Brighid patted the banister of the wide staircase, nodded her head and grunted as if she had been standing there studying the workmanship and not standing there lost in depressing thoughts of the Dhianna Herd. Shaking off the shadows of the past, she climbed up to the archer’s post, and returned the sentry’s formal salute.
“We’re pleased to have you home, Huntress.”
“It’s good to be home.” She smiled a greeting and then covered the short distance to the edge of the wall. “Nice night,” she said, looking out on the dark, silent forest, and up at the cloudless sky that was alight with countless stars.
“It’s been a dry spring. That’s why we’ve been able to complete so much work on the castle.” The sentry chuckled. “Of course Wynne and the rest of the cooks are already complaining that we’re going to be hauling water for her gardens if we don’t get rain soon, but the weather suits me just fine—even under the threat of water hauling.”
Brighid smiled absently. Her attention had been caught by a ring of torches near the forest tree line. The sentry followed her gaze.
“Brenna’s tomb.” His voice sobered.
Brighid grunted and nodded her head, remembering. “The monument has been completed.”
“Yes, just three nights ago the permanent torches were lit for the first time. Now every evening they’re lit. Every dawn they’re extinguished.”
“Three nights ago?” Brighid’s stomach tightened. Three nights ago Brenna had visited her dream. What was it the little spirit said? That she’d been compelled to visit that night? “How far does the walk extend?” she asked the sentry abruptly.
“It’s been completed more than halfway around the castle wall.” He gestured to their right. “Go ahead and see for yourself. There are torches posted throughout.” He grinned. “No need to worry about tumbling off, Huntress.”
“Well, that’s comforting,” she muttered, wished the sentry a good evening, and walked around the sturdy wooden walkway, annoyed that it seemed to be common knowledge that she disliked heights. At the next archer’s turnout, she moved onto the balcony and leaned her forearms against the smooth stone balustrade. From there she had a clear view of Brenna’s tomb. A simple, elegant structure had been erected over it—a domed roof standing on four columns. Into each of the columns had been placed carved sconces from which torches blazed, illuminating the large marble sarcophagus and spreading gentle fingers of light over the shape of Brenna’s effigy.
“I wonder if she likes it,” Elphame asked softly as she stepped from the shadows.
Brighid considered it a reflection of how many times Ciara had materialized soundlessly beside her over the past several days that she didn’t jump out of her skin—or fall from the balcony. She did close her eyes briefly and take a deep breath to still the pounding of her heart.
“El, make some kind of sound, would you?”
She squeezed in beside the Huntress. “Did I scare you?”
The Huntress scooted over so that her friend had more room and gave her a disgruntled look.
Elphame grinned. “Sorry.”
Then they both gazed out at the tomb.
“It looks peaceful, even from here,” Brighid said.
“It’s not quite finished. I’ve begun to look for an artist to paint the ceiling with the Healer’s Knot. And I’d like to expand the blue wildf lowers out farther and have them blanket that part of the castle grounds. Cu said they were her favorite flower.”
“Because they’re the color of his eyes,” Brighid said.
Surprised, Elphame smiled at her friend. “I never thought of that before, but I’ll bet you’re right.”
“I think Brenna would like what you’ve done to remember her.” As Brighid spoke the words she Felt the rightness of them, deep within the part of her that had recently begun to stir.
“I think you’re right. She was too important to become a forgotten piece of the past.”
“She won’t be. There are seventy winged children who will pass on her story. The New Fomorians seem to have a very long memory.” Brighid raised a brow contemplatively. “And I don’t think you’ll need to look any farther for that artist. Has Lochlan mentioned how many of the hybrids are descendants of Incarnate Goddesses of the Muse?”
“I don’t recall him saying anything specific about any of the foremothers, except his own,” El said. “I was as surprised as the rest of the Clan to find out their Shaman was Terpsichore’s granddaughter.”
“Wait till you see the talent that’s been hidden in the Wastelands all these years. The walls of their Great Hall were covered with spectacular artwork. Even the legs of the tables were carved into blooming flowers. You, my Chieftain friend, have inherited a group of artists.”
“That is excellent news. I wonder why Lochlan didn’t mention it.”
Before meeting the New Fomorians Brighid would have second-guessed Lochlan’s silence, reading ulterior motives and sly evasion into his omission. Now she thought she knew better. She smiled at her friend.
“Men—be they human, hybrid or centaur—are essentially alike. They tend to say too little about important matters and too much about the obvious.”
Elphame laughed. “That, my Huntress friend, is the truth.” She leaned against the stone of the castle and studied the centaur. “So, you want to tell me about your apprentice?”
Brighid gave a long-suffering sigh. “The boy is obviously confused.”
“And?” Elphame prompted.
“And for some mad reason I find I care about him. He’s…” She sighed again. “He’s endearing. And he has no parents.”
“He needs you,” Elphame said.
“I supposed he needs me, and, in some way I might need him, too. Or at least taking responsibility felt right after he was wounded.”
“What happened?”
“The Guardian Warriors were not as eager to welcome the New Fomorians as was Clan MacCallan. All they knew of the hybrids was what they had learned from Fallon. She has…deteriorated even further.” Brighid shook her head. “She mocked Cuchulainn. It was ghastly and disturbing.”
“I should have ignored her child and killed her. For Cuchulainn. For Brenna. For all of us.”
“No!” Brighid turned to her Chieftain. “You did the right thing. Anything less would have been uncivilized and unjust.” The Huntress’s gaze went back to their friend’s tomb. “Fallon did kill Brenna—and that was a terrible act. But she committed the crime out of a desire to save her people. In return for choosing the only path she thought open to her, she was rewarded with madness, imprisonment and soon death.”
“Are you saying she should be forgiven?” Elphame asked, incredulous.
“Not forgiven. But perhaps understood and pitied.” Brighid pressed her hands against the balustrade. “Some things in life can’t be placed tidily on sides of good or evil. We are often in the midst of a balancing act, where the scales are hopefully tipped toward the good and away from the evil. But sometimes evil wears the face of friends and family. And good looks like the outlander.”
Elphame studied her. “Are you well, Brighid?”
She met her Chieftain’s clear gaze. “I’m relieved to be home.”
“I missed you. Having you and Cu gone at the same time—” Elphame drew in a ragged breath “—I hope it doesn’t happen again soon.”
“I have no intention of going anywhere except hunting—on rich MacCallan soil.”
“Good. Now if we can just convince Cu that he should stay.” Elphame turned to face her friend. “Thank you for bringing my brother back to me. I will always be grateful to you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, El. He’s my friend, too, and he belongs here. With you—with Clan MacCallan. Here he can heal.”
Elphame sighed. “He looks so old and tired. I could tell that it was hard for him to be here.”
“It is, but it is also where he needs to be. It’s time for his self-imposed exile to end,” Brighid said.
Elphame sh
ook her head. “It was so unlike him to leave like that. Cu doesn’t run from problems, and he’s always found strength in family.”
“Cuchulainn left because he lost a part of himself,” Brighid explained. “The joyous, life-loving part of his soul couldn’t bear the grief of losing Brenna. It shattered and has remained in the Otherworld. That’s why Cu has acted so unlike himself. That’s why it has been so difficult for him to heal.”
“Oh, Goddess!” Elphame breathed. “What are we going to do? There has to be a soul-retrieval.” She looked desperately around them. “Mama! She can fix this! We have to—”
Brighid’s hand on her arm broke off Elphame’s rant.
“Your mother already knows. There is going to be a soul-retrieval, only she’s not going to perform it.”
Elphame’s brows drew together. “Then who? Da? Is he coming?”
“No, El.” Brighid drew a deep breath. “Your father’s not going to perform the soul-retrieval, either. I am.”
Elphame blinked. “You are?”
Brighid shrugged her shoulders, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. “So it seems. Your mother agrees. Cuchulainn agrees.”
“But you’re not a Shaman.”
“No, but apparently that makes little difference. I—I have a…” She paused, trying to decide how to phrase it. “I have a power in my blood. Your mother calls it a gift. I’m just learning about it. I think—” she took another deep breath, feeling a little like she was plunging into a pool of icy water “—I think it’s the same gift my mother has in her blood. You know I’m the daughter of Mairearad Dhianna.”
Elphame nodded.
“I’m the eldest daughter of Mairearad Dhianna.”
Elphame sucked in a breath. “And you left the herd to become a Huntress! All this time I assumed you were just one of the High Shaman’s younger daughters.” The Chieftain shook her head, a slight smile tilting her lips. “I’ll bet your leaving caused quite a bit of—” El broke off. “That’s why we understand each other so well. We’re both daughters who have chosen to break tradition. I was to have followed my mother as Epona’s Chosen. You were to have followed yours as High Shaman of the Dhianna. Little wonder the Goddess caused our paths to cross.”
“Except your mother supports and accepts your decision. Mine does not. She is not like Etain.” Brighid stared out into the night. “When I left my mother I was determined to leave that unwanted life behind me, which included the power in my blood that tied me to her. I felt I had to deny it and suppress it to prove that I was different—that I was committed to another destiny.” Brighid rubbed at her face. She wanted to explain herself to Elphame, she needed to. But it was difficult. Would it always be this hard to talk about herself and her life before she came to MacCallan Castle? “But there were parts of my powers, or gifts—as your mother puts it—that I couldn’t deny. You know I’m a Master Huntress. Perhaps even so adept at finding and capturing prey that I could vie for Lead Huntress of Partholon.”
“Yes, of course. I’ve often marveled at your skills, as has the rest of our Clan. We’re fortunate to claim you as our own.”
“It’s because my gift is an affinity with the spirits of animals.” Brighid spoke quickly as her friend began to protest. “I’m not saying that I don’t have the skills of a Huntress. Of course I do. I’ve gone through the training. I understand the ways of animals and I can track anything that moves over the earth. But I have more than a normal Huntress’s abilities. I Feel the spirits of the deer and elk, boar and bear. I know them in a way that is only possible because of the powers gifted to me by Epona.”
They were silent, the two friends, both gazing out at the sleeping forest, considering the weight of Brighid’s words.
“Had I been more experienced in the ways of the spirit world, I would have guessed your truth. Now that you tell me, it seems obvious,” Elphame said. She glanced at Brighid. “Mama knows, doesn’t she?”
“Your mother knows everything,” Brighid said with a smile.
“Everything important,” Elphame added.
“No, I’m beginning to think she knows everything.” Both women laughed softly.
“That’s Mama,” Elphame said. “She’s scary and amazing and wonderful.”
Brighid hesitated for a moment, then said, “Today she told me that I remind her of you.”
Elphame grinned. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“I have to tell you that after traveling with her and getting to know her that I am envious of you, El. I can only imagine what it would be like to have a mother who loved me self lessly.”
Elphame tilted her head and looked up at her friend. “It is a priceless gift,” she said simply.
“One I will never know.”
“You don’t have to be born someone’s daughter to share in her love.”
Now it was Brighid’s turn to blink in surprise at her Chieftain. Elphame grinned at her. “Mama has two daughters, but she has said over and over that she wished Epona had gifted her with more.”
The Huntress felt a rush of hot emotion. Acceptance. This was what it was like to be truly accepted and loved and honored for herself. And Elphame wasn’t jealous of her, or angry, or shocked. She was clearly pleased at the prospect of sharing her mother’s love with Brighid. It was miraculous.
Then guilt washed over Brighid. She had a mother. True, Mairearad was selfish and manipulative, and clearly cared more about herself than her offspring, but she was her mother nonetheless. How was it possible to have two mothers at once?
It wasn’t. By the Goddess, she wished it was possible. But it wasn’t.
“Brighid,” Elphame said softly, touching her arm. “Don’t let it tear you apart. Can you not accept one mother’s love without negating the other?”
“Isn’t that a betrayal?” Brighid asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep her voice from trembling.
“No, sister. You are not capable of betrayal. Look elsewhere for that.”
“I’ll try…” she whispered. Turning her head away from Elphame, she wiped at the wetness that had leaked onto her cheeks. And a flicker of movement caught her eye. She refocused her vision. Two figures moved between the torches that illuminated Brenna’s grave site. One was a man, the other a wolf cub.
“It’s Cu,” Elphame breathed.
The warrior walked to the head of Brenna’s tomb. He stood very still, and then he cupped her stone cheek with his hand. Slowly he bent. Brighid thought he would kiss the effigy’s lips, but he simply rested his forehead against the unyielding marble. Then he turned, and stumbled into the darkness, with the wolf silently trailing him.
“I denied the Shaman power within my blood,” Brighid said softly. “Then I found your brother in the Wastelands—shattered and despairing, and somehow I have come to understand that I can help him. But that’s all that I really do understand. I don’t know why, but Epona has made you and your brother a part of my destiny.”
Elphame turned to her. “Our Goddess is wise. There is no one I would rather trust my brother to than you.”
“I hope I’m worthy of your trust.”
“You are, my sister.” Elphame smiled, and the hair on Brighid’s forearms prickled and lifted as motes of power swirled suddenly, unexpectedly in the air around them.
28
HER CHAMBER HAD been aired and made ready for her. It had been built as an addition to the warriors’ barracks, an extension of the long, narrow room that currently housed the New Fomorians. Elphame had ordered a thick wall constructed between the traditional barracks and the Huntress’s quarters, and she had even insisted the spacious room have a private entrance. Brighid didn’t need all the fuss, but her Chieftain had shrugged off Brighid’s protestations and created a chamber befitting the MacCallan Huntress. It was private and well appointed. And, Brighid noted with pleasure, in the days she had been gone someone had hung a tapestry depicting the Centaur Plains, flush with spring wildf lowers and dotted with dark bison, along one of the walls.
&nb
sp; “May the Goddess bless her,” Brighid whispered, knowing that it was Elphame who had covered Brighid’s walls with scenes from her childhood. Elphame understood her well.
One of the housekeepers had been considerate enough to start a cheery fire in the hearth, as well as light the sets of tall candelabrum that stood like iron sentinels around the room. The long, narrow chamber was sparsely furnished with a large dresser, a sturdily built table—constructed to centaur proportions—and an enormous down-filled mattress, which rested directly on the marble floor.
Brighid drew in a long breath, loving the familiar scent of the MacCallan candles, which were made by crushing oily leaves of local lavender into the wax. Then she smiled. May the Goddess bless Wynne and her bevy of cooks! On the table sat a basket filled with cold meats, cheeses, bread, dried fruit and, best of all, a skin of—she uncapped it and took a long, deep pull—excellent red wine from Etain’s own vineyards.
Brighid popped a piece of cheese in her mouth. They knew her habits. They understood that she enjoyed a snack during the night and that sometimes she rose even before the cooks. They wanted to make sure she had provisions. They cared.
She hadn’t lived here for more than three full cycles of the moon, yet every scent, every face, every touch, spoke to her of safety and acceptance. I think I’ve finally found my place.
It was a unique, wondrous experience to have a castle filled with people who worried after her and cared about her comfort. What would her mother think if she could see this? Brighid shook her head. Her mother wouldn’t ever see this, even if she were to stand in this very room. Mairearad Dhianna could see only shadows, never the light that cast them. She would find fault with Clan MacCallan and belittle their affection for Brighid.
Why was she thinking about her mother? That part of her life was over.
It was because she was so damned tired. The trip had been exhausting. She just needed to sleep. She’d be herself in the morning. Tomorrow she’d be sure the New Fomorians were settled—there was talk of building a village for them on the plateau south of the castle. Perhaps she would take Liam there.