“That should make Wynne happy.”

“It pleased everyone, including your mother.” Brighid paused. “But I don’t understand why that was important for me to witness.”

“Maybe Epona wants us to know that all is well with the Clan so we won’t head into the Otherworld with worry to distract us.”

“Maybe…” she said. “Did your mother ever say anything about being seen when she was on one of her Magic Sleep journeys?”

“Not that I remember. Did they see you last night?”

“No one acted like it, except your mother said something that made me wonder.”

He grinned and carefully pulled a hot potato from the coals. “You know it’s impossible to keep anything from my mother.”

“Anything important,” Brighid added.

“Trust me, often it feels like she knows everything.”

They chatted about home and the Clan and the fallout of the New Fomorian’s unexpected gift while they ate the nourishing meal of venison, potatoes and wild onions, and Brighid felt her strength returning. Afterward she stood under the gentle fall of cold cave water and gazed at the beauty of the Centaur Plains. The land called to her soul. She could find belonging and comfort at MacCallan Castle, but she knew it would never have the ability to move her like the open land of her birth did. It was late spring and in some places the grass would already have grown past her withers. The brilliant blues, pinks and reds of spring wildflowers would have given way to the long, lace-topped white flower known as snowpeak and the tall, brown-eyed daisies that could be found in unexpected fields alive with the summertime sound of buzzing bees. She held her hand up to shield her eyes from the glare of the midday sun and thought she could just make out dark dots on the horizon that could be bison. Then the Huntress frowned as what else she was seeing registered in her sharp eyes.

“Drought,” Cuchulainn said. He was standing above her at the edge of the clearing and he, too, was gazing out at the rolling grasslands.

“It’s been a dry spring at MacCallan, but I had no idea it was affecting the plains so drastically.” Her sharp eyes narrowed as she discarded the romantic haze her vision had been peering through and looked with new eyes on the grasslands. “It should be green, so rich and alive that from this distance it should look like the landscape has been painted the color of emeralds.” She shook her head, feeling her gut clench with foreboding. “But it’s the brown of fall.”

“I haven’t seen it this dry for years, maybe for as long as I can remember,” Cu said.

“What began the Fomorian War?”

Cuchulainn’s brow tunneled. “Their attack on MacCallan Castle, of course.”

She shook her head, tasting the bitterness of foreboding in the back of her throat. “Before that. Decades before that. Why were they in Partholon?”

His turquoise eyes widened in understanding. “They were driven from their lands by a great drought.”

“It’s a bad omen, Cu. I Feel it, deep within my soul. I think it’s time we followed this hunt to its conclusion.”

“Agreed.”

“Good. Then let me tell you what my mother taught me of the Quest for Epona’s Chalice.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

“If you keep looking so damned gloomy you’re going to make me nervous,” Brighid told Cuchulainn.

“Sorry. I’ve spent so much of my life avoiding the Otherworld that it’s hard for me to step willingly into it.”

“So then don’t think of it as stepping into the Otherworld. We’re following a trail, remember? We’ve hunted together before, Cu. This will be no different.”

“You mean except for the spirits and the fact that we won’t be in our bodies.”

She frowned at him.

“All right!” He raised his hands in surrender. “We’re going on a hunt.”

“Good. Let’s review what we know one more time.” She held up her hand to tick off her fingers. “First, we’ve readied the labyrinth.”

Cu’s eyes went to the spiraling circle of stones they had placed in the center of the cave. The stones unwound smoothly around and around until they led to the small tunnel and the stream of water.

“I still don’t like that,” Cu said, staring claustrophobically at the constricting hole in the back of the cave.

“I don’t particularly like it, either, but it fits with everything your father and my mother have said about the beginning of the spirit journey. Midhir directed us here because the tors have always been linked to the Underworld. My mother told me many times that using a labyrinth was one easy way to begin a spirit journey, as well as to return at the end of one.”

“We’re just following a trail,” Cu repeated.

“That’s all we’re doing,” Brighid agreed. “But I want you to remember that the labyrinth is the path back to this realm.”

“I’ll remember,” he said, his jaw tightening. “But I will not return without you, and you should remember that.”

She met his eyes. “We return together or not at all.”

He scowled, but the mischievous glint was back in his turquoise eyes. “I prefer the together part of that.”

“Stop worrying,” she said.

“Next.”

“Next-” she held up a second finger “-you join me in my dreams.”

The warrior sighed. “You say that like it happens every day.”

“Cuchulainn, in less than half a cycle of the moon you have entered my dreams four times.”

He grinned. “I don’t think you can count that last one.”

She gave him a stern look. “Actually it counts for even more. We shared the same dream and neither of us had shattered souls, which means our spirits met somewhere in the Otherworld. All we need do is just to repeat what we’ve already done.” He raised his eyebrows and coaxed a small smile from her. “Minus the sex,” she added.

“So I join you in your dreams.”

“That’s the easiest way of putting it.”

“Just now your tone, the way you looked at me, reminded me of my father,” Cu said.

She curled one side of her smile. “Is that supposed to make me feel better about this journey or are you telling me our marriage is in trouble?”

He grinned at her. “You’re not concentrating.”

“Third-” she lifted another finger “-when our spirits are together we follow the labyrinth, beginning in the center, around and around to the tunnel entrance.”

“Then we slide down into the Underworld.” All trace of humor had left his voice.

“Yes, but only because that is where a Shaman Journey typically begins. We won’t stay there. Your father said Epona’s Chalice will not be found in the Underworld, and my mother often implied the same. I believe Epona’s Chalice is in the highest realm of the spirits-the Upperworld-the realm where the Goddess is most often found.” She took his hand. “Remember, Cu, there are three levels of the spirit realm-the Underworld, the Middleworld and the Upperworld. We cannot afford to get lost in the first two. Always follow the path upward and don’t let anything persuade you to turn aside from our purpose.”

“I’ll remember. I’m ready.”

“Cuchulainn, there were several things my mother made very clear to me about this journey. The first is deceptively simple because it is what even the smallest children learn as they begin to practice rituals and test their aptitude for the spirit realm.”

“Leave the problems of life in the physical realm. Do not carry them with you into the Otherworld,” Cu said. “I know that as well as you.”

“You know it-I’m just reminding you to abide by it,” Brighid said sternly. “For both of us.”

“For both of us,” he repeated, kissing her hand. “I’ll bank the fire and make sure the gelding is seen to.”

Brighid nodded and gave him a smile that was meant to cover up the fear and doubt that lurked just beneath her confident facade. As he set their camp to order she paced the length of the cave, going over and over the small, disjointed details of a High Shaman’s spirit journey her mother had sprinkled throughout her childhood. One thing her mother had said kept circling around and around in Brighid’s head. Before you drink of the Chalice you must face your greatest ally and your most powerful enemy-and the two are one in the same.