Chapter 28
Sentanta watched until he could no longer see her, and then he continued staring back at the isle, the castle, and the woman who had forever changed him, wishing . . . wondering . . . hoping . . .
* * *
Béfionn gently wiped the tears from Scáthach’s cheeks. “Sometimes we just need to cry them out of our hearts,” said the goddess.
Scáthach sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve, and asked, “That actually works?”
Her mother stroked back her hair gently. “No, precious girl. What works is time and the understanding that the choice you made was wise.”
“It didn’t feel like I had a choice,” Scáthach admitted.
“That’s only because you are wise and independent.
Do you know how many women would have believed they didn’t have a choice either, which means they would have given up their lives and chased after that man?
” The goddess sat cross-legged facing her daughter.
Leannan was curled at Béfionn’s side. One of the goddess’s hands rested on her wide head.
Béfionn met her daughter’s gaze. “But I know how painful it is to choose to love yourself and your own life over losing yourself to another.”
“Doing the right thing isn’t easy,” said Scáthach. “Mother, I want you to know Cuchulainn isn’t a bad man.”
“Of course he isn’t. Beloved daughter, a lesser man couldn’t have won your love.” The goddess’s lips tilted up in a smile. “And the Underworld has told me tales of your Sentanta. The realms liked him. And I like his puppy.”
Scáthach brightened. “The pup! You’ve seen him?”
“Of course. I sent the dog’s spirit to the Autumnal Realm for Cuchulainn. Oh, and I’ve seen your stallion, too. He and the pup are inseparable.”
“I told Cuchulainn you were behind the berserker dog.” She paused and added, “The dog wasn’t there long, was he?”
“He was a good dog. He slept until you and your warrior arrived. To him it seemed he had only just been killed.” She cocked her head, studying Scáthach. “Did it work? Was Cuchulainn able to accept the berserker?”
“You know Cuchulainn will call the berserker again?”
“I know Lugh, so yes, I know Cuchulainn will call the berserker again. I didn’t want the Hero of Ulster’s short life to be any more miserable than his choices have already made him.”
“Thank you.” Scáthach’s brow furrowed. “You know everything that happened in the Underworld?”
“Yes, though I did not ask for details on some of the . . . events that happened at night.” Béfionn ruffled Leannan’s ears.
“You did good work opening Valhalla to those spirits. You judged the man obsessed with the child correctly, and it was compassionate to send the stallion and pup to the Summerlands before you entered the Winterlands.”
When Béfionn said nothing more, Scáthach frowned. “And what of Curruid?”
“Curruid is what began my journey here to you today.” The goddess reached out and stroked her daughter’s cheek. “And your tears were what hastened my arrival.”
“Then you know—”
“Excuse me.” Uathach’s voice came from the stairs that led up to the castle.
Scáthach and Béfionn turned to see her standing at the bottom of them.
She held their most precious pitcher—it was silver and covered with intricate knot work.
Tabiti was beside her, carrying a tray that held two matching silver goblets. “Mother, Grandmother, we brought mead.”
Béfionn’s smile was filled with warmth. “Little Fry! How very considerate of you. Come! Come!”
Uathach and Tabiti approached, bowing low when they reached the end of the docks.
“Tabiti, you are aging well,” said the goddess.
Tabiti’s eyes widened in surprise, but she hid her shock, bowing low again. “Thank you, great goddess. As always, you look magnificent.”
Béfionn waved away the compliment. “Of course I do.” Her gaze went to Uathach. “It has been too long, Granddaughter. I am pleased to see you have grown into a lovely, strong woman.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you’re here, Grandmother,” said Uathach as she placed the pitcher of mead beside them and gave the goddess and then her mother the filled goblets. She met her grandmother’s gaze that was so like her own, and so like her mother’s. “Scáthach needs you.”
One of the goddess’s tawny brows lifted, but she only nodded and said, “That is exactly why I am here.”
“May we bring you food?” Uathach asked.
“Perhaps later. I’ll send Leannan to find you if so,” said the goddess. “For now, your mother has three important decisions to make.”
Uathach and Tabiti bowed low, and as they retreated back down the dock, the goddess raised her voice.
“Little Fry?” Uathach turned to look at her grandmother.
“If you say yes, know that I will see you often. Not as often as your mother will see you, but I want you to understand you will have my blessing.”
Uathach’s brow furrowed. She glanced at her mother, who shrugged. Then she bowed again to the goddess. “Yes, Grandmother. Thank you.” The two women hurried up the stairs.
“What are you talking about?” Scáthach asked her mother.
“Curruid,” said the goddess. “You’ve been correct since you were a child.
I thought it was your father’s mortality filling you with compassion for the spirits being held temporarily in the Autumnal Realm.
And then when you were a young woman and you showed so much undeserved compassion for the spirits sentenced to the Winterlands, I blamed his mortal blood again.
” She held Scáthach’s gaze steadily. “I was wrong about both.”
Relief washed through Scáthach. “Then you’ll do something about it!
Especially in the Winterlands. The spirits in the Autumnal Realm will eventually move on, so their need is not as urgent—not that I mean to lessen the importance of ending their misery as soon as possible.
” She spoke quickly, filled with excitement.
She’d done it! She’d gotten her mother to take a second look at the rules that bound the Underworld realms!
“But it’s the Winterlands that haunt me the most, or rather the spirits there.
Oh, Mother, thank you! I’m so relieved that you’re going to .
. .” Her words faded. “What is it you’re going to do about those spirits? ”
“I’m so glad you asked. I’m not going to do anything.” Béfionn smiled.
“But you said you were wrong.”
“Oh, I was. And I wasn’t completely accurate when I said I’m not going to do anything about the realms. If you agree, I’m going to create the Goddess of the Dead, whose only job is to escort spirits to the Underworld and then watch, listen, judge—and be quite sure no mistake like the one I made sentencing Curruid to eternal damnation happens again. ”
Scáthach blinked several times. “I . . . you . . . I don’t understand. You want me to agree that it is wise to create a Goddess of the Dead?”
“No, beloved daughter, I want you to become Goddess of the Dead.”
The shock that jolted through Scáthach’s body felt lightning-bolt strong. “Me?” she squeaked. “But I’m mortal. And Queen of Shadow. And I teach warriors. I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” She closed her mouth and stared at her mother, who continued to smile serenely.
“I can gift you with immortality. The realms already accept you.”
“Because I’m your daughter!” she blurted.
“No, my sweet, precious girl, because you are wise and merciful as well as a mighty warrior whose discernment they trust.”
Scáthach sighed and muttered, “You sound like the delegation from Lethra.”
“The one that named you their queen?” asked the goddess.
“Yes. The one I turned down,” answered her daughter.
“Another wise choice, especially when you have two queens here who are ready to step into their power.”
Scáthach shook her head. “Two queens? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You will soon enough. Now, what of my offer?” Before Scáthach could reply, the goddess continued.
“You would live on Hy-Brasil, of course. As Goddess of the Dead you have the power to create your own castle, though you may return and visit Dunscáith as often as you wish.” Béfionn laughed softly. “Goddesses rule themselves.”
Scáthach kept staring at her mother. “But I’m Queen of Shadow.”
“That is a title. You may gift it to anyone deserving.” Béfionn’s gaze flicked to the empty stairway and then back to her daughter. “You will still have your affinity for shadow. That will never change.”
“And my school?”
“If you choose your replacement wisely, Dunscáith will thrive for many more years, but you must understand this is a mortal school and nothing mortals create lasts forever except in ballads.” The goddess’s smile turned wry. “And those are seldom accurate.”
Scáthach scoffed. “Something all wise women know!”
“I told you the bard would be amusing,” said the goddess.
“Ha! He’s been as amusing as a festering thorn in my side,” said Scáthach.
Béfionn shrugged. “He will create ballads about your Cuchulainn that will be sung generation after generation.”
“He’s not my Cuchulainn,” said Scáthach.
“Cuchulainn, Sentanta—they’re basically the same and they’re both yours.”
“He’s going to marry someone else and live his short life without me,” said Scáthach.
Béfionn leaned forward and spoke directly into her daughter’s face. “Your father married someone else. He lived his long life mostly without me. He was always mine.”
Scáthach nodded slowly. “Yes. He was always yours. He still is, isn’t he?”
Béfionn leaned back. “Of course.”
“You said I have three decisions to make. You’ve only presented me with one,” said Scáthach.
“And if you say yes to the one, the other two will present themselves to you.”
“When do you need my decision?” she asked.
In response Béfionn asked her own question. “How long do you want redeemable spirits to suffer in the Winterlands? How long do you want those who are repentant to languish in the Autumnal Realm? How long will our warriors be without a guide to the Summerlands?”
Scáthach abruptly stood. “I have to make those two decisions.”