Chapter 19 #3
When Scáthach and Cuchulainn finally continued their trek down the trail, bears walked with them. One of Cuchulainn’s hands rested on the head of the first bear who had greeted him, scratching and petting her—exactly as if she were Leannan.
“Yes,” he said. “They are glorious. This place—” He paused and shook his head, laughing when the bear bumped his hand because he’d stopped petting her. “It’s wondrous. And when we die, we come here. Amazing.”
“Well, not really here,” Scáthach corrected him. “This is Béfionn’s entrance. The dead don’t usually find their way to Annwn through this entrance. Spirits come more directly. As you know, Hy-Brasil isn’t easy to find, and even harder to catch.”
“That’s a shame. I’m alive and I find this experience incredible and magickal.
Imagine how wondrous it would be if I was newly dead.
All of this”—he swept an arm out in a gesture taking in the grove of ancient oaks they were passing through, Béfionn’s bears, and the whole island—“would soothe and reassure.”
“Two things the newly dead need,” agreed Scáthach.
“When I was a little girl, I used to worry about the newly dead. I loved the Underworld and I didn’t want them to fear it.
Perhaps using this island more as a general entrance for the dead would alleviate much of their fear.
I’ll speak with Mother about it. The bears would certainly approve—if Mother does—they like company.
” She grinned and ruffled the ears of the big bear walking at her side.
They passed through the sentinel oaks and followed the trail into the pine forest, where brightly colored songbirds serenaded them and the scent of wildflowers perfumed the air from the grassy glens between groupings of trees.
Gradually the rolling hills became rockier, craggier, so that they almost mirrored the wild beauty of the Isle of Skye. The trail narrowed and the bears could no longer walk beside them but followed behind, occasionally butting one or the other of them insistently for a chin scratch.
“The entrance is just around the curve in the trail,” Scáthach told him.
“I can’t imagine Annwn could be much more beautiful than Hy-Brasil,” said Cuchulainn.
“Oh, it is—more beautiful and more terrible.”
“And by terrible I hope you mean the bears are even larger and their chin scratches must be done with two hands rather than one.” He glanced at her when she said nothing and frowned.
“Please tell me that we’re not trading the bears for the sturgeons.
I mean no offense to your nursemaids, but I vastly prefer the bears over .
. .” His words sputtered out as they walked around the curve in the trail.
It dead-ended before what looked at first like a strangely rounded wall of stone that towered at least fifty feet above them.
It was covered with carvings of animals and people entwined in elaborate knot work reminiscent of the carvings that covered the walls of Dunscáith.
And then Cuchulainn gasped. “It’s not a wall!
” He took a step or two closer before he finished.
“It’s a huge snake carved from stone. Its head is pointed at us.
” Cuchulainn put his hands on his hips and glanced around them.
The trail truly ended there. There was no going around the enormous thing.
“This big statue is—Ah!” He scrambled back a few steps as the statue opened its eyes.
A forked tongue flicked out of its mouth, tasting the air around them. Its head turned to face Scáthach.
Cuchulainn moved so that he stood at her side. He did not unsheathe his sword but fisted and released his hands, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, clearly ready to fight or flee. “What now?”
“Now we enter Annwn.” She drew the dagger from her waist sheath again and strode directly to the snake’s head as it watched her unblinkingly.
She cut a line in her palm and then slapped her hand on the creature’s snout, saying, “Through right of blood open for me, great guardian of Annwn.” When she lifted her hand, she left a scarlet print that disappeared as it was absorbed into the stone of the snake's snout.
With a deafening hiss, the snake opened his huge mouth to reveal a tunnel that was the continuation of the path they’d been following. The smooth round walls were also covered in carvings. There was no light within the tunnel, but a glow emanated from the far end, a beacon that called them forward.
“Annwn?” Cuchulainn asked.
“The light, yes. Think of the snake as the door—a very long, strange door,” said Scáthach.
“Well then.” He started to walk into the snake’s mouth, but Scáthach’s hand on his arm halted him.
“You must know a few things—or more accurately rules, not things—before you enter Annwn,” Scáthach explained.
“The dead are but people who have crossed from the mortal realm to the next. They should be feared no more than the living.” She shifted her travel pack and smiled.
“My mother told me that before I entered the snake with her the first time. The next thing she said was that I must remain calm. It was easy for me to do so when I repeated the first thing she said to me, frequently, while I was in there.” She gestured at the tunnel and the spirit realm beyond.
He nodded and said, “Nothing to fear. Stay calm.”
“In Annwn the dead are corporeal. They can kill you.”
His eyes widened. “Can I kill them?”
She snorted a laugh. “Yes. Over and over and over and over, which is why violence is not the best option in Annwn.”
“I see.” He smiled a little sheepishly. “I suppose the dead are already dead so it makes sense they can’t be killed. Again. Anything else I should know?”
“Yes. Wonders and horrors are within, but most of it you have to experience to understand. Though there is one more thing you should know before we enter. Annwn is a place of absolute truth. Death strips away lies. It bares even our deepest, most tightly kept secrets. Only truth can be spoken there without repercussion. So if there is something you’d rather the truth not be known about . . .” She shrugged.
“Don’t speak it at all?”
“Exactly. Shall we enter?” Scáthach asked.
“I follow the mighty Queen of Shadow.” Cuchulainn bowed to her.
“Very wise of you, Hero of Ulster,” she said, and stepped into the mouth of the serpent with Cuchulainn following close behind.