by P. C. Cast
“Are two entirely different things,” Brighid finished for him, thinking once again about the small winged surprises that would soon descend upon Partholon. The humans had no idea what they were in for. She glanced at Cuchulainn. His face had fallen back into its familiar mask of nonexpression. But were his eyes still unnaturally bright and focused too sharply on Ciara?
Something prickled down Brighid’s spine, twitching her skin and making her Feel preternaturally aware of the vast Wastelands that surrounded their little camp.
“So that’s settled.” She rose restlessly. “Tomorrow we stay close together—we all keep our eyes on the children. No straggling—no exploring.”
“And we enter Partholon.” Ciara breathed the word like a prayer.
“With caution,” Brighid said more sharply than she had intended.
“What is it, Huntress?” Ciara asked. “Have you been warned of something to come?”
“No!” Brighid said a little too quickly. She hadn’t been warned about anything—she’d just been caught totally off guard by Cuchulainn’s reaction to Ciara’s dance. And now the Shaman was studying her with those perceptive eyes of hers. Brighid stood and shifted her weight restlessly. “No,” she repeated in a more controlled voice. “I’m just tired. And I don’t get premonitions anyway—that’s Cu’s area, not mine.”
The warrior’s head snapped around and he narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have premonitions anymore.”
“That might not necessarily be a good thing.” Brighid met his eyes squarely.
“You are tired, Huntress,” Ciara spoke into the tension-charged silence. “Perhaps you would like to sleep first?”
Brighid nodded tightly.
“I wish you a good-night then. I will speak with the other adults about tomorrow. Cuchulainn will take the first watch.”
Brighid nodded again. Without speaking to Cuchulainn she retreated into the tent they shared and settled herself amidst the thick pelts. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
What was wrong with her?
She was angry to her core. And she had no reason to be.
Cuchulainn had responded to Ciara. What was wrong with that? Nothing. It would be wonderful if Cu could love again. Actually it would be miraculous.
When his soul is no longer shattered the warrior will not choose death. When Cuchulainn is whole he will love again.
When Ciara had spoken those words Brighid had thought it impossible that Cuchulainn would ever love again—she hadn’t considered that Ciara had been speaking of herself.
Brighid restlessly rearranged her long, equine limbs. Cu was her friend. She had agreed to help him recover the shattered piece of his soul because she cared for him. She wanted him to be whole again. She hadn’t taken the soul-retrieval journey yet, but already Cu seemed more animated. He’d bantered with her, and noticed that she was looking tired. She should be pleased he was showing an interest in Ciara, too. The winged woman was beautiful and kind. Elphame would approve.
Brighid was happy for him, she told herself firmly. She had just been taken unawares. That was all. And she was tired. Her dream last night had sapped her energy. It had also obviously worn on her patience. She needed sleep. Then she would be herself again.
Brighid drew another deep breath and focused on relaxing the tension from her body. Exhaustion pulled her under, and sleep came easily. Her last coherent thought was that she would make a conscious effort to accept the relationship that was forming between her friend and Ciara. Cuchulainn deserved to be happy….
Her dream began with a flash of movement.
“Race me, Brighid!” Cuchulainn yelled as he sped past her on his gelding. The smile he threw over his shoulder was teasing. “Or at least try to catch me, old girl!”
Automatically Brighid gathered herself and surged forward, biting into the soft ground of the Centaur Plain with her hooves. Her long stride quickly ate up the distance between herself and Cu’s horse. She pulled alongside him. Cu was lying flat over the gelding’s neck, urging him on. Feeling her nearing, the horse found another burst of speed. With a fierce grin, Brighid lengthened her stride, easily keeping abreast of him.
Cuchulainn took his attention from the gelding long enough to grin at her.
“I’ll show you what an old girl I am!” Brighid shouted into the wind. Then she tapped the deep reservoir of her vast centaur strength. She flew past the horse and rider as if they were a boy and pony team.
She ran for the sheer joy of it.
The prairie swished past with such speed it seemed she was floating over a sea of grasses. The wind was warm, but against her flushed skin it felt like a cool balm. The powerful equine muscles of her legs burned, but it was a feeling she welcomed. Her breathing deepened, as lungs that were stronger than a human’s filled and expanded to support a body that was the perfect mixture of human beauty and equine strength.
By the Goddess, she’d forgotten how much she loved to run over the earth of her homeland! Partholon was a prosperous, beautiful country, but it didn’t call to her soul as did the Centaur Plains. She felt like she could run forever, forgetting everything…everyone…
Perhaps if she ran long enough she would find a way to return home and to reconcile her beliefs with those of her family. If she did that she might be free from the nagging sense of living as an outlander, as if she had been a changeling switched not at birth, but at the moment when she’d found the young human girl after the accident.
Brighid’s smooth stride faltered.
She wouldn’t think of that. She couldn’t think of that—not even in a dream. And anyway, wasn’t she supposed to be focusing on helping Cuchulainn? She scowled and slowed. Where was the warrior? Brighid glanced back over her shoulder. The prairie was empty except for the tall grasses, which waved seductively, calling to her with their secret whispering melodies.
Brighid slid to a halt. Great. She was supposed to be helping Cuchulainn and she’d let herself get so wrapped up in her own dream that she’d somehow lost him. She blew out a frustrated breath. Think about Cuchulainn! Brighid closed her eyes, blocking the sight of her beloved prairie, and thought about the warrior—or, more specifically, she thought about the carefree, happy part of Cuchulainn’s soul that visited her dreams.
She heard laughter and splashing water before she opened her eyes.
“Huntress! I wish you’d make up your mind about where we are. It’s dizzying to be pulled from one place to another.”
Brighid blinked her eyes open and stared. She had gone from prairie to forest within the space of a breath. The day was still warm, but the indirect sunlight filtered through the green canopy, so that the thick leaf loam of the forest floor was dappled and hazy. It took a moment for her vision to adjust. More splashing came from the other side of the moss-covered mound of rocks directly in front of her. Totally confused, she trotted forward and the waterfall-fed pond came into view. Cuchulainn was in the middle, water covering him to the waist. His chest was bare, and he looked young and soggy with his wet hair plastered to his head.
Brighid was just about to laugh at him when she recognized where they were. It was the bathing pool she and Elphame and Brenna had discovered during the early renovations of MacCalan Castle. The three of them had bathed there often and Brenna had told her it was a special trysting site for her and Cuchulainn. Brighid’s gut tightened.
Brenna had been killed here.
“You should know that I recognize your ulterior motive. You were afraid of losing the race to me, so you dreamed us here.”
“Losing the race? With you and that fat gelding of yours?” she scoffed, using annoyance to cover the uncomfortable tension that hummed within her. “Ridiculous.”
“Ah, well then. That only leaves one reason why you would dream us here.” He held his arms out, palms open, inviting her into a watery embrace. “You wanted to get me naked.”
Brighid gave him a disgusted look. “Cuchulainn, you are deluded.”
“Hey, it�
��s your dream.”
“And you’re not naked. Or you won’t be soon.” She pointed at the clothes that had been haphazardly piled on the rocks. “Get dressed.” With a f lick of her tail she turned her back to him. “Did anyone ever tell you that you are entirely too preoccupied with sex?” she called above the noises of him emerging from the pool.
“El might have mentioned it a time or two. She’s wrong, of course,” he said as he used his kilt to dry his body.
“Really?” Brighid said sarcastically.
“Really. She doesn’t understand that my passion for life and my passion for women are pieces of the same whole. I choose to live life fully, enjoying all of its richness and beauty. Women, or sex, as you and she put it, are a natural part of experiencing the fullness of a well-lived life.”
His words prickled down her spine. “If you stopped desiring women—what would that mean?” she asked him.
“Goddess help me! That would mean I was dead!” He laughed heartily. “You can turn around now, Huntress.”
Brighid turned to face him, a frown of worry creasing her brow. “Seriously, Cu. Are you telling me that your love for women is a reflection of how much you love life?”
“Yes.” He used an edge of his kilt to wipe water from his face. “Why all the questions?”
“It’s my dream. I can ask what I want,” she muttered distractedly.
“Harrumph!” The warrior grunted. “You surprise me, Brighid. I would have thought you’d loosen up a little in your sleep. But I guess this proves that dreams are really only reflections of life.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Cuchulainn shrugged. “You’re always so uptight. You remind me of a sentry who is perpetually on guard.”
“That is an absurd thing to say!” Brighid sputtered.
“Face it—” Cu sprawled on the ground, his back resting against the moss-covered boulder “—you never relax.”
“Cu, we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.”
“All right—all right.” He held up his hands in mock surrender and grinned at her. “But I’d at least like to know why you’re so set on talking about me.”
“Because you’re the one who keeps showing up in my dreams!” she blurted.
“And you think I know why?” He chuckled. “I have nothing to do with it. I admit that you are a rare beauty, Brighid, but if I were to purposefully enter a maiden’s dreams I believe my choice would be less—” he hesitated, eyes sparkling mischievously, as they roved down her equine body “—hairy.”
Brighid stiffened. “I am not hairy.”
Cuchulainn laughed again. “You should see the expression on your face! You look like I just told you that deer had grown wings and you were going to have to track them through the air.”
“I can’t track something that can fly,” she replied automatically.
Like a snuffed candle the open smile that was so naturally a part of Cuchulainn suddenly went out.
“I—I must go now.” He stood and looked around him as if he wasn’t sure where he was.
“What is it, Cu?” But she didn’t need to ask—she knew what was wrong with him.
The joyful fragment of Cuchulainn’s soul that stood before her was remembering.
“No…” Even as he shook his head in denial he was turning slowly, inexplicably away from the pool of water and toward the rough little path that led through the forest to the road to MacCallan Castle. He took two leaden steps forward before stumbling to a halt. When he looked back at Brighid his face was so pale that, for the first time, he looked more spirit than man. “This is all just a dream. In the morning I will wake at MacCallan Castle. We’re preparing the Chieftain’s Chambers for Elphame. You, Brenna and me.”
Brighid approached Cu’s shattered spirit slowly. The space in front of him was an ordinary enough part of the forest—just a small trail leading through a grove of umbrella-shaped plants and wildf lowers. But she recognized it. It was where the mad hybrid, Fallon, had killed Brenna while the little Healer had been waiting to meet Cuchulainn. Two moons ago Brighid had led the rescue party from this very spot. She’d followed Fallon’s trail, taking them deep into the forest until the creature’s tracks disappeared because the hybrid had used her wings to catch the air currents and glide. As Brighid had explained to the distraught warrior that day, a Huntress could not track something that could fly…
“My friend, we—” Brighid began.
“No!” Cuchulainn cut her off. He lurched back from her, and then his horrified expression changed. He forced a laugh through bloodless lips that were twisted in more of a grimace than a smile. “This is a mistake…I haven’t visited your dream…I’ve become trapped in your nightmare…”
“Cuchulainn!” Brighid held her hand out to him in a gesture meant to call him back, but instead he flinched away from her, backing even farther into the forest.
“No. I cannot. It’s time to awaken, Huntress…”
The warrior’s body faded as he blended into the shadows of the trees.
“Huntress…”
Brighid’s eyes flew open.
“Cuchulainn, wait!” She reached out and this time she was able to grab him.
Acting on instinct, he whirled around pulling the throwing dagger from his belt and moving smoothly into a defensive stance, blade held at the ready. When he realized what had attacked his leg, he lowered the knife.
“By the Goddess, Brighid! You almost got yourself stabbed.”
“Sorry,” she muttered, struggling to orient herself. What had happened? Where were they now?
“You want to let go of me?”
She looked at her hand, which was still clutching the soft leather of his boot.
“Brighid?” Cu crouched down, peering into the tent at the prone form of the centaur Huntress. Her eyes were wide and round and her expression was stunned. “Are you unwell?”
“We’re with the hybrids, not far from Guardian Pass?” Her voice sounded unnaturally breathless, like she’d just finished a marathon. “And we’re awake?”
“Yes, of course, to both of your questions! What’s wrong with you?”
Brighid let loose his leg, rubbed her eyes and then smoothed back the long silver-blond fall of her hair. “Nightmare. Just a nightmare. You woke me from it when you walked by.”
Still groggy, she untangled herself from the thick pelts and escaped the small tent. She shook herself as if ridding her coat of water before glancing up at the sky. “You should have awakened me sooner. The moon is more than midway.”
Cuchulainn gave her one last look of scrutiny before he shrugged. “I was just coming to wake you.” He brushed past her and sat within the tent, pulling off his travel-dirtied boots. “The fire needs to be fed. All else is quiet and tended to.”
“Did you talk to Ciara? Are the adults prepared for tomorrow?”
“Ciara and I spoke briefly. All is well.”
Brighid strained to see Cuchulainn’s expression within the dark tent. His voice gave away no hint of emotion. He sounded tired, but no more interested in Ciara than he had been in fueling the fire.
But part of his soul had clearly told her that for him love of women and love of life were bound together. Knowing that, it didn’t take the instincts of a Shaman to tell her that it would be a positive healing step for Cu to show interest in a woman—winged or not.
“So you talked with Ciara?”
Cuchulainn grunted an affirmative and then was silent.
Brighid rolled her eyes. “And she feels the camp is ready to enter Partholon?”
Another yes grunt.
The Huntress stood outside the tent listening to the sounds of Cuchulainn settling himself within the pelts. She should say something to him. Encourage him to talk with Ciara more often. Let him know—
“Brighid, why are you lurking out there?”
His gruff voice made her jump guiltily.
“I’m not lurking!”
“Then
what is it?” He enunciated each word carefully as if she were one of the winged children.
“Ciara’s dance was quite beautiful,” she said, feeling awkward and obvious.
“She has many gifts from the Goddess,” he said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dance performed so well,” Brighid continued.
Cuchulainn grunted.
“Have you?”
“It was a fitting tribute to Epona and Terpsichore.” The words ended on a yawn.
“It was beautiful,” Brighid said.
“As you already said.” Cu yawned again. “Brighid, is this more of your attempt at soul-healing?”
“I’m not sure,” she said miserably.
“Could I sleep while you decide?”
“Yes,” she said. “Rest well, Cuchulainn.”
Brighid retreated to the fire. As she fed the low-burning blaze she called herself several creative variations of a senseless, bumbling, muddle-headed fool.
15
“IT’S WEIRD HOW quiet they are,” Brighid said to Cuchulainn.
The warrior glanced back over his shoulder at the subdued group of miniature travelers.
“I’ve never seen them like this,” he said.
“They didn’t sing once all morning.”
“And hardly spoke a word during the midday meal.”
“Do you think they’re scared?” Brighid asked. It gave her a hollow feeling in her gut to think about the children being so afraid that their natural exuberance had been silenced.
“They don’t need to be afraid. We won’t let anything bad happen to them,” Cu said shortly.
“You know that and I know that—but perhaps we should tell them,” Brighid said.