Chapter 27
Scáthach, I wish—”
She pressed her fingers against his lips. “I know. You don’t have to say it. And I understand. Just kiss me again.”
Sentanta closed his eyes and pulled her to him.
He kissed her like he was dying of thirst and she was rainfall in his desert.
And as he did so, he thought how very much he wished he could defy not just Lugh, the Ulstermen, and their king.
He wished he could defy the part of himself that would never be satisfied living a long life of ignominy . . .
* * *
Cuchulainn stepped up beside Scáthach and used his thumb to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Curruid was redeemable.”
Scáthach nodded, not trusting her voice.
“You’ve been right all along. There are spirits here who deserve redemption,” he said.
She smiled and blinked away the last of her happy tears. “I’m going to have to have a serious conversation with my mother.”
Cuchulainn frowned. “I’m sorry for that.”
“Don’t be! Béfionn is wise and reasonable. She’ll know what to do.”
He brushed a sweaty strand of hair back from her face. “And she won’t be angry with you for bringing a problem to her?”
“No, she is not Lugh,” Scáthach said firmly.
“She is definitely not Lugh.” Cuchulainn sighed. “I suppose we must finish this.”
“I suppose,” she said softly.
Together they turned to face the spear. It was a thing of dangerous beauty.
The bone-white color was in stark contrast to the black sand and the scorched outline of Curruid’s body.
Even in the gloom it glittered, and Scáthach realized much of the shaft was encrusted with silver that formed delicate waves.
The blunted end was in the sand, with the spear point up and visible.
It, too, was covered with intricate knot work.
“It’s too beautiful to be a weapon,” Cuchulainn said.
Scáthach scoffed. “I’m beautiful and I’m a weapon; don’t let beauty fool you.”
Cuchulainn chuckled. “You have a point.” He glanced at her. “I think you should retrieve it.”
“Me? It’s your spear.”
“Yes, but you’re my teacher. You guided me here. You figured out what Curruid needed so that the spear was revealed. You’re going to return us to the mortal realm.” He paused and added, “You are going to return us, aren’t you?”
Scáthach met his gaze and all her humor had gone. “Yes. I must.”
“You must?”
“We must. For Uathach. For Tabiti. For Dunscáith. For Ulster. For your father. For your destiny.” Scáthach paused then, giving him an opportunity to say they could return to Dunscáith but he didn’t have to return to his destiny because he had decided to change his fate.
The sorrow in his eyes was answer enough.
“Yes,” she repeated. “We must.” Then she strode across the burnt sand and grasped the spear, pulling it from the earth.
The Queen of Shadow gasped as images flooded her mind. Cuchulainn rushed to her as she staggered under the weight of them.
“Scáthach! What is it?”
“It’s the spear. I know what it does.” She shook her head over and over, sickened by the terrible images the Gáe Bulg had shown her.
“It kills. Always. Every time. The spearhead is magick. When it strikes a person, it splinters into thirty barbs that explode inside the body. They cannot be removed. It doesn’t matter where the spear embeds—even if it strikes a foot, a hand, an arm—that person will die.
” With a grimace, Scáthach held it out to Cuchulainn.
“Take it. I do not want such a thing near me.”
Cuchulainn grasped the spear. He met her gaze. “It showed me nothing.”
She shivered and wiped her hands down her tunic as if to rid them of the spear’s touch. “It showed me enough for both of us. Never forget.”
“I won’t. And I understand why my father allowed me to give up the berserker for the Gáe Bulg. A berserker can be killed. The spear cannot. It makes me undefeatable.” He sighed. “Dishonorably undefeatable as the wielding of it requires no skill.”
“You could leave it here,” said Scáthach.
“Somewhere in the realm particularly horrible—like driven into the willow holding the dissolving woman. No one would find it there.” She watched several emotions slide over Cuchulainn’s expressive face, but when he met her eyes again, she saw resignation in his. “But your father wouldn’t like that.”
“Nor would the warriors of Ulster,” he said.
Scáthach wanted to shout, What about you! What do you want? But she was wise enough to remain silent. Sentanta knew he could change his fate. Cuchulainn had chosen not to, and she would respect his choice. Love cannot be caged and Scáthach would not even attempt to do so.
“Well, then, let us return to the mortal realm and those who wait there for us,” said Scáthach.
She sheathed her sword but left her shield and their travel packs and cloaks on the beach before she helped Cuchulainn strap the Gáe Bulg to his back where his shield had been.
“And now we swim,” Scáthach told him.
Cuchulainn’s gaze went to the dark, frigid water. “Are you sure we can’t just retrace our path?”
“Quite sure. Unless Mother is with us, the way we came is not retraceable. There’s only one way out for the living who are unaccompanied by the divine.” She took his hand and walked toward the turbulent water. “Though I think I can make our journey home bearable.”
They reached the water’s edge. Waves washed restlessly over their booted feet. Cuchulainn shuddered as the water lapped around his calves. “It’s so cold!”
“That’s part of what I can make more bearable.
” One more time, Scáthach drew her dagger, but before she cut her skin, the Queen of Shadow bent and washed Curruid’s gore from it.
She wiped it on her tunic before cutting a shallow line across her forearm, which she held out so that her blood dripped into the Winter Sea.
“Scáthach, daughter of Béfionn, would like to go home now, please,” she told the waves. “And I would like to take the Hero of Ulster with me.”
A tunnel of light blue water appeared just under the surface of the dark Winter Sea. It glowed brilliant turquoise, and within it sturgeons swam happily toward them.
“Your nursemaids,” Cuchulainn said, smiling.
“You’re not calling them sea monsters anymore?” she asked.
“Now that I’ve met a real monster of the sea, I know the difference,” he said. “What do we do?”
“Take a deep breath and dive in. The sturgeons will do the rest. We’ll emerge within sight of Dunscáith.”
But instead of diving into the sea, Scáthach and Sentanta turned to each other at the same moment. They came together, lips meeting, arms holding tightly. The kiss was deep and felt never-ending. And then Cuchulainn pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.
“Scáthach, I wish—”
She pressed her fingers against his lips. “I know. You don’t have to say it. And I understand. Just kiss me again.”
Cuchulainn closed his eyes and pulled her to him. She was rainfall in his desert.
When they finally parted, it was Scáthach who broke the kiss. She stepped back and cupped his cheek with her hand. “You have brought me so much joy.”
“And you have healed me,” he said.
She smiled. “No, Sentanta. I simply helped. You chose to heal.”
“What I chose was you.”
Her smile faded. Scáthach turned away from him to the sea and the glowing tunnel to stop herself from shouting, Had you really chosen me, you’d leave that cursed spear here and tell your father to sire another hero! “Ready?” she said instead.
He grinned. “Good thing I know how to swim.”
Side by side they dove into the tunnel. The water was warm. An artery that fed the Underworld pulled them into its pulse and, escorted by sturgeons, carried them with immortal swiftness from the Winterlands away and up, up, up—spitting them out like blow from a whale.
They broke the surface sputtering and squinting in the bright light of a warm spring morning. Treading at the surface, they wiped hair and water from their faces and tried to orient themselves.
Then the wail of a carnyx echoed across the water, accompanied by the excited barking of a very large dog.
Scáthach spun in the water to gaze up at Dunscáith.
All along the castle’s seaward balustrades, black uniformed Shadow Guards waved and cheered.
The sun caught her daughter’s leonine hair as Uathach waved both of her arms over her head.
Beside her, Tabiti took the carnyx from a Shadow Guard and blew it over and over as Leannan barked in joyous welcome.
“I think they’ve missed you,” said Cuchulainn as he treaded water at her side.
“And you’ve been missed as well.” She cut her eyes to the west, where a great ship was just dropping anchor. The flag that flew proudly over it was white, decorated only with one large red handprint.
“The red hand of Ulster,” Cuchulainn said solemnly.
* * *
“Mama!” Uathach hurled herself into Scáthach’s arms the moment her mother emerged from the water as Tabiti wrapped a blanket around her and then another around Cuchulainn. Leannan jumped about, whining and trying to shove her muzzle between mother and daughter.
“It’s okay, Leannan. You’re my good girl,” said Scáthach as she held Uathach, but freed one hand to ruffle the big dog’s ear. Leannan then turned her exuberant attention to Cuchulainn, who laughed and petted her.
“Little Fry, I have missed you.” Scáthach held her daughter tightly as Uathach trembled. She pulled back to stare at Uathach. “Why are you crying? Has something happened?”
“Yes, you’ve been gone for months,” said Tabiti, hands on hips.
“Actually, it’s been exactly one year and one day since Cuchulainn crossed the Bridge of Leaps, which is why the King of Ulster is on our doorstep.
” She pointed seaward to the ship that was already lowering a landing boat.
Even from that distance, the sunlight glinted off a golden crown.
Cuchulainn straightened from petting Leannan, though he kept one hand on the big dog’s head. “The King of Ulster. He’s here for me.”