Elphame's Choice (4 page)

“I DO NOT
understand why we couldn’t have stayed in Loth Tor with the rest of the workers,” Cuchulainn complained as he fed another dry log into their campfire.

“I thought warriors were supposed to be so thick-skinned that they could sleep on beds of thistles without wincing,” Elphame quipped and tossed him the wineskin. “Have a drink. Remember, Mama packed the wine,” she added meaningfully.

“Warriors like soft beds just as much as anyone else,” he grumbled, but took the wineskin and drank deeply. “Mother’s love of wine has been a blessing this trip. But it doesn’t make up for the absence of a down-filled bed.” Or a lusty young widow in that bed, he thought.

“Cu, you’re just mad because that plump blonde was obviously offering you more than another helping of her excellent stew.”

“Being a young widow is a lonely burden to bear.”

“Not while you’re around.” She laughed. “Oh, come on.
Don’t pout. I want to watch the sun as it rises over my castle, and I don’t want to do it with a group of centaurs and men staring at me while they invent demons lurking in every shadow.”

Cuchulainn grunted in response, took another long drink of wine and tossed the skin back to his sister. He poked the fire and quit complaining. He was used to Elphame’s solitary ways, and he understood the reasons behind them. She had spent her life being revered because she had been touched by the Goddess; she was a being that had never before been created. It wasn’t that she was ever treated cruelly—actually it was just the opposite. She awed people, especially people who were not accustomed to the sight of her. Most of the workers who had accompanied them were from the area around Epona’s Temple, so they merely treated her with careful respect and kept their distance. But during the five days of travel from Epona’s Temple to MacCallan Castle, Cuchulainn had noticed how the people would stop whatever they were doing and rush to the road, bowing so low as “the young goddess, Elphame” passed that they practically buried their heads in the grassy meadows surrounding the main road. And as they drew nearer their destination, new people and centaurs had begun joining their party, eager for the opportunities that would surround the reestablishment of MacCallan Castle. Their reaction to his sister was always the same—more awe and staring. Cuchulainn knew that was why Elphame had insisted that the two of them leave the road and follow the smaller, rougher path that ran through the forest. To El, fewer people equated to less chance of being worshipped, and that was a good thing.

Brother and sister had camped under the stars and hadn’t stopped in any of the sleepy little villages that dotted the land between vineyards and pastures, until they had come to Loth
Tor, the village that nestled at the base of the plateau on which MacCallan Castle stood. That night they had rejoined their party and all of them had dined at the Mare’s Inn, the town’s only tavern, where it seemed the entire populace had paraded through, each reverently bowing to Elphame. Some asked if they could please touch the young goddess, some just stared openmouthed. Cuchulainn had watched his sister nod politely to each one of them, acquiescing graciously to their desire to worship her. Only he seemed to notice the unnatural tension in her shoulders and the rigid way she held herself. To Cu it looked as though if she moved too quickly she might shatter.

When the meal was over she had said she felt the need to sleep under the stars and to be alone with her brother and Epona. He knew she added the Goddess’s name so that the town wouldn’t follow her and continue to stare. Wordlessly he had saddled his tired gelding and kicked it into a gallop, scrambling to keep up with Elphame as she retreated from the village.

“It will get better after you’ve been here for a while, you know,” he said quietly.

She sighed heavily. “You’d think I would get used to it.” She took another sip of the excellent wine before tossing it back to her brother. “I don’t, though.” She raised her brows at him and added, “Hard to believe my destiny is around here.”

“Stranger things have happened,” he said lightly, not wanting to talk about his vision or her potential mate.

“Such as?” she asked.

“Such as the fact that we have the same parents, but I’m human and you’re part-horse,” he replied promptly.

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m part-centaur, not part-horse.” But she didn’t argue further.

“Get some sleep,” he told her. “You’ll need all your energy tomorrow. I’ll stay awake and watch over the fire.” And over you, he added silently to himself. His sister’s tension may have
lessened with their departure from the town, but his own warrior instincts had him feeling wary and restless.

Why couldn’t he get a clear picture of his sister’s future? Why had his vision been so dark and indistinct? And why had it seemed to be drenched in blood?

Elphame curled up on her side, looking snug and comfortable in her bedroll. “You can’t fool me, Cuchulainn.” Her eyes were closed and her voice was a whisper, but the gentle night breeze brought her words clearly to him. “This is more of that I-must-protect-my-sister warrior stuff.”

“Now that definitely sounds like something Mother would say,” he told her, and then added under his breath, “It’s about time you noticed.”

His sister’s lips were lifted in a soft smile as she fell deeply asleep.

Elphame dreamed that her lover came to her within a dark mist, which wrapped itself around her as if the night had grown wings, and though she trembled at his touch she wasn’t afraid. Willingly, she offered herself to the mist, and it bent to her and drank of her love as they flew into the velvet blackness of the midnight sky and made their bed together amidst the stars.

“I knew it would be amazing.” Elphame sighed happily. “Oh, Cu, look at my castle!”

They were standing at the edge of the pine forest that ringed the land side of the plateau on which the MacCallan Castle had been built. The tart, clean smell of pine mixed with the salty scent of ocean and seemed to wash everything in brilliance, making the green of the forest lush and layered, the blue and white of the ocean crystalline and elegant as it crashed against the rocks far below. The castle loomed before them, looking imposing in its rocky perch on the edge of the magnificent coastal cliff.

Elphame stared at her new home, letting her eyes drink in the wonder of that first sight. Surrounded by row after row of redbud and dogwood trees in full bloom, as well as overgrown scrub and clumps of blackberry bushes gone wild, the castle looked like it should have been housing a fairy creature who had been sleeping for centuries and was just waiting for the kiss of her true love to awaken her.

A little like me
. Elphame surprised herself with the blatantly romantic thought. But the sight before her, coupled with her brother’s premonition, had her feeling uncharacteristically romantic. And, she realized with a start, it was a feeling she thought she might enjoy.

Was this what she had been missing all those years?
she mused silently.
This breathless, waiting excitement? Like someone was just about to turn a key within her and unlock something magical?

The sun was beginning to climb above the trees. As Elphame watched, the dreamy pink and cream of the early morning sky morphed into the more mature gold and blue of a clear spring day. All at once she was filled with an incredible sense of hope, as if the dawn of that day was a promise of a new beginning for her, as well. A blessing that she had heard her mother offer to Epona many times drifted through her mind and suddenly she heard herself repeating it aloud—though her words were little more than a tentative whisper.

Cuchulainn was silent during his sister’s prayer—partially out of respect for Epona, and partially out of surprise. Until then he had never heard his sister evoke Epona’s blessing. Truthfully, Elphame had seemed to prefer to avoid all mention of the Goddess who had so obviously touched her. Until that morning. Then, although Cuchulainn could barely hear the words of her prayer, he could feel the distinct tingle of magic in the air—as he had many times when his mother performed Epona’s rituals.

If she had looked at her brother, El would have seen the shock that widened his eyes, but she did not even glance at him. She was mesmerized by the beauty of the morning and the burgeoning feeling within her that she was just beginning to recognize as a sense of belonging. Suddenly the sun broke free of the tall pines and its rays washed the castle’s walls in golden light, causing them to catch fire.

“Do you see it, Cu? It’s like the walls are glowing.”

“What’s left of them, you mean.” Still surprised by the new power radiating from his sister, his voice sounded gruffer than he had intended. He cleared his throat, squinting to get a better look at the crumbling edifice. To him the castle looked like a ragged old beast crouched precariously on the edge of the seaside cliff. “El, don’t get your hopes up. Even from here I can see that the place is in ruins. We have a lot of work to do.”

She punched his arm affectionately. “Stop being Mama. Come on, let’s hurry.” She leaped ahead, and Cuchulainn kneed his big gelding, scrambling to catch up with the lithe form of his sister.

They plowed determinedly through the sticky underbrush until they found the road that led to the castle’s front entrance. It was easier going there, but Cuchulainn still muttered under
his breath at the rough weeds and smattering of trees that choked the once wide, clear pathway.

“Oh, stop grumbling and look at these amazing trees!” Elphame chided her brother as she slowed down and spun in a circle, trying to look everywhere at once. “I had no idea it would be so beautiful.” Even more than a century of neglect could not diminish the breathtaking sight of so many redbuds and wild cherries heavy with blooms. “It’s like walking through a forest of pink clouds.”

“Clouds don’t usually have thickets of brambles in them.” He pointed at the thorny plants that clustered amidst the scrub that proliferated between the trees.

“They’re not brambles, Cu, they’re blackberries. A little trimming and they’ll be fine. Just think of the wonderful cobbler and pies we can have this summer.”

“After you get a kitchen built, you mean,” he muttered.

She flashed him a quick smile. “I’ll get it built.”

Cuchulainn thought that the determination in her voice was probably stronger than the walls of the castle to which she already seemed so firmly attached.

“And you know I’ve always liked the forest.” She twirled again, head thrown back, dark auburn hair flying around her like a cloak. “The pines are wonderful, but I think these flowering trees are even more incredible.”

He shook his head at her and spoke with a warrior’s knowledge. “Surely you are not planning on letting this stand? For all your study of history, your memory doesn’t seem very exact. One of the major mistakes of MacCallan Castle was that they allowed their defenses to weaken.” The sweep of his arm took in the profusion of blooming trees. “MacCallan let this grow to his walls. The Fomorian army had no trouble staying undetected until they had breached the castle walls and begun slaughtering its inhabitants.”

Elphame opened her mouth to retort that they weren’t at war; there hadn’t been a Fomorian in Partholon for a hundred and twenty-five years. No one would try to breach her walls. But Partholon hadn’t been at war before, either. Not until MacCallan Castle had been taken by surprise. Yes, the Fomorians had been defeated, and what was left of their demonic race had been driven from Partholon through the Trier Mountains and into the Wasteland beyond. If she traveled northeast to the mountains she knew she would find that Guardian Castle still stood grim sentinel, eternally protecting the passageway to Partholon.

But one hundred and twenty-five years was a long time, and except for clan skirmishes and occasional raids from the barbaric, seagoing Milesians, Partholon had known a long era of peace and prosperity, and there was no logical reason why that wouldn’t continue.

Elphame studied her brother, ready to remind him of the facts she had just ticked off in her head. He seemed tense; his usually clear brow was set in lines and she could see his jaw clench and unclench as he waited for her to speak.

“The Milesians, are they what is worrying you?” she asked slowly.

He shrugged. “I cannot tell. But your castle does overlook the sea. You would be proving yourself a wise and prudent leader if you made certain that MacCallan was defensible.” As he spoke he didn’t look at her, instead he scanned the forest around them as if he expected a barbaric horde to leap from the flowering trees and slit their throats.

Elphame felt a small shiver of unease. Something had obviously shaken her brother’s normally calm center. He may not have experienced a true Feeling, complete with visions and a clear warning, but something was bothering him. Even though he consistently avoided the spirit realm and hated to tap into his psychic powers, he respected them—as did Elphame.

She nodded. “You’re right, thank you for reminding me. Most of this must be cut and cleared.” Her voice was sober and thoughtful. “I will, of course, need your advice on how the defenses of the castle should be rebuilt.” She gave the trees one quick look of longing. “Do you think we could keep any of this, though?”