When the bay stumbled for the third time Cuchulainn pulled him up. Brighid had to watch her own stride.
Her overtaxed muscles felt alarmingly loose, and she was afraid she had little more control over herself than the poor horses had over their equine limbs. She concentrated on gradually changing her gait and stopping more slowly so that she wouldn't embarrass herself by collapsing in a heap. Drawing in careful, controlled breaths she circled back to where Cu stood next to the trembling horse.
"He can't go any farther. He's game - he'll try, but it'll kill him. I'm going to leave him here. He'll rest and then eventually find his way to McNamara Castle. Or maybe one of the small farmhouses will take him in," Cu said.
Brighid wiped sweat from her face. "The buckskin is in better shape, and we should find a place to camp soon."
"It's true, he isn't at the point of collapse yet, but I think it would be wise if we slowed some."
"Agreed," she said, careful to keep the relief from her voice. She didn't want Cuchulainn to know just how close she was to collapsing herself.
Brighid looked around them as Cu unsaddled the exhausted horse. They'd pushed hard since dawn, choosing to avoid McNamara Castle and the luxuries it could afford them. Instead they'd saved time by cutting across fertile farmland and angling into the well-kept forest on the south side of the Calman River, which had led them - finally - into the Blue Tors. Now as night fell Brighid was surrounded by reminders of why the tors were named so. The gentle rolling hills were covered with ancient trees whose thick leaves appeared a smoky blue-green in the waning light.Like Cu's eyes, she thought.Let's hope that's a good omen.
Damn, she was tired! She felt shaky and light-headed, and she suddenly understood all too well how Niam had run herself to her death. Brighid, too, was nearing the end of her strength. Maybe they should just make camp at the next clearing and look for a place to quest for Epona's Chalice tomorrow - after they'd slept.
The turquoise stone that hung between her breasts had grown uncomfortably warm and the hawk had to repeat its call three times before its cry registered in Brighid's exhausted mind. When she finally looked up she saw the bird circling in a tight spiral overhead, a distinctive gold and silver slash against the mellowing sky. The moment her eyes found the hawk, it broke from its circle and moved lazily to the south, keeping low over the trees.
Come...
Brighid's skin prickled as the silent call washed through her mind.
"Cuchulainn, we need to go," she said.
"What is it?" he asked, slapping the bay's rump before he pulled himself wearily aboard his reliable buckskin gelding.
"I think I know how to find our campsite."
Squinting, he followed her gaze skyward. "That's not your mother's raven, is it?"
"No," she said softly. "It's my hawk."
She followed the bird with Cuchulainn staying close behind her. She could hear his muffled "harrumph"
and didn't need to see his face to know he was frowning up at the sky. She should probably remind him that he'd better start getting used to the presence of the spirit realm in their lives. But she was too damned tired - plus, more often than not she tended to agree with his mistrust.
The hawk called again, bringing Brighid's wandering attention back into focus. She forced herself to kick into a lumbering trot and heard the gelding blow wearily through his nose as he struggled to keep up with her. She just needed to concentrate on placing one hoof before the other and following the golden bird as it led them deeper into the Blue Tors, taking them on a winding path that cut across the tree-filled, rolling hills. The bird flew on and on, totally unmindful that it was leading them on a route that was ignoring the few trade roads and that it would soon be too dark for them to see anything - even a golden bird.
Brighid clambered up yet another of the gently rounded hills and then had to struggle to maintain her footing as she slid down the surprisingly steep far side of it. When she hit the bottom of the decline, she stood still, breathing heavily, thankful that exhaustion hadn't caused her to misstep. In her condition it would be a simple thing for her to snap one of her equine legs - a simple thing with disastrous consequences.
"Are you all right?" Cuchulainn's gelding stumbled to a halt beside her, and the warrior was off the horse and running his hands down her legs in an instant.
"I'm not hurt," she assured him, and then passed a shaky hand over her face and tried to laugh. "I'd say today was becoming dreamlike, but lately my dreams have been much better than this."
The hawk shrieked at her again and she frowned at the sky - then was surprised to see that the bird had perched on the top branch of a tree not far from them.
Soon, Huntress...we shall meet again.
With another cry it lifted, beating the warm evening air with its massive wings. Then it seemed to evaporate into the sky.
"Did that bird just disappear?" Cuchulainn said.
But Brighid wasn't looking at the bird, her gaze had shifted to where it had led them. They were standing at the edge of a small clearing that appeared to be encircled, horseshoelike, on all sides except one, by a ring of hills. She walked forward on legs that trembled to the far edge of the clearing, the side that wasn't closed in by the green of foliage-covered hills, and even in the vague, shadowy light of evening she could see that the world dropped away from her and the land spilled out and down until it emptied into...
"The Centaur Plains," Cuchulainn said, walking up to stand beside her.
"I hadn't realized we were this close," she said, straining her eyes to see through the encroaching darkness to the waving grassland that had been her home. "So the hawk was leading us there."
"Actually I think it was probably leading us here."
He pointed over her left shoulder. She followed his finger to see that what she had originally discounted as just another tor, was actually the large open mouth of a cave. A stream ran from the interior and waterfalled over the edge of the clearing. Her stomach tightened.
"It's an entry to the Underworld," she said. "Just like your father said."
"Not tonight it isn't." Cuchulainn walked back to the gelding and began pulling the saddle and packs from the horse's sweaty back while he spoke. "Tonight it's just shelter and a ready campsite. Neither of us is in any shape to travel anywhere else - be it in the physical world or the Realm of Spirits." He glanced over his shoulder at her when she didn't respond, noting the stubborn set of her shoulders. "Do you want to chance facing your mother's spirit tonight?"
She blanched. "No."
"Neither do I. So tonight we sleep. Tomorrow we worry about the Otherworld."
She nodded, relieved beyond words that he was there to assert logic and sanity into a journey that was neither logical nor sane. She knew her time was short - that Bregon might have already managed to drink of Epona's Chalice - but the fog of exhaustion that was smothering her body and mind told her that questing for the Chalice that night would be futile, perhaps even dangerous.
"I'll get the firewood," she said.
Before she could stagger to the tree line Cuchulainn stepped in front of her. He took her hand and raised it to his lips.
"You're reminding me of Niam tonight," he said, studying her with concern.
"Niam?" She shook her head in confusion. "I don't - "
"Your eyes are hollow. Your skin is flushed and you're walking like you could fall over at any moment."
"Niam pushed herself for at least two more days. She probably didn't stop to sleep or eat at all. And she wasn't a Huntress. She wasn't accustomed to exerting herself physically. I'm - "
"You're exhausted," he cut her off again. "Take the gelding over to the stream. Let him drink. Let yourself drink. I'll get the firewood."
She began to protest, but his next words stopped her.
"Please let me do this for you."
The night before he'd given himself to her, freely and with such complete intimacy that it had amazed her that the man who had trembled under her touch was the same warrior who had bloodied a sword beside her. Could she not learn to allow him the same access to her? He wasn't asking to make love to her, but he was loving her all the same. Wasn't her allowing him the intimacy of caring for her just another kind of surrender?
She bent and kissed him, letting her lips linger on his.
"I'll take the gelding to the stream," she said.
He smiled and touched her face. Then he walked off into the darkening forest. Brighid led the exhausted horse to the stream and let him drink his fill before she rubbed him down and then hobbled him and watched him settle down to some tired grazing. Then she stood beneath the crystal waterfall and let it wash the sweat and dirt from her body as she gazed into the black distance that concealed the land of her youth. It was appropriate that her first sight of the Plains was shrouded in darkness.
"What misery are you leading them into, Bregon?" she whispered. "Why can't you just let her die?"
Cuchulainn came back to find Brighid standing near the edge of the clearing, staring into the darkness.
He felt a little prickle of unease. It wasn't the first foreboding he'd experienced that day. Ever since they'd entered the Blue Tors he'd been uneasy. At first he believed it was a symptom of exhaustion. His Huntress had not been exaggerating when she'd bragged about her stamina. She'd set a pace that would have been impossible for a single horse and rider to match. Not for the first time he breathed a prayer of thanks for his father's suggestion that he trade off mounts.
But now he decided the unease had little to do with their grueling journey. Before Brenna had been killed Cuchulainn would have pushed aside any hint of intuition or Feeling that could not be explained by something as mundane as exhaustion. Brenna's tragic death had taught him that it was unwise as well as dangerous to ignore Feelings of any type. He had learned a painful lesson - and he had learned it well.
Unlike the day Brenna had been killed he would be vigilant and wise in protecting Brighid. He would not have another love snatched from him. He couldn't survive it. If something happened to Brighid his soul would fragment into so many pieces it would be impossible to put back together again.
Which was why he kept his sword nearby and his senses alert as he built a fire at the mouth of the cave, unloaded their packs, and simmered the food he hoped would revive Brighid. When she didn't move from her place near the clearing's edge his unease increased. When he spoke his voice was unintentionally gruff.
"I thought you didn't like heights."
She didn't respond at first but then her equine coat quivered. The stone centaur she had seemed to be drew a deep breath, became living flesh again. She turned to him. Her eyes were dark and shadowed with weariness and worry, but she smiled and managed a teasing tone.
"Why is it everyone knows that I don't like heights?"
He shrugged and waggled his brows at her. "I thought it was a well-known centaur thing." He held a wineskin up and jiggled it so she could hear its heavy sloshing. "I have wine."
With a sigh she walked slowly into the cave and took the skin from him. Drinking, she looked around.
Its opening was spacious. The top didn't end till well above her head, but the inside didn't live up to the entrance's promise of space. The smooth, sand-colored walls looked like they had been formed by a giant's spoon hollowing out a taste of the gentle tor, but they narrowed to a tunnel in the rear corner that was barely big enough for the clear stream of water. Cuchulainn's fire licked the walls with flame, changing the brown to gold and orange. As she stared the colors ran together and blurred, so that it seemed for a moment that the walls around them had been turned to flame. She heard a whoosh, followed by a crackling roar that could not have come from the tame campfire. She felt heat blazing against her skin and she closed her eyes on its fury.
"Brighid!" Cuchulainn was at her side, touching her face and smoothing back her still damp hair. "What is it?"
The centaur shook her head, blinking her eyes clear. "I'm - I'm just tired. I need to sleep."
He led her back to the fire where he had arranged their blankets in a makeshift pallet. When she reclined, letting her legs collapse and fold under her, he handed her a hot slab of meat surrounded by thick slices of bread and cheese.
"Eat first. Then you can sleep."
She nodded and automatically chewed the food, even though she felt strangely detached from the heat it spread throughout her body. She and Cuchulainn didn't speak, but their eyes met often - his filled with worry - hers dark with exhaustion.
"Tomorrow," she said when she'd finished eating. He glanced up from adding more wood to the fire, his look a question. "Tomorrow we must begin the quest for Epona's Chalice."
"Then it will be tomorrow. Tonight I want you to clear all thoughts of the Otherworld from your mind.
Sleep, Brighid." He knelt beside her and kissed her gently.
"I may not awaken till well past dawn," she said, breathing in his scent and touch.
"It doesn't matter when you wake. I will be here," he murmured.
Brighid closed her eyes and surrendered her mind and body to the intoxication of sleep.