Chapter 20 #3
“Or they’ve been here for centuries, not able to move on because they cling so tightly together that they refuse to look within,” Scáthach said.
They’d drawn close to the two men, and at the sound of Scáthach’s voice the men whirled around and stared at them. Their eyes widened and their slack expressions shifted to surprise and then delight.
“Scáthach!” one man cried.
“Our Queen of Shadow! You came for us!” the other shouted joyously as their stiff, slow movements disappeared and they raced to the chariot.
Cuchulainn pulled Chance to a halt.
“Cu! It’s you as well!” shouted the first man as he reached the chariot and looked up at Cuchulainn, his pale face split by a wide smile.
“Cynwrig?” Cuchulainn asked incredulously.
“Aye! Aye! And Enniaum!” said Cynwrig as both men bowed to Scáthach.
Deeply shocked, Scáthach stared at the two dead men, hand pressed to her chest. She knew these men!
They had been her students. Cynwrig had died in the ambush led by Drest and Enniaum was supposed to have returned his body to Tribe Brigantes for the proper funeral rites.
“What are the two of you doing here? Why are you not in the Summerlands?”
“Great queen!” said Enniaum. “I was killed just after we crossed to the mainland. It was Drest and his men. They came upon us as their boats hunted the waters. They murdered me and threw my body and Cynwrig’s into the sea with no care, no respect, no burial rites.”
Cynwrig bowed to Scáthach again and then added, “We have been wandering here since, walking in a never-ending circle. We cannot find our way to the Summerlands.”
“Queen of Shadow, did you not know this? Are you not here to guide us to the Summerlands?” asked Cynwrig, his voice high with fear.
Scáthach moved quickly from the chariot cart to her students, embracing both men before she answered. “I did not know of your death,” she told Enniaum. “Cuchulainn and I are here on a different quest.”
Cuchulainn joined her. Without hesitation he embraced both men. “Cynwrig and Enniaum, it is good to see you again.”
Cynwrig studied Cuchulainn carefully. “Your flesh is warm. And pink. You live?”
Cuchulainn nodded. “I do. I am only allowed to be here because the Queen of Shadow escorts me.”
The dead men turned to Scáthach again. “Will you help us?” Cynwrig asked.
“Gladly,” said Scáthach. “All I need is a body of water. A stream would be best as it would be most easily crossed and . . .” Her words faded as a stream manifested.
Bisecting the dirt road, it flowed from the hills to their right to disappear among the heather to their left.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she walked around the chariot to the stream with the two dead men and Cuchulainn following her.
At the edge of the slowly moving water, Scáthach stopped.
“Cynwrig, Enniaum, I must admit that I have only guided one spirit to the entrance of the Summerlands.” Her gaze flicked to Chance, who waited patiently, watching her.
She put one hand on Cynwrig’s shoulder and the other on Enniaum’s.
“I only knew you a few weeks before Drest ambushed us, but even in that time I saw your character. You were honorable men who were killed too young.” She met Cynwrig’s gaze.
“You fought bravely before your mortal wound.” Her eyes went to Enniaum.
“And you did not hesitate to volunteer to return your cousin’s body home.
I am confident Béfionn would agree that neither of you deserve to be in the Autumnal Realm. ”
Tears washed the men’s pale cheeks and Scáthach gently wiped them away.
“Do not despair. The Summerlands will welcome you. Today you will feast with your ancestors.” Then the Queen of Shadow faced the stream.
She motioned for the dead men to stand together beside her.
“Link your arms as you were before. You have been bound together here and shall enter the Summerlands together.”
Eagerly, the men linked arms.
“Now, enter the stream and stop in the middle,” Scáthach instructed.
Arms joined, the dead men did so. The stream was shallow. Their breeches were only wetted to their knees. It was also not wide, and after taking only a couple strides, they stopped and gazed back at Scáthach.
She smiled at them. “Do not look to me. Look ahead to the land of perpetual summer and eternal joy. The land of our ancestors and of our gods.” As Cynwrig and Enniaum faced forward, Scáthach lifted her hand so that it was raised just above her head.
When she spoke again, her voice was filled with music and magick, love and life.
It was filled with the Summerlands. “Listen well!” she said.
“There are two here who deserve welcome. Rejoice, Tribe Brigantes! Cousins Cynwrig and Enniaum have finally come home!” A familiar sensation tingled over her skin—one she’d often felt when visiting the Autumnal Realm with her mother and Béfionn had stopped to open the veil to the Summerlands and allow a spirit entrance.
Scáthach smiled victoriously. Then, as if she really grasped a veil, Scáthach pinched the air between her thumb and forefinger.
The air just beyond the stream began to shimmer and Scáthach pulled that shimmering veil aside to reveal a sunlit meadow.
In the middle of the meadow was a long trestle table, filled to overflowing with food and drink.
The people seated there feasted and laughed as a harp played a sweet melody.
One of the revelers turned and looked at the two men standing in the middle of the stream. Smiling, he stood and waved. Then he called, “Cyn, my boy!”
“Father!” Cynwrig shouted.
A woman stood. Her thick silver hair fell to her waist. Well-worn laugh lines crinkled around her eyes. “Enniaum! How I have missed you!”
“Grandmother!” Enniaum cried.
“Go to them with the blessing of Béfionn,” urged Scáthach.
Still linked together, Cynwrig and Enniaum rushed from the stream and into the arms of their loved ones. The veil dimmed and then closed. The tingling sensation lifted from her skin, leaving her smiling and teary-eyed.
Cuchulainn strode to Scáthach. She was still smiling as she turned to him and, as she had so recently done for the dead men, wiped the tears from his cheeks.
“You are magnificent.” Cuchulainn cupped her chin and gently pressed his lips to hers.