Chapter 2 #2
“I expect them to fail,” Uathach agreed quietly. She met her mother’s gaze. “You are a better teacher than I.”
“I have taught longer than you.” Scáthach squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. “Work with them one on one. While you do that, I will take the group through the same warm-up exercises you just completed.”
“Do you never lose your patience?” asked her daughter.
“Life has taught me that when I lack patience I pay for that lack with failure.”
Uathach flashed a smile. “Fail? You? I don’t recall you ever failing.”
“Because I do not lack patience.” Scáthach returned her smile.
Uathach nodded and then turned to face the group of student warriors. “Fergal!”
The warrior with the flaming red beard who had just failed in his vault stepped forward and bowed his head formally to Uathach and Scáthach.
“Come, you and I will go over your hand position and the two-step leap. You were close to getting it,” Uathach said. The warrior’s face brightened as he jogged over to her. Uathach told the rest of the group, “And you will drill with Scáthach while waiting to repeat your vault.”
Scáthach clapped her hands together. “Let’s drill!
” The students responded instantly and enthusiastically.
They reminded the Queen of Shadow of Leannan when she was a pup and her excitement to please outweighed her nascent abilities.
As she drilled with the students, Scáthach focused on the thrill of the strength of her body—its grace and balance and power—and how through example she could bolster the confidence of her students.
She was in her element, leading young warriors to be their best. Her joyful laughter boomed throughout the inner ward of the castle to brush against the stone walls, absorbed into the carvings that covered them, and filled the very walls of Dunscáith with the wild joy of Scáthach, Queen of Shadow.
* * *
They drilled until the sun began to drop into the western sea.
Wisely, Uathach called a halt after every student had successfully completed the simple two-step opening leap.
The mood of the group had utterly changed.
They were all sweaty and muscle-weary but grinning and jesting with one another as they left the practice field and headed to the rear tunnel where they would cool themselves in the sea.
“Everything changed when you showed up,” Uathach said as she joined her mother at the big barrel that held fresh rainwater.
Scáthach motioned for her daughter to wash first and said, “I only reminded you of what you already knew. It’s easy to allow struggling students to frustrate you, and when a teacher is frustrated, students feel it and respond poorly. The longer you teach, the less that will happen.”
Uathach splashed water on her face and arms and then stepped aside to allow her mother access to the barrel. “Why do you suddenly sound like I will be taking over for you here? You said you were going to refuse the crown of Lethra.”
Scáthach went to the barrel and looked over her shoulder at her daughter. “I have no desire to rule Lethra, and I thought you enjoyed training warriors.”
“I do, but I am not Queen of Shadow.”
“That is just a title. I don’t own it,” said Scáthach as she looked into the barrel of dark water.
“Don’t own it? You are it. The title wouldn’t exist without you,” insisted Uathach.
“No, the title wouldn’t exist without this castle, which was created by a goddess and not by me. I stepped into the title. It belongs to Dunscáith.” Scáthach bent and plunged her hands into the cool water—and the world stilled.
She knew Uathach was speaking to her, but Scáthach could not hear her words. Scáthach knew her faithful deerhound had trotted to her and was leaning against her side, begging for her ears to be scratched, but she could not feel the dog’s body.
She felt only the dark, cold water. As she gazed into it, the barrel disappeared, along with the reflection of her reddened, sweat-streaked face.
The surface rippled and she saw a vision of herself, standing in the center of the practice field, facing a semicircle of student warriors who nervously shifted from foot to foot as they waited their turn to try to wrestle the Queen of Shadow off her feet.
But before the first of the students reached Scáthach, Uathach strode up to her and stepped into her body, and the Queen of Shadow became Uathach.
Slowly, her daughter’s head bowed. Her hands covered her face and she looked utterly defeated.
The water rippled and the vision shifted to that of a young lion.
The lion opened his fanged jaws and roared.
The vision changed again. The beast was chained to a huge boulder.
It looked old and broken until his gaze found her.
His eyes, the gold of faceted yellow topaz, blazed as he stared at her.
She felt that gaze as if it had been a touch and she shivered but could not tell if the chills that skittered up and down her body were from fear or desire.
Uathach touched her shoulder. “Mother?”
Uathach’s touch returned Scáthach to herself. She drew a deep breath and splashed water over her face and arms, then straightened and faced her daughter, whose smooth brow was furrowed with worry.
“A vision?” Uathach asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you well?”
“Yes, I—”
“Scáthach! He attempts the bridge!”
Uathach and her mother turned to see Tabiti beckoning them from the sentry platform that looked out over the Bridge of Leaps. Shaking the water from her body, Scáthach jogged to the stairs, with Uathach beside her and Leannan trotting after them.
They reached the sentry platform in time for Cuchulainn’s first attempt at the bridge.
He had backed up so that he began by the two stone monoliths that stood sentinel before the bridge’s entrance.
Scáthach still couldn’t get a clear look at him.
He was tall—that was obvious—but the huge stones cast too much shadow for her to see his features.
He bent a little at the waist and then sprinted toward the bridge, moving with impressive speed.
The young warrior ran onto the stone bridge, which arched in the center.
His speed quickly carried him to the center of the arch.
Then the bridge awakened and, like an untamed stallion, it bucked, tossing him off his feet. The bridge lifted, rolling Cuchulainn back to the shadows beneath the monoliths.
He immediately sprang to his feet. As the watching warriors shouted encouragement, he approached the bridge again, slowly.
Tabiti laughed. “Does he think he’ll conquer the bridge by sauntering over it?”
“If he tries walking over it, he’s going to end up getting wet.” Uathach gestured to the churning water beneath the bridge.
“And dead,” added Tabiti. She glanced at Scáthach. “Are the sturgeons still here, or did they all leave with your mother?”
“Oh, there are always a few nearby,” Scáthach said absently as she studied the warrior.
“Hope they’re not hungry,” said Tabiti. “Though he looks too muscly to be tasty. Not enough fat.”
Uathach snorted. “Well, that depends on who is doing the tasting. He is beautiful.”
“They say the Ulster women love him—and the Ulster men wish he’d take a wife,” said Tabiti.
Scáthach studied him as he stood at the entrance of the Bridge of Leaps.
He was tall, perhaps even as tall as her, which was unusual.
His shoulders were broad and his chest wide, tapering to a slim waist. He was definitely beautiful, with high cheekbones, a strong, straight nose, full lips, and a jawline that could have been sculpted.
His hair was golden blond but had unusual streaks of brown and red glinting in it, almost as if it was living fire.
The waning sun’s rays touched him as he looked up from the bridge and met her gaze.
He had the faceted topaz eyes of the lion in her vision. When they locked on hers, Scáthach felt his gaze like a touch.
“What do you think of him, Scáthach?” Tabiti’s voice broke the spell and Scáthach looked away from him.
“I think he’s very young, and if he attempts to walk over my bridge, he’s also very na?ve,” she said.
Cuchulainn turned from the bridge and jogged back, this time several paces beyond the stone monoliths.
He crouched, began swinging his arms for momentum, and then raced toward the bridge.
In two mighty leaps he made it to the center arch of the bridge, where he crouched to gather himself for the second half of the crossing.
Like the earth had begun to quake, the bridge shivered violently, causing Cuchulainn to stagger forward instead of leaping.
Again, he lost his balance. The bridge lifted and shook him off as if he were an annoying fly on a horse’s flank.
The warriors who had failed groaned. Scáthach’s students, who had each managed to cross the bridge, jeered from the battlements.
Cuchulainn approached the bridge again, studying it closely. He even dropped to his knees and peered at the underside of it and at the white-capped water beneath.
“What is he doing?” Tabiti asked.
“He’s trying to figure out the trick of it,” said Scáthach.
“There is no trick,” said her daughter.
“Exactly, which is why his third attempt will fail,” answered Scáthach.
She’d seen it many times before. Some warriors, usually the ones with the biggest egos, refused to believe the truth of the Bridge of Leaps—that it had been created by a goddess as a test meant to defeat all but those most worthy of her daughter’s training.
Many of them looked for the trick, for a way to cheat the bridge, but there was no way to cheat.
It could only be defeated by strength and tenacity, talent and sweat.
Cuchulainn turned from the bridge for a third time. He jogged slowly back to the monoliths, past them, and then farther back almost to where the raised path met the boggy field that stretched around the south side of the castle.