Chapter 19 #2
“No. She was conceived so close to when he left, I didn’t even realize I was with child until he’d been gone for months. Before I thought to send word to him, I heard he’d been crowned and married.” She shrugged again. “He didn’t need the complication of wondering if I’d want him to return.”
“And did you? Want him to return?”
“Oh, when I was heavy with child and uncomfortable and worried about what kind of mother I’d be I did, but as soon as I gave birth the world narrowed to my daughter and me. I realized quickly that she’s entirely mine. That’s how I preferred it then and how I still prefer it.”
“She’s not asked about him?” he asked.
“She has. She knows who he is and that she may go to him if ever she so desires. So far she hasn’t desired,” Scáthach explained.
“You didn’t love him?”
“I liked him. He and I were friends. I respected him as a warrior. But love him? No.” A sensual smile lifted her lips. “There was a good measure of lust rather than love.”
Cuchulainn’s gaze went to and remained on her lips. “You don’t believe there can be both? Lust and love.”
“Oh, I most certainly do. I’ve just not experienced it.” His gaze lifted from her lips, and she caught it with hers. “Yet.”
“Yet,” he echoed.
* * *
“What is it? Did we catch the island?” Cuchulainn asked as he tried to peer through the thickening mist.
“We did.”
“Do I need to lift the sail again?” he asked.
“No, we’d sail straight into rocks. The sturgeons will get us to the beach safely.
It’s not far now. Once we’re past the fog bank that always surrounds the outer part of the island, you’ll see.
” Scáthach spoke eagerly, leaning forward with him, even though the fog was too dense to see through.
The sturgeons guided the little boat around spiny rock formations.
Some had willow trees sprouting from them, their long branches sweeping the water like gowns and some half-hidden under the fog-cloaked water.
Skeletons of broken ships still impaled on the sharp black rock seemed sacrifices to the gods.
“This part always saddens me.” Scáthach spoke softly, reverently as they floated slowly past the carcasses of vessels.
Cuchulainn kept his voice pitched low, matching the reverence Scáthach showed. “So many of them. I didn’t realize . . .”
“Some come to try to follow loved ones to the Summerlands,” Scáthach said. “Some as rites of passage.” She shook her head. “Such foolishness. The only rite of passage on this isle is death.” She met his gaze. “And some are here to quest for something.”
“That’s us,” Cuchulainn said.
“Mostly that’s you,” she corrected. “But I’m here to help.”
“Why?” he asked abruptly, causing one of her brows to arch. He hastily continued. “I’m glad you’re here, but why did you come with me?”
“I like the Underworld. It’s my mother’s realm and I have not visited for too many years.” She smiled as she continued. “I like you, Sentanta. And I owe you two life debts.”
“I don’t keep count of something like that,” insisted Cuchulainn.
“I know, which is why I do keep count.”
He cleared his throat and then asked, “So, you like me?”
She smiled, but didn’t look at him. Instead she pointed ahead of the boat. “It’s clearing. Welcome to Hy-Brasil.”
It was like parting a heavy curtain from a darkened room into a land of wonderment.
“It’s so green,” Cuchulainn said.
“Does that surprise you?”
“Yes!” He nodded. “I thought land of the dead meant darkness and gloom.” He pointed his thumb behind them at the curtain of fog that hid the island. “Like that. Not like this.”
They’d entered a crescent-shaped harbor.
In the middle of the crescent was a beach of pristine white sand.
Framing the rest of the crescent, willow trees grew thick along the bank, draped down to the water.
Gentle hills rolled away from the beach.
Ancient oaks so old their branches often touched the ground were sentinels before the hills, which were covered with tall pines and ferns, interspersed with glades filled with grasses and wildflowers.
The boat picked up speed as the sturgeons hurled it toward the sandy beach, pulling themselves free before they ran aground.
Scáthach jumped from the boat and waded out into the bay, laughing and talking to the sturgeons, thanking them for their help while they swam excitedly around her and she petted their silver sides.
She felt his gaze on her and she glanced at him.
He’d been dragging the sailboat farther up on the beach, but Cuchulainn stopped and was watching her.
There was an intensity about the way he looked at her that heated her cheeks.
When she reached the semi-beached boat, she took their supply packs and weapons from where they’d stored them, tossing him one of the heavy fur-lined cloaks she’d brought.
“Shouldn’t we beach this boat better and secure it?” Cuchulainn asked her.
Scáthach shrugged. “We won’t need it. We either won’t leave the Underworld, or if we’re successful, we’ll find ourselves in the sea within swimming range of Dunscáith.”
Cuchulainn rolled up the heavy cloak and added it to his pack before he slung it over his shoulder. “That doesn’t comfort me.”
“Good,” Scáthach said. They waded the few feet from the boat to the beach.
She, too, packed her cloak and hefted a travel bag onto her back.
“It wasn’t meant to comfort you.” She strode to the edge of the white sand.
There was only one path and it led through the willows toward the sentinel oaks and the pine forests beyond.
She halted at the beginning of the trail.
“This leads to the entrance to Annwn, which contains the Summerlands, the Autumnal Realm, and the Winterlands. Once we are in Annwn, we are no longer in the mortal realm. You must remember that. We trespass.” She paused and her tone lightened.
“Actually, you trespass. I’m always welcome. ”
He smiled. “Perhaps you’ll help me be welcome, too.”
“That starts here.” Scáthach pointed down at the place where sand met the hard-packed dirt of the trail. “The island will know you’re here when you step from the beach. It doesn’t like mortal trespassers. If you step with me, they may look more kindly upon you.”
“They? The dead?”
“Not the dead. My mother’s guardians. You’ll see. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Together they stepped onto the path to Annwn.
It seemed the island held its breath. All was silent as the two walked the path.
A breeze whispered around them, riffling through Scáthach’s mane of hair and lifting the curling ends before it blew away.
Then birdsong returned to the trees. Insects hummed.
They walked through a little ribbon of water that crossed the trail and heard frogs croaking under the willow branches.
“That’s good,” Scáthach said softly. “The wind accepted that you’re with me. It told the birds, and they told the rest of the isle.” She glanced at him. “Are you afraid of bears?”
“I think wary and respectful more accurately describes how I feel about bears. Why?” Cuchulainn asked.
“Well, there are bears here. Quite a lot, actually. Just think of them as my mother’s Shadow Guard. Powerful, rather good-humored, and not too easily provoked, but . . .” She grinned at him and shrugged.
“But lethal,” he concluded for her.
Grinning, she nodded. Scáthach was still grinning when the first roar vibrated through the air around them. Automatically, Cuchulainn began to reach for the sword strapped to his back, but Scáthach’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“No weapons. Not against them,” she said, her gaze flicking around them.
She knew when Cuchulainn saw them. He didn’t reach for his sword again, but his loose, relaxed stride changed.
His gaze sharpened. She could feel his body hum with readiness to act, to strike, to attack.
She moved closer to him so that her arm brushed his as they continued forward, walking along a path framed by enormous brown bears standing on their hind legs, watching the two humans intently.
“Bears are my mother’s familiars, much like sturgeons,” Scáthach spoke nonchalantly. Her voice, which always had a musical quality to it, was soft, sweet, and calm.
Cuchulainn pitched his response low. “Are you telling me these giants also nursemaided you?”
She laughed and the bears roared in response.
“Not like the sturgeons. I spent a lot of time in the water with the fish and, in comparison, not a lot of time here with the bears. But I do recognize several of them.” As she spoke, a half dozen or so of the brown giants dropped to all fours and trotted to join them.
The first bear to reach them went to Scáthach, who halted and turned to face the bear.
She sniffed Scáthach noisily, huffing several times before she began to rub her head against the Queen of Shadow, who giggled and scratched her ears.
“There’s my big girl. It’s good to see you, too.
Yes, yes, I know. It’s been too long.” Scáthach was soon completely surrounded by bears who huffed and butted her with their heads as she laughed and greeted each of them.
“Scáthach . . .” Cuchulainn called as one of the bears stuck her muzzle in the middle of his chest and sniffed him mightily.
“Pretend like she’s Leannan,” Scáthach told him.
“She’s a lot bigger than Leannan,” Cuchulainn said. He hesitantly scratched the bear under her muzzle.
“I know! Aren’t they glorious?”
When Cuchulainn made no response, Scáthach hastily turned, peering between large, brown-furred bodies to see him, her stomach tightening in worry—only to let out a long breath on a relieved laugh.
Four bears surrounded him, their muzzles raised.
He was grinning boyishly as he turned in a circle, scratching one muzzle, then another and another and another as the bears made deep, happy sounds.