by P. C. Cast
His feet hit the ground and he took a moment to reorient himself. This time he and Brighid were standing directly in front of a round portal. Brighid touched his arm again.
“Be careful. This is the entrance to the Underworld. It is not our destination.”
Without waiting for his reply she stepped into the portal and emerged into a sea of fog. The gray mist licked her spirit body and she shivered. She heard Cuchulainn’s surprised grunt and she quickly stepped back to him and laced her fingers through his.
“By the hand of the Goddess! This was where we met in our last dream,” Cuchulainn hissed.
“Brighid…” The disembodied voice came from the mist and it tingled along the centaur’s spine. “Brighid…” the voice repeated.
“We’re not to stay here.” Cuchulainn’s voice reflected his tension.
“Wait, Cu. I know that voice.”
The mist in front of them parted and Niam appeared.
“Niam!” Brighid cried, automatically moving forward to greet her, but her sister stepped back at the same time Cuchulainn’s grip tightened on her hand.
“Sister, in this journey you are not to enter the Underworld.” Then she smiled and her beautiful face lit, making Brighid’s heart catch. “I am only here to pose one question to you. Your answer will decide whether you move on or whether you return to the physical realm.” But instead of asking the question, she turned her attention to the warrior at her sister’s side. “And what will you do if my sister does not drink of the High Shaman’s Chalice? Will you call your handfast a mistake and return to the comfort of your castle and those who love you there?”
“In life you didn’t know me, so I will not take offense at your question. I do not believe you mean to insult me, and because of that I will answer you. Whether Brighid does or does not drink of Epona’s Chalice our marriage will not end. Where she goes, I will go. I will stand beside her if fire should try to burn us, if the seas should try to drown us, and if the earth should shake in tumult. And I will cherish her name as my own unto death and, if Epona wills it, beyond.”
“Because you swore an oath that was much like your answer?” Niam’s spirit asked, unmoved by the warrior’s passionate reply.
“Because when I swore an oath I gave her my heart. To me they are one in the same.”
Niam finally smiled, looking very much like her older sister. “Though you are only a man, you may be worthy of her.” Then her gaze left the warrior and refocused on her sister. “Why do you wish to become a High Shaman, Brighid?”
Taken aback by her sister’s question she could only blink and stare at the lovely centaur who had been so fragile in life and who now, in death, appeared so strong and confident.
“Answer now, Brighid Dhianna!” Niam’s mouth formed the words, but the voice was strange and powerful. It worked on Brighid like a goad.
“I wish to become a High Shaman because I am weary with trying to escape the responsibilities I was born to. Too many tragedies, from the death of a young girl long ago, to your recent death, happened because I refused to face my fate.”
“What is your fate?”
“To heal the blight my mother’s reign has spread.”
“And what of your personal desires?”
Brighid raised her chin. “I belong to Cuchulainn and he to me—with or without me attaining the ability to shape-shift.”
Niam smiled and her voice returned to her own. “When I said personal desires I wasn’t referring to your new husband, sister. As a High Shaman you will wield great power. What of that?”
This time Brighid thought before she answered. She had always liked the sensation of Feeling the spirits of animals. She had relied on it and used it for good. And she remembered the rush of excitement breathing in Cu’s spirit had brought her. It had been a heady Feeling. Not just kissing him for the first time, but having the power to guide his spirit back to his body. She could protest to Ciara, Cuchulainn, and even to Etain, but she knew that deep within her soul she delighted in the power that simmered in her blood.
Slowly she met Niam’s eyes. “What I think is that I will have to be very careful to wield great power wisely—to listen to the Goddess and my conscience more than my emotions and desires.”
Her sister’s smile was radiant. “Then may Epona bless you with her Chalice.” Niam made a wide, sweeping motion with her arm and to the right of the Huntress and the warrior the mist roiled and bubbled before parting to expose a flight of gray stone stairs which led straight up and disappeared into more grayness.
Brighid turned to say goodbye to her sister, but the mist had already closed, obscuring the centaur’s form. The Huntress drew back her shoulders and said to Cuchulainn, “Let’s climb.”
45
THE STAIRS WERE wide enough to allow Cuchulainn to ascend them by her side. As they entered the mist again, he held his sword at the ready. Perhaps it shouldn’t have comforted her, but it did.
Finally the stone stairs ended and a warm wind swept against their faces, dissipating the fog to reveal that they were standing on a platform overlooking a shining river of light. Brighid’s and Cu’s eyes were drawn compulsively to the glistening waters. As they stared the lapping liquid swirled and scenes from each of their past lives took ghostly form within the crystal depths.
Cuchulainn as a boy hefting his first real sword…Brighid running with wild abandon across a sea of flank-high grasses…Cuchulainn holding the wounded Elphame tightly in his arms as Brighid carried both of them back to the safety of MacCallan Castle…Brighid bending over talon-shaped tracks and reading the story of Brenna’s death…
“Stop!” Brighid cried, taking Cu’s shoulders and pulling him around to face her. “Don’t look into the river!”
“What is it?” His voice was hoarse and he was clearly shaken to his core. “Why are we seeing the past?”
“It is the Middleworld.” At his blank look she wanted to curse and berate him for not paying better attention to his childhood lessons of the Otherworld. Later he must learn more. But now was not the time to berate him, instead she hastily explained. “The Middleworld is the place of time and space journeying. The river will show you your past—my past—our world’s past, and even other worlds and places foreign to us. It would be easy to become lost here—many have. But we cannot let it capture our souls, Cu. We must go on.”
“It can show me Brenna, her death, or even the last time we were together in life?”
“It can,” Brighid said, pushing aside the pain his words caused her. “If you truly desire it you can stay here in the waters of the past. I will not hate you for it. I will even release you from your oath to me.” Then she drew a deep breath and let none of the heartache or longing she was feeling tinge her words. Her voice was that of a Huntress strong in her convictions and confident in herself. “But know this, Cuchulainn. I want you to make this decision and I want you to make it now. Choose Brenna and your past, or me and our future. I loved her, too, but I will not share my husband with a ghost.”
He jerked as if she had struck him and then blinked and looked around them like he was only then understanding fully where they were. When his eyes touched the river’s beckoning surface, he looked hastily away.
“I choose you and our future. I chose that when we handfasted and I have no desire to be free of that oath now or ever. No matter how beguiling this Realm of Spirits makes the past,” he said.
“Then let’s go on,” she said, not wanting to give voice to the relief his words brought her.
“Where?”
The Huntress jerked her chin to their right. “Through there.”
Cuchulainn turned and saw an open door that led into the black interior of what was obviously a burial mound, the outside of which was covered with grass and flowers. Great flat white stone slabs lined the doorway. Cuchulainn moved aside and motioned for Brighid to precede him, carefully keeping his eyes on the Huntress and not the silver river that twinkled alluringly at the edge of his vis
ion.
As Brighid entered the dark mound the sound of a raven’s angry screech echoed behind them, and with intuition that Felt preternaturally enhanced by the power of the spirit realm, she knew that her mother had somehow orchestrated Cuchulainn’s Middleworld temptation.
Which meant it must be important that the warrior accompany her—if he was insignificant, he would not be a target for Mairearad.
“Are you well? Why have we stopped?” Cuchulainn’s voice came from the darkness behind her.
“All is well, Cu.” Even though he couldn’t see her through the blackness, she nodded to a faint pinprick of light ahead of them. “We follow that light.”
They moved quickly, and soon found themselves on the threshold of another door, which was lit by moonlight. Together, they stepped through the door and into the Upperworld.
In front of them stretched a thick forest. Even in the silver moonlight they could see that the trees and grass and flowers were painted in colors that were unusually bright. Three paths led from the doorway where they stood, each disappearing into the green depths of the forest.
“Which one do we take?” Cu asked.
Brighid cleared her mind and tried to Feel the way, and then sighed in frustration when she was guided to none of the paths in particular. Actually, as she studied each of them more carefully, she realized that she had been mistaken. It wasn’t that none of the paths called to her. The truth was that they all beckoned her. The music that flowed from each of them was alluring and magical, and she wanted nothing so much as to shake off the net of responsibility in which this quest was trying to snare her. She could stay here and follow these paths for an eternity. She could run down them, just as she had raced over the Centaur Plains of her youth. She would be free and happy and filled full with music, and then…
“Brighid!”
The centaur blinked and shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the seductive call of the music.
“Brighid! You cannot leave me!”
Her eyes cleared at the same moment the music stopped. Cuchulainn was staring wide-eyed at her. He had thrust the point of his sword into the ground between them and with both hands he gripped hers as she tried to pull away from him and dash down any of the three paths.
“I’m—I’m here. I’m back,” she said, her voice growing stronger as she continued to speak. “It was the music. Did you hear the music calling me?”
“I heard nothing except the call of a raven.” His voice was raw. “Nothing else, Brighid. You made no sound. At first you didn’t move—didn’t breathe—didn’t respond to me. Your eyes were empty. Then you started to move forward as if you were one of the walking dead. Even when I grabbed you to keep you from leaving you acted like I wasn’t here at all—or maybe it was that you weren’t here any longer.”
“I’m back.” She touched his cheek gently, shivering from the knowledge that her mother had tried to bewitch her, too. “You called me back.”
“I’ll always call you back from wherever you’ve gone.” Reluctantly he let his hands fall from hers. Cu pulled the sword from the ground and ran a hand through his hair. “But I would appreciate it if you didn’t go away again.”
She smiled at him before turning her attention back to the three paths. This time when alluring music whispered to her, she resisted it, refusing to give in to its seduction. And as she resisted it the music changed until it was no more than the echo of an angry bird’s cry. Then she felt the stone that dangled from the chain between her breasts warm. Instinctively, she closed her hand around the turquoise and odd, hollow-sounding words drifted through her mind as the spirit of the stone spoke to her.
Remember how I was given you.
“The hawk,” Brighid murmured. Then she smiled and spoke the words with confidence. “I call for my spirit guide, the silver hawk!”
The bird’s cry echoed from the moonlit sky as it shot from above, circled Brighid once, and then perched regally in the lowest limb of one of the ancient oaks at the edge of the dense forest.
Brighid bowed her head to the bird and elbowed a staring Cuchulainn so that he did the same.
“Thank you for answering my call,” Brighid said.
The silver hawk cocked her head to study the Huntress.
Do you wish to continue your quest? The question rang clearly in Brighid’s mind. From the corner of her eye she saw Cuchulainn jerk in surprise, and she understood that he could hear the bird, too.
“I do,” she said.
Then tell me, Huntress, which of the three paths would you choose?
“None of them.” Brighid didn’t hesitate, but gave the answer that felt most true to her soul. If her mother’s creature had tried to compel her down the paths, she would refuse to go, even though the logistics of entering the forest through any other way appeared impossible. It seemed that even in the short time they’d been standing before the ancient forest its trees had thickened and what had at first appeared as a soft carpet of grass had morphed into a barrier of brambles and briars. Clearly the only way into the forest was one of the three paths—all of which she had just rejected.
You have chosen wisely. Follow me, Huntress, and become who you are destined to be.
The hawk lifted from the tree, flying impossibly low between two great oaks and directly into the foreboding forest.
“Maybe I should lead this time,” Cuchulainn said.
She nodded, relieved that he hadn’t argued with her or questioned why they were following the hawk into a mess rather than entering the forest through the clearly marked paths.
The warrior raised his sword and slashed at the dangerous-looking thorns. Brighid heard him grunt in surprise. She peered over his shoulder to see that as the white light of his sword touched the prickly barrier, the plants disappeared in little puffs of green smoke. Cu glanced back at her, grinned, and then strode into the forest after the bird. Eagerly Brighid followed him, noting that, once again, the hawk was taking them purposefully away from any preestablished trail—just as she had when she’d guided them through the Blue Tors.
The forest gave way before Cuchulainn with increasing ease. Soon he no longer needed to use his sword, and they followed the hawk easily. What had at first appeared to be impenetrable had changed completely. It was still lush with ancient trees, but the forest bed was clear and flat and carpeted with a loam of fragrant leaves. Traveling through it was a marvel, not a hardship.
Then Cuchulainn abruptly stopped walking. “By the Goddess…” he breathed. “Look at that.”
Brighid’s eyes followed the warrior’s gaze and she gasped. Well to the left of where they stood, the forest floor opened suddenly like the maw of a great, dark beast. Each of the three paths that had beckoned her with her mother’s seductive music emptied into that gaping hole. She knew she wouldn’t even have seen it. The music would have blinded her and she would have fallen into the pit. The Goddess only knew where it emptied, but it certainly didn’t lead to Epona’s Chalice. Had Brighid chosen one of the three easy paths her quest would have ended there.
Sometimes choosing what seems impossible is the only way to find your path to the future.
The hawk’s voice sounded in her mind again as its wings ruffled the air over their heads, leading them farther away from the pit. They followed the bird.
They hadn’t walked much longer when the forest gave way to a grassy clearing, bright with the silver light of the moon. In the center there was a stone basin, which was covered with carvings of ancient knots and runes, all entwining to form the graceful shape of the Goddess with her arms raised over her head, so that it appeared that Epona’s hands were touching the water as it bubbled up from the spring. On the edge of the basin sat a gleaming golden Chalice with Epona’s triple knot of mares decorating it. The hawk circled the clearing three times before perching on the single oak that shaded the bubbling basin.
“It’s Epona’s Chalice,” Brighid said in a voice hushed and reverent.
“Go, my love. Tak
e what is rightfully yours.”
“Only if you come with me,” she told him.
He kissed her gently. “Where you go, so there will I be, too.”
Together they walked to the basin, but as they drew near it Cuchulainn instinctively slowed his steps and let her draw ahead of him. He would watch over and protect her, but he could not share in what she was about to experience.
Slowly Brighid went to the basin. But instead of instantly filling the Chalice and drinking of it, she focused her attention on the water. It bubbled up from the center of the basin, sparkling like liquid light. Brighid dipped her hand into the water. It felt alive. When she lifted her hand the water that dripped from it looked like beads of moonlight falling from her fingers. Then she stared down into the basin and its surface quivered, as if a gust of stormy wind had just blown over it. Brighid’s eyes widened. Within the water she saw her brother’s reflection take form. He, too, was standing before the basin. As she watched he peered down into the depths of the water, just as she had been doing. But he did not touch the water, and his face did not register the awe that had filled Brighid upon entering Epona’s grove.
“Enemy—ally…I have no time for this!” Bregon’s voice echoed eerily from the reflected past. “What is most important is that I have been well trained and that I will use my power for my herd.” Without another word his hands closed possessively around the Chalice of Epona. He plunged it into the water and then lifted it to his lips and drank greedily. When he was finished drinking he tossed the Chalice into the basin, threw his head back and shouted victoriously.
Though her gut felt tight and sick, Brighid kept watching as her brother turned away from the basin and disappeared into the forest. Then her breath caught in her throat. When she looked back at the basin the faint outline of her brother’s spirit still stood there. In the middle of the grove another silhouette of a centaur formed, then near the tree line the glistening outline of another and another appeared. Goddess! They’re all Bregon! In each of the apparitions his body was almost completely transparent and she could only vaguely make out his form by focusing on the faint glimmer of silver that outlined his body. All of her brother’s spirits were silently staring at the most substantial of all of them, the centaur who stood beside the basin. His head was bowed and while the others looked on he retrieved the discarded Chalice and set it reverently back in its place. He looked up from the reflection and directly into his sister’s eyes. His ghostly face was awash in tears.