Brighid's Quest. P.C. Cast
never coerce, threaten, or force any soul to return. In doing so, you would be interfering with the free will of the individual.”
Brighid sighed and squinted into the silver flame. “So it’s not just a matter of finding the broken pieces of Cu’s spirit?”
“No. Think of yourself as a guide, or more accurately as a mediator between the warrior and his retreated soul. That is why it is important that Cuchulainn agree to the retrieval. Without his approval his soul will never become whole.”
“Does it matter that the only reason Cu agreed to this is so that he can have a clear conscience when he kills himself?” Brighid asked sardonically.
Ciara’s kind smile didn’t waver. “Once his spirit is whole again, the warrior will not kill himself—and part of Cuchulainn already knows that.”
“I hope you’re right about that, Shaman.”
“Trust me,” Ciara said.
Brighid met the Shaman’s steady gaze. Just days ago she would never have imagined trusting any of the hybrids, but wings or no wings, Ciara exuded honesty and goodness. She was trustworthy. Slowly the Huntress bowed her head respectfully to the winged woman, just as Brighid had seen so many centaurs acknowledge their trust in her mother.
“I choose to trust you, Shaman,” Brighid said.
“Thank you,” Ciara breathed, visibly moved by the centaur’s show of respect.
“So, what is my first step on this spirit hunt?” Brighid asked.
“You’ve begun the first step. Before soul-retrieval can be attempted there must be a bridge of caring and understanding between the warrior and you. You are his friend. Simply strengthen the bond that is already in place between you.”
Brighid snorted. “That’s damn difficult to do when Cu’s as withdrawn and surly as a bobcat.”
“Then you must explain to him why he must be open to you. It is your job to do the journeying and to expose yourself to the spiritual rigors of the Otherworld. His part in the process is to allow you access to his spirit—in this world, as well as the other.”
“Cu’s not going to like that.”
“The warrior is an intelligent man. Like it or not, he’ll understand the necessity of it.”
Brighid wanted to say that she didn’t like it either. The idea of trammeling around within another’s spirit felt like an invasion of the worst type. And, unexpectedly, she thought how much easier this would be if she could speak with her mother, but it was a desire she tamped down almost as quickly as she thought it.
“So I talk to him. I’m friendly with him. Then what?”
“In order to retrieve his soul, you will need to journey deep within the Realm of Spirits, and that is something you cannot safely do while we travel. It would not do to have your body and your spirit both displaced. I am an experienced Shaman, and even I would be reluctant to journey to the Otherworld before we’re settled in Partholon. Instead what you must do now is lay the foundation for your quest.” She paused and flashed Brighid a quick smile. “Or, as you would call it, your hunt. When you return to MacCallan Castle, and your body is safe at your home, then you will take the Shaman’s Path to the Otherworld.”
Relieved she wouldn’t be doing any spirit traveling in the near future, Brighid felt the nervous tension in her body relax.
“Between here and MacCallan Castle think of Cuchulainn each night before you sleep, for it is during our sleeping hours that we are closest to the Otherworld. Send positive thoughts of him into your dreams. Begin to imagine him as he once was—whole and happy.”
Brighid nodded. “I can do that.”
“You will also need a soul-catching stone. This stone is always a gift from the spirit realm. Sometimes it comes directly from Epona. Sometimes it is brought to the Shaman from her animal ally.”
“But I’m not a Shaman, and I certainly don’t have an animal ally!”
Ciara shrugged. “Perhaps you won’t need the gift of a soul-catcher. All I’m suggesting is that you stay open to the possibility.”
“Fine. If a stone drops from the sky onto my head I’ll be sure to pick it up and keep it.”
Ciara laughed. “Be careful. Too often the spirit realm takes our jests seriously.”
More good news, the Huntress thought.
“And while you’re watching out for stones, you might also want to keep your eyes open for your animal ally.”
“My animal ally?”
“It’s just a thought. Even though you are not a Shaman, your affinity for the spirits of animals is strong, so it wouldn’t be beyond belief for you to be gifted with an animal guide from the spirit realm.”
Thinking of the raven that was so closely allied with her mother, Brighid frowned.
“I hunt animals and then I kill them. That’s not exactly being allied to them,” Brighid said shortly.
“You do not slaughter animals for the pleasure of it, or as some vainglorious, self-gratifying act of ego. You do what you must to feed your people. Do you not respect each animal you kill, as well as give thanks to Epona for Her bounty after each hunt?”
“Of course,” the Huntress said.
“The spirit realm knows this—perhaps even better than you do, Huntress.”
Brighid shook her head and rubbed her arms again as another chill worked its way through her body. “Doesn’t it ever make you feel…I don’t know how to put it…violated?”
“It?”
“It! It!” Brighid gestured at the silent darkness that surrounded them. “The Otherworld—the Realm of Spirits. Isn’t it like having someone, or a group of someones, constantly watching your every move?”
The Shaman tilted her head to the side, considering. “It’s not a violation because the Realm of Spirits rarely encroaches where it is not welcome.”
“It might not encroach, but I know from experience that when warnings from that realm are ignored or denied, there is usually a high price to pay,” Brighid said solemnly.
“Isn’t that how life is? If you’re given a gift, be it an affinity for a part of the spirit realm, or be it a talent to make music or to tool leather, and you ignore it, isn’t there always a price to be paid?” Ciara paused and pressed her lips into a tight line before continuing in a sad, heavy voice. “I had a sister. She was the most gifted artist among our people, but as she grew to adulthood, she refused to use her skill. She said there was too much ugliness around and within her—she refused to find beauty anywhere, not even in the stories from the past. From the day she quit painting, I think her soul began to die. Eventually her body followed it.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Ciara,” Brighid said quietly.
“Thank you, Huntress. But I did not share my sister’s story with you to evoke your pity. I’d simply ask that you learn from it.”
“Understood.”
They sat together silently, each lost in her own thoughts. The silver light between them fluttered with the wind, casting moving shadows against Ciara’s wings. In the light from the flame of her own creation Ciara looked like she belonged more to the Otherworld than to this one. She should be the one doing this soul-retrieval stuff, not Brighid. Ciara looked up from the flame, and Brighid was surprised to see lines of worry furrowing her brow.
“Would you allow me to ask you something that has nothing to do with the warrior or his soul?” Ciara asked abruptly.
Brighid nodded, hoping that the perceptive winged woman wouldn’t ask any questions about her family.
Ciara’s