Brighid's Quest

by P. C. Cast

  “Good morning,” she said. “That smells wonderful.”

  “Good afternoon,” he replied and used one of his throwing daggers to slice a piece of meat from the haunch and then skewer it. Smiling, he walked over to her, kissed her, and handed her the morsel. “Welcome back.”

  She nibbled at the hot meat and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Are you trying to take over my job?”

  “Hardly. If I were MacCallan’s Huntress the Clan would probably starve. It took me most of the morning and four arrows to bring down this one young, rather stupid deer.”

  She smiled. “His lack of intelligence has definitely not adversely affected his taste.”

  “Probably because he was too stupid to do much running,” he grumbled.

  She laughed out loud. “See, you’re a better Huntress than you thought.”

  “No, I’m not, but I did dig up some early potatoes and wild onions.” He prodded what she would have otherwise taken for rocks within the edges of the campfire with the toe of his boot. “You need to eat as much as you can today. Even I know that a journey into the spirit realm can appear to take only a few hours but turns into days.”

  “So you’re not just trying to make me fat and unattractive to other men?” she said, wanting to tease the worried shadows from his eyes.

  “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

  “Cu, has something happened?”

  “No…yes…I’m not sure,” he said, running his hand restlessly through his hair. “I’ve been uneasy since we entered the tors. And this place—” he gestured at the cave “—has my teeth set on edge.”

  “But you haven’t had a specific Feeling?”

  “No. And I’ve tried. I’ve listened with that other sense.” He sighed. “Nothing. I don’t know if it’s because of my ineptitude or if it’s because there’s nothing specific there.”

  “Perhaps the Feeling was sent to remind you to stay vigilant.”

  He started to snap at her that of course he would be vigilant—then he remembered that he hadn’t always been so. He had been prewarned of Brenna’s death and he had done nothing to prevent it.

  “Perhaps…” he said. “The spirit realm is a mystery to me.” He glanced up at her and forced himself to smile. “But I do know enough about it to be certain that you are well fed before we visit there.” He carved off another hunk of meat and brought it to her.

  “Visit—that sounds so much nicer than journey or quest,” she said. “I should tell you that I visited MacCallan Castle last night in my dreams.”

  His eyes shot to hers. “Brenna?”

  She shook her head and pushed down the jealousy that his quick look and tense tone made her feel.

  “No, it wasn’t anything like the times you or Brenna came into my dreams. Last night my spirit was awake and aware. I watched myself lift out of my body and travel to MacCallan. And I heard Epona’s voice.”

  “The Magic Sleep,” Cuchulainn said thoughtfully. “My mother has described it many times. It is the way Epona often communicates with her and allows her to see important events as they take place.” Then his contemplative look became alarmed. “Was everyone at the castle well?”

  “Very,” she assured him. “But I do think I witnessed an important event. Apparently there’s more to the New Fomorians than their goodness and tenacity. Epona has gifted them with the ability to nurture growing things—and according to Wynne’s report—this ability allows them to hasten the growth of plants.”

  “That should make Wynne happy.”

  “It pleased everyone, including your mother.” Brighid paused. “But I don’t understand why that was important for me to witness.”

  “Maybe Epona wants us to know that all is well with the Clan so we won’t head into the Otherworld with worry to distract us.”

  “Maybe…” she said. “Did your mother ever say anything about being seen when she was on one of her Magic Sleep journeys?”

  “Not that I remember. Did they see you last night?”

  “No one acted like it, except your mother said something that made me wonder.”

  He grinned and carefully pulled a hot potato from the coals. “You know it’s impossible to keep anything from my mother.”

  “Anything important,” Brighid added.

  “Trust me, often it feels like she knows everything.”

  They chatted about home and the Clan and the fallout of the New Fomorian’s unexpected gift while they ate the nourishing meal of venison, potatoes and wild onions, and Brighid felt her strength returning. Afterward she stood under the gentle fall of cold cave water and gazed at the beauty of the Centaur Plains. The land called to her soul. She could find belonging and comfort at MacCallan Castle, but she knew it would never have the ability to move her like the open land of her birth did. It was late spring and in some places the grass would already have grown past her withers. The brilliant blues, pinks and reds of spring wildflowers would have given way to the long, lace-topped white flower known as snowpeak and the tall, brown-eyed daisies that could be found in unexpected fields alive with the summertime sound of buzzing bees. She held her hand up to shield her eyes from the glare of the midday sun and thought she could just make out dark dots on the horizon that could be bison. Then the Huntress frowned as what else she was seeing registered in her sharp eyes.

  “Drought,” Cuchulainn said. He was standing above her at the edge of the clearing and he, too, was gazing out at the rolling grasslands.

  “It’s been a dry spring at MacCallan, but I had no idea it was affecting the plains so drastically.” Her sharp eyes narrowed as she discarded the romantic haze her vision had been peering through and looked with new eyes on the grasslands. “It should be green, so rich and alive that from this distance it should look like the landscape has been painted the color of emeralds.” She shook her head, feeling her gut clench with foreboding. “But it’s the brown of fall.”

  “I haven’t seen it this dry for years, maybe for as long as I can remember,” Cu said.

  “What began the Fomorian War?”

  Cuchulainn’s brow tunneled. “Their attack on MacCallan Castle, of course.”

  She shook her head, tasting the bitterness of foreboding in the back of her throat. “Before that. Decades before that. Why were they in Partholon?”

  His turquoise eyes widened in understanding. “They were driven from their lands by a great drought.”

  “It’s a bad omen, Cu. I Feel it, deep within my soul. I think it’s time we followed this hunt to its conclusion.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Good. Then let me tell you what my mother taught me of the Quest for Epona’s Chalice.”

  44

  “IF YOU KEEP looking so damned gloomy you’re going to make me nervous,” Brighid told Cuchulainn.

  “Sorry. I’ve spent so much of my life avoiding the Otherworld that it’s hard for me to step willingly into it.”

  “So then don’t think of it as stepping into the Otherworld. We’re following a trail, remember? We’ve hunted together before, Cu. This will be no different.”

  “You mean except for the spirits and the fact that we won’t be in our bodies.”

  She frowned at him.

  “All right!” He raised his hands in surrender. “We’re going on a hunt.”

  “Good. Let’s review what we know one more time.” She held up her hand to tick off her fingers. “First, we’ve readied the labyrinth.”

  Cu’s eyes went to the spiraling circle of stones they had placed in the center of the cave. The stones unwound smoothly around and around until they led to the small tunnel and the stream of water.

  “I still don’t like that,” Cu said, staring claustrophobically at the constricting hole in the back of the cave.

  “I don’t particularly like it, either, but it fits with everything your father and my mother have said about the beginning of the spirit journey. Midhir directed us here because the tors have always been linked to the Underworld. My mother told
me many times that using a labyrinth was one easy way to begin a spirit journey, as well as to return at the end of one.”

  “We’re just following a trail,” Cu repeated.

  “That’s all we’re doing,” Brighid agreed. “But I want you to remember that the labyrinth is the path back to this realm.”

  “I’ll remember,” he said, his jaw tightening. “But I will not return without you, and you should remember that.”

  She met his eyes. “We return together or not at all.”

  He scowled, but the mischievous glint was back in his turquoise eyes. “I prefer the together part of that.”

  “Stop worrying,” she said.

  “Next.”

  “Next—” she held up a second finger “—you join me in my dreams.”

  The warrior sighed. “You say that like it happens every day.”

  “Cuchulainn, in less than half a cycle of the moon you have entered my dreams four times.”

  He grinned. “I don’t think you can count that last one.”

  She gave him a stern look. “Actually it counts for even more. We shared the same dream and neither of us had shattered souls, which means our spirits met somewhere in the Otherworld. All we need do is just to repeat what we’ve already done.” He raised his eyebrows and coaxed a small smile from her. “Minus the sex,” she added.

  “So I join you in your dreams.”

  “That’s the easiest way of putting it.”

  “Just now your tone, the way you looked at me, reminded me of my father,” Cu said.

  She curled one side of her smile. “Is that supposed to make me feel better about this journey or are you telling me our marriage is in trouble?”

  He grinned at her. “You’re not concentrating.”

  “Third—” she lifted another finger “—when our spirits are together we follow the labyrinth, beginning in the center, around and around to the tunnel back.”

  “Then we slide down into the Underworld.” All trace of humor had left his voice.

  “Yes, but only because that is where a Shaman Journey typically begins. We won’t stay there. Your father said Epona’s Chalice will not be found in the Underworld, and my mother often implied the same. I believe Epona’s Chalice is in the highest realm of the spirits—the Upperworld—the realm where the Goddess is most often found.” She took his hand. “Remember, Cu, there are three levels of the spirit realm—the Underworld, the Middleworld and the Upperworld. We cannot afford to get lost in the first two. Always follow the path upward and don’t let anything persuade you to turn aside from our purpose.”

  “I’ll remember. I’m ready.”

  “Cuchulainn, there were several things my mother made very clear to me about this journey. The first is deceptively simple because it is what even the smallest children learn as they begin to practice rituals and test their aptitude for the spirit realm.”

  “Leave the problems of life in the physical realm. Do not carry them with you into the Otherworld,” Cu said. “I know that as well as you.”

  “You know it—I’m just reminding you to abide by it,” Brighid said sternly. “For both of us.”

  “For both of us,” he repeated, kissing her hand. “I’ll bank the fire and make sure the gelding is seen to.”

  Brighid nodded and gave him a smile that was meant to cover up the fear and doubt that lurked just beneath her confident facade. As he set their camp to order she paced the length of the cave, going over and over the small, disjointed details of a High Shaman’s spirit journey her mother had sprinkled throughout her childhood. One thing her mother had said kept circling around and around in Brighid’s head. Before you drink of the Chalice you must face your greatest ally and your most powerful enemy—and the two are one in the same.

  She hadn’t known what her mother had been referring to then, and she certainly hadn’t received any illuminating information that would clear up the riddle now. She’d just have to take the leap and trust herself, her Goddess, and the man at her side.

  “All is ready,” Cuchulainn said, striding back into the cave. “It’s only early evening, hopefully we’ll be back before morning.”

  “Don’t count on it. Time passes differently in the Otherworld.”

  “Then let’s get it over with.”

  Cuchulainn held out his hand to her and she joined him on the pallet they had made up carefully in the center of the labyrinth of stones. Beside them they had placed a full wineskin and a loaf of wrapped bread and cheese. The first thing they must do when they returned would be to eat and drink so that their bodies would reground in the physical realm.

  “We’re missing something,” Brighid said. She looked around the cave till she found what she needed sheathed in Cuchulainn’s scabbard. Carefully she pulled the gleaming blade free and rejoined her husband in the center of the labyrinth. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “I’d feel better if you held this,” she said. “I know you can’t physically take it with us, but all things are ensouled. Perhaps the spirit of your blade will deign to accompany us.”

  “It would relieve my mind greatly if it did,” he said, closing his hand around the familiar hilt.

  They lay on the pallet, fitting their bodies together. Brighid sighed, glad that the physical awkwardness that had once been between them was gone. She pressed her head against his broad chest. Before she closed her eyes she touched the turquoise stone that hung between her breasts.

  “Just breathe, Cu. Relax your body and will your soul to follow the beat of your heart to me,” she whispered.

  “I’ll be there. I won’t let you be alone,” he said.

  She kissed him before she closed her eyes and began the deep cleansing breaths that would take her into a trancelike state. It was an easy exercise for her. She used it often to follow the spirit trails of animals. So she fell into a meditative state quickly. Only this time instead of focusing her concentration on her chosen prey, the Huntress blocked out everything except the beat of Cuchulainn’s heart.

  The Shaman drums are the easiest way to find an opening to the Otherworld. All of life beats with them. Listen and you will find an opening to the spirit of the earth.

  Her mother had said those words to a very young Brighid when she had complained that Mairearad had taken too long choosing a simple drum. Brighid remembered that she had been eager to leave the crowds and heat of the open-air market, and for once her mother had not snapped at her for her complaint. Instead she had explained to her daughter why choosing the correct drum was important for a High Shaman.

  Then Brighid had discounted her mother’s words, and had only been grateful she had somehow avoided a reprimand. Now she used the memory to begin her own High Shaman quest. They didn’t have a drum, and even if they had she knew that Cuchulainn would not have been willing to remain in this realm to beat it while she entered the Otherworld alone. She’d pondered her mother’s words, trying to find a compromise. Mairearad had said that all life beats with the sound of drums…life…the heartbeat of life…and it had come to her with sudden clarity. Her husband’s heart would be the life beat she would follow into the Otherworld.

  So she pressed her head against his chest and let the strong beat of his heart guide her.

  Thump-thump…thump-thump…thump-thump…thump-thump…

  It was more magical than a drum, more primitive and real, and she would gladly follow it even to the ends of the earth.

  When her spirit lifted from her body it was a much different sensation than she had experienced during her dreams or even the Magic Sleep. Her spirit was surrounded by the warmth of Cuchulainn’s heartbeat and for a moment she stood beside their bodies, listening with her soul.

  “You were right. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be,” Cuchulainn said. He was standing next to her and his body was illuminated by a gentle golden glow. In his hand he clutched a shimmering white sword.

  “It came with you,” Brighid said.

  “I think my hold on it was s
o tight that it had little choice,” the warrior said. Then he lifted his other hand and touched her face. She felt the caress like a warm breeze against her spirit. “You’re incredibly beautiful like this, all silver and shining.”

  “You’re golden,” she said, touching his shoulder gently.

  He looked down at his spirit form and grunted. Then lifted his eyes to hers. “Let’s go.”

  “We follow the labyrinth. Always to the right in the journey there, and to the left when we return,” she said, turning in the proper direction and beginning the circular spiral.

  As they followed the path of stones Brighid noticed that the walls of the cave changed, darkening into a cavern so vast that by the time they reached what used to be little more than a small gap in the back of the cave they were instead standing before a rough rock door over which was written awen.

  “Inspiration,” Brighid whispered. “It’s what it means in the ancient language of Shamans.”

  “Your mother told you that?”

  Brighid felt her soul shiver with excitement. “No. No one told me. I just understood it.”

  “Then this is the way we go,” Cu said. He opened the door and raised his sword protectively. But before he could step ahead of her she touched his arm.

  “I have to lead here, Cu.”

  His nod was little more than a jerk of his head, but he stepped aside and let her precede him through the doorway. She gasped, and then disappeared.

  “Brighid!” he cried, holding his sword before him and preparing to plunge into the darkness after her.

  Then her laughter bubbled up from below. “It’s nothing bad, just relax and let yourself go with it.”

  He’d go with it because she was down there, but he certainly wouldn’t relax. Gritting his teeth and holding tightly to his sword he stepped through the doorway and his body fell. It spiraled gently round and round to the right, reminding him of the few times it had snowed enough at his mother’s temple for the ground to be covered in slick whiteness and how he and El and the twins had fashioned childish sleds and sped down and around any surface that was at all hill-like.