Chapter 24 #2
His gaze returned to the beast he straddled.
“Because I was wrong. Because he is still a good dog, no matter what rage has done to him.” Cuchulainn wrapped the end of the collar tightly around his left hand, freeing his right.
Then he did something that completely surprised Scáthach—he began to stroke the broken, misshapen, gore and blood-soaked head of the beast. Its muzzle was stretched skyward, but Cuchulainn reached up, scratching behind his ears much like he had caressed Leannan and Béfionn’s bears.
The berserker dog thrashed and snarled anew, but Cuchulainn did not stop stroking him. Instead he spoke to the creature—not as if to a snarling, berserker beast. Cuchulainn spoke to him as if he were still Culann's hound, who loved his home so much that he’d given his life protecting it.
“Sssh now,” Cuchulainn said. “You’re okay.
All is well. There are no battles left to fight; no keeps left to guard.
You don’t belong here in this gloom and cold, my big, good boy.
You belong in the Summerlands, frolicking through fields, chasing nothing more fearsome than a squirrel, and resting your head on a friendly lap as evening draws to a close. ”
The beast had stopped snarling. It was still breathing hard and its body trembled with barely contained rage. Cuchulainn moved from scratching the dog’s ears to stroking the place between his eyes, avoiding the deep gash that had killed him by caving in part of his skull.
“I’m sorry. So, so sorry. I was young and foolish. It was my fault that Culann closed the gate and set you to guard the keep.” Cuchulainn caressed the beast’s head as he spoke. “I shouldn’t have been late. I shouldn’t have had to defend myself against you. I shouldn’t have had to kill you.”
Watching closely, Scáthach noticed the moment the beast’s bulging red eyes began shifting to an amber color that oddly matched Cuchulainn’s. “It’s working.” She spoke softly. “His eyes are changing. When you shift back, your eyes are the first things to change.”
Still holding tightly to the muzzle, Cuchulainn slid from the beast’s back.
The beast began tossing his head, trying to dislodge the leather clamping his jaws closed.
Cuchulainn kept a tight hold on the muzzle as he moved close to him.
The berserker version of the hound was so enormous that Cuchulainn’s head was even with the beast’s shoulder.
“Forgive me,” Cuchulainn murmured. He stroked the berserker’s neck and even scratched around the leather strap under his chin.
“You died because of my youth and foolishness. I’ve been sorry since the moment it happened and I will be sorry even past my last breath.
” He reached up to scratch behind the creature’s big ears, noticing that the grotesque wound on his head had closed.
“That’s a good, big boy. Good boy,” Cuchulainn encouraged him.
The dog’s gaze finally met Cuchulainn’s—amber to amber—and he dropped his head so that his ears were more easily reached.
Cuchulainn’s laugh was boyish, making Scáthach grin with him. The Hero of Ulster scratched and scratched the creature’s ears and stroked his neck—all the while Cuchulainn talked to him.
“I want you to know you’re perfect,” said Cuchulainn. “Just as you are. You don’t have to be filled with rage. You don’t have to move from one battle to another. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You are enough without becoming a beast.”
The creature’s body began to tremble. He whined softly through the muzzle and Cuchulainn loosened it, slipped it off, and dropped it to the ground.
The big creature shook itself as if coming in from the rain.
Then he lay down at Cuchulainn’s feet. Cuchulainn crouched beside him, still stroking his wiry fur.
Still murmuring to him. With a contented sigh, he rested his muzzle on his paws, closed his eyes, and appeared to die.
Cuchulainn’s frantic gaze found Scáthach. “What’s happening? Why is he dead?”
Scáthach joined the body of the dog and the warrior. She put her hand on Cuchulainn’s broad shoulder. “Sentanta, everyone here is dead, remember?”
He looked up at her, his eyes shiny with tears.
“But he’ll reanimate, won’t he? He has to wake up so that you can show him the way to the Summerlands.
He shouldn’t be here!” Cuchulainn wiped a tear from his face with the back of his hand.
“How could your mother be so unjust as to sentence him to this realm when he did nothing to deserve it?”
“Oh, love.” Scáthach used her thumb to brush another tear from his cheek. “Béfionn is not unjust. Remember that time moves oddly here. The hound died many years ago, but I believe with all my heart that to him it seemed he’d only been here for moments before you arrived.”
“Me?”
She nodded. “He was here for you.” She bent and pressed her palm to his chest over his heart. “To heal your hatred for the berserker.”
Cuchulainn blinked several times. “It all seems so strange.”
“But how do you feel now when you think of the berserker?”
Cuchulainn’s gaze returned to the still body of the beast. “I feel compassion,” he spoke so softly Scáthach had to strain to hear. “And understanding.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Scáthach murmured. She asked him, “Will you allow the berserker to sleep now?”
“That is my intention,” Cuchulainn said.
He spoke softly, earnestly, but Scáthach saw the despair that darkened his topaz eyes to amber and she understood the truth he would not speak.
Sentanta never wanted the berserker. Cuchulainn hadn’t even wanted him, but what he wanted had never been the driving force behind the deeds of the Hero of Ulster.
Abruptly, Cuchulainn stood. “What’s happening?”
Beside him, Scáthach’s gaze went to the beast’s body, which was twitching strangely. She took Cuchulainn’s arm, ready to pull him back out of the beast’s striking range. There was an awful tearing sound and the skin on the back of the creature split open.
“Scáthach?” Cuchulainn asked.
“I have no idea what—” Something leaped from that gruesome wound. Scáthach began pulling Cuchulainn away, and then she and the warrior realized what it was they were seeing.
A puppy shook itself before it yipped enthusiastically and trotted to them.
“Oh, gods! This is a surprise!” Cuchulainn squatted down and the pup jumped up, putting its paws on his shoulder and licking his face enthusiastically. Laughing, Cuchulainn stood, holding the pup in his arms. He turned to Scáthach. “He’s a Wolfhound, the kind of dog Culann's used to be.”
Scáthach ruffled the pup’s ears as he wriggled and yipped and leaned to her so he could lick her face. The Queen of Shadow laughed. “Yes, you are definitely a surprise.”
“Is he still dead?” Cuchulainn asked.
“He has to be. Nothing is alive here except us. But he has clearly been given the opportunity to begin anew.” Scáthach smiled as she caressed the pup. “He is going to be very popular in the Summerlands.”
“I’m glad for him,” said Cuchulainn. “Should you send him there now? Before we enter the Winterlands?”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking that I should send Chance to the Summerlands before we pass through the barrier between realms,” said Scáthach.
Hearing his name, the stallion trotted to them.
Scáthach stroked his sleek neck. “You’ve matured so much.
I’m so proud of you. Your service to Cuchulainn and me has fulfilled your penance.
The Winterlands are unpleasant. You’ve earned your rest.” Her gaze flicked to the puppy in Cuchulainn’s arms. “As has that pup.”
Cuchulainn sighed and then nodded. “You’re right.
Much as I would love to keep the two of them with us, they don’t belong here or the Winterlands.
” He went to the stallion, and with his spare hand stroked the horse’s neck.
“I’ll miss you.” Chance nuzzled him and the pup yipped at the stallion.
With dignified patience, Chance allowed the pup to sniff him.
Scáthach gazed at the border to the Winterlands. It was close. She looked from it to the warrior who held the wriggling puppy beside the obedient stallion and felt a pang of regret. She would miss them. All of them.
She unsheathed the dagger from around her waist and made a quick, narrow cut on her forearm.
“So soon?” Cuchulainn asked.
She looked up to see that the three of them were watching her. Scáthach nodded. “The sooner I send them to the Summerlands, the sooner we can finish our quest.” Cuchulainn met her gaze, and she saw her regret reflected there, but he nodded.