Page 86 of Queen of the Shadow

Cuchulainn whistled softly as he gazed upward. “This is incredible. The sky! I’ve never seen colors like this.”

“It’s Annwn. The sky is always strange and beautiful here,” Scáthach said.

As they got closer to the stream and the hawthorn arch beyond, a horse came into view. The young stallion was grazing on the grass that grew thick and sweet along the bank of the stream.

Eagerly, Cuchulainn asked, “Do we wade through the stream and pass under the hawthorn arch?” Before Scáthach could answer, he continued. “Isn’t that the stallion that ran away with Uathach? The one you sacrificed? He doesn’t look dead at all.”

Scáthach looked sharply at him. “As I said, the dead are corporeal in Annwn. How did you know I sacrificed the stallion?”

He moved his shoulders and smiled sheepishly. “I saw you that night.” At her narrowed eyes, he hurried to explain. “I don’t sleep well. Actually, I hardly ever sleep and can’t remember the last full night’s rest I’ve had. Good thing I’m the son of a god. Seems Lugh’s blood allows me to function without it.”

“What does that have to do with you watching me?”

“Oh! No. Well, yes. I did watch you that night, but not because I set out to do so. I’m often restless at night while everyone else is sleeping and it’s difficult for me to stay in bed. The north tower of Dunscáith is quiet and empty and has a nice view. I go there often at night.”

“You were in the north tower the night I sacrificed the stallion,” she said.

“Yes.”

“And you watched me.”

He cleared his throat. “Only until you resurfaced. My intention wasn’t to intrude upon your privacy.”

“Understandable. I suppose I would’ve watched had the situation been reversed.” She turned from him to look at the stallion, who stood before the stream and the hawthorn arch beyond that was the entrance to the Summerlands. Sensing her, the stallion’s head went up and his ears pricked as he nickered softly. Scáthach smiled and strode toward the stallion, who trotted to greet her.

Cuchulainn joined her. “Why is he here and not through there?” He jerked his chin in the direction of the lush meadow of grasses and wildflowers they could glimpse through the hawthorn arch.

Scáthach stroked the horse’s neck. “Because I forbade it,” she explained as she petted the big stallion. “His penance for almost ending my daughter’s life is to wait here, just outside the Summerlands, learning patience—how to be calm, how to control himself, gaining wisdom—until it is Uathach’s time to enter here. Then he may carry her to the next realm and enter with her.” The horse nuzzled her, and she smiled. “There’s a good boy. I am glad to see you again, though I hadn’t expected to so soon.”

Cuchulainn patted the stallion’s neck. “Too bad there aren’t two of him. Riding through the Underworld would be quicker than walking through it.”

Scáthach’s smile widened to a grin. “That is an excellent idea.”

“Are you somehow going to conjure another horse?”

“Not quite.” Scáthach began studying the white marble boulders they’d walked past, moving slowly around each one. “Yes! I thought I’d find one of these here.”

The stallion followed Cuchulainn as he joined Scáthach beside a boulder into which was carved a scene that held several elaborately decorated chariots racing along a beach. With only a small sigh, Scáthach drew her dagger again. This time instead of slicing her skin, she pricked one finger. When a drop of scarlet formed, she crouched beside the boulder and traced the carving of one of the chariots as she whispered to the stone, “In Béfionn’s name, with Béfionn’s blood, held true by Béfionn’s love, I ask that you grant my request as you would my mother’s. Form the chariot for me as you would should she ask it of thee.”

The blood absorbed into the stone. There was a cracking sound, loud as thunder. They stumbled back as the boulder quaked. The stallion snorted, but instead of bolting he only sidestepped a few feet. Cuchulainn positioned himself beside Scáthach. He did not draw a weapon but his body was tense, on guard, as the marble exploded into dust that quickly reformed into a glittering white chariot.

“It worked!” Scáthach’s musical laughter filled the air around them.

The stallion trotted to the shaft and yoke where he stopped and looked back at them expectantly.

Cuchulainn turned to her. “You can conjure things from stone here?”

“I wasn’t sure I could. I never have before, but Mother often does.” She began to harness the stallion, and Cuchulainn moved quickly to help. Her voice was excited, almost girlish. “Or, more accurately, the Underworld changes, rearranges itself according to Béfionn’s wishes. She is the creatress here and the realm acknowledges her as such. Since my first visit, I’ve known that the realm will allow me some of her power.” She laughed softly. “I often thought the realm just tolerated me because of Mother. It used to let me make flowers bloom.” She gestured at the chariot. “This is much more elaborate than anything I’ve ever done—or rather, what the realm hasallowedme to do before now.” They finished harnessing the stallion to the chariot and Scáthach rested her hand on a nearby boulder. “Thank you. I am appreciative and I know Mother will be, too.”

“That skill will come in very handy,” said Cuchulainn as he lifted their packs into the chariot cart.

“Don’t count on it,” Scáthach told him. “I’m not the goddess here; I’m just her daughter. I will be hesitant to ask for much more than this with her borrowed power.”

Cuchulainn nodded. “I understand. Not that Lugh would grant me any of his power, but if he did, I would be hesitant to use it, though not for the same reason you hesitate.”

Scáthach cocked her head and studied him. “Why do you think I hesitate?”

“Out of respect and love for your mother. You would never want her to think you take the blood you share with her and the power within it for granted.”