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.”