by P. C. Cast
He blew out a breath. “I know. I’m…” He moved his shoulders. “After you told me about the dreams I’ve felt different.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “You made the idea of a shattered soul more tangible for me. And if I believe in it, then maybe I can fix it. I mean we, maybe we can fix it.” He paused again. “I would give almost anything to feel normal again. I had begun to believe that the only way to escape from this unending pain would be to give up my life. Today, for the first time since Brenna’s death, I think there might be a way for me to live again.”
Brighid’s face flushed with her rush of relief.
“I’m glad, Cu,” was all she could manage to choke out.
“Cuchulainn! Brighid!” Ciara called from behind them and they slowed, waiting for the winged woman to catch up with them. “I know that our time is short, but the children could use a break. They’re tired today.”
“One short break would be fine. But one is all we can afford. You can tell them that we’re past the halfway point, that should bolster their strength,” Cu said.
Ciara’s sharp-toothed smile glinted bright and happy. “You tell them, Cu. Coming from you I know it would revive them.”
“Go ahead,” Brighid said quickly. “I’ll scout ahead. I’ve noticed the spoor of wild goat. It would be nice if we could enter Guardian Castle with more than just hungry mouths to feed.”
“Good idea,” Cu said. As the Huntress turned to go, he touched her arm. “Be careful. The rocks are slick. My gelding has almost fallen several times today.”
Brighid covered her surprise at his touch and his words with a delicately raised eyebrow and a frown. “I am not your fat, empty-headed gelding.” She flipped her hair and trotted away.
“He is not fat!” Cu called after her, but the warrior was smiling.
“You are protective of her, Cuchulainn,” Ciara said softly.
His gaze swung back to the lithe woman at his side. She was simply one of the most beautiful females he had ever seen. And he hadn’t even really noticed her loveliness until she danced for them last night. Then his mind processed her words, and his reaction was automatic.
“Yes, I’m protective of her. She’s part of MacCallan Clan. But that doesn’t mean that the Huntress can’t take care of herself. She’s a fine warrior, too.”
Ciara’s smile widened. “And you respect that about her.”
“Of course,” he said.
“Good. I’m glad she has you for a friend. In the future, she will need her friends close about her.”
Cuchulainn’s eyes narrowed. “What are you telling me, Shaman? Have you seen danger for the Huntress?”
“My gift is not one of premonition. From what I understand when you were touched by the spirit realm, your premonition gift was strong. Many times you knew of events before they unfolded.”
Cuchulainn grunted a rough yes. If her words about Brighid hadn’t been so troubling he would have cut this conversation short. Beautiful or not, Ciara was a Shaman. And Cuchulainn wanted no traffic with the spirit world or its emissaries. It was difficult enough for him to cope with Brighid and the whole shattered-soul issue. But that was different. Brighid was like him. She wasn’t comfortable meddling in the spirit realm, either.
Ciara was nonplussed by his gruff response and his instantly defensive demeanor. “My premonitions have never been as clear as yours have been. I only get vague Feelings, and sometimes instinct leads me to say or do things, the reasons for which only become clear in the future. I have had a Feeling about the Huntress—that the devotion of her friends will play an important part in the shifting sands of her life.”
“So she’s in trouble?”
“I cannot tell. I can only Feel that she will need friends, or at least one special friend, close beside her.”
Cuchulainn nodded in a tight, controlled jerk. “I’ll remember that, Shaman.”
“I’m glad.” Ciara’s infectious smile was back. “I’ve come to care a great deal for your Huntress. She is an honorable centaur.”
Cuchulainn grunted again.
“Come, let’s return to the children. They will be overjoyed to hear that we are almost within the borders of Partholon.”
Cuchulainn dismounted and led his gelding to the children. But his mind wasn’t on what he would say to them. His mind was on the silver-blond Huntress. He would watch closely that nothing happened to her. His sister would string him up and gut him if he let her friend come to any harm.
A chill passed over his skin. No. Nothing would happen to Brighid. He would make sure of that.
Pebbles skittered down the side of the sheer wall on her right. The Huntress frowned. Too damned steep. The walls of the pass were riddled with narrow paths that snaked into crevices, forming cavelike hollows along the treacherous slopes. The goats were up there—her gut told her so—as did the spoor and tufts of fur she’d been tracking. But she couldn’t get to them. It was extraordinarily frustrating.
The Huntress trotted doggedly down the pass, exploring each small side trail while her eyes scanned the walls searching for an access to the upper hollows and crests. More pebbles rained down the steep wall, only this time they were accompanied by a muffled oof!
It was not a goatish noise at all. Brighid stopped. Her sharp eyes scrutinized the shadows that deepened beneath each outcropping of gray-red rock, until she found the familiar shape. She sighed. This was just one of the many reasons Huntresses usually chose not to give birth. Children were bothersome.
“I see you, Liam. Come down from there. Now!”
His head peeked over the edge of one of the wider ledges. Within the gloom of the pass his grin looked childishly bright and impetuous. “I’ve been flanking you for a really long time, and you didn’t even know! It’s because I’ve been practicing my Huntress skills!”
Brighid snorted. She hadn’t noticed him because she’d allowed herself to be preoccupied with Cuchulainn’s problems, and Epona’s unexpected touch, and bringing a herd of winged children into a country that wanted nothing to do with them.
“Lovely. Good job,” she said awkwardly, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand as she squinted up the west side of the pass. “Now come down. It’s time for you to go back and join the rest of the children.”
Not in the least bit discouraged, Liam leaned farther over the side of his ledge, looking very much like a baby bird bobbing over the lip of his nest. “I can’t go back yet. I have to help you!”
Brighid’s stomach tightened and she motioned the boy back. She hated heights. Just watching him perched on the edge made her feel vicariously uncomfortable.
“Liam,” she said sternly. “Don’t hang over the edge. You could fall.”
“Don’t worry, Mistress! I’m not afraid. And I can fly.” Liam’s gray-downed wings unfurled and he rocked forward, balancing easily as he caught the air currents and held himself erect.
“Nice. Good,” Brighid said hastily, still motioning him back from the edge and trying to ignore that he had called her Mistress—the official title an apprentice used with a teacher. “I can see you’re very good at balancing.”
“And at being quiet!” he shouted.
“Oh, absolutely. So I think you’ve done enough for today. Climb down and run back to the others.”
Liam’s smile deflated along with his wings. “But we haven’t got a wild goat yet.”
“Well, one of the first lessons a Huntress learns is that she doesn’t always get the goat.” What was she saying? Babble. Babble was coming out of her mouth.
“Really?” Liam asked, studying her intently.
Brighid sighed. “The goats are up there. I am down here. Hence the fact that I will not be getting a goat today.”
Liam’s sparkling, pointy smile was back in full force. “I can make the goats come down!”
“No, you need to get down and—” she began and then clamped her mouth shut. It did make sense. He was up there. The goats were up there. She certainly wasn’t going up there�
�even if she could fit she was not scaling those slick, steep walls.
“Yes! Yes!” The boy hopped up and down eagerly. “I can chase the goats down to you.”
Brighid tilted her head to the side, considering. “Do you think you could find them?”
“Yes! Yes!” He peered down at her and in an exaggerated whisper said, “When the wind blows just right I can hear them. I have really, really good hearing. I can also smell them—they smell goaty.” He started to hop again and then, with an obvious effort calmed himself. “They’re that way.” He pointed ahead of them.
Yes, it certainly seemed vaguely insane, and it was definitely an unorthodox way to hunt wild mountain goat, but it could work.
“All right. But only if you promise that you will do exactly as I tell you.”
“I promise! I promise!” The boy’s wings spread and he fluttered around the ledge, skipping and dancing happily.
“Liam!” Brighid’s voice was sharp and the child froze. “A Huntress learns quickly to control her feelings. Especially in the middle of a hunt.” Of course he wasn’t a she, nor was he a centaur or a Huntress…She shook her head, more at herself than at the boy who was watching her so intently. “This is what I want you to do. Carefully and silently go forward along the path you found, listening for the sound of goats and looking for signs that they have traveled the same way.”
“I’ll be careful and quiet. I’ll pretend to be a Huntress.” His eyes widened and he lifted one small taloned foot, staring at it thoughtfully. “Except I’ll pretend that I have magic hooves that don’t make any clomping noise when I walk.”
Brighid had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. The boy thought he was a centaur. He had wings and talons, and he was pretending to have hooves. Magic hooves at that. He was clearly delusional, which couldn’t bode well for his future development. Could it? It seemed the more time she spent with children the less she knew about them. They just didn’t make good sense.
“Just pretend to be quiet. All you need to do is find the goats. When you do, come back to me—quietly. When I tell you I’m ready, then you quit pretending to have silent magic hooves. Jump out and yell at them. But stay away from the edge, or you’ll make them run farther into the mountains.” And it would make Brighid’s stomach feel sick to see the small winged boy clinging to the edge of the steep chasm while goats ran pell-mell all around. “What you do instead is come around from behind them and then yell.”
“I understand.” He nodded his head up and down, up and down. “You want me to chase them to you.”
“Yes. Exactly. I’ll be following here, below you in the pass, slowly. If we’re very lucky the goats will run away from you and down here.” In theory it sounded like a good plan. She would certainly run away from the yelling, hopping, flapping boy. “And directly into me.”
“And then you’ll get one for dinner!” he said triumphantly.
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
“If that happens will I officially be your apprentice?”
“We’ll see,” Brighid prevaricated. “Being apprenticed to a Huntress is a complex procedure.”
Liam chewed his lip. “I understand.” Then he brightened. “I’ll do my best, though. You’ll see. I’ll be the perfect Huntress!”
“Doing your best is always the best choice,” Brighid said inanely.
And then, with a flutter of very uncentaur-like wings, the boy took off with his face pointed into the wind.
“Be careful and stay away from the edge!” Brighid called after him.
17
AT LEAST THE child was being quiet. Except for the occasional spray of pebbles that his pretend magic hooves dislodged, the Huntress had to admit that Liam was moving silently along the narrow path above her. There was no giggling, no flapping of wings, no constant barrage of questions. Maybe keeping the young busy was the key to controlling them. Brighid glanced up in time to see the tip of one wing disappear ahead of her as the sides of the pass veered sharply to the right and Liam followed the goat trail along the turn.
No, she should know better. She wasn’t in control of the boy. He was off in his own pretend world where he was a magic centaur Huntress. It was just dumb luck that part of his pretense included temporary silence. Had she been like that when she was young? Filled with fantasies and imagination while she chattered incessantly and hopped about? The Huntress sighed. She didn’t ever remember being that young—it seemed like she’d been born old, weighed down by the responsibilities of tradition and her mother’s expectations.
The breeze swirled around her, feeling suddenly several degrees cooler. Brighid shivered and looked up at the sinking sun. How long had she and Liam been hunting? The sheer sides of the pass were almost completely made of gray stone in this section of the tunnel-like trail. No wonder it looked darker here. At least the red brightened the shadowy gloom. The gray seemed to suck in the waning light of the sun as if the walls themselves wanted to steal the spirit of the day.
The Huntress shivered again and felt the soft hair at the back of her neck lift. Her eyes skimmed up the gray rock walls. Where had that boy gone? She couldn’t see anything past the sharp turn. Damn it! He shouldn’t be that far ahead of her. She stopped and listened to the wind. Was that the echo of a goat’s bleat? She thought it might be and concentrated harder…
The screech from above had her pulling an arrow from the quiver slung across her back and notching her bow so quickly that had anyone been watching all they would have seen was the silver-blond blur of Brighid’s practiced movement. She aimed the bow at the sound and the breath caught in her throat.
Circling above her was a silver hawk with gold-tipped wings. As if waiting for her full attention, it soared down on the air currents, folding its wings and diving directly at Brighid. The Huntress felt like a statue, frozen with the arrow notched in place, unable to do anything but stare at the beautiful bird as it rode the air. The bird’s golden eye captured Brighid’s gaze, and within its avian depths the centaur saw the reflection of her own soul.
Brighid Felt their connection. Freedom…power…courage…a seeker of justice…a warrior…might used for right. The words blasted through the centaur’s consciousness in a clear, unfamiliar voice. I belong to you and you to me. It is past time you acknowledge our bond, sister. The hawk screeched again as it skimmed above Brighid’s body, so close that the wind under its wings caused Brighid’s hair to move in response.
And like a bothersome black fly from the lowlands, something bit Brighid hard, squarely in the middle of her equine back.
A gift. Something that has too long been hidden…much like our bond and the power that is your heritage.
Utterly off balance, Brighid spun around and stared after the silver bird, her equine skin still twitching from the sharp bite. Had the damned bird clawed her?
Look down.
Brighid’s gaze fell and she saw the stone. Its rich blue-green color stood out against the drab slate path, an oasis of color in a desert of gray. The centaur picked it up, intrigued by its brilliant coloring and the smooth, warm feel of it against her skin. It reminded her of something…
Above her, the circling bird screeched again, and Brighid’s head snapped up.
He needs you.
“He?” Brighid called into the air.
The voice in her head was suddenly a shout. Liam!
Liam? Brighid kicked into a controlled gallop, placing the turquoise stone within her inner vest pocket. As she hurried forward she could feel its hard round shape press sharply against the softness of her breast.
The walls and the rising wind muffled the sound of her hooves as she slid around the abrupt turn, her eyes moving restlessly from the treacherous ground in front of her to the sheer sides of the rock walls. There was no sign of the winged boy.
“Liam!” she yelled. The boy’s name bounced eerily off the walls and came back to her like a half-forgotten memory.
By the Goddess! She had a bad Feeling about this! Sh
e should never have allowed the child to be separated from the rest of the group. She and Cuchulainn had agreed on the importance of staying together. Who knew how many hidden dangers the rugged mountains held? Then there was the hawk and the voice that warned her Liam needed her. What, by the Goddess’s silver breastplate, was that all about?
And where was the boy? How far ahead of her had he gotten? She’d had no idea he could move so fast. She vaulted over a heap of rock and rubble, stumbled, and then caught her balance. Gritting her teeth and silently cursing the Goddess-forsaken roughness of the trail, she increased her speed.
Once again the pass veered sharply to the right. She skidded around the curve, almost losing her balance as her hooves slipped on the slick rock floor. Here the pass was broader, opening to a width of several centaurs. Gray boulders dotted the ground haphazardly so that Brighid had to slow down to wind her way between them.
She Felt it. Someone was watching her. Instinctively she raised her bow along with her eyes, and was washed with relief. Above and ahead of her the unmistakable shape of Liam’s little head and the tips of his wings jutted just over the edge of the chasm. When he saw the Huntress looking his way, the boy waved gaily at her. Brighid sighed and lowered her bow. He was too far away to hear her, so she lifted her arm and signaled for him to come to her.
What had been the damned bird’s problem? Liam was fine. Or had the voice come from the hawk at all? She glanced warily down the dreary pass. Who knew what malevolence lurked within these mountains? Ciara had sensed something that made her wary. Perhaps the restless spirits of her people were prowling around. It seemed likely they would enjoy causing trouble. The turquoise stone pressed against her breast. Was she imagining its warmth?
She pushed the confusion from her mind. Later. When the children were safely deposited at MacCallan Castle, then she would have time to think about the oddness of this day, and the glimpses into the spirit realm she had been gifted with all too often during this journey.
Gifted…
The Huntress’s skin twitched as if another stone had fallen from the sky. Realization made her suck in a breath. Ciara had told her to be careful what she asked of the spirit realm…The blue-green stone pressed warmly against her breast, sending a flush of knowledge through her body.