Page 100 of Queen of the Shadow

She shrugged. “They wouldn’t have been able to catch us, and when we entered the Winterlands, they could not have followed.” Scáthach twirled long strands of her tawny hair around her finger as she continued. “I did not think Drest could be reached, not after being in the Underworld for such a short time. But you did reach him. You did force him to see the truth.”

“Wegot him to see the truth.” Cuchulainn glanced at her before adding, “I’ve been thinking about the spirits here in this realm and I wonder if the immortals, the goddesses and gods, are truly able to understand those of us whose lives they see as fleeting. Can they fully comprehend what it is like to desire love and family—to want to make a difference in the mortal world, even though to them we have so little time?”

Scáthach continued to twirl the lock of hair around her finger as she considered. “You mean because they are not mortal they cannot fully understand some of the choices we make.”

He nodded. “Some of our choices and some of our mistakes.”

“Interesting...”

“I think—” He hesitated.

“What?”

“Well, the Underworld deals in truth, correct?” he asked.

Scáthach nodded. “Correct.”

“Then I think it would be a much more truthful, a much more authentically just realm if it had someone here who understood mortals.” A cold wind whipped across the chariot, and he added, “I mean no disrespect. I’m only reasoning aloud.”

“Like Odin’s Valkyries,” said Scáthach.

“Yes. And no. We just saw that the Valkyries follow strict guidelines imposed by their god,” Cuchulainn said. “And those guidelines allowed two hundred warriors to be lost to their eternal home.”

“So what you propose is someone who doesn’t simply guide a select few to Annwn, but who also has the ability to judge in which part of the realm they should be placed,” she said.

“Yes. As a warrior who will die and be judged sooner rather than later, it would be a great comfort to me to know I would be greeted by someone who understood my mortal life and thereby the choices I made.” When she lifted a brow at him, he hurried on. “Not that I or anyone else should automatically be allowed entrance to the Summerlands. We should all understand we will be judged by our choices and the actions that follow them, be they good or bad. But by whom will we be judged?”

“Interesting...” said Scáthach again.

They drove on, each lost in their own contemplation of mortality and what waited beyond. They saw more solitary spirits, but from a distance. None approached them and they trotted forward, unhindered, as the gray day began to fade into the slate of night.

When they came to a shallow stream that crossed the road, Chance’s hooves made a sharp cracking sound as they broke through a film of ice that covered it. Cuchulainn and Scáthach pulled their cloaks tighter.

Scáthach spoke loudly enough for her voice to carry well above the noise of the chariot. “Let’s start looking for a warm, dry place to camp.”

“What is that?” Cuchulainn pointed ahead of them. In the distance the horizon melted into what appeared to be a wall of ash. “Is that the remnants of a huge fire?”

“No, that is the dividing line between the Autumnal Realm and the Winterlands.” Scáthach shivered. “It does look like ash, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“It’s snow. Or sleet. Or a mixture of both.” Then she tapped his shoulder and gestured ahead to the left side of the road. “Head for that grove of pines. We’ll camp there. Entering the Winterlands at night is even more miserable than entering at dawn.”

The realm rearranged itself to provide them with a perfect camping spot. It was almost identical to the one it had provided for them the night before, only instead of a grove of willows beside a stream, it was a copse of pines. The trees grew so close together that their branches were intertwined, forming a watertight canopy, which was a relief because just as they unharnessed Chance and he began to graze, the dark sky opened and icy rain fell.

Cuchulainn gathered wood quickly as Scáthach created a stone circle for the fire, and soon the bank of fog blanketed their little campsite. Not only did the fog hide their fire from wandering spirits, it also kept in warmth. Scáthach took out the replenished food and drink from their packs and then stood, wrapping her cloak around herself.

“I’m going to wash in the stream,” she told him.

“I’ll have the pork warm and the cheese melted by the time you return.” He smiled at her.

Scáthach didn’t disappear into the fog barrier. Instead she caught and held his gaze. Then slowly she smiled. “I’ll look forward to dinner—almost as much as dessert.”

Still smiling, Scáthach strode to the stream. Before the cold could change her mind, she took off her cloak and quickly peeled off her tunic. She kicked out of her knee-high leather boots, unlaced her snug leather breeches, and then walked to the stream. Along the bank she found a cluster of lavender plants she was sure hadn’t been there before. “Thank you,” she told the realm, pulling off handfuls of the fragrant plant. Then she broke through the skin of ice covering the water. A squeak escaped her chattering teeth when she sat, submerging herself to her shoulders.

“Are you well?” Cuchulainn called through the fog.

“Yes! Just washing!” She dunked her head and scrubbed at her hair and her body with the lavender, loving their earthy scent that clung to her. Scáthach rinsed and then hurried back to her cloak, which she used to hastily dry her goosefleshed body before dressing and jogging back through the fog barrier and straight to the campfire.