Chapter 22 #3
Instead of a waterfall and a cliff, a glistening circle had formed.
A man stood before the circle. He was in a majestic lodge with a roaring hearthfire at his back and he peered at Scáthach as if he looked out a window.
She recognized the Jarl of Lethra immediately.
He was magnificent. No longer an old man with stooped shoulders and a well-lined face, Ardgeimm was the young, virile man who had successfully wooed and won the love of a goddess.
His auburn hair was thick, his shoulders broad, and his brilliant blue eyes shined with joy.
“Scáthach! My lioness! Seeing you again fills my heart!” He spread his arms wide as if to embrace her.
“Father!” She smiled through tears that washed her cheeks. “You heard me! You answered!”
“Truthfully, it was your mother who brought my attention to your call,” he said, and then winked at her. “You know she has been visiting me.”
“I do know. Is she there? May I see her?”
“She is still in Valhalla, but when she heard your summons, Béfionn told me to face this”—he gestured before him at the glittering circle—“opening?”
“Opening is accurate,” Scáthach said as she wiped at her tears.
“Good. Good. So, she placed me here. Told me to talk with our daughter, and then she went to find Odin.” Her father’s gaze moved from her to find Drest and the double column of warriors who stood behind him.
As one, the army went to their knees. “Drest? What is the meaning of this?” Ardgeimm peered through the veil and his eyes widened. “Are you and my warriors in Annwn?”
Drest stepped forward and bowed deeply. “We are, my king. It is my fault—my responsibility, my great and terrible error. I followed Aife in her bid to usurp the crown of Lethra and betrayed your wishes. I do not deserve forgiveness, but the warriors who trusted me and followed me do. Please. Could they come home to Valhalla?”
Her father’s gaze swept over the army. “Do I see some of my Wolfskins among you?”
Reluctantly, the dead Wolfskins stood.
“Forgive us. We should not have left Lethra. We should not have followed Drest and Aife,” said the same warrior who had given his cloak to the fire.
“You shame me,” said the Jarl of Lethra.
The men bowed their heads.
Her father’s gaze found Scáthach again. “What say you, daughter? Should these traitors be allowed redemption?”
She didn’t hesitate. “They should. They made a mistake. A terrible one, but I believe they understand that now.” She paused to look at Drest. Pale and silent, he continued to gaze at the king he’d served and then betrayed.
“Even Drest. Though his betrayal cuts the deepest. But what he did wasn’t because of greed or to feed his ego. Drest betrayed you because of love.”
“Aife,” said her father.
“Yes. Aife.”
Her father sighed heavily and then his gaze snapped to her. “You weren’t harmed, were you?”
“No, Father.”
“And our Little Fry? She’s well?”
Scáthach smiled. “Uathach is very well. She misses you. As do I.” She wiped fresh tears from her cheeks.
“Well then. If you can forgive and see the goodness in them, who am I to turn them away?” asked her father with a proud smile.
“I cannot guarantee the All Father’s judgment will not be harsh, but it will be just.” The Jarl of Lethra motioned to Drest. “Come, Drest. Lead the Wolfskins and the rest of my warriors here. Odin and Hel shall decide what must be done next.”
Drest took a step forward and stopped beside Scáthach. “How do I do it?”
Scáthach nodded at the opening in the veil. “Simply walk forward. The realm will do the rest.”
Drest began to do so, but paused, turned to Scáthach, and bowed deeply. “I will remember your compassion for eternity.”
Scáthach touched his shoulder and he straightened.
“Remember to look within yourself honestly. We all tell ourselves stories about how we wish the truth would unfold. Hoping and wondering and wishing are natural, good even. But self-delusion is a type of living death, and those who trap themselves in it can never truly be happy.”
Drest nodded. “That I will remember, along with your wisdom and your mercy.”
He called his last command to the army of dead men. “Follow me home to Valhalla!” Drest strode forward, disappearing within the veil.
The army followed him. Each bowed to Scáthach. Some kissed her hand. Some embraced her. Even though they knew they would face punishment for their betrayal, they carried an air of excitement with them and strode joyfully into their future.
When the last man had passed through the veil, her father smiled down on her. “I’m glad you called. I thought I'd never see you again, my little lioness.”
“I wished I’d been able to tell you goodbye,” said Scáthach as Cuchulainn moved to her side.
Ardgeimm’s focus shifted to him. “Is that the Hero of Ulster I see?”
Cuchulainn dipped his head in a bow. “It is.”
“Are you dead as well?”
Cuchulainn smiled. “No, Jarl. Your daughter is escorting me through the Underworld on a quest.”
“Ah. Well. I’ll expect you to keep her safe on this quest,” said Ardgeimm.”
Cuchulainn snorted. “It is she who usually keeps me safe.”
“That is not entirely accurate,” said Scáthach.
Her father looked from her to Cuchulainn and his expression shifted to a knowing smile. “I see. Then take care of each other.”
“It will always be my greatest honor to have traveled with and fought by your daughter’s side,” said Cuchulainn.
Looking very much like his daughter, Ardgeimm raised a brow and smiled.
“I can see that.” He turned his gaze to Scáthach.
“I would say goodbye, but something makes me believe I will see you again. So instead I shall just say, go with my love, little lioness.” He kissed his hand and, as the opening began to fade and close, he pressed it forward, palm toward her.
Scáthach did the same. She kissed her hand and pressed it, palm raised, to the fading glimpse of Valhalla. “I love you, too.”
Then her father was gone and Scáthach turned to Cuchulainn, who opened his arms. Scáthach stepped into his embrace, and he held her while she sobbed.