Brighid's Quest. P.C. Cast

herself comfortably near the brightly burning campfire and accepted a bowl of thick stew from an eager young server, she thought that even though Partholon was prosperous and thriving, there were many things Partholonians could learn from the New Fomorians—especially about traveling in comfort. The winged people had little, and their land was stark and harsh, but she had rarely experienced such a cozy, harmonious campsite.

      The cold, ever-blowing wind had been neatly blocked by the sturdy design of the goatskin tents, which fitted snugly in a warm circle around Ciara’s blazing fire. Every so often someone would feed the fire with another chunk of what one of the winged women had said was a mixture of dried lichen and goat dung. The fodder explained the vague scent that drifted with the smoke, but it was much less offensive than she would have thought—and it accomplished its job. The fire burned hot and steady.

      Dinner had been put together as quickly and efficiently as had the tents, and in an amazingly short time everyone was sitting near the fire or within the warmth of the open-fronted tents, sharing a robust stew. Brighid chewed thoughtfully on a piece of rabbit and looked around the unusually quiet camp. The children looked tired, the Huntress realized with a jolt. Not long ago they had flitted about, tending the goats and chattering nonstop while they spread soft goatskin rugs within the tents. Now it was as if someone had turned off their youthful exuberance.

      Without being obvious about it, Brighid cut her eyes to her left, where Liam had insisted he had to sit because he was, after all, her apprentice. When had he quit babbling? she wondered. When had they all stopped babbling? Maybe Cuchulainn wasn’t as far gone as she had thought—it seemed she, too, had the ability to tune out their ceaseless talking.

      “Here—” Cu tossed a wineskin to her as he joined the circle, sitting cross-legged to her right. “You brought it. You should drink some of it.” He nodded his thanks at the boy who handed him a steaming bowl.

      “It’s weird when they’re not constantly talking,” Brighid said, lowering her voice so that it didn’t carry over the crackle and pop of the camp fire.

      “They came a long way today, twice as far as I expected. Any other children would have stopped hours ago.” Cu’s gaze traveled around the silent circle and he almost smiled. “I suspect it has finally caught up with them.”

      “Thank the Goddess,” Brighid mumbled and took a long pull of the excellent red wine.

      “I suspect they’ll be ready to go again at first light.”

      “I suspect you’re right,” Brighid said. The warrior seemed more relaxed than he had been earlier, or perhaps he was just tired, too. Did keeping everyone at a distance take its toll on Cu, especially since he had spent the vast majority of his life drawing people to him?

      “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll skip the storytelling,” Cu said between bites of stew.

      Brighid raised an eyebrow at him. “You mean the infamous tales of a certain Huntress?”

      Cuchulainn grunted and jerked his chin in the direction of Liam, who had finished eating and was yawning sleepily. “You can’t say you don’t understand how persuasive they can be when they want to know something.”

      Brighid snorted, but was careful not to look at the boy, afraid any show of attention would cue him to begin prattling once again about how quiet he could be.

      “Well,” she said softly. “I might admit to knowing something of what you mean…” she began, but a rustling from the opposite side of the circle drew her attention.

      Brighid hadn’t had time to speak to many of the adult hybrids. Everyone had been too involved with setting up camp, and the adults were kept especially busy with their flocks of children. Other than a passing word or two, she had spent her time in the company of Cuchulainn and Ciara. And, she added silently, the too-exuberant Liam and Kyna. But she easily recognized the two adults, who were now standing, as the twins, Curran and Nevin.

      “I spoke too soon,” Cuchulainn said caustically. “When those two stand that means there are going to be stories.”

      Brighid felt him gather himself to leave, and then, before she could stop herself, she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder.

      “Stay,” she said, surprised at the unfamiliarly husky sound of her voice. It was as if her impulse to keep Cu there had come from deep within her, and her voice reflected that well of emotion.

      Cuchulainn turned his head and met her eyes.

      “If you leave one of those children might come and take your place. Then I will be completely surrounded,” she whispered, feeling suddenly too exposed and vulnerable.

      “Harrumph,” he said roughly, but he resettled himself beside her.

      “Our journey has finally begun,” said Nevin.

      “We have waited long for this day.” Curran picked up the thread of his twin’s words. “Our mothers in the spirit realm rejoice.”

      “They smile that their hearts’ desires are coming to fruition,” Nevin said. “Do you feel their presence, children?” The winged man smiled at the small faces turned in his direction and the children nodded sleepily.

      “Their love is in the wind,” Curran said. “It lifts our wings.”

      “And our hearts,” Nevin completed. “And as long as the wind blows, we will not forget their love, or their sacrifice.”

      Brighid couldn’t help but be intrigued by the twins’ performance. They truly were bards. Their voices weren’t simply powerful, but had that indescribable note of magic that so clearly separated a bard from the rest of the populace. She thought she could listen to their rich, emotion-filled voices forever, and she was chagrined that the twins had spent all those days at MacCallan Castle without any of the Clan knowing of their gift. She snorted lightly to herself. That would certainly change when they returned. Bards were always a welcome addition to any Clan.

      “Tonight we must rest well for the coming day,” Curran said.

      “So our tale will be a short one.”

      “But well-loved.” Curran’s smile flashed brilliantly across the campfire at the surprised Huntress. “With your permission, Brighid. We will tell the tale of how you tracked the young Fand and saved her from certain death.”

      The tired children stirred and Brighid heard delighted murmurs from the youngsters sitting nearest to the wolf cub sprawled by the fire. Beside her Liam came back to life and wriggled happily, staring at the Huntress with wide, adoring eyes.

      “Glad I stayed,” Cu grunted under his breath to her. “I like this one, too.”

      Ciara’s musical voice interrupted the scowl Brighid was aiming at the warrior.

      “Now that we have been blessed with the presence of the Huntress, perhaps Brighid would be so gracious as to tell us her own version of the saving of Fand.”

      Brighid’s scowl turned instantly from Cuchulainn to Ciara. What was she thinking? Brighid was no bard, and she certainly didn’t want to tell some ridiculous story about herself to a group of already annoyingly infatuated children. And anyway, she hadn’t actually saved the damned cub, she’d just led Cu to the den. It had been Brenna who had made sure that…The Huntress’s eyes met the Shaman’s and Brighid felt a jolt of gutdeep understanding. Ciara was looking at her steadily with a serene, encouraging expression.

      “Will you tell us the real story, Brighid?” the Shaman asked.

      Chapter 10

      “I’m no bard, but if you want the real story, I’ll tell it.” She was glad her voice didn’t betray the tumult going on within her. Her gut was tight and her heart thumped like she had been running all day after an elusive prey. She could feel Cu’s eyes on her and she allowed herself one fast glance at the warrior. His brows had gone up and surprise curled one side of his lips. She looked hastily away. He probably thought