Before the shades of the past could overwhelm her, a small winged shape detached itself from a nearby table and hurled himself at her.

“Brighid!” Though the top of his head reached no higher than her equine chest, he clutched her with a strength that was surprising.

She bent and ruffled his hair and patted his back.

“Oh, Brighid.” He tilted his head up to look at her. His eyes were large and luminous with tears he was trying bravely not to shed. “I was so worried about you! I wanted to come see you, but no one would let me.”

“I’m all right now.” She stroked his head, thinking that his hair was as soft as duck’s down. “I just needed to rest.”

“I’m sorry about your sister. Curran and Nevin have already begun telling tales about how brave she was.”

Brighid’s heart squeezed painfully. “They’re right. She was very brave.”

“Come on, Liam, you can sit with us and tell us everything you’ve been doing for the past two days.” Cuchulainn lifted the boy to Brighid’s back, winning himself a narrow-eyed look from his betrothed. He winked back at her, the Huntress snorted, and Liam launched into a breathless explanation of all the different tracks he had discovered.

As they moved through the Great Hall to the head table, Brighid was stopped often by kind words and sincere condolences. Her first reaction was discomfort. She rarely garnered such concentrated attention, but she wasn’t halfway through the room when she felt herself relax. They cared for her. Her family, Clan MacCallan, was surrounding her with their love and concern. Brighid drank it in. She would remember it, so that later, when she was far from here she could relive what it felt like to be accepted and at peace.

As they joined Lochlan and Ciara at the Chieftain’s table, Brighid sat very still while life moved around her. Liam chattered ceaselessly. Elphame and Etain discussed the full moon ceremony that was only days away, and Epona’s Beloved kindly included Ciara in the conversation. Cuchulainn was talking with Lochlan about how to expand the barracks for the children since it had been decided that until they received word that the strife with the centaurs was over, the New Fomorians should be housed within the protective walls of MacCallan Castle.

It was all so natural-so normal. And Brighid couldn’t help but compare it with the morning meals that had been “normal” for her before she left the Centaur Plains. Mairearad Dhianna had set a sumptuous table, but the quality of the food had always paled in comparison to the intrigue and power plays that surrounded their High Shaman. Her mother had served manipulation and passive-aggression as the main dish, and Brighid clearly remembered how she had always been on guard during meals when her mother was present. Who would Mairearad target? Would she be open in her attack, or would it be veiled innuendo and seemingly harmless comments meant to cut and destroy will and independence and freedom…

Brighid was going back into that. It would matter little that Mairearad was gone. After almost five decades as Dhianna High Shaman, her ghost would not easily relinquish its hold.

Brighid jerked only a little when Cuchulainn slid his warm hand within hers. He didn’t break his conversation with Lochlan. He made no showy public production of intimacy with the proud Huntress. No one knew their hands were linked and that his touch warmed her.

The warrior understood her.

How had this happened? It seems I’m a world away from my beginnings, yet somehow here, with this man, I have found my true home and family. Please don’t let me lose it, Epona.

They had chosen a beautiful spot for Niam’s funeral pyre. The enormous mound of dry pinewood timbers had been erected on a sliver of land located at the southernmost area of the castle grounds. It jutted like a slender finger over the swirling ocean far below, as if Niam’s burning pyre was meant to be a beacon for lost ships. The centaur’s body was high atop the mound, and it had been draped in a heavy shroud woven with intricate knots of power, as would a warrior’s body.

Brighid approached the pyre with Cuchulainn and Elphame flanking her. Etain, Midhir, and Lochlan were already present, standing near the mound. Epona’s Beloved held a flaming torch in her hand. As Niam’s closest kin, the lighting of the pyre was Brighid’s responsibility, but instead of taking the torch from Etain she turned and faced the group that had assembled around them. Clan MacCallan spread out before her. Human and centaur, they had come dressed in their finest, and the warm, cloudless morning was alive with the bright lime and sapphire blue of the MacCallan plaid. Interspersed between Clan members were small winged shapes standing respectfully silent with big eyes focused on the Huntress. She searched through the crowd until she found the twin storytellers. When she spoke her voice was strong and clear.

“Her name was Niam Dhianna. Beauty was her shield. It kept her safe from manipulation and intrigue, hiding her until she was needed. I only wish that I’d had the wisdom to see beyond her ruse, and that her body had been as strong as her heart was valiant. I ask that you remember her with me. Do not let her story die with her body.” Nevin and Curran bowed their heads in acknowledgment, and Brighid paused, drawing in a steadying breath. When she looked up again, her eyes easily found the winged Shaman. “Ciara, I ask that you join me at my sister’s pyre.”

The winged woman looked surprised, but she moved quickly to Brighid’s side.

“Your affinity is with the spirit of fire, and you carry within you the spark of the Goddess Incarnate Terpsichore. Niam loved beauty and dance. But I have chosen to ask you to call upon the spirit of fire to release her body from this earth not simply because of the outward beauty you and your grandmother represent. In the short time I’ve known you I have learned to appreciate your ability to see within a person’s soul. If I had developed that ability as well as you, I might have understood Niam’s worth before she was lost to me. So I ask you to use the spirit of flame to light my sister’s pyre.”

“I accept, Brighid Dhianna. You honor me greatly.”

Wordlessly, the group stepped with Brighid away from the pyre, leaving the winged Shaman standing alone. Ciara turned to the south, facing the pyre. She bowed her head, obviously collecting herself. Then with the grace of a dancer she approached the mound with slow, elegant movements that flowed smoothly like water over pebbles. Her long, dark hair swirled around her, as if it was a curtain parting to allow her access to another realm. As she spoke, she traced delicate patterns with her hands, calling awake bright specks of tiny sparks in the air around her.

O Epona, I do call upon Thee.

Goddess of things wild and free,

today it is the lovely, somber Goddess of the Declining Moon

to whom I speak.

Strong and somber, Goddess of the Far Realms and beyond,

be with us here at this time of loss.

The winged Shaman’s voice was hypnotic-a perfect mixture of music and magic.

There is a time for life

and a time for death.

Your Summerland is warm, pleasing, beautiful

with all ills gone and youth renewed.

Joyous it is, to walk with the Goddess in Her fields of clover.

So let us rejoice, for Niam rests in Epona’s bosom

safe, happy, replete.

She danced ever closer to the pyre. Raising her hands over her head her dark wings began to unfurl, spreading around her like a living veil.

O spirit of fire

grant release from pain.

With Your purifying flame

heal those who remain in this realm

and speed and cleanse the soul of this one

who is loved

into the beautiful realm of our Goddess.

I call upon Thee-

Alight!