Brighid’s Quest

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Mother!” She wiped blood from her face with the back of her hand and narrowed her eyes at the circling bird. “I don’t know what game you are playing, but stop it! Even you know better than to interfere with a Huntress. You don’t have to approve of my chosen career, but, by the Goddess, you will respect it!”

The black bird circled lower until, in a flurry of wings, it landed on the gore-encrusted body of the dead deer.

“Leave me alone,” Brighid told it.

“Come home, daughter.” Her mother’s voice filled her mind.

“I am coming home. To MacCallan Castle. My home, Mother. My home!”

“That is not your home, foolish colt!”

“No,” Brighid’s voice was steel-edged. “I am not a child. Not anymore. I make my own decisions.”

“Your herd needs you.”

“My herd or your pride?”

“Insolence!”

“Truth!” Brighid countered. She paced two steps forward and glared down at the dark bird. “I will not be manipulated by you ever again. I am sworn Huntress to the Clan MacCallan. That is my chosen path.”

“Your chosen path, but not your destiny…”

Her mother’s voice faded as, cawing, the bird unfurled its ebony wings and, beating the wind, rose sharply into the night air, disappearing into the waiting darkness.

Grimly Brighid glanced down at the body of the deer. Except for her arrow wound it was clean. No exploded chest. No gore spattering the forest or-she touched her face and felt that it was clean-herself.

“Shaman’s tricks and manipulations,” she muttered between clenched teeth. Forget it. Focus on the job at hand. Brighid bent to gut the deer, readying it for the short trip back to Guardian Castle. She tried to lose herself in the familiarity of the task, but it was no use. The serenity of the forest had been shattered, as had the peaceful reprieve she had found. All around her she felt watchful, prying eyes.

It was full dark by the time the guards opened the thick doors to Guardian Castle. Eager hands met Brighid and relieved her of the deer while the people praised and thanked her. Brighid accepted their effusive show of gratitude uncomfortably. It made her even more aware of the sad state in which a sister Huntress had left her castle. Her mother should be paying attention to the habits of errant centaurs instead of focusing her time and energy on a wayward daughter.

Brighid frowned. Not that she was actually wayward. By the Goddess, why was her leaving the herd such an all-encompassing issue? Yes, it was Dhianna tradition that the eldest daughter of the High Shaman follow her mother in herd leadership, but that didn’t always happen. There had been times when no daughter had been born to the High Shaman, or when she had died without producing an heir. Why could her mother not see that her succession was to be one of those times?

It wasn’t like Brighid didn’t have any other siblings. Yes, her sister had shown little promise for leadership. Niam was golden and beautiful and perpetually happy because her mind was as empty as a broodmare. But Brighid’s brother…Bregon’s fondest desire would be fulfilled if he followed their mother. It wasn’t forbidden for males to become High Shaman. The position of centaur High Shaman of Partholon was always held by a male. He was the centaur who mated with Epona’s Chosen and led Partholon by The Chosen’s side. Bregon would welcome the power that being Dhianna High Shaman would command, and perhaps then he would even believe he had attained that which he had struggled after his entire life-their mother’s love.

Her brows drew together. Thinking of her younger brother always gave her a headache. They’d never been close. Or at least they hadn’t been since…

“Brighid! Good, you’re back in time for dinner.”

The Huntress set her shoulders and let Ciara draw her toward the courtyard. Another damned Shaman…another damned spying, meddling…

“I’ve been watching for you. There is a place saved for you at fireside.” The Shaman gave her a concerned look. “Is something wrong? You look-”

“No! Nothing’s wrong.” Brighid made her face relax and smiled at the winged woman. She would not let her mother poison her growing friendship with Ciara. This Shaman was not her mother. She was not spying; she was concerned. “I am hungry, though. I appreciate that you kept watch for me.”

They entered the large, square courtyard, and Brighid’s wooden smile became an authentic one. The tents were set up in a cheery circle, though not so tightly packed as they’d been in The Wastelands. Here they were already sheltered from the biting night wind by the walls of Guardian Castle. Children sat all around, talking to the Guardian Warriors in animated bursts between bites of steaming stew and hunks of fragrant bread.

“So the warriors didn’t disappear with the night,” Brighid said.

“Oh, no.” Ciara laughed softly. “It seems the great warriors of Guardian Castle have been taken hostage.”

“Hostage?”

“Yes. By curiosity.”

Brighid snorted. “Or they’re being slowly talked to death and have already lost the ability to escape.”

Ciara laughed again. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. You have no idea how dangerous those little voices can be to the uninitiated.”

“You mean one of them could even cause a centaur Huntress to take on a new apprentice?” The Shaman smiled knowingly at Brighid.

“That is exactly what I mean,” she said.

Ciara touched the centaur’s arm lightly. “Liam is resting comfortably inside the castle infirmary. Nara will stay with him through the night. She assures me he can travel in the morning, but it will have to be on a litter.”

“Thank you. I…” Brighid paused and swallowed around the knot that had suddenly risen in her throat. “I find that I have developed an affection for the boy.” The Huntress stopped short. Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I announced formally that Liam was my apprentice before going to his parents.”

She sighed, thoroughly annoyed with herself. It was bad enough that she had broken with tradition by taking on a male apprentice-one with wings who was decidedly not a centaur. She had also completely disregarded proper protocol. For a child as young as Liam, his parents should be consulted and their approval obtained. Of course, she had been young when she had begun her Huntress training, and her mother had definitely not given her approval-not that that had stopped Brighid, but…

“Rest your mind. Liam’s parents are dead. If Lochlan was here you could go to him for his permission, which I feel certain he would give.” She shrugged her smooth shoulders, causing her wings to rustle. “I am acting as our leader in his absence, and I gladly give consent that he be apprenticed to you.”

“I still should have thought of it. I don’t know why-”

“Be a little easier on yourself. You accepted the boy under unusual circumstances-you were facing the warriors who had tried to kill him. I think even Huntress protocol can be loosened in a case such as this. Come,” Ciara said. “Eat and rest. Tonight you can sleep soundly knowing that an army of warriors guards our back.”

Brighid snorted and muttered, “You mean the same warriors who shot my apprentice?”

“That was then,” Ciara said, making a sweeping gesture toward the campsite where Guardian Warriors and winged children intermingled, “before they knew us. You can relax tonight, Huntress. The only malice I sense within these walls comes from one of our own, and she is securely locked within the bowels of this great castle.”

Silently Brighid followed Ciara into the circle of friendly firelight. The Shaman led her to a centaur-size empty space. With a sigh that came close to being a moan, Brighid folded her knees and reclined on the thick pelt someone had been thoughtful enough to prepare for her. She accepted a hot bowl of stew and a hunk of fresh bread gratefully from the human woman who offered it. It was simple fare, but tasty and satisfying. Excellent food for warriors, she thought. Warriors and hungry growing children. As she ate she watched the firelight play across the children’s faces. She had never known a group of people-especially people who had overcome so many hardships-who were so filled with joy.

And the Guardian Warriors! Those staid, well-trained soldiers, men and women who lived to protect Partholon, were smiling and answering the barrage of childish questions.

At least for this evening, hope glimmered along with the campfire. Perhaps enough time had passed for the wounds of war to heal. Perhaps Partholon would accept these disinherited children of mothers long dead.

Kyna’s familiar laughter drew her gaze. Fand lolled beside her, licking the little girl’s fingers, as well as her face, causing the child to dissolve into giggles. Brighid couldn’t help smiling in response. What an odd mixture they were-a wolf cub that should never have survived the death of her mother, winged children whose births should have killed their mothers, a centaur who had escaped from her mother…

No-Brighid clamped down on her negative thoughts. She hadn’t run away. She’d left and found a new people. She belonged with Clan MacCallan. So much so that the Clan Chieftain had sent Brighid on this quest to bring her beloved brother safely home. Brighid would complete her Chieftain’s charge-and she would figure out some way to get Cuchulainn’s stubborn soul to rejoin him in this world. She had been making definite progress. She had to remember Cuchulainn had been devastated by his loss and…

…And where was the damned man?

The Huntress’s keen eyes searched through those gathered around the campfire. Worry tightened her gut. What if he’d decided he couldn’t wait for the birth of Fallon’s child before carrying out her death sentence?

The warrior would be stripped of his rank and cast from Clan MacCallan.

Brighid sought Ciara’s winged figure, and found her not far from her tent, involved in an animated discussion with two female warriors. Grimly the Huntress made her way to Ciara. She did not wait for a lull in the conversation. Apologizing hastily, she pulled the winged Shaman to the side. “Cuchulainn?”

“I wondered when you would notice his absence,” Ciara said.

“Where is he?” Brighid struggled to keep her voice low and told herself it wouldn’t do to cause a scene by picking up the winged woman and shaking her.

“I heard him asking Fagan about the castle’s graves. I assume he’s there.”

“You assume! You mean you don’t know?”

“See for yourself.” Ciara nodded toward a wide, grassy passageway that intersected with the square courtyard. “Fagan sent him in that direction not long before you returned from your hunt.”

Before Brighid could start after him, the Shaman’s hand stayed her. “He is not going to kill Fallon. His thoughts are elsewhere.”

“Oh, now you can read his thoughts, too?”

“No. I can read neither his thoughts nor yours. But I do know that Cuchulainn’s honor prevents him from killing Fallon. You should know it, too.”

Scowling, Brighid pulled away and hurried down the torchlit passage. The damned Shaman was right. Now that she really thought about it, she knew Cuchulainn would never dishonor himself or his Clan by breaking his Chieftain’s sentence. Still, Cuchulainn shouldn’t be left alone with his dark emotions. Not after the incident with Fallon. He would just withdraw back into that hard shell of his. Ciara knew that!

The passageway spilled into an area that looked like an herb garden. A woman crouched down clipping sprigs of early mint gave the centaur a curious glance.

“I’m looking for the castle’s grave sites,” Brighid said.

“Follow the wall, Huntress. When the path splits, take the branch to the east. The graves are easily found near the wall, in the raised area that looks down upon the rest of the castle.”

Brighid nodded her thanks. Except for the ever-present sentries atop the thick walls, this part of the castle was deserted. Torches from the warrior’s walk above shed pale, shadowy light. When the wall turned to the right she felt the earth beneath her rise until it peaked in a rounded corner. The area was raised, and small tors had been mounded all along the wall. There were no effigies or carved tombs. Instead the Guardian Warriors had chosen to lay their dead to rest within man-made burrows.

Curious, Brighid slowed and approached the first hill-like mound respectfully. An arched doorway had been set into the side of it, and its gray stone was beautifully carved with knots in intricate forms.

“Fagan says that in the summer they are covered with blue wildflowers.”

Cuchulainn’s deep voice startled her. “Could you give me a little warning? What is it with you and Ciara? Do you enjoy scaring the sense out of me?”

“Sorry,” Cu said gruffly. “I thought you knew I was here.”

“I knew you were here, but not here.” She pointed to where he had stepped from the dark shadow beside one of the larger tors. “And just exactly why are you here?”

“Because of them.”

Cuchulainn moved aside. The grave’s door was decorated with a single carved design that Brighid instantly recognized as the Healer’s Knot-that of a huge oak interwoven with knots. Its branches reached high into the sky. Its roots dug deep into the earth. Yet all were woven together, signifying the interconnectedness of all things: earth, sky, life, death. And she suddenly realized what had drawn Cuchulainn here.

“Brenna’s family,” she said. “I had forgotten that she’d lived at Guardian Castle. I’m ashamed to say that I had even forgotten her parents were dead.”

“I never asked her about their deaths, or about the accident that scarred her. I was curious, and I meant to ask, but it didn’t seem as important to look back as it did to focus on our future. It seemed we had forever to unearth the past…” Cuchulainn’s words faded and he touched the symbol of the tree. “Did you know it was Brenna’s accident that caused the death of her parents?”

“No,” Brighid said softly, feeling a wave of sadness for her dead friend. “Brenna didn’t talk about the accident. I didn’t even know her parents were dead until the two of you became formally betrothed and you had to go to Elphame for permission to post the bans because Brenna had no living family.”

“I didn’t know, either. Just as I didn’t know that Brenna’s mother had been a Healer, too. Fagan told me the story. Brenna was ten years old, not much older than Kyna. She’d been helping her mother prepare poultices for a particularly nasty cough that was making its rounds through the castle. Fagan said she was a smart, happy child-but that she was always daydreaming and rarely paid close attention to her mother’s words.” Cuchulainn paused, swallowing hard as he remembered the shy, serious woman the gregarious child had grown into. He had seen only glimpses of the child still within her-especially after she’d accepted his love.

“You don’t have to tell me this, Cu,” Brighid said. “Not if it’s too hard.”

His gaze caught hers, hot and intense. “Yes I do! You’re the only one here I can tell, and maybe if I say it aloud some of the pain of it will go away.”

Brighid nodded, understanding his need to purge himself.

“Brenna mixed up the buckets. She was to put water in one and oil in another. It had been a cold day, and she had been standing too close to the hearth. The end of the shawl she tied around her head caught on fire. Brenna screamed and her mother instinctively reached for the bucket that was supposed to hold water and tossed it on the shawl.”

“Oh, Goddess…” Brighid breathed, horrified at the image of a mother setting her own child afire.

“Her mother blamed herself. Brenna was her only child, and her only child was dying horribly because of what she had done. Fagan said she went mad. That same day her mother doused herself in oil and set herself aflame. She left a letter saying she had chosen to join her daughter.”

Brighid felt her head shaking back and forth, over and over.

“Her father fell into a deep depression. He didn’t eat. He didn’t drink. He didn’t sleep. He refused to visit Brenna. One morning not long after his wife’s suicide, they found him dead.”

“Poor Brenna, that poor child. To have gone through that terrible fire, and then to recover only to find that her parents were dead,” Brighid said. She shuddered. “What awful knowledge to have as a child-that your mother…and your father-”

“Died of a shattered soul,” Cuchulainn finished for her. He met Brighid’s gaze. “That’s what happened to him. I know it. It was happening to me.”

“Was?”

Cuchulainn ran his fingers lightly over the Healer’s symbol on the tomb’s door. “Was,” he said firmly. “It won’t happen to me. I can’t let it. Can you imagine the pain it would cause Brenna for me to meet her in the Otherworld, and for her to realize she had caused the deaths of two men she loved?” He shook his head. “No. You’re going to have to make the broken part of my soul return.”

“I don’t think I can actually make him do anything, Cu. He’s too damned much like you-well, only decidedly happier. You’re going to have to invite him to return, and make sure he believes it’s a true invitation.”

Cuchulainn grunted. “I’ll work on it.”

“You have until we reach MacCallan Castle. That is when I’ll make the Otherworld journey, may the Goddess help us.”

“So, a few more days,” he said. Then he stroked the Healer’s knot one last time. “I’m ready to go back.”

Did he mean back to MacCallan Castle, or to life? When he stopped to look at the graves one last time, she stayed respectfully silent. This was something Cuchulainn would have to work out. She could help him find the shattered piece of his soul, but the rest was up to him.

“Blue wildflowers.”

Brighid cut her eyes at him, surprised by the laughter in his voice. “Why are blue wildflowers funny?”

His eyes were filled with unshed tears, but he was smiling. “Brenna loved blue wildflowers. She said they reminded her of my eyes. She even collected things that were the exact shade of my eyes long before she met me.”

“Really?”

“She kept them on her altar to Epona. There was a feather from a bluebird, and a turquoise stone of the same shade, she even had a pearl that…”

A turquoise stone of the same shade. In the pocket of her vest she felt the weight of the blue stone pressing against her breast.

“What happened to the turquoise stone?” She interrupted him.

“I put it, and the rest of the things from her altar, in the tomb with her.”

Slowly the Huntress reached into her pocket and drew out the stone. Placing it flat on her open palm, she held it out to Cuchulainn. As soon as he saw it the warrior’s face paled. With shaking fingers, he picked it up and turned it over and over, studying it.

“Where did you get it?” His voice was thick with emotion.

Resigned, Brighid spoke the words aloud that she had barely admitted to herself. “A gold hawk, who I think is my spirit guide, dropped it on me. I-I think it’s supposed to be my soul-catching stone,” she finished in a rush.

“It came from the spirit realm?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“Is it the same stone you entombed with Brenna’s body?”

“Yes, I’m sure of it,” he whispered, staring at the stone.

“Then it definitely came from the spirit realm.”

“Do you think that means Brenna is somehow here, watching us?”

“I can’t answer that, Cu. But I do think it means your spirit is meant to be whole again, and I am meant to help you make that happen.”

Cuchulainn handed the stone back to her, and she slipped it into her vest pocket.

“We are a confused pair, Huntress,” Cuchulainn said.

“We most certainly are, my friend.”

Cuchulainn’s grunt of response was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Brighid quickly changed the subject.

“Ciara doesn’t think we need to keep watch over the camp tonight. She says the only malice she senses is from Fallon. She trusts the Guardian Warriors.”

“Let us just say that we’re tending the campfire then. We are within walls, but it’s still a cold part of the world. I would prefer the second watch,” Cuchulainn said.

Brighid’s eyes met his in perfect understanding. “Then I will take the first. That way our campfire will never be in danger of dying out.”

“Agreed.”

As they walked back to the campsite Brighid felt the warmth of the turquoise stone near her heart. Surprisingly it comforted her.