by P. C. Cast
“How many more?”
“The next morning a dozen more men and three women left.”
“Fifteen more people? Just like that?” Brighid snapped her fingers, incredulous.
“They said that now the time was at hand, they, too, could not stomach the acceptance of the New Fomorians,” Elphame’s voice had gone flat.
“But you’d given them their opportunity to leave. They’d chosen to stay. They were sworn to you.”
“They are now forsworn,” Elphame said the word as if it had a bitter taste.
Brighid stared at her Chieftain, thoroughly shocked, as her friend’s expression changed. Elphame’s face hardened. Her eyes became shadowed, and Brighid Felt the echo of a presence that was dark and sticky with evil intent.
“El!” she cried, taking her friend’s arm. Goddess! Her skin was cold.
Elphame clenched her jaw, closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath. Her lips moved in a nearly silent prayer, and Brighid could see the shimmering of Epona’s power shiver in the air around them. Her friend’s hair lifted, swirling in an almost invisible wind of energy that, with an audible crackle, settled into Elphame’s skin. Brighid’s hand tingled from where it had been Goddess-touched.
“El?” Brighid said, this time more tentatively.
The Chieftain gasped and opened her eyes. When she looked at her friend the shadows within her had, once again, retreated.
“It stirs,” she explained before Brighid could decide whether or not to ask. “Especially when something has made me angry, or when I feel despair. The madness is always within me, lurking silently…waiting. It is only love and truth, along with Epona’s mighty touch, that keep it at bay.”
“Faith and fidelity,” Brighid whispered the motto of Clan MacCallan.
“Faith and fidelity,” Elphame echoed her.
Brighid wanted to ask her more, and she was trying to formulate the right words when they both were distracted as a rider pounded onto the plateau. Though the area was seething with sound and activity, there was something about the man that drew their attention. He slid to a halt in front of Cuchulainn. Brighid could hear his shouts, but couldn’t make out his words.
“Stay with me,” Elphame said, not waiting for her brother’s raised arm to signal that she was needed. Her powerful equine legs were so quick, that in a sprint Brighid was hard-pressed to match her Chieftain’s speed. As the two of them raced up to Cuchulainn, he had already mounted the rider’s horse, and had his head pointed back in the direction of the castle.
“A centaur has just arrived from the Plains. She has an urgent message for Brighid.”
As one, Elphame, Brighid, Lochlan and Cuchulainn rushed to the castle.
“She waits in the Main Courtyard,” the sentry called as they reached the castle’s open gate.
Stomach tightening with tension, Brighid slowed. The centaur stood with her back to them, as if she was consumed with looking at the fountain of the MacCallan ancestor. Brighid was surprised that she could hear the centaur’s labored breathing, and her surprise expanded into astonishment when she realized the centaur’s coat was lathered with flecks of white foam and her body was trembling. It was unheard of for a centaur to show such obvious signs of fatigue. She must have raced nonstop for days to put her in such a state. Then she turned and Brighid gasped.
“Niam!” She hurried to her sister, who stumbled forward and almost fell into her arms. “What has happened?”
“Thank Epona that you’re here,” she said between heaving breaths. “It’s Mother. She’s dead.”
The shock of her sister’s words imploded in Brighid’s mind and she felt her head shaking back and forth, back and forth, as if she had no ability to control it.
“Help me get her to the Great Hall.” Elphame’s voice cut through the white noise of disbelief that ran in Brighid’s head.
Suddenly Niam was no longer in her arms, but being half led and half carried by several of the men of Clan MacCallan, along with their Chieftain and her mate, into the Great Hall. Brighid could only stand there, staring after them, completely unable to move.
A strong, warm hand slid under her elbow and Cuchulainn’s presence registered. “Remember to breathe,” he told her.
She sucked in air like a drowning woman, blinked, and was finally able to focus on the turquoise of his eyes.
“Stay with me,” she said.
“I’m not going anywhere except in there with you,” he told her.
Still holding her arm, he moved forward with her. She stumbled, but he helped her catch her balance and through his touch she could Feel the warmth of his golden light flowing into and around her, surrounding her with a warrior’s strength.
They entered the Great Hall together and moved quickly to the long, low centaur bench Niam had collapsed upon. Wynne ran out of the kitchen, carrying a heavy skin, which she passed to Elphame. The Chieftain uncorked it and held it to Niam’s lips when the centaur’s quaking hands couldn’t support it.
“Drink slowly. Water first, then we’ll get you some wine and something to eat.” Elphame spoke in quiet, soothing tones to Niam. While the centaur drank Elphame turned to one of the wide-eyed Clansmen. “Get my mother,” she ordered. And then to another, “Get towels and blankets. Lots of them.”
Brighid felt a stab of panic as she knelt beside her sister. Steam was rising from the equine part of Niam’s foam-flecked body, which quivered and twitched spasmodically. Niam’s human torso was slick and flushed an unnatural scarlet. Her blond hair was darkened with sweat and plastered against her delicate head. She had run herself dangerously past the point of exhaustion.
Suddenly Niam pushed the water skin away from her mouth, choked and coughed. Brighid brushed the wet hair from her sister’s face, murmuring to her.
“Shhh, you’re here now. Focus on being calm…on cooling the heat within your body.”
“No! Brighid, you have to listen!”
Niam clutched her hand and Brighid almost cried aloud at the heat that radiated from her sister.
“Later, Niam. When you’ve rested.”
“No, now!” The centaur spoke frantically, and then more violent coughs consumed her.
“Let her speak.”
Brighid looked up at the sound of Etain’s voice. The people who had gathered in the Great Hall parted so the Chosen of the Goddess could approach. The priestess’s face was serene, but when Brighid met her eyes she saw within them a terrible sadness that made her heart turn cold.
My sister is going to die.
Brighid turned back to her sister and held her flushed hand between both of her own, trying to will strength into her.
“I’m listening, Niam,” Brighid said.
“Mother died this morning, but the accident happened four days ago. She fell into a bison pit. The stakes pierced her.” Niam closed her eyes and shuddered with the horror of the memory. “I knew she was dying. We all knew it. I had to come for you.”
“No! No—that can’t be. We don’t hunt bison in pits. We don’t use stakes.” Brighid shook her head, feeling awash in confusion.
“It wasn’t a centaur pit. It was a pit of human design.”
A terrible, foreboding chill skittered through Brighid’s blood. “But humans do not hunt the Centaur Plains, not without the permission of the herd’s High Shaman.” Which the Dhianna Herd never gave.
“They trespassed and poached, causing the death of our mother.”
Niam had to stop again to cough. This time when she gasped for air afterward her lips were wet with blood-tinged spittle.
“Her dying has driven Bregon mad. Before I left the Plains he had already sworn to take up the Chalice of High Shaman and to lead the Dhianna Herd against any human who dared step foot on the Centaur Plains.”
Horrified, Brighid could only stare at her sister. Her brother was willing to begin a war over a dreadful accident?
Niam clenched her sister’s hands. “It’s not just the Dhianna Herd. Since word reached the Pla
ins that the winged creatures were being accepted back into Partholon, the Shamans of other herds have joined us. They mean to make war, Brighid.”
Niam broke off, retching painfully and Brighid held her while blood spewed down her sister’s chest and ran in crimson rivulets to the floor.
“Mother didn’t send me for you. She wanted the war. She told Bregon over and over again to avenge her. I had to try to stop it. I had to come for you.”
Niam didn’t have to explain how she knew that their mother had died. The truth of it settled over Brighid as her mind flashed back to the stricken raven and the hate-filled words of its death rasp.
Avenge me!
As her spirit left her body, Mairearad Dhianna would have sent the same message to each of her children, hoping that even her death wouldn’t end the manipulative hold she considered the one true bond of motherhood. Even at the end of her life, her mother had still been plotting…trying to force them to bow to her will. In Brighid’s brother’s case, Mairearad seemed to have been victorious.
“Shhh now, Niam.” Brighid took the linen cloth Elphame silently passed to her and wiped the blood from her sister’s face. “We’ll figure this out. Shhh.”
Niam shook her head and gave a little half sob, half laugh. “You always thought that I was stupid.” When Brighid began to deny it, Niam just tightened her grip on her sister’s hand and kept speaking. “That part doesn’t matter now, but I wanted you to know that I wasn’t what you thought—I just wasn’t strong like you. I couldn’t stand up to her, so I made her believe that I wasn’t worth her notice.” Her lips trembled as she tried to smile. “And I fooled everyone. No one watched me, especially not Bregon. No one thought that I would be the one to come for you.” With surprising strength, Niam pulled her hand from her sister’s so that she could grip Brighid by the shoulders. “You must return. Even those who have been most corrupted by Mother would not dare to stand against the power of the Dhianna High Shaman. Take the Chalice. Make sure that Mother doesn’t win. Bring an end to the madness.”
Niam’s next cough was a bloody sob, and she slumped down onto the bench. Through the blood that was trickling steadily from her nose and the corner of her mouth, she smiled at her sister.
“I always envied you, Brighid. You got away from her. But maybe now I have finally gotten away from her, too…”
Niam’s eyes rolled so that only their whites showed, and her body convulsed so violently Brighid was knocked from her side. Through a haze of despair Brighid watched Etain. The Goddess Incarnate’s arms were spread wide, and as she spoke a pure white light emerged from her open palms, engulfing Niam.
Niam, sister to our Beloved Brighid, in the Name of our Great Goddess
I bid you to forget your broken shell
It can serve you no longer.
I bid you in the Name of Epona,
Goddess of things wild and free,
To go beyond this pain…
To rest within the bosom of Epona’s Summerland.
Child of the Goddess, I release you!
Etain pressed her glowing hands against the centaur’s heaving flank, and Niam’s body went still. With a small, relieved gasp, Brighid’s sister breathed her last breath.
34
IN THE STUNNED silence Elphame’s voice sounded calm and authoritative. “Lochlan, go to Ciara. Tell her what has happened. Have the adults keep the children away from the castle until I send word that they may return.”
The winged man hesitated only long enough to touch Brighid’s shoulder and murmur, “I am sorry for your loss, Huntress,” and then was gone.
“Mother,” Elphame continued. “Will you—”
Before she could finish the question Epona’s Chosen was already responding.
“Of course. Have her brought to me.” But like Lochlan, before she left the room she approached Brighid, who knelt on the floor near her sister’s body, head bowed. The Goddess Incarnate lifted one of the layers of her silk robe, and used it to wipe the blood and tears from Brighid’s face. She bent and kissed the Huntress on each cheek, as a mother would a daughter.
“Epona knows your pain, child, and the Goddess weeps with you.”
Then Etain hurried from the room, her clear voice echoing from the Main Courtyard as she called for her handmaidens.
Danann, the centaur Stonemaster, with the help of several men, took Niam’s body to Etain’s chamber.
When Cuchulainn and Elphame were alone with Brighid, he crouched down so that he was level with her eyes. He heard the clip of his sister’s hooves against the marble floor as she joined him.
“Brighid.” He pitched his voice so that it was calm, as his mother’s had been, even though his emotions were raw and bleeding. He understood too well her look of shock and grief. “Brighid,” he repeated, and she finally moved her eyes to his. “Come with El and me. Let’s leave this place of death.”
“But it’s my home,” she said numbly.
“It is still your home,” Elphame said quickly. “It will always be your home. Cuchulainn doesn’t mean for you to leave MacCallan Castle. Just this room.” Elphame took her friend’s limp hand. “Let’s go to your quarters and leave the cleansing of this to Wynne and my mother.”
Brighid stared at Elphame, her eyes wide and round with shock. “Is that what you want me to do?”
“Yes,” El said.
Brighid nodded her head twice in an unnatural, jerky movement. Still holding tight to Elphame’s hand, she lurched up.
“Cuchulainn?” Her voice was hesitant and soft.
“I’m here.” He took her other hand firmly. “El and I won’t let you go through this alone.”
She lifted her eyes to his. “You’ll have to forgive me. Right now I can’t pretend that I don’t need you close to me.”
He raised her blood-spotted hand to his lips. “By your side is exactly where I want to be.”
“You couldn’t get rid of either of us,” Elphame said.
Linked by love and loyalty, Brighid walked with heavy, somnambulistic steps to her chamber. When Elphame and Cuchulainn let loose her hands she stood in the room, waiting for whatever would happen next. It suddenly seemed that she was unable to continue the forward motion on her own.
“There’s blood all over me,” she said, surprised at how strange her voice sounded.
“I’ll take care of that,” Elphame said, moving to the pitcher and basin that waited on the table. “Cu, get Nara.” In response to his rebellious look, she grabbed his arm and pulled him close to her, whispering, “Brighid won’t thank you later when she remembers that you stood and stared as I cleaned her sister’s blood from her body.”
Cuchulainn closed his mouth and nodded understanding.
“Brighid needs a dram to make her sleep.”
“Yes. You’re right, of course,” Cu said.
While his sister poured clean water into the bowl, he took Brighid’s hand again. He looked into her pain-filled eyes and remembered how she had been beside him when they had discovered Brenna’s body, and then, as if his mind was just now truly processing it, he realized Brighid had always been beside him in those bleak days after Brenna’s death while Elphame had been in a coma and it had seemed that everyone he loved had deserted him. Brighid hadn’t, and he’d been too distracted by grief and then by selfishness to realize it.
Well, he realized it now, and he would not let her be alone, either.
“I’m going to get Nara. But I won’t be long. Elphame will be with you until I get back.”
“But you’re coming back?”
“Always,” he said. Cuchulainn pressed her hand against his lips, and then he strode from the room.
Before Brighid could feel his absence, Elphame was back at her side. With a wet cloth and soothing words, her friend cleansed the scarlet spatters from her body. Days later, Brighid would not remember what Elphame had said to her. All she knew was the gentle touch of Elphame’s hands, and the cool feel of the clean water as it washed away Niam’
s lifeblood.
“Come, lie down.”
Brighid clung to her friend’s voice. Obeying it as if she had no will of her own, she let Elphame lead her to her thick sleeping pallet. In slow motion, she folded her knees and let her body drop down. Elphame took a wide, soft brush from the top of Brighid’s dresser, and while she hummed a wordless lullaby, she stroked the Huntress’s long, silver-blond hair. It was in the midst of that simple, loving gesture that Brighid returned to herself.
She drew in a deep breath. Her muddy thoughts sifted through the refuse of pain, settled and then finally cleared. Swiftly she reoriented herself.
Her first coherent thought was that she was whole. Her soul had not shattered. Briefly, she wondered how she knew it with such certainty, and the answer came to her simply. Her blood told her. Her heart told her. The Shaman instinct inherent within her soul told her.
Her next thought was like a cold knife piercing her body. My mother is dead. It sounded impossible, but her heart—and now her mind—knew it was true. And then, like a flash-flooded gorge, her memory was swept with painful images.
Her sister was dead. She gave her life for me. I was wrong about her, and now it’s too late to fix it. I can never make it right.
“If you blame yourself for her death, you will be as wrong as Cuchulainn was for blaming himself for Brenna’s murder.” Elphame continued to brush Brighid’s hair as she spoke.
“How do I not blame myself?”
“Your sister chose to give her life so that you—and through you the rest of Partholon—would be forewarned. She didn’t blame you, she made that clear. If you blame yourself when she didn’t, it will be disrespectful to her memory.”
Brighid drew in a shaky breath. “Niam was strong and brave.”
“Yes…yes she was.”
“No one has ever brushed my hair for me,” Brighid said.
“When I was a child Mama used to brush my hair whenever I was feeling particularly lonely. I never understood why, but it always seemed to help.” Her voice hitched on a sob. “I—I didn’t know what else to do to make you feel better.”