Brighid’s Quest

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

In a way Fallon’s disturbance had been a good thing for the New Fomorians. Not that Brighid liked having the children so visibly upset, but she had yet to meet a warrior who could remain detached and unmoved by the sight of helpless young ones who needed reassurance. And the children obviously needed reassurance.

When Brighid and Cuchulainn had returned to the courtyard it was to find little knots of children with big, frightened eyes clustered around the adult New Fomorians and, Brighid noted with surprise, around the dark-clothed warriors who had escorted them through the pass. The winged children weren’t crying or showing any sign of childish hysterics, but there was a terrible, frightened silence about them as they kept close to the nearest adult.

The reaction of the Guardian Warriors-bows at the ready, their bodies in front of the children-relieved Brighid’s mind immensely. No matter the doubts the Masters of Guardian Castle, the warriors seemed to accept the children’s innocence, so much so that they were already protective.

“It’s over. She’s been taken to the dungeons,” Cuchulainn said as he joined Fagan and the other Masters near the center of the courtyard. He turned on the Swordmaster. “Why was she not being kept there already?”

“She usually is,” Fagan explained. “But the interior cells are cold and damp-terribly unhealthy-and she is with child. We allow her fresh air and exercise because of that.”

“She deserves neither,” Cuchulainn snapped.

“Of course she doesn’t. But she is being kept alive for the sake of her child. If we cause her death or the miscarriage of the babe, isn’t that negating the reason she was brought to us?”

“She is evil.” Cuchulainn’s voice was low and dangerous. “And she needs to be destroyed, with or without taking that demon spawn she carries within her.”

Brighid moved quickly to Cuchulainn. This time the hand she placed on his shoulder was not the gentle touch of a friend.

“Enough, Cuchulainn!” she said, pulling him around to face her.

He jerked away, eyes narrowed, but before he could snarl a response she made a sharp, cutting gesture.

“Stop and think before you speak. You’re scaring them. And they’ve already been frightened enough.”

Cu’s gaze blazed as he looked at the children. Those within hearing were staring at him with expressions that ranged from confusion to fear-and some of them, the older ones, were watching him with wide-eyed hurt.

Brighid stepped closer to him and spoke quietly. “What they do not need heaped atop everything else is to be burdened with the uncertainty of wondering if their warrior hero might actually hate them. They could very easily be considered the spawn of demons. Perhaps you would like them destroyed, too?”

Cuchulainn’s gaze roamed over the children as Brighid spoke. She could tell the instant her words penetrated his wall of anger. His wide shoulders slumped and he wiped an unsteady hand across his brow.

“We have much work to do,” Ciara said into the uncomfortable silence. “The children are hungry and tired.”

“Yes, of course,” Cuchulainn said in an unnatural, clipped voice. “We shouldn’t waste time. Gareth! Cullon!” He called two of the oldest boys’ names. He hesitated then added, “Kyna! Help me settle the animals while the tents are being erected.” The fluttering of wings answered his summons as the three children and the half-grown wolf cub hurried to follow the stern warrior.

Then, as if Cuchulainn’s departure was a signal for action, the hybrids, with the help of their Guardian escorts, resumed the job of setting up camp. Brighid smiled reassurance at the children who continued to glance her way, wondering silently when she had become an advocate for the young as well as unwilling healer to the spiritually infirm.

Ciara materialized silently beside the Huntress. “It is only a temporary setback.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“The warrior has begun to feel the spark of life again. His body, his heart, even his spirit remember what it is like to be whole and to know the joy of really living. It will not be something from which he can easily turn away.”

Brighid met the winged woman’s eyes. She wanted to ask Ciara if she meant that Cuchulainn was falling in love with her, and she with him, but the words wouldn’t come. They sounded ridiculously girlish and foolish in her mind. How much worse would they sound spoken aloud? And why was it any of her business? It wasn’t. Not really. Let Elphame figure out her brother’s love life. Brighid had taken on the job of helping him fix his spirit. That was it.

Ciara’s smile warmed, and Brighid had the disturbing sensation the winged woman was reading her mind. Again.

“Ciara!” Master Fagan found his way to them through the throng of busy children and warriors. He had a well-rounded, middle-aged woman with him, who he quickly introduced as Kathryn, the castle’s head cook, before he disappeared back into the throng of activity. The stout woman stared at the children with fascination and shock.

“We carried provisions with us,” Ciara assured her, but the cook waved away the Shaman’s implied offer.

“Guests granted sanctuary at Guardian Castle do not feed themselves,” Kathryn said gruffly. “We will simply add a few more pots to the hearth.” She scratched her double chins. “Exactly how many children are there?”

“Seventy,” Brighid said, enjoying the cook’s look of horror. “And twenty-two adults, plus Cuchulainn and myself.”

“That is quite a solid number. By the Great Goddess! So many small mouths!” She rocked back on her heels, planting her hands on her thick waist.

Just then the Guardian Warriors began lighting the torches that rested snugly within wall sconces fitted around the inner courtyard. The area filled with the homey glow of dancing fire.

Brighid raised a brow at the cook. “It’s dusk, and I do not know the territory, but that matters little. I should be able to track and kill something. Although probably not quickly enough to feed them dinner.”

“ Guardian Castle is amply provisioned!” Kathryn huffed.

“Would you consider Brighid’s offer as our gift to you?” Ciara asked.

The cook’s curious eyes swiveled from staring at the children to the lovely winged Shaman.

“A gift?”

“Yes, from our Huntress to yours.”

Kathryn looked from Ciara to Brighid, obviously trying to decide if she could accept their offer without dishonoring her castle. Brighid caught the cook’s eye and nodded encouragement.

“I suppose a gift of venison to cook up for the morning meal wouldn’t be inappropriate. But it wouldn’t be our Huntress you would be gifting-it would have to be the castle in general. Our Huntress left us early several days ago.”

Surprised, Brighid’s mind cast back quickly for a name. “Isn’t your Huntress Deirdre of the Ulstan Herd?”

“Yes, and sorely we miss her,” Kathryn said. “Though that doesn’t mean we are lacking.” The cook straightened her spine with obvious pride. “Our warriors are not up to Huntress standards, but they will not let the castle-or its guests-go hungry.”

They had been left with no Huntress? How could that be? No, she hadn’t glimpsed any centaurs today, but a Huntress was not always at the castle. It certainly wouldn’t be unusual for her to be out tracking game, even until well after dusk. Brighid shook her head as if to clear it. “I don’t understand. Your Huntress left you? Without calling in another to stand in her stead?”

“Her departure was unexpected. One day she received a centaur runner carrying a message from the Centaur Plains. The next she was gone.”

“When is she returning?”

“Soon, we hope. Though she didn’t say.” Kathryn shrugged off the question. “As I said, she is missed but we are adapting well. My pots have not been empty. Nor will they be.”

“It would be my pleasure to gift Guardian Castle with a Huntress’s catch,” Brighid said formally, forcing down the warring emotions Kathryn’s announcement had caused.

The cook hesitated only a moment longer before curtsying to her. “I accept your generous gift, Huntress of the MacCallan Clan.”

“I’ll get busy,” Brighid said.

She nodded to Ciara and the cook, and made a hasty exit. Silently she thanked the Goddess for a reason to escape the controlled chaos of setting up camp. She needed time to think about what the sudden absence of the castle’s Huntress could mean.

A Huntress did not shed her responsibilities and leave her castle or village or herd without first making provisions for her absence. True, she’d left MacCallan Castle hastily, but the game in the under-hunted forests had been pathetically easy to take down. Even a sod-headed warrior could shoot an arrow through a deer that stood staring at him like a tame calf. She wouldn’t have left the castle if that hadn’t been so-not without first calling in the services of another Huntress.

But a message had come for Deirdre, and the Huntress had abandoned her castle instantly. Why?

Foreboding quivered down Brighid’s spine. It smacked of centaur politics and intrigue. What was happening on the Centaur Plains that would require a Huntress to ignore her responsibilities?

The foreboding turned to fingers of ice.

Only the illness or sudden death of a centaur High Shaman could cause such a reaction.

No! Deirdre had probably received a message from her home herd. A family problem…something too personal to share.

Still, it didn’t fit. A Huntress should make arrangements for her people, even during times of family emergency. It would have to be something far worse…far more disturbing…

“Huntress? Do you wish to leave the castle?”

From above her the deep voice echoed against the thick gray walls. Brighid stopped and stared blankly around her. Huge iron doors blocked her way. By the Goddess! She hadn’t even realized she’d reached the entrance to the castle. Chains held the massive bolt that kept the doors securely locked. She looked up at the sentry and covered her disconcertment with annoyance.

“And why would I be standing here waiting for you to open the doors if I didn’t wish to leave? Do you want fresh venison in the morning or not?”

“Of course, Huntress!” the guard called, waving apologetically as he motioned for his men to turn the wheel that would pull loose the bolt.

“I won’t be long,” Brighid said gruffly. “Keep watch for me.”

“Yes, Huntress,” he called after her as she trotted through the slim opening. But she hadn’t gotten far beyond the thick walls before she pulled to a halt and took a deep breath.

Partholon…

For a moment the turmoil within her stilled. Even though she was tracking through strange territory, her hooves would once again tread the soil of Partholon. Finally, they’d left the Wastelands behind them. Her sharp centaur eyes drank in the land that dusk was washing in muted light.

As was to be expected, the land adjacent to the castle was cleared so no enemy could surprise the Guardian Warriors. But the ground beneath her hooves was noticeably softer than the desolate, rocky earth on the other side of the mountains. The forest of pine mixed with an occasional stubborn oak began almost a dozen horse lengths from the castle walls. Brighid cantered swiftly down the wide road, eager to enter the green forest. It wasn’t as thick as the forest surrounding MacCallan Castle, but the trees were strong and straight and green. She drew a deep breath. She could swear the air was clearer here, too.

It felt like home, she realized with a small start. Not her childhood home of the Centaur Plains. It felt like the adult home of her choice…her own path. It felt right.

The Huntress scented the cooling breeze, and when she caught the clean liquid fragrance of water, she veered from the road. Moving quietly in the gloaming, she followed her instinct, and the hunt worked its magic on her frayed nerves. Brighid willingly embraced the familiar balm of her chosen life. Like scales, she shed the stress and worry of the past days.

Brighid slowed, scenting the verdant air again. She changed direction slightly, moving more to her left. She would find the stream there. She knew it. She could Feel it. And deer would be there, drinking in their shy way one last time before bedding down for the night. She could already Feel them. There were several, not far ahead of her.

By the Goddess, it felt good to be alone and hunting for a castle again! She needed the peace and solitude the hunt gave her-even if it was only a temporary reprieve.

The truth was that she missed the simplicity of the life she had carved for herself at MacCallan Castle. Years of dealing with the political manipulations within her family had made her long for a different way of living, and submerging herself within the rigorous Huntress training had taught her that she much preferred the silence of the land to the tumult of people-be they humans, centaurs, or New Fomorians.

Brighid moved liquidly between the pines. She could hear the musical sound of water as it tumbled over rock and ran merrily into Partholon. She grinned. She knew how the water felt. She was damned glad to be going home.

In the dimming light, she caught the crystal reflection of moving water, and she slowed, pulling an arrow from her quiver with a practiced, silent motion.

She’d been right. There were several of them. Brighid counted quickly. Three does. Two obviously pregnant, one thinner and larger than the others-she’d probably only recently given birth to her fawn. Standing some way off from the three females was a single buck. His small rack of mossy antlers said that he was too young to have won breeding rights of his own that spring, but the focused attention with which he watched the does said that he was old enough to be single-mindedly hopeful.

With a movement that was as deadly as it was graceful, Brighid sighted and then loosed a single arrow. The hum of the bow caused the young buck’s head to rear up and his body to tense-just in time for the arrow to imbed itself neatly through the base of his neck, emerging through the wall of his chest. The hart staggered back two steps, then, as the does disappeared into the darkening forest, he crumpled to his knees, pitched onto his side and lay still.

Brighid let loose the breath she had been holding and made her way slowly to the fallen buck. She automatically whispered a prayer of thanksgiving to Epona for the kill. Her prayer was filled with respect and appreciation as she focused on the last moments of the young buck’s life.

I call upon You, O great Huntress of the summer sky

Epona, my patron Goddess and inspiration.

I thank You for the gift of this blessed hart.

Speed his journey to You.

Accept him-care for him-reward him.

He is my brother and friend.

Look favorably upon the hunt

and upon Your people and their Huntress,

as you have for ages uncounted.

Let the ancient animal spirits of this land rest

in the knowledge that their Huntress

reveres them,

honors them,

and thanks them…

Brighid stood over the body of the slain buck and bowed her head.

…as I revere, honor, and thank You,

my beloved Goddess.

She stood silently for another moment, and took three deep, ritual cleansing breaths, before she bent to pull her arrow from the buck. As it slid free, the deer’s chest exploded outward, showering her in gore. Brighid staggered back, reaching for the short sword she always carried at her waist.

Until she realized what had exploded from the young buck’s chest. Circling around her, in a spray of black feathers and blood, was a single, all-too-familiar raven.