Chapter 12 #2
Lugh scoffed. “Once your blood cools, he can be controlled.”
“No, Father.” With an effort, Cuchulainn did not shout.
He did not lose his temper. Instead, he took a step closer to his father and attempted to reason with him.
“When my blood cools, I’m no longer the berserker because as long as he rules me he cannot be controlled.
Father, do you know what it is like to turn on your own warriors, your friends, your allies, and not be able to stop yourself from slaughtering them? ”
Lugh shrugged. “Friends and allies should know better than to get in the berserker’s way.”
“During battle that is impossible!” Cuchulainn paused, tamping down his anger.
He drew a deep breath before he spoke again.
“You know that a battle is all confusion and blood. It’s easy to mistake friend for foe without your mind being lost to a monster.
All I ask is that you allow me to show you that I can bring you glory as your son, Cuchulainn, instead of your son’s monster, the berserker. ”
The god stroked his chin. “Let us consider a compromise.”
Cuchulainn hid his surprise and pleasure. Lugh did not respond as well to positive emotions as he did to anger and argument. “I am willing to compromise.”
“Excellent. I will heal your rancid wound and not insist that in return you call the berserker, if you agree to retrieve the Gáe Bulg and use it to bring glory to my”—he paused, smiled, and his smooth voice corrected—“our names. Though if you used the spear in tandem with the berserker you would be as undefeatable as any mortal can be,” said the god, his eyes glittering the gold of sunlight.
“The Gáe Bulg. Isn’t that made entirely of the rib of the vanquished sea monster, Curruid?”
Lugh nodded. “Indeed! The very spear.”
“But it’s part of a dead sea monster that is now in the Underworld. How am I to retrieve it?”
Lugh’s smile was as smooth as his voice. “Is your esteemed teacher not the daughter of Béfionn, Goddess of the Underworld?”
“Yes,” Cuchulainn spoke through gritted teeth.
“Excellent!” The god clapped his hands together. “Then you can have her show you the way.”
“I can ask Scáthach. I cannot force her to take me to the Underworld. But she is a fair queen and teacher. When I have completed my training, I’m sure she will help me.”
The god snorted. “Training? You need no more training. You are wasting time your short life does not have. Go into battle with the Queen of Shadow, and after Aife of Lethra is defeated, you will leave this school and seek the Gáe Bulg, with or without the help of Béfionn’s daughter. Agreed?”
Cuchulainn stared into his father’s eyes and saw the same immovability there he’d always known.
He did not want to leave Dunscáith, but he knew his father too well.
Lugh had decided it was time for him to go.
If Cuchulainn did not agree on his own, his father would orchestrate his departure.
Lugh wouldn’t care what kind of destruction he caused—what pain or what loss.
He had to suppress a shudder at the thought of the chaos Lugh would create to get his way.
“Agreed,” Cuchulainn said.
“I’m glad you’re willing to see reason. Now, I shall take care of that foul wound.” He straightened and strode to his son. He waved his hand at the thick bandage. “Unwrap it. Why would you expect me to heal it through all of that?”
Cuchulainn wanted to snap, Because you’re a god and you’re more than capable of doing so!
Instead he clenched his jaw and quickly unwrapped the linen bandages to expose the poultice Caitir had so carefully packed against his branded and broken flesh.
He only paused long enough to brace himself, and then he tore off the poultice, taking some of his flesh with it.
Blood and pus seeped through the torn scab.
Lugh’s nose wrinkled. “That is vile. You should be more careful.”
“Father,” he said through teeth he had to unclench to finish speaking. “I was wounded during an ambush. It was twenty-five warriors against two. I was too busy fighting for my life to be careful.”
One of the god’s golden brows lifted. “You should be able to best twenty-five warriors easily.”
“And I did! Eventually.” Cuchulainn drew in a long, slow breath. On the exhale he said, “But I will take more care in the future.”
“Good . . . good . . .” Lugh muttered absently as he studied the wound.
“Well, the best way is often the simplest.” The god inhaled deeply.
His chest heaved as he gathered the necessary force, pulling up from his core a thick ball of phlegm.
He bent and spat the globule directly onto Cuchulainn’s wound.
The spittle glistened there briefly before it was absorbed into his skin.
Cuchulainn gasped at the agony that shot through his thigh, but immediately the wound began to close and as it did, the pain eased until it was completely gone and, except for a puckered scar, there was nothing left of the injury.
“There!” Lugh straightened and wiped his palms on his breeches as if he’d had his hands and not just his spittle in the wound.
“Healed. Do not forget our bargain. I certainly will not.” Just before he disappeared into a blazing ball of light, he frowned down at his son.
“And do consider using the Gáe Bulg with the berserker. You don’t have many years left to make certain our names sing through history.
It would be incredibly annoying should you die even sooner than fate has decreed. ”
* * *
“You certainly proved me wrong. You heal as quickly as this.” Lonán snapped his fingers and grinned.
“Cu, he was really here? At this very castle?” Fergal’s body almost hummed with excitement.
“Yes,” Cuchulainn said. “Lugh was here.”
Fergal whistled softly. “It would have been a grand sight to see Lugh of the Long Arm.”
Cuchulainn slid the reins over the stallion’s neck and then turned to face the warriors standing beside him. “Fergal, I give you my word. If I call my father again while I’m at Dunscáith I will be sure you are with me.”
Fergal’s eyes were luminous. “Truly, Cu?”
“Truly.”
Lonán cleared his throat. “In that case, could I be present the next time as well?”
“Yes, my friend. You may.” Cuchulainn almost added that he would never call his father again if he could avoid it, but the delight in his friends’ eyes kept him quiet.
He mounted his horse and smiled down at the two warriors.
“Thank you for your aid in getting my weapons and gear ready so quickly. And now I must ride hard if I’m to catch the Shadow Guard. ”
Fergal looked up at him. “Fight by her side, Cu.”
“I will,” said Cuchulainn.
“Be sure she returns to Dunscáith,” said Lonán.
“The Queen of Shadow will return. You have my oath on it.” Cuchulainn pointed his horse to the raised wooden road from the castle and kneed him into a gallop.
* * *