted her, but her Huntress’s mind was too aware that the trail she and Cuchulainn must follow would be difficult, and the track was already growing cold.
Cuchulainn moved back to her side, and touched her face gently. “Then it will be today.”
She smiled at him, grateful that he seemed to understand—that he wasn’t put off by her brusque, unromantic manner.
“And Niam’s pyre will need to be lit,” Brighid said.
“Yes, it is as it should be. Today we will make it a celebration of one life, ended in honor and love, and the beginning of another, rooted in the same. It is the circle of the Great Goddess. Life cannot exist without death, one cannot be fulfilled without the other,” Etain said solemnly. “But first we will break our fast and fortify our bodies for the day to come.”
“To the Great Hall, then,” Elphame said.
The Great Hall was noisy and crowded—filled to overflowing with small winged shapes and the Clan MacCallan. The air was thick and sweet with the smell of freshly baked bread and the dark, lumped sugar the children had already become so fond of adding to their morning porridge. Brighid paused in the arched doorway. The hall looked so alive, so different now from how it had appeared two days before when her sister had breathed her last breath. But she could still see Niam there, collapsed on the long, low centaur bench, retching blood and delivering her dire warning.
Before the shades of the past could overwhelm her, a small winged shape detached itself from a nearby table and hurled himself at her.
“Brighid!” Though the top of his head reached no higher than her equine chest, he clutched her with a strength that was surprising.
She bent and ruffled his hair and patted his back.
“Oh, Brighid.” He tilted his head up to look at her. His eyes were large and luminous with tears he was trying bravely not to shed. “I was so worried about you! I wanted to come see you, but no one would let me.”
“I’m all right now.” She stroked his head, thinking that his hair was as soft as duck’s down. “I just needed to rest.”
“I’m sorry about your sister. Curran and Nevin have already begun telling tales about how brave she was.”
Brighid’s heart squeezed painfully. “They’re right. She was very brave.”
“Come on, Liam, you can sit with us and tell us everything you’ve been doing for the past two days.” Cuchulainn lifted the boy to Brighid’s back, winning himself a narrow-eyed look from his betrothed. He winked back at her, the Huntress snorted, and Liam launched into a breathless explanation of all the different tracks he had discovered.
As they moved through the Great Hall to the head table, Brighid was stopped often by kind words and sincere condolences. Her first reaction was discomfort. She rarely garnered such concentrated attention, but she wasn’t halfway through the room when she felt herself relax. They cared for her. Her family, Clan MacCallan, was surrounding her with their love and concern. Brighid drank it in. She would remember it, so that later, when she was far from here she could relive what it felt like to be accepted and at peace.
As they joined Lochlan and Ciara at the Chieftain’s table, Brighid sat very still while life moved around her. Liam chattered ceaselessly. Elphame and Etain discussed the full moon ceremony that was only days away, and Epona’s Beloved kindly included Ciara in the conversation. Cuchulainn was talking with Lochlan about how to expand the barracks for the children since it had been decided that until they received word that the strife with the centaurs was over, the New Fomorians should be housed within the protective walls of MacCallan Castle.
It was all so natural—so normal. And Brighid couldn’t help but compare it with the morning meals that had been “normal” for her before she left the Centaur Plains. Mairearad Dhianna had set a sumptuous table, but the quality of the food had always paled in comparison to the intrigue and power plays that surrounded their High Shaman. Her mother had served manipulation and passive-aggression as the main dish, and Brighid clearly remembered how she had always been on guard during meals when her mother was present. Who would Mairearad target? Would she be open in her attack, or would it be veiled innuendo and seemingly harmless comments meant to cut and destroy will and independence and freedom…
Brighid was going back into that. It would matter little that Mairearad was gone. After almost five decades as Dhianna High Shaman, her ghost would not easily relinquish its hold.
Brighid jerked only a little when Cuchulainn slid his warm hand within hers. He didn’t break his conversation with Lochlan. He made no showy public production of intimacy with the proud Huntress. No one knew their hands were linked and that his touch warmed her.
The warrior understood her.
How had this happened? It seems I’m a world away from my beginnings, yet somehow here, with this man, I have found my true home and family. Please don’t let me lose it, Epona.
They had chosen a beautiful spot for Niam’s funeral pyre. The enormous mound of dry pinewood timbers had been erected on a sliver of land located at the southernmost area of the castle grounds. It jutted like a slender finger over the swirling ocean far below, as if Niam’s burning pyre was meant to be a beacon for lost ships. The centaur’s body was high atop the mound, and it had been draped in a heavy shroud woven with intricate knots of power, as would a warrior’s body.
Brighid approached the pyre with Cuchulainn and Elphame flanking her. Etain, Midhir and Lochlan were already present, standing near the mound. Epona’s Beloved held a flaming torch in her hand. As Niam’s closest kin, the lighting of the pyre was Brighid’s responsibility, but instead of taking the torch from Etain she turned and faced the group that had assembled around them. Clan MacCallan spread out before her. Human and centaur, they had come dressed in their finest, and the warm, cloudless morning was alive with the bright lime and sapphire-blue of the MacCallan plaid. Interspersed between Clan members were small winged shapes standing respectfully silent with big eyes focused on the Huntress. She searched through the crowd until she found the twin storytellers. When she spoke her voice was strong and clear.
“Her name was Niam Dhianna. Beauty was her shield. It kept her safe from manipulation and intrigue
, hiding her until she was needed. I only wish that I’d had the wisdom to see beyond her ruse, and that her body had been as strong as her heart was valiant. I ask that you remember her with me. Do not let her story die with her body.” Nevin and Curran bowed their heads in acknowledgment, and Brighid paused, drawing in a steadying breath. When she looked up again, her eyes easily found the winged Shaman. “Ciara, I ask that you join me at my sister’s pyre.”
The winged woman looked surprised, but she moved quickly to Brighid’s side.
“Your affinity is with the spirit of fire, and you carry within you the spark of the Goddess Incarnate Terpsichore. Niam loved beauty and dance. But I have chosen to ask you to call upon the spirit of fire to release her body from this earth not simply because of the outward beauty you and your grandmother represent. In the short time I’ve known you I have learned to appreciate your ability to see within a person’s soul. If I had developed that ability as well as you, I might have understood Niam’s worth before she was lost to me. So I ask you to use the spirit of flame to light my sister’s pyre.”
“I accept, Brighid Dhianna. You honor me greatly.”
Wordlessly, the group stepped with Brighid away from the pyre, leaving the winged Shaman standing alone. Ciara turned to the south, facing the pyre. She bowed her head, obviously collecting herself. Then with the grace of a dancer she approached the mound with slow, elegant movements that flowed smoothly like water over pebbles. Her long, dark hair swirled around her, as if it was a curtain parting to allow her access to another realm. As she spoke, she traced delicate patterns with her hands, calling awake bright specks of tiny sparks in the air around her.
O Epona, I do call upon Thee.
Goddess of things wild and free,
today it is the lovely, somber Goddess of the Declining Moon to whom I speak.
Strong and somber, Goddess of the Far Realms and beyond,
be with us here at this time of loss.
