Brighid’s Quest

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

If someone had asked Brighid if she’d wanted to dream that night, she would have answered with a resounding “no!” She just wanted to sleep-to give her body time to reenergize so that when she asked more of it later the deep wells of her power would be refilled and available to her once more.

No, she had no interest in dreams that night.

So when she felt herself being pulled from her body, she was more annoyed than alarmed or afraid. Irritated, she opened her eyes to find herself gazing down at her sleeping form. Cuchulainn was still awake and sat vigilantly beside her, staring somberly into the campfire. He looked tired. The lines in his face, that had softened after she’d retrieved his soul, were back. Automatically she reached out to him, but instead of touching him, she was lifted up and up, through the roof of the cave and into the night sky.

The Huntress gasped and swallowed down a terrible rush of dizziness. Oh, Goddess! What was happening to her?

Be at peace, my child. Do not fear.

Epona’s voice! Brighid’s heart hammered painfully in a chest that was clearly more spirit than body. She looked wildly around, but saw nothing more than the fully risen moon that was perfectly round and butter-colored in the clear night sky. As she hung there, trying to control her mixed feelings of awe and panic, she felt her spirit body begin to move. Slowly, at first, she floated north. Below her the Blue Tors were dark and silent. Then her speed increased and it seemed only an instant had passed. She was across the wide Calman River. McNamara Castle sped by her and the vineyards blurred beneath her. She wanted to slow, to control the terrible speed of her journey, but her spirit was in the Goddess’s hands-and Epona was quite obviously in a hurry.

The moon glistened off the black liquid expanse of the B’an Sea. Brighid focused her eyes on its vastness that stayed the same, no matter how quickly her spirit sped over it. It helped to quell the dizziness she couldn’t quite shake off, and it was only when her spirit slowed noticeably that she allowed her gaze to move from the water to the land. The Huntress sucked in a breath in surprise.

Below her MacCallan Castle was alight with life. Torches blazed from the battlements and the inside walls. Though it was late, the sentries were attentively pacing the newly reconstructed walkway. The sight of her adopted home was bittersweet. She loved seeing it again, but it also saddened her. It reminded her too well of how much she and Cuchulainn would rather be there than sleeping in a lonely cave at the edge of the Centaur Plains.

Fate has decreed otherwise, child.

The Goddess’s voice soothed her mind like a gentle caress and she felt her melancholy ease. Then the Huntress shook her head, ashamed of herself. Who was she to question fate and the Goddess’s will? Brenna had met her fate willingly. Niam had embraced hers honorably. Could Brighid do any less?

You may question, child, just as you may choose. I believe that you will choose wisely when the time comes.

Brighid bowed her head, humbled by the trust in the Goddess’s words.

Now observe so that you will have the knowledge you need when the time comes…

Her body dropped down at a speed that had her eyes blurring until she was jerked to a sudden halt. Blinking to clear her vision, she realized she was hovering near the ceiling of the Great Hall. Below her, sitting at their usual places at the Chieftain’s table were Elphame and Lochlan. The only other person in the room was the head cook, Wynne. She was standing in front of the table. Between them, on the tabletop, was a mound of freshly picked herbs. Elphame was absently feeling the broad green leaf of one of the plants that Brighid thought she recognized as basil.

When Ciara hurried into the Great Hall, everyone’s attention shifted from the herbs to her.

Her smile was open and curious as she approached the table and curtsied gracefully. “You sent for me?”

“Yes,” Elphame said. “I know it’s late, but Wynne only just told me about this. And I wanted to speak to you at once.”

“This?” Ciara asked.

“The herbs the children have been tending,” Elphame said, pointing at the fragrant pile.

Ciara’s forehead wrinkled as her brows drew together. “Have the children done something wrong? They’re usually so good with plants I didn’t think they would cause any problem in the kitchen’s gardens. But if they’ve harmed something I will see that-”

“They dinna harm the wee plants, Shaman,” Wynne blurted, interrupting Ciara’s apology. “They made them grow.”

Obviously confused, Ciara looked from the pile of herbs to the cook, and then back at the herbs. “I don’t understand.”

Only Brighid noticed that Etain had entered the room and was listening to the exchange with interest.

“Well, I donna understand either, but I do know what I see with me own eyes and touch with me own hands. In the space of the three days the bairns have been tending them, they have grown more than they would have in three weeks. The bairns made the herbs grow,” she said firmly.

“But weren’t they already growing? All the children did was water and weed them.”

“I think the children did much more than that.” Etain’s voice came from the doorway.

“Mama.” Elphame sent the High Priestess a relieved look and motioned for her to join them. “I was just going to send for you.”

Etain smiled at her daughter, but kept most of her attention trained on Ciara.

“Touch the plants, Shaman. See if they can tell you what it is Wynne already knows.”

Hesitantly Ciara placed her slender hand atop the pile of herbs. She closed her eyes and took several deep cleansing breaths. Then her mouth formed a surprised little “O” and she gasped. When she opened her eyes Brighid could see they were filled with unshed tears.

“Tell my daughters what it is you have discovered, Ciara,” Etain said.

“The children did make the plants grow! Oh, Goddess!” Overcome with emotion the winged woman bowed her head and pressed her hand against her mouth.

“Mama, what is it? What has happened?” Elphame asked.

“Epona has given the New Fomorians a great gift,” Etain said.

“They were born from death and destruction, and they have lived with madness and loss,” Ciara said through tears of joy. “And now our great Goddess has granted us the ability to nurture life.”

“It’s not just now,” Etain told the Shaman. “They’ve always had the gift-you’ve always had the gift. How do you think you were able to bring forth life and hold to love and hope and not give in to utter despair in the desolation of the Wastelands?”

“It is, indeed, a great gift,” Elphame said, taking her husband’s hand and looking into his beloved face. “And we have been richly blessed to have you here with us.”

“You are our home, my heart. There is nowhere else we would choose to be,” Lochlan said, gently touching her cheek.

“Think of what this will mean, Elphame!” Ciara gushed. “We can be useful and bring forth food, not just for MacCallan Castle, but for trade and…”

Brighid lost the rest of Ciara’s words as her spirit drifted up through the ceiling of the Great Hall and into the night sky. This time when the earth blurred as her spirit sped back to the south, Brighid’s thoughts were too preoccupied by what she had just witnessed for her head to spin and become dizzy.

Epona had given the New Fomorians the ability to nurture life from the earth. Little wonder Liam had shown such an aptitude for understanding the spirits of animals-he had been gifted with an affinity for the earth and for growing things. The leap to understanding the spirits of animals wasn’t a long one.

Brighid was glad for them. They were a people who had overcome great evil and exhibited great good. It was just that they had been given the ability to nurture, renew, and grow.

Remember when you awake, child.

The Huntress’s spirit settled back into her body and she heard Etain’s words echo from her memory. Tell my daughters what it is you have discovered… The priestess had said daughters, not daughter.

She must have known that Brighid was there. Not surprising, the Huntress thought sleepily. Etain seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere.

The Huntress slept, dreamlessly, for the rest of the night.

The enticing scent of roasting venison penetrated through the blanket of sleep, and Brighid finally opened her eyes, blinking against the bright light of midday. Cuchulainn tended a bubbling haunch of meat that he had spitted over the fire. His eyes lifted when she stirred. He watched her stretch and she saw relief soften his face.

“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.”