Brighid’s Quest

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

There were three other Masters of Arms awaiting them in the Great Hall. They sat in three of the four thronelike chairs atop a raised stone dais. Fagan left Brighid to take his place in the chair with the likeness of a claymore carved into its tall, regal back. Cuchulainn and Ciara joined her then Fagan began the introductions.

“Let me present our Masters of Arms.” He gestured first to a thin, sharp-featured middle-aged woman who sat in a chair decorated with plunging horses. “Glenna is our Horsemaster.” The woman nodded, her intelligent eyes curious and sharp on Ciara.

“Bain is our newly appointed Master of Combat,” Fagan said. Powerfully built, Bain was clearly the youngest of the four. His thick black hair was untouched by any hint of gray.

“And Ailis is our Master Archer.” The woman nodded briefly in acknowledgment of Fagan’s introduction. She was of indeterminate age-her skin was weathered, but her body was firm and muscular. Her blond hair had been cropped short, accentuating the strong line of her jaw and her high cheekbones. All of the Masters were dressed in black like the warriors, only the air of command that clung to them differed.

Cuchulainn stepped forward, and bowed formally.

“It is good to see you again, Cuchulainn MacCallan.” The Horsemaster’s voice was pleasingly feminine and filled with warmth. Brighid found herself studying Glenna more carefully, and wondering just how well she had gotten to know Cu while he’d studied at the castle.

“Well met, Master Glenna,” Cu said smoothly, then he bowed to each of the other two Masters in turn. Though the Masters were carefully polite, it was obvious everyone’s attention was focused on the winged woman who stood silently at Cu’s side.

“I am pleased to introduce MacCallan’s Huntress, Brighid Dhianna,” Cuchulainn said.

Brighid bowed formally to each Master.

“And I would also like to present to you Ciara, Shaman of the New Fomorians and granddaughter of the Incarnate Muse Terpsichore.”

Ciara stepped forward and sank gracefully into a deep, formal curtsy. “I am honored to meet each of you, and I thank you for offering sanctuary to my people.”

“Are you leader as well as Shaman of your people?” Glenna asked.

Ciara raised herself and turned her brilliant smile to the Horsemaster. “No, Master Glenna. The leader of our people is Lochlan, who is now mated to Elphame, the MacCallan Chieftain. I only stand temporarily in his position, and will be pleased to abdicate it to him when we join him at our new home.”

“Where are the rest of the adult Fomorians?” Bain’s voice, though flat and carefully emotionless, made the question sound like an accusation.

Ciara’s smile did not falter, and she returned the young Master’s gaze steadily. “The Fomorian race no longer exists, Master Bain. The last of them perished more than one hundred years ago. My people call themselves New Fomorians because we have broken from the ways of our demonic ancestors.” Her gaze moved to each of the Masters of Arms, and her voice took on a musical quality. “Think of it, Masters. We exist because of love, the love our foremothers felt so deeply for us that they were willing to live outside of their homeland. And because of faith, the faith they had in our mothers and grandmothers-their winged children were more human than demon. And hope that Epona would some day allow us to be called home. How could a race born in love and faith and hope not be different than the demons that spawned it?”

“That may be so,” Ailis said, “but our experience with your people has show us there is little difference between the ‘new’ and the ‘old’ Fomorians.”

Ciara’s smile faded, but her expression remained open and utterly non-defensive. “You speak of Fallon and Keir. They are not representative of my people, as Cuchulainn and Brighid, and even, I think, Master Fagan would tell you. Fallon chose madness, and not even Elphame’s sacrifice could wipe the demon stain from her soul after she embraced it. Keir is her mate. He cannot help but be touched by the darkness within her. They are sad, twisted versions of what our foremothers dreamed for us.”

“Do you ask us to ignore that they are your people?” Bain said, his voice flint-like.

“I ask only that you do not judge us based on their mistakes.”

Before Bain could respond, Cuchulainn spoke. “Fallon murdered the woman who was my betrothed. I have every reason to distrust Ciara and her people, but over the past two moons I have come to know-and to trust-them. Give them the opportunity, and I believe you will agree with me.”

The Master Archer turned abruptly to Brighid. “Huntress, I hear you have accepted one of these New Fomorians as your apprentice.”

Brighid raised her chin. “I have.”

“That seems most unusual.”

“They are a most unusual people, Master Ailis,” Brighid said.

“We shall see…” the Master Archer murmured.

“Fagan tells us that there are far more children with you than adults. Can you explain this?” Glenna fired the question to Ciara.

Again, the winged woman did not hesitate in her response. “The other adults are dead. Some of them chose to end their own lives when the madness that lurked within their blood became too much to bear. Some, like Fallon, accepted the madness willingly. Those we drove from our settlement. They perished in the Wastelands.”

“And you say that this madness has been cleansed from your blood?”

Brighid heard the disbelief in the Master Archer’s tone, and she felt her own anger stir. Ciara needed to keep calm and oh-so polite. Not so with the Huntress. “My Chieftain’s sacrifice washed the demon from their blood,” Brighid said. “You know this. I believe you received word of it from Epona’s Chosen herself. Are you questioning the word of Etain?”

“We do not doubt the word of The Chosen,” Glenna said quickly.

“Then is it my sister’s word you question?”

Brighid was pleased to hear the challenge in Cuchulainn’s voice.

“Your sister’s veracity is well-proven. She was touched by Epona before her birth,” Glenna said, her tone much more conciliatory.

“Then there should be no more questions about the madness remaining within the New Fomorians blood. Question that and you question the honor of my mother and sister.”

“And the rest of Clan MacCallan,” Brighid added.

Fagan, who had been silently watching the interaction between the other Masters and their unexpected guests, finally spoke into the tense silence that followed Cuchulainn and Brighid’s words. “How long do you require our sanctuary, Shaman?”

Ciara answered with a soft smile. “This one night only, Master Fagan.”

“One night? Shouldn’t the children rest longer than that?”

Ciara’s magical smile widened. “We are eager to enter Partholon, Master. It is as if the joyous presence of our foremothers urges us on. We have been waiting more than one hundred years to return to our homeland, and we are impatient to wait even a day longer.”

“Then one night of sanctuary it is,” Fagan said.

Ciara’s smile swept over the four Masters, touching each of them like the warmth of a friendly flame. “The Swordmaster and his warriors have already met the children. Would the rest of you like to meet them, too?”

Glenna was the first to stand. “I would, Shaman. I am curious to see these beings who have so easily won the protection of Cuchulainn MacCallan.”

“I would not say that Cuchulainn was easily won, Master Glenna.” Ciara’s laughter drifted among them as the other Masters of Arms stood and descended the dais to follow the Shaman from the room. “Rather, the children are…well…as diligent and single-minded as worker ants when they focus on something or, in Cuchulainn’s case, someone.” More of Ciara’s laughter brightened the room. “Come see for yourselves.”

Brighid and Cuchulainn followed behind the group.

“See why she makes such a good Shaman, and I would not? I would have described them as insatiable irritants, like the biting black flies of the swamplands,” Brighid whispered to Cuchulainn.

“Or fleas,” Cu said under his breath. “Fleas are small and annoying and relentless.”

Brighid smiled at Cuchulainn, noting that though he still had smudges of weariness beneath his eyes, his expression was animated and he walked by her side with the lithe, easy stride of a young warrior.

Ciara’s voice drifted back to them. Brighid could hear her explaining how each adult New Fomorian was responsible for a group of children, and acted as parent to that group, whether there were blood ties involved or not. Deep in conversation with the Masters, Ciara emerged from the Great Hall into the inner courtyard. Brighid touched Cuchulainn’s arm, holding him back from following the group.

“Let’s let them go ahead without us. I think it would do the Masters good to experience the full force of the children’s curiosity-without us fracturing their attention.”

Cu’s lips tilted up. “I had no idea you had such a capacity for cruelty, Huntress.”

Brighid grinned. But her reply was drowned out by the sound of a terrifying shriek.

“No!”

As one, Huntress and warrior rushed into the courtyard. The huge open square was filled with winged children and dark-clothed guards. The two groups had mingled as the circle of tents was erected, but all work ceased at the sound of the unholy shriek.

“Not the children! It cannot be the children!”

The hate-filled words were screamed from above, and all heads tilted up, staring at the terrible winged form silhouetted against the barred window of a tower room.

“Fallon.” Cuchulainn’s voice had become cold and dead again.

“Embracing the enemy! Embracing the enemy! You sleep with the whore Partholon!” The words were filled with madness and loathing.

Several of the children whimpered, which seemed to thaw the frozen warriors.

“Take that creature to an inner room!” Fagan ordered.

A half dozen warriors jumped to obey their Master. As they rushed past Brighid, Cu moved quickly after them. Setting her jaw, the Huntress kept pace with him.

“This might not be a good idea,” Brighid told him.

Cuchulainn gave no response, and Brighid had no time to prod him further. It took all of her concentration to navigate the winding hallways without knocking over the occasional man or woman. The Huntress frowned and fell behind Cuchulainn. The halls of Guardian Castle had definitely not been fashioned with centaurs in mind.

She slid to a halt at the entrance to the tower stairwell, snorting in frustration at the narrow, winding stone stairs where Cuchulainn had disappeared. If she went up there she might very well have to back all the way down-a potentially dangerous, as well as embarrassing, proposition. She’d wait.

Thank the Goddess she didn’t have to pace past the tower entrance for long. Shuffling feet could be heard, as well as the clank and rattle of chains and deep, muffled voices. Then the laughter began. The sound of it walked up Brighid’s spine and set the fine hairs on the nape of her neck stirring. Madness. The laughter was filled with madness. Brighid had heard it before, when Fallon had confronted Elphame at MacCallan Castle. It had shaken Brighid to her core then, and it had no less of an effect on her now.

A dark-clothed warrior appeared. His sword was drawn and he was gripping the end of a chain. Then another warrior stepped into view. He, too, was armed and holding a taut length of heavy chain.

Fallon emerged from the stairwell. Brighid became very still. She took in the changes in Fallon as if categorizing a new species she might soon be required to hunt. The creature was painfully thin, except for her distended abdomen. Her silver-white hair was in wild disarray around a face that belonged in nightmares. Fallon no longer looked more human than Fomorian. Even after she had been bound and battered at MacCallan Castle, she had been beautiful, but now that beauty had been twisted and sharpened and her pale, bloodless face had reverted to the feral, gaunt images drawn in the history texts. Her wings, though bound tightly to her body by circles of ropes, rustled and fought to unfurl. And her scent was all wrong. She was secreting a pungent, musklike smell that was raw with hatred and rage. Automatically, Brighid drew her dagger as the creature’s red eyes lighted on her and she bared deadly fangs.

“Another MacCallan whore!” Fallon spat. “I should have known that where Elphame’s brother was, there the centaur would follow, just as you did that day when you unjustly captured me.” Fallon swiveled her head to look behind her in an insect-like movement. More mad laughter spewed from her mouth as she bared her teeth. “But you were too late, weren’t you, warrior? Shall I tell you how sweet your Brenna’s blood tasted?”

From the stairwell, Cuchulainn lunged forward, hurling himself at Fallon, but he was restrained by three of the Guardian Warriors as the entire group spilled into the hallway. Brighid quickly moved to Cu, pushing away the dark warriors. In their place she blocked her friend and used the power of her centaur body to keep him from reaching Fallon.

“Cuchulainn! You agreed to let her live until she gave birth to the child!” Keir shouted. He was still standing in the arch of the stairwell, and he, too, had been changed by Fallon’s imprisonment. His eyes were sunken deep in his head and his hair was limp and matted. He still looked human, but he had aged markedly. His wings weren’t bound as Fallon’s were, but he kept them tight against his broad back. He was not chained, either, but a single warrior stood beside him, weapon drawn and ready.

“That’s right. Don’t forget that I am with child!” Fallon hissed, rubbing her abdomen with fingers that had become clawlike.

“We will not forget it!” Brighid snarled back at her, still carefully restraining Cuchulainn. “We will be here to welcome your child’s birth because it will mark the day of your death.”

Fallon’s sly expression shifted and changed. She staggered like she was suddenly too weak to stand by herself. Keir rushed to her, wrapping his arms around her as she collapsed into him.

“Our child! Don’t let them speak of our child, my dearest!” she sobbed.

“Get her away from here,” Brighid said, feeling bile rise in her throat at the creature’s theatrics.

The warriors dragged the two winged creatures down the hall, leaving Cuchulainn and Brighid to watch until they disappeared into a stairwell that led down to the bowels of the castle.

“I had forgotten her evil and her hatred,” Cuchulainn said in a low, tight voice. “How could I have forgotten?”

“Such a creature is unimaginable.” Brighid shook her head in disbelief. “No wonder the Guardian Warriors were willing to shoot anything with wings. I cannot blame them after seeing what Fallon has become.”

“She is a Fomorian.”

“She is the last of her kind. After she gives birth, we execute her and the evil of that race dies with her,” Brighid said.

“I wonder…” Cu said, still staring down the hall.

Brighid watched his face. It had hardened again into the impenetrable, emotionless mask she hadn’t seen for days. She rested her hand on his shoulder-a gesture of friendship she forced herself to make. He had turned into a cold and dangerous stranger, but she met his dead eyes when he turned to her.

“Don’t let her take you back there, Cu. If she does that, she wins. Don’t let her hatred win.”

“We should return to the children,” Cuchulainn said. He turned abruptly, pulling free of the warmth of Brighid’s hand, and without another word retraced their path to the courtyard.