Brighid’s Quest

CHAPTER FIVE

Cuchulainn motioned for Brighid to enter the small building ahead of him. She ducked through the thick animal skin that served as a doorway and was pleasantly surprised to feel warm, still air instead of constant cold wind. The lodge was circular, and the walls were made of the red shale that was so plentiful in the Wastelands. It was patched snugly together with a mixture of mud and sand. There was a hearth that wrapped around almost half of the curving room. Two small windows were covered, so there was little light, but it was bright enough for Brighid to see that the roof was unusual. It appeared to be mesh, woven of reeds or thin branches. Placed over the matting was a substance Brighid couldn’t identify. It had been firmly pressed into the weave, but now it appeared to be hard and dry.

“It’s moss,” Cuchulainn said. “They cut it from the ground and while it’s still pliant they press it into the web of woven tubers. When it dies it hardens until it’s like rock, only lighter. Nothing can get through it.”

“What’s this on the floor?” Brighid bent and picked up a handful of short, fragrant grass.

“They call it dwarf heather. It only grows to about hock-high, but there’s a lot of it, especially in canyon areas like this. It makes for good insulation. The ground here is damnably cold and hard.” Cuchulainn motioned to the other side of the room, opposite the stretched animal skin hammock that served as a bed. “You can put your packs there. Ciara will have pelts brought in for you to sleep on. You should be comfortable and warm enough-and anyway we’ll be traveling in just a few days.”

“Cuchulainn, what’s going on here?”

“I’m preparing to lead the hybrids back to Partholon, of course. The snow has almost thawed enough for the pass to be open again-as you know better than I,” he finished curtly.

Brighid shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. I counted at least forty children. I saw only three adults. What is going on here?” she repeated slowly.

Cuchulainn pulled off his cloak and ran a hand through his hair, which Brighid noticed was uncharacteristically long and unkempt.

“I’m not exactly sure,” he said.

“Not sure?”

Cuchulainn scowled at her. “That’s right. They’re not what you think. The only thing I know for sure is that the New Fomorians are different.”

“Well of course they’re different!” Brighid wanted to shake Cu. “They’re a mixture of human and Fomorian. There has never been a race like them.”

Cuchulainn walked over to the hearth. Stirring the glowing embers to life he fed them blocks of dried peat from the stack nearby and the coals flamed into a lively, crackling fire. Then he turned and gave Brighid a weary, resigned look.

“Take off your packs. Relax. It isn’t much, but I’ll tell you what I know.”

As Cuchulainn helped her unload she watched him carefully. Grief and guilt had aged and hardened him, but there was something else about him, something that tickled the edge of her mind but which she couldn’t quite understand.

Had the hybrids cast some kind of spell over him? Cuchulainn shunned the spirit realm, and he would have little protection against a magical attack. Though Brighid did not have the training and experience of her mother, she was not a stranger to the powers of the spirit world. Nor was she a stranger to the ways in which powers granted by the Goddess could be twisted and misused. Silently she promised herself that later, when she was free to concentrate, she would see if she could detect any malevolent energy hovering around the settlement. Until then all she could do was what she was best at-finding a trail and following it.

“Here,” she said, tossing the warrior a fat skin from her last pack. “Your sister sent you this.”

Cuchulainn uncapped the skin, sniffed the liquid within, grunted in pleasure and took a long drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and settled onto his cot. “It’s been too long since I’ve tasted wine from Epona’s Temple. My mother would say there is no excuse for living like a barbarian.”

“That’s exactly what your sister said.”

Cu’s smile looked almost normal for an instant. “I miss her.”

“She misses you, too.”

He nodded and took another drink of the rich red wine.

“Cu, why are there so few adult hybrids?” Brighid asked softly.

He met her eyes. “Here’s what I know. I have counted twenty-two full-grown, adult hybrids-twelve females, one of whom has just announced that she is pregnant, and ten males. And there are seventy children ranging in age from infants to young adults. Ciara and the others say that everyone else is dead.”

“How?” Brighid’s head reeled at the disparity in numbers.

“It was the madness. Ciara says it was more difficult to withstand the older they became. Of the original hybrids born of human mothers only Lochlan, Nevin, Curran, Keir and Fallon remain.” Cuchulainn paused, clenching his jaw. “Of them Fallon is mad.”

Brighid nodded. “Her jailors at Guardian Castle say she remains mad. Elphame’s sacrifice didn’t touch her.”

“It was too late. She had already accepted the darkness of her father when El drank Lochlan’s blood and took on their madness. Apparently there is no reversing it once it has taken hold.” His stomach tightened as he remembered the horrific scene when Elphame had slit her own wrists, forcing Lochlan to share his blood to save her life. With the hybrid’s blood she had taken within her the madness of a race of demons. “It should have driven El mad, too. It was only through Epona’s power that she remains sane even though the madness lies dormant within her blood.”

“But accepting the madness didn’t kill your sister, and it didn’t kill Fallon. How did it kill the other adults?”

“Suicide. Ciara says that when a hybrid was no longer able to bear the pain of withstanding the evil within him, he chose suicide rather than a life of violence and hatred.”

The Huntress tilted her head and sent him an incredulous look. “So what she’s saying is that someone who has pretty much decided to accept hatred and evil has the capacity to make the ultimate sacrifice of taking his or her own life?”

“Yes. As a last act of humanity.”

“And you’re believing all of this?”

Instead of the anger with which Brighid expected him to respond Cuchulainn’s expression turned introspective. He took another drink from the wineskin.

“At first I didn’t believe any of it. For days I walked around armed, expecting winged demons to jump out at me from behind every rock.” His brows tilted up and some of his old sparkle lit his eyes. “Demons failed to appear. But can you guess what did jump out at me?”

Brighid snorted a quick laugh. “If you’d left me to lodge with them I think I would have called them demons. Very small demons, but none the less frightening.”

“The children are everywhere. There are so many of them and so few adults that it’s a constant struggle to care for them and keep them fed. Not that they’re helpless-or at least not as helpless as human, or even centaur, children would be at their age. They’re hardy and intelligent. Despite their rather exuberant show when welcoming strangers, they’re incredibly well-behaved.” Cuchulainn met and held Brighid’s sharp gaze. “And they are the happiest beings I’ve ever known.”

“There’s nothing new about the young being happy, Cu. Even your silly wolf cub runs and frolics. It is the way of youth before the responsibilities of the world encroach upon their unrealistic dreams for the future.”

Cuchulainn heard the bitter undertone in the Huntress’s voice and wondered what had happened in her youth to put it there.

“But before Elphame’s sacrifice, the New Fomorian children had no carefree period of innocence. From the day they were born, not only did they have to struggle to survive, but they had to wage a constant war against the dark whisperings within their own blood as they watched their parents succumb to the evil and die around them.”

“If that is actually what happened.”

“I’m tired, Brighid.” Cuchulainn ran a hand across his brow. “I didn’t come here as a hero who would lead them back to their ancestral homeland. I came here filled with hatred.”

Brighid nodded her head slowly. “I know.”

“Elphame didn’t. At least I hope she didn’t. I wouldn’t want her to think that I would betray her trust.” He shook his head and held up his hand to stop her when she tried to speak. “No, I don’t mean that I came here with the intention of slaughtering the hybrids. But I was looking to cast blame and to find a battlefield on which to avenge Brenna.”

“That wouldn’t bring Brenna back, Cu.”

“No, it wouldn’t. And instead of a battlefield or a race of demons I found a people who are imbued with happiness.” He rubbed his brow again. “Happiness is all around me. I’m surrounded by it. But I can feel none of it.”

Brighid felt a rush of sympathy for him. Living within a face that was too old for his years, he looked lost and alone.

“You need to go home, Cu.”

“I need-”

Cuchulainn’s words were cut off by a tapping sound against the door flap followed closely by Kyna’s shining head.

“Ciara said I should come for you.” She grinned at Cuchulainn. Then her bright eyes and smile flashed at Brighid. “And you, too, Huntress. The evening blessing is about to begin. You don’t want to miss it, do you?”

“We’ll be right there, Ky,” Cuchulainn said.

The child’s head disappeared.

“Evening blessing?” Brighid asked.

“They honor Epona every day, both at sunrise and sunset. It’s a little like being back at my mother’s temple.”

“Except for the cold, dreary land, the absence of the riches of Partholon, and the presence of hordes of winged children,” Brighid said.

Cuchulainn tossed the wineskin back to the Huntress and grabbed his cloak.

“Exactly like that.” He paused in front of her on his way out of door. “I am glad you’re here, Brighid.”

“So am I, Cu. So am I.”

The long, low, rectangular building Brighid had mistaken as a shelter for animals when she’d looked down at the settlement from above was really the general meeting place and, Cu explained, it served as a Great Hall for the hybrids. It was there that Kyna, skipping and dancing, led them, and then, with a parting grin and the promise to sit near them during the meal, she scampered to one of the clusters of waiting children.

Although Cuchulainn had prepared Brighid for the number of children, the centaur found herself gaping like an inexperienced foal. There were just so many of them! Winged children were everywhere. It looked as if the entire settlement had gathered in front of the longhouse in a large, loose circle. The children clustered in groups, each surrounding an adult who attentively talked to and kept watch over his or her charges. The sun had almost fallen below the distant western horizon, and the incessant wind had turned even colder and more biting, but not one child cried or complained. They didn’t run around in the undisciplined gamboling typical of youth. They simply stood and waited patiently, even the smallest ones with their tiny wings and wide, bright eyes. Of course they did stare openly at Brighid. But when she met a young one’s gaze, the child returned her look with a wide, sharp-toothed smile. Several of them waved at her. She noticed the boy child, Liam, right away because he made a point to catch her attention by executing a very grown-up bow and sending her a look of total adoration. As if she really was his mentor, she thought with a silent groan.

What in the world would she do with a small winged shadow?

The door to the longhouse opened and Ciara stepped out. She walked quickly to the center of the circle. The winged woman’s gaze skimmed over the group until it came to rest on Brighid. Her smile turned radiant.

“It is a blessed day that is closing!” she proclaimed.

The children made small happy sounds while their heads bobbed up and down in vigorous agreement. All eyes turned to the Huntress.

“Until today we knew of the noble race of centaurs only from memories of our mothers and our mothers’ mothers, and from the stories we have told. But today we are honored by the presence of the famous MacCallan Huntress, Brighid Dhianna. Let us give thanks to our Goddess for yet another day and the new blessing with which she has gifted us.”

Feeling the weight of all of those young eyes, Brighid wanted to fidget or, better yet, escape. Thankfully, when Ciara raised her arms and turned to face the west all the children and adults turned with her, focusing their eyes on the horizon. But as Ciara’s clear voice rang out strong and sweet, evoking the timeless ritual of Epona’s evening blessing, Brighid found curiosity and surprise pulling her eyes from the west to the delicate form of the winged woman.

O Epona, Goddess of beauty and of magnificence

Goddess of laughter and joyous strength.

At this setting day we begin our thanksgiving looking to

the west,

the way of water,

and we are washed in the blessings of another day.

Today we thank You for guiding the Huntress to us,

she who is born of a noble race.

Bound in honor.

Rich in tradition.

Ciara was standing with her arms raised and her head thrown back. Her dark wings unfurled and lifted around her, rippling smoothly against the cold evening wind. Brighid drew in a surprised breath. The winged woman’s body was outlined by a glittering haze that during the past two moons had become very familiar to Brighid. It was the same shimmering power she had seen countless times when Elphame called upon Epona’s name.

“You didn’t expect that, did you?” Cuchulainn whispered.

Brighid could only shake her head and continue to stare at the Goddess-touched hybrid.

O Goddess of our hearts

protectress of things wild and free

we thank You for Your bright presence here

and for Your power that works through water…

Arms still raised, Ciara turned to her right, and the group followed her movements.

Through earth…

She turned again to the right.

Through air…

Again, the group followed her in the sacred circle by turning to face the south.

And through fire.

Then Ciara and the group closed the circle by turning again to the west. At the moment the sun sank into the earth, she lifted her voice joyously, threw wide her arms, and called,

Strike, Goddess lights!

Brighid gasped as two torches staked just outside the longhouse door flamed into bright, burning light.

This is a day of bounty and of joy,

worthy to be celebrated,

as in times far ancient our mothers taught us

to honor You, O Goddess.

Your light will ever guide

those who have been lost in the dark.

All hail Epona!

“All hail Epona!” the group shouted and the circle broke as smiling children made their way amidst lots of giggling talk into the longhouse.

Brighid felt like her hooves had been rooted to the cold ground.

“By the hot holy breath of the Goddess, she has fire magic!” Her words exploded at Cuchulainn. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Over the past two moons I have learned that some things must be seen to be fully appreciated. Come on, Huntress.” Much like he would have his sister, Cu wrapped his arm through Brighid’s and guided the stunned centaur toward the longhouse. “I told you understanding them is not as easy as you might think.”