Nevin’s expression darkened as his voice neatly stepped into his brother’s pause. “And those of us who knew her understand that on the day of the great battle, when she had an opportunity to escape the invading demons, instead of fleeing and saving herself, she chose to stay with those who were more ill than she.”
“Like my great-aunt, Urania!” Gareth called.
“And my grandmother!” another child said.
“And mine!”
Little voices echoed throughout the night. The storytellers waited, patiently nodding and acknowledging each child until Brighid wanted to yell at them all to be quiet so she could hear the rest of the story. But soon they settled into listening silence once more, and Curran spoke again.
“The demons overran the Temple of the Muse. The brave centaurs and Partholonian warriors could not hold back the invading army. Many women were captured, Incarnate Goddesses and their students-women who were the most talented and beautiful of Partholon. The demons ravaged them and used them to sate their own twisted desires.”
Brighid’s chin jerked and her eyes darted hastily around the circle, disturbed by the blunt honesty of the tale, but no one else appeared shocked or upset, and Nevin hardly paused for the beat of a breath before he continued.
“Terpsichore’s incomparable beauty caught the eye of the leader of the enemy, Nuada, and that night he commanded that she dance. He thought she danced for him, but for whom did she really perform?”
“Her Goddess!” came the enthusiastic answer from the crowd.
“It’s true, and while she spun the lovely dance that was meant to celebrate a Partholonian mating ceremony, she made her way through the demon camp, touching as many of them as she could, and leaving disease in her wake instead of her Goddess’s ceremonial blessing.”
“We know this,” Nevin said, his voice lifting once again, “because even though she was infected with the horrible pox and impregnated by a demon-she survived.”
“She survived long enough to teach her daughter the ways of her Goddess, and, in turn, that daughter survived long enough to pass on that precious learning to her daughters.”
Curran paused and he and Nevin turned to face Ciara.
Curran bowed to his Shaman, the granddaughter of the Goddess Incarnate Terpsichore. “The women of Terpsichore are all lovely flames. It is a sad truth that some of them have burned too brightly too fast.”
Then it was his twin’s turn to bow his respect to Ciara and speak. “Would you honor us tonight, Ciara, with a dance of your ancestress?”
The children let out a collective sigh of pleasure; and as their Shaman stood Brighid heard the scuffling of little feet and the rearranging of winged bodies. What are they up to? she wondered.
Ciara tilted her head in acknowledgment to the twin storytellers. Then she shrugged off her thick pelt, stepped lightly out of her leggings and kicked off her thick-soled moccasin-like boots. She approached the campfire in only an undyed cotton tunic that reached almost to midthigh. Brighid’s eyes widened. Ciara’s feet did not end in talons! Instead she had perfect, smooth limbs and delicately arched human feet.
“Tonight I thank the Goddess Terpsichore for my grandmother’s strength, and Epona for our victory over darkness. I dedicate this dance as a celebration, remembering those we have loved, and those who have died and by dying gifted us with a legacy of life.”
Brighid could have sworn the Shaman spoke the last directly to Cuchulainn.
From somewhere within the circle came the beat of a drum, which was soon echoed by another and another. Then the clear, high trill of a pipe joined the haunting drumbeat. Obviously all the scampering and rearranging had been the children rushing for instruments.
Like the spreading of a dark, living veil, Ciara’s wings unfurled and she began to dance. Before that night, if Brighid had been asked to describe the Shaman, she would have used words like petite and delicate, but as Ciara twirled and leaped, and traced intricate patterns in the air with her graceful hands and arms, the Huntress realized just how wrong she had been. Ciara was long, lean, feminine muscled, honed to an astonishing perfection of grace and suppleness. She was not small or soft, though she appeared nymphlike with her luminous skin and dark hair and wings. But a delicate woman would not be able to order her body to perform the feats of sheer athleticism that Ciara completed so easily.
Amazed and entranced, Brighid couldn’t take her eyes from the winged woman’s performance. Her dance was graceful and sensual. Brighid recognized many of the movements Ciara performed as steps that every Partholonian child knew-even centaurs adapted many of the country’s celebratory dance steps to their equine bodies. But the Huntress had never seen anything like the performance Ciara was giving. She did not simply move to the music-the winged woman became the music. She seemed to shine. At first, Brighid thought it was just the sheen of sweat glistening against her skin in the flickering firelight, but soon she realized it was Ciara herself-the longer the winged woman danced, the more she glowed from within. At the climax of the music, when she twirled at a dizzyingly speed, her dark hair crackled and sparked with an unearthly, lustrous light.
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Brighid whispered to Cu without taking her eyes from Ciara. When he didn’t respond with even his typical grunt, she glanced sideways at him. He was staring at the dancing woman, his face a study in dark intensity. Brighid tried to identify the expression. Was it lust? Obsession? It was certainly more animation than she’d seen on his face since…
Riotous claps and cheers broke into her thoughts and her gaze returned to Ciara, who was curtsying and smiling grandly to her appreciative audience. Briefly she caught Brighid’s eye and waved at her before returning to her place amidst the clapping children.
“A legacy of life…” Nevin said.
“…from death,” Curran completed. “Tomorrow we continue to follow that legacy back to Partholon, and to the future our foremothers dreamed for us.”
Curran and Nevin bowed neatly, and the adult hybrids began rounding up the children. This time when Liam hurled himself into her arms, the Huntress was a little more prepared.
“Good night, Huntress!” he said after hugging her tightly.
“Sleep well,” she called absently after his departing wings. Her mind wasn’t on the child. She turned back to Cuchulainn. The warrior was sitting very still, staring into the campfire. His face was again an expressionless mask, but his eyes hadn’t quite made the transition back to blankness. They were narrowed in contemplation, as if he was worrying through a weighty problem.
She should ask him what he was thinking, but by the Goddess, she didn’t want to! She didn’t want to intrude…she didn’t want to pry…and then, with a small, stunned jolt she realized that she also didn’t want to know that Cuchulainn desired Ciara.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“T he three of us should talk about how best to handle tomorrow,” Cuchulainn said.
“The three of us?” Brighid raised an eyebrow at him, which he didn’t notice because his gaze remained fixed on the winged Shaman.
“You-me-Ciara,” he said.
“I think we should include all of the adults,” Brighid heard herself say.
Cuchulainn finally turned to look at her, a slight frown tugged down one corner of his mouth. “It’s not practical to meet with all the adults. They’re busy putting the children to bed. And I have already discussed what it will be like entering Partholon with all of them-many times over during the past two moons.”
“But now we’re entering through Guardian Pass and Guardian Castle itself. That changes things.”
Cuchulainn’s frown deepened. “Not enough to warrant disrupting the night.”