Brighid’s Quest

CHAPTER NINE

That first night’s campsite came to order with amazing efficiency as children worked quickly and skillfully in little groups supervised by the adults and the eldest of the youngsters. The poles from the litters were easily transformed into the skeletons of tents and then covered securely with stretched goatskins. The makeshift shelters grew in a tight circle around a flat, rocky area Ciara had chosen carefully. The front flap of each tent was left open.

“I understand the circle formation,” Brighid had murmured to Cuchulainn as he joined her where she was skinning the half dozen hares she had snared while the tents were being erected. “But why leave the front of them open? Seems like it’s just inviting this Goddess-damned cold to freeze them while they sleep.”

“Watch,” Cu grunted, taking a rabbit and unsheathing his knife.

Before the Huntress could tell Cu just how irritating his uncommunicative company had become, Ciara’s voice rang clearly through the fading day.

“It is time! Bring the firestarters.”

With squeals of joy and more chattering than Brighid thought was good for anyone’s nerves, the winged children fluttered to the litters. Filling their arms with what looked like large clumps of hard gray dirt, they swirled around their Shaman, who pointed to an area in the middle of the flat rock. Gleefully the children heaped their armloads into a growing pile. When the mound was almost to Ciara’s waist, she motioned for the children to stop, and they fell blissfully silent as they, and the adult New Fomorians, formed a loose circle around their Shaman.

The Huntress sent Cuchulainn a questioning look, but he only repeated his earlier command of “Watch.”

Brighid frowned at him, but her eyes were drawn back to Ciara, who smiled at her people before turning to the west. Following her lead, the circle rustled and likewise faced the setting sun. Brighid’s hands, which had been efficiently skinning one hare after another, stilled as Ciara spoke.

Gentle Epona, blessed Goddess, You close another day,

changing the warmth of sky to dark of night.

Facing the way of fire, we hearken and pray,

shield us from darkness, cold and fright.

Ciara’s wings unfurled and the air around her shimmered with the tangible presence of Epona. She lifted her arms, and her voice was magnified and filled with happiness and confidence and the power of a Goddess’s touch.

Blazing force of cleansing fire,

dancing flames of Epona’s light;

Hear me, for our need is dire,

aid me in this evening rite.

Gift of flame, O fiery flower,

Ever glowing in my sight;

Fill me with our Goddess’s blessed power,

Touch me with Her blazing might.

Ciara flung her open hands forward, toward the mound. Instantly the pile ignited. Flames blazed cheerfully, casting dancing winged shadows against the tents as the adults called for their children and the circle dispersed. The clatter of pans announced they would soon be ready for the Huntress’s catch, but Brighid could not take her eyes off the Shaman.

Ciara remained where she had been at the end of the invocation, standing so close to the fire that Brighid thought it likely her clothing would catch. Her head was bowed and her eyes were closed, and Brighid could see that her lips moved silently. For a long moment Ciara stood there, statuelike in her concentration. Then, slowly, she raised her head and opened her eyes, meeting the Huntress’s curious gaze with her own clear, guileless one. Brighid was the first to look away.

“You know, you could tell me more than ‘watch’ or ‘you’ll see’ when I ask you questions about…” Brighid gestured vaguely at the fire and the encampment.

“I think you should get the same experience I had,” Cu said.

“Which is?”

“Surprise. No,” Cu raised a hand smeared with rabbit blood, cutting off the Huntress’s snort of annoyance. “I’m not doing it to be irritating. I want your honest reaction to them-to this.” He met her gaze. “I trust your instincts, Huntress, better than I trust my own.”

Brighid opened and then closed her mouth. Cuchulainn was damned hard to talk to. One moment he was distant and evasive, the next he was disarmingly honest and almost like the Cu she used to know. It was as if he had become an incomplete picture of himself. His responses were off, and he knew it. The warrior’s soul is shattered.

“Maybe your instincts are still trustworthy. Maybe you just need to call them back to you, and start believing in yourself again,” Brighid said haltingly. She felt out of her element trying to counsel the warrior. She’d rather take him out on a long hunt and have him work himself into exhaustion chasing elusive prey, than try to advise him on matters of his soul. And from his silent response to her words and the lack of expression on his face as he returned to skinning the hare, he’d probably rather she knocked him over the head and be done with it. But she knew that what was wrong with Cu couldn’t be fixed through the physical realm as surely as she knew that if he didn’t find a way to heal he would continue to fade away. That would hurt Elphame, and Brighid didn’t want her Chieftain and friend to know the pain of losing a family member. Brighid knew the pain of that kind of loss all too well.

She glanced at the warrior. His face was set into what was becoming its typical expression of stony withdrawal. Perhaps it was the talk she’d had with Ciara, but the contrast between Cuchulainn now and Cuchulainn just two moons ago suddenly made Brighid heartsick. She remembered clearly how he used to laugh and joke easily, and how his very presence could enliven a gathering. Even when she’d first met him and thought him insufferably arrogant she had envied the dynamic aura he radiated.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Cuchulainn’s voice was as expressionless as his face.

“Cu, I hate it that you-”

“Ciara says we’re ready for the rabbits now!” Like a winged whirlwind, Kyna swirled up to them, Liam close on her trail.

“Next time could I go with you to hunt? I could help. Really I could. Really.” Liam’s eyes blinked enthusiastically as he hopped from one taloned foot to the other.

Brighid told her face not to frown. This was exactly why Huntresses rarely had offspring. They interrupted when they shouldn’t and made entirely too much noise.

“To hunt hare, you must be very quiet, Liam,” she said severely.

“Oh, I am! I can be! I will. Just watch and see, I will,” he assured her, still dancing from foot to foot.

“You’re never quiet, Liam,” Kyna said with disgust.

“I am so!”

“You are not!”

“I was quiet during the evening blessing,” Liam said. His wings rustled as he fisted his hands and raised his chin defiantly.

“Everyone was quiet during the evening blessing.” Kyna rolled her eyes.

As the two children bickered, Brighid looked helplessly at Cuchulainn. The warrior met her gaze briefly and Brighid thought for a moment a shadow of good humor flickered through his eyes.

“Kyna, I left the gelding tethered with the goats,” he said nonchalantly.

Looking a little like a baby bird, the girl instantly swiveled her attention to him. “But he doesn’t really like the goats. They’re too small and they bother him.”

Brighid thought she knew exactly how Cu’s gelding felt.

“I should check on him,” Kyna said determinedly.

Cuchulainn lifted one shoulder. “As you wish.”

“Liam, you take the rabbits to Ciara,” Kyna ordered, tossing the basket she had been carrying to the boy before she hurried away. Then she threw over her shoulder, “That’s probably as close as you’ll get to catching a rabbit!”

Liam scowled after her. “I can be quiet.”

“To trap rabbits, you must be fast, too,” Cu said. “Isn’t that true, Huntress?”

“Definitely,” Brighid said.

“Then watch me! Just watch me. I can be fast!”

And as he scooped up the skinned rabbits and glided quickly away from them, basket clutched to his narrow chest, Brighid had to admit that the boy really did move with amazing speed. He’d never be quiet, but he certainly was fast.

“By the hot breath of the Goddess those children are annoying! How have they not driven you crazy?” Brighid asked, staring after the boy.

“You learn to tune them out. After a while, it’s like they’re not even here.”

Brighid’s gaze snapped back to Cu. He had crouched down and was wiping his blade clean on a small clump of frost-dampened moss. His voice was again dead and detached. He stood up and sheathed the blade. Then, without another word, he turned and walked back toward the camp.

As Brighid settled herself comfortably near the brightly burning campfire and accepted a bowl of thick stew from an eager young server, she thought that even though Partholon was prosperous and thriving, there were many things Partholonians could learn from the New Fomorians-especially about traveling in comfort. The winged people had little, and their land was stark and harsh, but she had rarely experienced such a cozy, harmonious campsite.

The cold, ever-blowing wind had been neatly blocked by the sturdy design of the goatskin tents, which fitted snugly in a warm circle around Ciara’s blazing fire. Every so often someone would feed the fire with another chunk of what one of the winged women had said was a mixture of dried lichen and goat dung. The fodder explained the vague scent that drifted with the smoke, but it was much less offensive than she would have thought-and it accomplished its job. The fire burned hot and steady.

Dinner had been put together as quickly and efficiently as had the tents, and in an amazingly short time everyone was sitting near the fire or within the warmth of the open-fronted tents, sharing a robust stew. Brighid chewed thoughtfully on a piece of rabbit and looked around the unusually quiet camp. The children looked tired, the Huntress realized with a jolt. Not long ago they had flitted about, tending the goats and chattering nonstop while they spread soft goatskin rugs within the tents. Now it was as if someone had turned off their youthful exuberance.

Without being obvious about it, Brighid cut her eyes to her left, where Liam had insisted he had to sit because he was, after all, her apprentice. When had he quit babbling? she wondered. When had they all stopped babbling? Maybe Cuchulainn wasn’t as far gone as she had thought-it seemed she, too, had the ability to tune out their ceaseless talking.

“Here-” Cu tossed a wineskin to her as he joined the circle, sitting cross-legged to her right. “You brought it. You should drink some of it.” He nodded his thanks at the boy who handed him a steaming bowl.

“It’s weird when they’re not constantly talking,” Brighid said, lowering her voice so that it didn’t carry over the crackle and pop of the campfire.

“They came a long way today, twice as far as I expected. Any other children would have stopped hours ago.” Cu’s gaze traveled around the silent circle and he almost smiled. “I suspect it has finally caught up with them.”

“Thank the Goddess,” Brighid mumbled and took a long pull of the excellent red wine.

“I suspect they’ll be ready to go again at first light.”

“I suspect you’re right,” Brighid said. The warrior seemed more relaxed than he had been earlier, or perhaps he was just tired, too. Did keeping everyone at a distance take its toll on Cu, especially since he had spent the vast majority of his life drawing people to him?

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll skip the storytelling,” Cu said between bites of stew.

Brighid raised an eyebrow at him. “You mean the infamous tales of a certain Huntress?”

Cuchulainn grunted and jerked his chin in the direction of Liam, who had finished eating and was yawning sleepily. “You can’t say you don’t understand how persuasive they can be when they want to know something.”

Brighid snorted, but was careful not to look at the boy, afraid any show of attention would cue him to begin prattling once again about how quiet he could be.

“Well,” she said softly. “I might admit to knowing something of what you mean…” she began, but a rustling from the opposite side of the circle drew her attention.

Brighid hadn’t had time to speak to many of the adult hybrids. Everyone had been too involved with setting up camp, and the adults were kept especially busy with their flocks of children. Other than a passing word or two, she had spent her time in the company of Cuchulainn and Ciara. And, she added silently, the too-exuberant Liam and Kyna. But she easily recognized the two adults, who were now standing, as the twins, Curran and Nevin.

“I spoke too soon,” Cuchulainn said caustically. “When those two stand that means there are going to be stories.”

Brighid felt him gather himself to leave, and then, before she could stop herself, she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Stay,” she said, surprised at the unfamiliarly husky sound of her voice. It was as if her impulse to keep Cu there had come from deep within her, and her voice reflected that well of emotion.

Cuchulainn turned his head and met her eyes.

“If you leave one of those children might come and take your place. Then I will be completely surrounded,” she whispered, feeling suddenly too exposed and vulnerable.

“Harrumph,” he said roughly, but he resettled himself beside her.

“Our journey has finally begun,” said Nevin.

“We have waited long for this day.” Curran picked up the thread of his twin’s words. “Our mothers in the spirit realm rejoice.”

“They smile that their hearts’ desires are coming to fruition,” Nevin said. “Do you feel their presence, children?” The winged man smiled at the small faces turned in his direction and the children nodded sleepily.

“Their love is in the wind,” Curran said. “It lifts our wings.”

“And our hearts,” Nevin completed. “And as long as the wind blows, we will not forget their love, or their sacrifice.”

Brighid couldn’t help but be intrigued by the twins’ performance. They truly were bards. Their voices weren’t simply powerful, but had that indescribable note of magic that so clearly separated a bard from the rest of the populace. She thought she could listen to their rich, emotion-filled voices forever, and she was chagrined that the twins had spent all those days at MacCallan Castle without any of the Clan knowing of their gift. She snorted lightly to herself. That would certainly change when they returned. Bards were always a welcome addition to any clan.

“Tonight we must rest well for the coming day,” Curran said.

“So our tale will be a short one.”

“But well-loved.” Curran’s smile flashed brilliantly across the campfire at the surprised Huntress. “With your permission, Brighid. We will tell the tale of how you tracked the young Fand and saved her from certain death.”

The tired children stirred and Brighid heard delighted murmurs from the youngsters sitting nearest to the wolf cub sprawled by the fire. Beside her Liam came back to life and wriggled happily, staring at the Huntress with wide, adoring eyes.

“Glad I stayed,” Cu grunted under his breath to her. “I like this one, too.”

Ciara’s musical voice interrupted the scowl Brighid was aiming at the warrior.

“Now that we have been blessed with the presence of the Huntress, perhaps Brighid would be so gracious as to tell us her own version of the saving of Fand.”

Brighid’s scowl turned instantly from Cuchulainn to Ciara. What was she thinking? Brighid was no bard, and she certainly didn’t want to tell some ridiculous story about herself to a group of already annoyingly infatuated children. And anyway, she hadn’t actually saved the damned cub, she’d just led Cu to the den. It had been Brenna who had made sure that… The Huntress’s eyes met the Shaman’s and Brighid felt a jolt of gut-deep understanding. Ciara was looking at her steadily with a serene, encouraging expression.

“Will you tell us the real story, Brighid?” the Shaman asked.