“I’ll get busy,” Brighid said.
She nodded to Ciara and the cook, and made a hasty exit. Silently she thanked the Goddess for a reason to escape the controlled chaos of setting up camp. She needed time to think about what the sudden absence of the castle’s Huntress could mean.
A Huntress did not shed her responsibilities and leave her castle or village or herd without first making provisions for her absence. True, she’d left MacCallan Castle hastily, but the game in the under-hunted forests had been pathetically easy to take down. Even a sod-headed warrior could shoot an arrow through a deer that stood staring at him like a tame calf. She wouldn’t have left the castle if that hadn’t been so-not without first calling in the services of another Huntress.
But a message had come for Deirdre, and the Huntress had abandoned her castle instantly. Why?
Foreboding quivered down Brighid’s spine. It smacked of centaur politics and intrigue. What was happening on the Centaur Plains that would require a Huntress to ignore her responsibilities?
The foreboding turned to fingers of ice.
Only the illness or sudden death of a centaur High Shaman could cause such a reaction.
No! Deirdre had probably received a message from her home herd. A family problem…something too personal to share.
Still, it didn’t fit. A Huntress should make arrangements for her people, even during times of family emergency. It would have to be something far worse…far more disturbing…
“Huntress? Do you wish to leave the castle?”
From above her the deep voice echoed against the thick gray walls. Brighid stopped and stared blankly around her. Huge iron doors blocked her way. By the Goddess! She hadn’t even realized she’d reached the entrance to the castle. Chains held the massive bolt that kept the doors securely locked. She looked up at the sentry and covered her disconcertment with annoyance.
“And why would I be standing here waiting for you to open the doors if I didn’t wish to leave? Do you want fresh venison in the morning or not?”
“Of course, Huntress!” the guard called, waving apologetically as he motioned for his men to turn the wheel that would pull loose the bolt.
“I won’t be long,” Brighid said gruffly. “Keep watch for me.”
“Yes, Huntress,” he called after her as she trotted through the slim opening. But she hadn’t gotten far beyond the thick walls before she pulled to a halt and took a deep breath.
Partholon…
For a moment the turmoil within her stilled. Even though she was tracking through strange territory, her hooves would once again tread the soil of Partholon. Finally, they’d left the Wastelands behind them. Her sharp centaur eyes drank in the land that dusk was washing in muted light.
As was to be expected, the land adjacent to the castle was cleared so no enemy could surprise the Guardian Warriors. But the ground beneath her hooves was noticeably softer than the desolate, rocky earth on the other side of the mountains. The forest of pine mixed with an occasional stubborn oak began almost a dozen horse lengths from the castle walls. Brighid cantered swiftly down the wide road, eager to enter the green forest. It wasn’t as thick as the forest surrounding MacCallan Castle, but the trees were strong and straight and green. She drew a deep breath. She could swear the air was clearer here, too.
It felt like home, she realized with a small start. Not her childhood home of the Centaur Plains. It felt like the adult home of her choice…her own path. It felt right.
The Huntress scented the cooling breeze, and when she caught the clean liquid fragrance of water, she veered from the road. Moving quietly in the gloaming, she followed her instinct, and the hunt worked its magic on her frayed nerves. Brighid willingly embraced the familiar balm of her chosen life. Like scales, she shed the stress and worry of the past days.
Brighid slowed, scenting the verdant air again. She changed direction slightly, moving more to her left. She would find the stream there. She knew it. She could Feel it. And deer would be there, drinking in their shy way one last time before bedding down for the night. She could already Feel them. There were several, not far ahead of her.
By the Goddess, it felt good to be alone and hunting for a castle again! She needed the peace and solitude the hunt gave her-even if it was only a temporary reprieve.
The truth was that she missed the simplicity of the life she had carved for herself at MacCallan Castle. Years of dealing with the political manipulations within her family had made her long for a different way of living, and submerging herself within the rigorous Huntress training had taught her that she much preferred the silence of the land to the tumult of people-be they humans, centaurs, or New Fomorians.
Brighid moved liquidly between the pines. She could hear the musical sound of water as it tumbled over rock and ran merrily into Partholon. She grinned. She knew how the water felt. She was damned glad to be going home.
In the dimming light, she caught the crystal reflection of moving water, and she slowed, pulling an arrow from her quiver with a practiced, silent motion.
She’d been right. There were several of them. Brighid counted quickly. Three does. Two obviously pregnant, one thinner and larger than the others-she’d probably only recently given birth to her fawn. Standing some way off from the three females was a single buck. His small rack of mossy antlers said that he was too young to have won breeding rights of his own that spring, but the focused attention with which he watched the does said that he was old enough to be single-mindedly hopeful.
With a movement that was as deadly as it was graceful, Brighid sighted and then loosed a single arrow. The hum of the bow caused the young buck’s head to rear up and his body to tense-just in time for the arrow to imbed itself neatly through the base of his neck, emerging through the wall of his chest. The hart staggered back two steps, then, as the does disappeared into the darkening forest, he crumpled to his knees, pitched onto his side and lay still.
Brighid let loose the breath she had been holding and made her way slowly to the fallen buck. She automatically whispered a prayer of thanksgiving to Epona for the kill. Her prayer was filled with respect and appreciation as she focused on the last moments of the young buck’s life.
I call upon You, O great Huntress of the summer sky
Epona, my patron Goddess and inspiration.
I thank You for the gift of this blessed hart.
Speed his journey to You.
Accept him-care for him-reward him.
He is my brother and friend.
Look favorably upon the hunt
and upon Your people and their Huntress,
as you have for ages uncounted.
Let the ancient animal spirits of this land rest
in the knowledge that their Huntress
reveres them,
honors them,
and thanks them…
Brighid stood over the body of the slain buck and bowed her head.
…as I revere, honor, and thank You,
my beloved Goddess.
She stood silently for another moment, and took three deep, ritual cleansing breaths, before she bent to pull her arrow from the buck. As it slid free, the deer’s chest exploded outward, showering her in gore. Brighid staggered back, reaching for the short sword she always carried at her waist.
Until she realized what had exploded from the young buck’s chest. Circling around her, in a spray of black feathers and blood, was a single, all-too-familiar raven.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Mother!” She wiped blood from her face with the back of her hand and narrowed her eyes at the circling bird. “I don’t know what game you are playing, but stop it! Even you know better than to interfere with a Huntress. You don’t have to approve of my chosen career, but, by the Goddess, you will respect it!”
The black bird circled lower until, in a flurry of wings, it landed on the gore-encrusted body of the dead deer.