Chapter 2 #4
Scáthach pressed the spear tip more firmly against the young warrior’s neck and a single line of scarlet joined the rest of the blood painting his body.
“I did fight you, Ulsterman, and I defeated you. Concede and control yourself. Now, before I tire of teaching a lesson to a warrior I have yet to accept as a student. Breathe with me. Four counts in and four counts out. Like this. Inhale and one . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .” Scáthach tapped the ball of her foot against his back in time with her count.
Slowly, Cuchulainn’s inhuman snarls and growls stopped.
His back rose and fell with Scáthach’s count, and as it did the florid flush of his skin faded, his body deflated, and he finally went limp.
Still, Scáthach stood on him, pressing the spear to his neck, counting his breaths.
Cuchulainn turned his head to the side so that he could look over his shoulder at her. “Scáthach?”
Only then did Scáthach step off his back and lift her spear. “I am she.”
Cuchulainn sat and faced her. “I greet you, Queen of Shadow. May I have your leave to stand?”
“You may.”
Moving more like a stiff old man than a virile young hero, Cuchulainn stood and slowly straightened.
He brushed back his hair and used his forearm to wipe the sweat and saliva from his face.
Then he bowed formally to her. “Queen of Shadow, I have conquered the Bridge of Leaps and earned the right to demand a boon from you.”
A bark of laughter came from the sentry platform above them. Scáthach’s lips lifted in a smile. “Demand?”
He squared his shoulders and stood straighter. He raised his chin. They were the same height, and Cuchulainn was able to look directly into Scáthach’s eyes. “Is it not known that any warrior who crosses the Bridge of Leaps may demand a boon from Scáthach?”
More laughter echoed from above them, and Cuchulainn threw a dark look up at the sentry platform.
“It seems you have been fed false information, Ulsterman,” said Scáthach. “Crossing the Bridge of Leaps only earns you the right to ask that I accept you as a student warrior.”
Cuchulainn’s forehead furrowed. “Ask? But I was told—”
“Incorrect information,” Scáthach finished for him.
He blinked several times and shook himself like a dog coming out of the rain before he spoke again. “Do you know who I am?”
“Cuchulainn, favorite of Conchobar mac Nessa, King of Ulster,” she said. “Do you know who I am?”
Cuchulainn nodded. “You are Scáthach, Queen of Shadow, daughter of the giantess Béfionn.”
Scáthach nodded. “And now we know each other.”
“And I must ask to be trained by you?”
“Only if you do, indeed, wish to be my student. If you do not, I give you my word that the Bridge of Leaps is much easier to cross on your way out.”
He stared silently at Scáthach so long that she thought he would recross the bridge and leave. Instead he executed a formal bow and said, “Queen of Shadow, I ask that you accept me as your student.”
“I will consider it, but only after you repair my door.” She pointed at the wide wooden door. A strip of the wood had splintered, and the entire frame had been knocked askew.
Cuchulainn glanced from her to the wooden door they’d battled in front of and then back to Scáthach. “Do you jest?”
“No.”
He walked to the door, running his hand over the splintered wood. “It can be repaired, but I lack tools and wood.”
“Both are within Dunscáith.”
Cuchulainn nodded thoughtfully and said, “I will repair what I damaged. It is the right thing to do.”
“Good. And while you do so I will consider your request,” said Scáthach.
“Come.” She strode past Cuchulainn, who frowned but followed her down the stone stairs to the bridge.
She paused there, bent, and pressed her hand against the living stone.
“Allow Cuchulainn and his horse to cross unhindered.” The bridge quivered like a pup being caressed before it stilled.
Scáthach turned to Cuchulainn. “Bring your horse within. I’ll assign a student to show you to the stables, as well as to the smithy, where you’ll find what you need to repair my door.
When you are done, have the sentry bring you to me.
” Scáthach looked up and down his bloody, sweat-streaked body.
“You should wash in the sea, though do so quickly. All that blood will call the sturgeons and near my castle they are large and perpetually hungry.” Scáthach turned away from him, retracing her path back to the castle.
“Queen of Shadow! Wait!” Another man’s voice called to her.
Scáthach stopped and sighed deeply before she turned back to the bridge. Standing on the far side was the bard. He was a handsome man of middle age, with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard that was tipped with gray.
“Queen Scáthach, mighty warrior, trainer of heroes, I am Sechan, Bard of Ulster. I beg entrance to Dunscáith!” He made the sweeping, exaggerated bow of a true courtier.
“Why?” Scáthach asked.
“Many reasons, great queen! I can play to amuse you.” He strummed a quick tune on his harp. “I will sing you a ballad, gay and true, written only for you, only for you.” He sang in a lovely tenor voice as he smiled charmingly.
“And will you also compose epic poetry about my students?” she asked.
Sechan’s gaze snapped to Cuchulainn. “If it pleases you, great queen!”
Scáthach heard her mother’s voice echo from that morning.
Daughter, say yes to the bard. She walked quickly back to the bridge and pressed her hand against the skin of the rock.
“Let the bard and his horse cross, too.” As she returned to her castle, frowning and muttering to herself, the bard sang his effusive thanks.