Chapter 7
He’d discovered the empty north tower the second night at Dunscáith. Sentanta rarely slept, though he found peace in the dark tower that looked out over the sea. He craved peace almost as much as he craved sleep.
He knew he wouldn’t sleep at all that night, so he waited until only the sentries stirred, then climbed the curving rock stairs of the tower.
Her naked skin, illuminated by silver moonlight, pulled his gaze from the sea. Scáthach stepped from the shadow of the castle with the stallion at her side. He could see the reluctance in the long fingers of the shadows as she walked out of their concealment. They were loath to release her.
Sentanta understood the shadows.
Scáthach was a sea goddess, gilded in silver and clothed only with tattoos and her magnificent mane of hair. It seemed the stallion accompanying her was a mystical kelpie.
When she proclaimed his penance, her voice was amplified by the divinity within her, and he heard every word.
It was a just penance, though he expected no less from the Queen of Shadow.
When the blood painted her, it was in the shape of the giantess’s hand that held her briefly, caressingly, and then released her to wash into the sea.
Sentanta did not mean to spy, but he could not look away. She enthralled him, and he had to keep watch until she reappeared and he knew she was safe—that she would return, that she hadn’t left them, hadn’t left him. He turned away then, not wanting to intrude any longer.
But that day changed him.
He wanted to make her proud. He wanted to make her smile. He wanted her to see him as more than a student. He wanted . . . her.
* * *
When Uathach, pale-faced and moving slowly, joined Scáthach in the great hall for the dinner meal that night, she almost commanded that her daughter return to her rooms and rest, but Uathach’s eyes silently begged her not to, and Scáthach understood.
The daughter of the Queen of Shadow was continually being watched and judged against her famous, demigod mother.
Scáthach would not hide in her rooms after being wounded, insisting on showing her students and the Shadow Guard that she survived and thrived.
She could expect no less from her daughter.
Uathach took her seat at her mother’s right. Scáthach squeezed her hand under the table and spoke softly. “Does it hurt terribly, Little Fry?”
“I would nod, but I’m afraid my head will burst open at the movement,” said Uathach.
Tabiti said, “So, yes, your head hurts terribly.”
“Worse than that,” Uathach said with a weak smile. Then she met her mother’s gaze. “You gave me something—something that strengthened me and brought me back.”
“Back?” Tabiti asked.
“From Annwn. She was on her way to the Summerlands,” said Scáthach, feeling a wave of nausea wash through her at the memory of how close she’d come to losing her precious child.
“Yes. What Mother said.” Again, she trapped Scáthach’s gaze with hers. “What did you give me?”
“The gift of Sight,” Scáthach said.
“By the gods!” Tabiti blurted, causing several students to pause their eating and look up at her. Tabiti lowered her voice and continued. “How? And now what happens?”
Scáthach smiled. “How? My mother gave me the gift. I was not entirely sure I could give it to Uathach but knew that she—” Her words broke off as her eyes filled with tears and she blinked quickly to keep them from falling.
Scáthach cleared her throat before she spoke again.
“I knew if I could give the Sight to Uathach, it would fill her with Mother’s magick and, much like throwing a rope to a drowning swimmer, Uathach would grasp that magick and return to me.
“And now what?” Scáthach shrugged. “I assume Uathach will see visions as the veil parts for her as it did for me.”
“Huh,” Tabiti said. “Surprising and fascinating. I’ll look forward to how Uathach’s visions manifest.”
“As will I,” said Scáthach.
“That makes two of us who look forward to it,” Uathach muttered.
Scáthach meant to speak more to her daughter about the gift of Sight, but Sechan plucked the opening chords of a new ballad with a flourish. Scáthach frowned, thoroughly tired of the harp and the bard, but the opening of the ballad had her breath catching in surprise.
Ardgeimm was a young Jarl, braw and tall
his longboat claimed the waves
his longboat claimed the waves
Maidens fair smiled on him, attempting to enthrall
his longboat claimed the waves
his longboat claimed the waves
But Béfionn saw his kindness and the goddess did fall
her smile claimed his heart
her smile claimed his heart . . .
As Sechan sang the love story of Ardgeimm and Béfionn—accurately and beautifully—Scáthach’s gaze found her daughter.
“How did he get their story right?”
Uathach grinned. “I told him. Today, when he sat with me and played the harp softly while the healer tended to this.” She gestured at the bandage that was wrapped around her forehead. “He’s not a bad man, Mama, only a weak one. Do not judge him too harshly.”
“He’s no warrior,” Tabiti said.
“Exactly. He has never claimed to be a warrior,” agreed Uathach. “And he should not be judged as one.”
“I do not tell you enough, but I am proud of your compassion,” said Scáthach.
“Thank you, Mama. That means a great deal to me, especially as you have been the best teacher of compassion I could have had.”
Scáthach took her daughter’s hand in hers and held it while the students insisted Sechan sing the love ballad again and again.
* * *
It was well past midnight when Scáthach made her way down the tunnel to the stables.
Looking for the young stallion, she walked slowly through the herd.
As if he expected her, she found him standing quietly a little apart from the others.
He watched as she approached, ears pricked, his dark eyes never leaving her.
Scáthach pressed the palm of her hand against his wide forehead. “It is time. Come with me.” When she left the herd, the stallion followed the Queen of Shadow without the need of halter or rope.
Scáthach led him out of the cave, over the drawbridge, and into the pasture area.
Unhurriedly she walked to the far end of the pasture where there was a large rounded boulder that blocked the entrance to the rocky shore.
It was carved with galloping horses and symbols of power.
The stallion stood calmly as she rolled the boulder aside, just enough for the two of them to access the path to the sea.
Before Scáthach led him through, she stripped out of her clothes, keeping only the leather belt that wrapped around her curving waist and held her sheathed dagger.
She loosened the tie in her hair and shook her head so that it spread around her like a lion’s mane.
Naked, with the stallion at her side, she walked from the pasture to the shore, at first keeping to the thick shadows that hugged the huge rock on which Dunscáith perched.
As always, Scáthach could feel the shadows, and their familiar caress helped to ready her for what was to come.
Where the beach was widest, she moved away from the castle’s shadow and led the stallion directly into the sea, halting only when she came to the edge of the shallows.
She waited a few moments, taking in the beauty of the night. The moon wasn’t full, but the fat crescent was a scythe that cut the darkness with silver. The sea was restless; white-capped waves drove against their legs, though neither horse nor woman noticed.
Scáthach turned to face the stallion. Again, she pressed her palm to his forehead and looked into his dark eye.
“You would have caused her death. Had Sentanta not been there and not had the perfect mixture of talent and courage, Uathach, my daughter, would be making her way to Annwn and the Summerlands this very night.” She paused.
One hand still pressed against his forehead, Scáthach pivoted her body so that she stood beside the stallion, her right shoulder touching the left side of his bowed neck.
As she drew the dagger from the sheath at her waist, Scáthach’s voice changed, drawing power from her divine blood. When she next spoke, her words tolled across the water with such strength that they rang above the sound of waves on surf.
“As penance, I send you to Annwn, where you will wait on the other side of the eternal stream just before the hawthorn arch. You will not enter the Summerlands. You will learn patience. You will learn to be calm. You will spend the years observing and becoming wise. And in the distant future when Uathach, daughter of Scáthach, granddaughter of Béfionn, finally crosses from this world to the next, only then will you be allowed to enter with her and find the lush green pastures of the Summerlands.”
Gently, Scáthach turned the stallion’s head so that she could look into his eye again. With one fast, deep stroke, the Queen of Shadow severed the artery in his neck.
The stallion trembled as his blood sprayed across her naked body. Scarlet flecked his nose and mouth. He dropped to his knees in the water and she knelt with him.
“Sssh,” Scáthach soothed, and he immediately stopped trembling. “All will be well. It will be over soon. I will guide you to the stream.”
His blood pumped into the sea; the water around them swirled and the froth of the waves turned dark with it.
She did not break their connection, did not look away from the fading light in his eyes—not even when she heard them swimming toward her.
It seemed to take a long time, but finally he gasped his last breath, his eye clouded and his head drooped into the water.
Covered in the stallion’s blood, Scáthach stood.
Boney scutes sliced the waves with huge dorsal fins as the sturgeons swam to them. The horse’s body slid into the depths and while the sturgeons consumed him, a sliver of light lifted from his body. Ethereal and free, the horse’s spirit hovered at Scáthach’s side.
Scáthach lifted her arms over her head. “Follow me.” With swanlike grace, she dove into the bloody sea. The spirit of the horse followed her, the water closing over them like a mother’s caress.
Béfionn’s magick pulsed through her body as Scáthach dove impossibly deeper and deeper.
As sure as sunrise, the magick drew her to the warm current that was the artery leading to the heart of Annwn and the Summerlands beyond.
Scáthach could not enter Annwn this way.
Only the dead or her mother were permitted entrance through this spirit portal, but Scáthach shared the goddess’s blood and, even more importantly, her love.
The artery recognized her. It pulled her and the spirit of the stallion down until a silver light illuminated a tunnel-like entrance.
Scáthach turned to the stallion and gestured to the entrance. The glowing spirit hovered before her. He dipped his head, and again she rested her palm against his wide forehead. All is forgiven. Now go with my blessing. Learn and grow as you wait for Uathach.
She watched the stallion disappear through the entrance and then was surprised by the rush of longing she unexpectedly felt to join him.
It had been a long time since she’d visited the Underworld.
She’d grown up spending time there with her mother and, as the Queen of Shadow hovered in the warm vein of water, she thought of how lovingly the spirits had always welcomed her.
Was it odd to consider Annwn a second home? Probably . . .
With a final warm caress the current released her, and Scáthach drifted up toward the scythe moon and the mortal world that waited above.
She surfaced and floated on her back, ignoring the cold she was beginning to feel now that the artery released her.
The sky was filled with stars that scorched across the darkness, leaving trails of light as ethereal and beautiful as the stallion’s spirit.
Her tears slid down her face, joining the sea, blending salt with salt.
She grieved for the stallion, who had been young and foolish.
She grieved for her daughter, who had not asked for the gift of Sight.
And Scáthach grieved for herself, for though she would never regret giving her daughter the spark of divinity that saved her life, she would miss the Sight. She would dearly miss it.
She swam strongly back toward shore, where the sturgeons greeted her, escorting her to the shallows.
Scáthach stroked their slick, cool backs.
“Thank you, my friends. Thank you for coming even without Mother. I’m glad it was you who accepted the stallion’s body.
” She caressed them once more before she left the sea and retraced her path across the beach to the shadows that held her castle.
Scáthach stopped then and looked up at the northern tower, sure she felt eyes watching her.
She thought she saw a flash of amber, but as her sight sharpened and she focused, there was only the darkness of the tall, narrow window slits.
Scáthach continued to the pasture, entered, and secured the stone.
When she turned to where she’d left her clothes, unexpected joy rushed through her.
Leannan was there, waiting patiently. The big dog’s tail thumped against the ground.
Her greeting woof was soft and worried. Scáthach dressed quickly and then sat beside her beloved deerhound.
She put her arm around the dog’s neck and Leannan leaned into her as Scáthach whispered reassurance and took comfort from the steadfastness of her dog’s unconditional love.