Brighid's Quest

“I—I’ve never felt the need to cut it,” Brighid stuttered, completely take aback by the child’s comment. Cuchulainn talked about her hair?

“Good. You shouldn’t.”

“I want to be a Huntress when I grow up!” shouted a voice from the throng.

Kyna rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You can’t be a Huntress, Liam. You’re not a centaur and you’re not a female.”

Brighid watched one of the taller children’s faces fall and she felt a panicky knot within her when his eyes filled with tears.

“You could still be a hunter, Liam,” Brighid said. “Some centaurs agree to train humans in the ways of a Huntress.” As soon as she said it she realized her ridiculous error. The little winged male was definitely not human. He’d probably really cry now. What if he started the rest of them crying? But Liam didn’t notice anything wrong with what she’d said. His fanged smile was radiant.

“Do you really mean it? Would you teach me?” The boy rushed up to her and soon his small, warm hand was patting her sleek side.

Teach him? She had no intention of teaching him or anyone—especially anyone whose head didn’t reach her shoulder. Brighid’s panic expanded. She had just been trying to keep the child from crying.

“If she’s going to teach Liam I want her to teach me, too!” Another child disengaged from the group and skipped up to Brighid, hero worship shining in his big blue eyes.

“Me, too!” said a little girl with hair the color of daisies.

Brighid had no idea how it had happened, but she was surrounded by small, winged beings who were chattering away about their lives as Huntresses. Warm little hands patted her legs and flanks while Kyna asked never-ending questions about how Brighid kept her hair out of her eyes while she hunted, and what she rinsed it with to make it shine so, and did she use the same rinse on the horse part of her, and…

Brighid would’ve rather been thrust into a pack of angry wolves, at least she could kick her way clear and escape.

“Perhaps we should give the Huntress time to unload her packs and fill her stomach before we ask more of her,” Ciara’s firm voice cut through the high-pitched, childish jabbering.

Little hands reluctantly dropped from the centaur’s body.

Undaunted, Kyna still chirped with excitement. “Can Brighid stay at our lodge?”

To Brighid’s intense relief, Cuchulainn spoke up. “I think it would be best if the Huntress lodged with me. She’s part of my Clan, remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” Kyna said softly, kicking at a dirt clod with bare feet that Brighid noticed ended in remarkably sharplooking talons.

They are such anomalies, the Huntress thought. Not really human and yet obviously not Fomorian. How will they ever find their place in Partholon?

“Cuchulainn, why don’t you show Brighid to your lodge. I’ll send for you when it is time for the evening meal.”

Cu surprised Brighid by tossing the reins of his gelding to little Kyna.

“Take care of him for me.”

“Of course I will, Cu! You know I’m his favorite.” The child giggled. “Bye, Brighid. I’ll see you again at the evening meal,” she said before clucking and tugging fussily at the big gelding’s reins. The horse blew through his nose into the child’s hair and then plodded docilely after her.

“Go on now, the rest of you! You have chores to finish before we eat,” Ciara told the children.

In clusters of two and three, they rushed off like darting fish, calling goodbyes to Brighid and Cuchulainn.

“I think they were better this time,” Ciara said to the warrior.

“Well, at least there was a lot less jumping and dancing,” Cu said.

“Better than what?” Brighid asked.

Ciara smiled. “Better than when they first met Cuchulainn.”

Brighid snorted.

“You laugh, but we’re serious,” Cu said.

“I didn’t laugh. I scoffed disbelievingly. There is a distinct difference,” the Huntress said, wiping at a smudgy handprint that had been left on her golden coat.

“You’ll get used to them,” Ciara said. And at the look on the centaur’s face she laughed.

Brighid thought she had never heard such a lovely, musical sound.

Cuchulainn harrumphed. “Now it’s my turn to scoff.”

“Oh, Cuchulainn, you’re getting along with the children just fine. They adore you!” Ciara said.

“I’m not interested in their adoration. I just want to be sure they arrive safely at MacCallan Castle,” Cuchulainn said sharply, his face hardening into a blank, emotionless mask.

“Of course,” Ciara said, her smile never wavering.

It was interesting, Brighid thought, to watch how familiarly the beautiful winged woman spoke to Cu. And how she ignored the way he had turned cold and withdrawn.

“I’ll leave you with Cuchulainn. He knows his way around. If there is anything you need, he will know if we can provide it. We do not have much here, Brighid, but what we have we willingly share.”

“Thank you,” Brighid said, automatically responding to Ciara’s openness and warmth.

“Cuchulainn, the evening meal will be in the longhouse, as usual, after the dusk blessing ceremony. Please bring Brighid. And it would be nice if this time you chose to stay and share the meal with us.” Ciara nodded politely to Brighid before she turned and gracefully walked away.

Chapter 5

Cuchulainn motioned for Brighid to enter the small building ahead of him. She ducked through the thick animal skin that served as a doorway and was pleasantly surprised to feel warm, still air instead of constant cold wind. The lodge was circular, and the walls were made of the red shale that was so plentiful in the Wastelands. It was patched snugly together with a mixture of mud and sand. There was a hearth that wrapped around almost half of the curving room. Two small windows were covered, so there was little light, but it was bright enough for Brighid to see that the roof was unusual. It appeared to be mesh, woven of reeds or thin branches. Placed over the matting was a substance Brighid couldn’t identify. It had been firmly pressed into the weave, but now it appeared to be hard and dry.

“It’s moss,” Cuchulainn said. “They cut it from the ground and while it’s still pliant they press it into the web of woven tubers. When it dies it hardens until it’s like rock, only lighter. Nothing can get through it.”

“What’s this on the floor?” Brighid bent and picked up a handful of short, fragrant grass.

“They call it dwarf heather. It only grows to about hockhigh, but there’s a lot of it, especially in canyon areas like this. It makes for good insulation. The ground here is damnably cold and hard.” Cuchulainn motioned to the other side of the room, opposite the stretched animal skin hammock that served as a bed. “You can put your packs there. Ciara will have pelts brought in for you to sleep on. You should be comfortable and warm enough—and anyway we’ll be traveling in just a few days.”

“Cuchulainn, what’s going on here?”

“I’m preparing to lead the hybrids back to Partholon, of course. The snow has almost thawed enough for the pass to be open again—as you know better than I,” he finished curtly.

Brighid shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. I counted at least forty children. I saw only three adults. What is going on here?” she repeated slowly.

Cuchulainn pulled off his cloak and ran a hand through his hair, which Brighid noticed was uncharacteristically long and unkempt.