She knew he was speaking the truth. This man would never leave her, not even to save himself. Then Goddess help me not to get us both killed.

“You lead. I’ll be right behind you,” she said.

The warrior dug his heels into the gelding’s sides and they raced into the northeast with the wolf cub streaking behind them.

Their flight from the Centaur Plains seemed to be a descent into an Underworld that had been abandoned by the Goddess. The thunder and the lightning served to illuminate vignettes of a nightmarish reality. Animals of the plain rushed past them-deer, fox and other small mammals like rabbits leaped hysterically into their path before bounding away. And with the animals came the smoke. At first it was just a brief, bitter taste on the southern breeze, but as the night lengthened the air became thicker until Cuchulainn pulled up his gelding, and tore his shirt into long swatches of linen that he soaked with water from one of the skins.

“When it gets really bad tie it around your nose and mouth. It might help.”

Gasping for air Brighid nodded, and they both drank thirstily from the skin. “I wish it was wine,” she said between coughing fits.

Cuchulainn smiled at her. “It will be soon. My mother’s temple isn’t far from the Calman tributaries.”

“I don’t suppose I need to ask whether she’ll know to be there to greet us.” Brighid tried to keep her tone light, but she was still struggling to get her breathing under control, and the intermittent flashes of lightning clearly showed how hard her equine body was trembling.

“Mother will probably have dancing girls and a parade all prepared for us,” he said, attempting to match her tone, but he guided his gelding close to her. His face was drawn and his eyes worried as he studied the Huntress. “Let’s rest here. We have some time.”

“We have no time,” Brighid said. Fand came panting up to them and Brighid bent, pouring water in her hand for the wolf to lap. “There’s a brave, good girl,” she told the wolf. Then she glanced up at Cuchulainn. “You lead. I’ll follow.”

Cu nodded tightly and pointed the gelding’s head to the north again, and kicked him into a steady lope. Suddenly lightning forked the night with brightness, clearly illuminating the shape of a lone centaur moving almost parallel to them. In the white light his coat shone gold and sliver, an exact copy of his sister’s.

“Give me your bow,” Cuchulainn said.

“No. If it’s to be done, I’ll do it.” At a gallop she notched the bow and waited for the next strike of lightning. When it came she sighted and let fly an arrow, which embedded itself in Bregon’s flank, causing him to stumble and fall hard to the ground.

At a flat run, Cuchulainn’s gelding beat Brighid to her brother, and the warrior leaped from the horse’s back, drawing his sword and pressing it against the centaur’s heaving chest so hard that it broke the skin. The next lightning flash illuminated the scarlet drops that trailed down his colorless chest as if he was a half-finished painting.

“This is just so that you don’t doubt that my sword works in this realm,” Cuchulainn snarled.

“Don’t kill him, Cu,” Brighid said quietly, putting a trembling hand on her husband’s arm. “At least not yet.”

But her brother was ignoring the warrior. Instead he was staring at the rope burns and teeth marks that had left red, angry wounds on his sister’s body.

“What happened to you?”

Cuchulainn’s growl matched the wolf’s low angry rumble. “The centaurs you left behind did as you ordered them. They captured her. They bound her with ropes so that if she moved she would choke herself. Then they began to rape her.” With each sentence he pressed the sword more firmly into Bregon’s chest and fresh blood welled under the razor-like blade. “I made certain they didn’t complete your orders.”

“No,” he said faintly, eyes widening in shock. “They were just supposed to hold you until I returned.”

“Until it was too late to stop the war!” Brighid cried. “How could you do it, Bregon? How could you cause such bloodshed and hatred? Wasn’t our mother’s hatred enough to fill you full for a lifetime?”

A shudder passed through his body. “I just wanted to make her happy.”

“That was an impossible task for anyone, Bregon,” she said. Then the pitying look in her eyes hardened. “Have you done it? Have you freed Fallon?”

Bregon closed his eyes and nodded.

“Open your eyes and look at the man who is going to kill you!” Cuchulainn ordered.

Again, Brighid’s hand lightly touched her husband’s arm, and with obvious effort he stopped himself before plunging the blade the rest of the way into Bregon’s chest.

“Where did Fallon go?” Brighid asked.

“Into the mountains. That’s all I know,” Bregon shuddered again. “She was horrific.” His expression of shock was receding and an arrogance that reminded her of her mother was creeping into his tone. “How can you defend those creatures? They are evil. Even pregnant she ripped and tore the guards with her hands and teeth to get free. Taking their form, even temporarily, was a ghastly experience.”

“They’re not like Fallon! The New Fomorians are gentle and kind. Epona has even gifted them with the ability to nurture life.” Brighid shook her head in disgust, feeling thoroughly sick and so weary it seemed every word was a struggle for her to form. “You’ve always been like this, Bregon, unable to see beyond your immediate needs and desires.”

“I don’t believe those winged creatures should be allowed to live,” he said.

“It’s not your choice! And what of the Guardian Warriors? How many of them did you kill? And how many more did Fallon kill?”

“And what of the Clan MacCallan?” Cuchulainn said between clenched teeth.

“They killed my mother!” Bregon cried.

“You young fool, the men who were on the Centaur Plains had broken with the clan,” Cuchulainn told him. “Why else would they have been there trying to forge a new life?”

“And no one killed our mother, Bregon. It was an accident-an accident which would have been avoided if she had given the little group of people permission to settle in one small part of our land.”

“They had no right to be there! They cannot trespass upon the herd’s land!”

“No!” Brighid made a violent cutting motion with her hand, and the sudden, violent motion made her feel light-headed. “The plague of hatred our mother spread ends now. You will come with us to Epona’s Temple. There you will tell Etain what you have done and let her decide your punishment.”

“I won’t go!” His breath started to come in hard, shallow pants and his eyes darted around, as if searching for aid in the smoky darkness that surrounded them.

“If I have to hamstring you and drag you behind my horse I will,” Cuchulainn said.

Brighid’s skin began to tingle just before the sound reached them. Then the roar built. It was thunderlike, but more living-more intense. The earth beneath them began to vibrate.

“Bison,” Brighid said, staring at her brother incredulously. “You have an affinity with animals, too.”

Her brother returned her gaze steadily. “We do have some things in common, sister.”

“What’s happening?” Cuchulainn said.

“He’s stampeded the bison. Get mounted,” she said quickly, carefully keeping the panic from her voice. “We’ll deal with him later.”

Cuchulainn didn’t move, but kept his blade pressed against the centaur’s bleeding chest.

“Cuchulainn! If we don’t move and move fast we will be killed.”

“We’ll lose him.”

“We may, but he cannot hide from Epona.”

With a frustrated snarl, Cuchulainn stepped back. The instant the sword was no longer against his chest, Bregon surged up. He turned to his sister.

“Forgive me,” he cried, stumbling toward her.

Automatically her arms went out to catch him, but instead of embracing her, his hand snaked out, grabbing the rolled up bison skin from her back. Before Cuchulainn could react, he spun away, and melted like a blond spirit into the smoke.