“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 vision.
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 golden 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 golden 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.