Page 56 of Queen of the Shadow

“Excellent!” The god clapped his hands together. “Then you can have her show you the way.”

“I can ask Scáthach. I cannot force her to take me to the Underworld. But she is a fair queen and teacher. When I have completed my training, I’m sure she will help me.”

The god snorted. “Training? You need no more training. You are wasting time your short life does not have. Go into battle with the Queen of Shadow, and after Aife of Lethra is defeated, you will leave this school and seek the Gáe Bulg, with or without the help of Béfionn’s daughter. Agreed?”

Cuchulainn stared into his father’s eyes and saw the same immovability there he’d always known. He did not want to leave Dunscáith, but he knew his father too well. Lugh had decided it was time for him to go. If Cuchulainn did not agree on his own, his father would orchestrate his departure. Lugh wouldn’t care what kind of destruction he caused—what pain or what loss. He had to suppress a shudder at the thought of the chaos Lugh would create to get his way.

“Agreed,” Cuchulainn said.

“I’m glad you’re willing to see reason. Now, I shall take care of that foul wound.” He straightened and strode to his son. He waved his hand at the thick bandage. “Unwrap it. Why would you expect me to heal it through all of that?”

Cuchulainn wanted to snap,Because you’re a god and you’re more than capable of doing so!Instead he clenched his jaw and quickly unwrapped the linen bandages to expose the poultice Caitir had so carefully packed against his branded and broken flesh. He only paused long enough to brace himself, and then he tore off the poultice, taking some of his flesh with it. Blood and pus seeped through the torn scab.

Lugh’s nose wrinkled. “That is vile. You should be more careful.”

“Father,” he said through teeth he had to unclench to finish speaking. “I was wounded during an ambush. It was twenty-five warriors against two. I was too busy fighting for my life to be careful.”

One of the god’s golden brows lifted. “You should be able to best twenty-five warriors easily.”

“And I did! Eventually.” Cuchulainn drew in a long, slow breath. On the exhale he said, “But I will take more care in the future.”

“Good... good...” Lugh muttered absently as he studied the wound. “Well, the best way is often the simplest.” The god inhaled deeply. His chest heaved as he gathered the necessary force, pulling up from his core a thick ball of phlegm. He bent and spat the globule directly onto Cuchulainn’s wound. The spittle glistened there briefly before it was absorbed into his skin.

Cuchulainn gasped at the agony that shot through his thigh, but immediately the wound began to close and as it did, the pain eased until it was completely gone and, except for a puckered scar, there was nothing left of the injury.

“There!” Lugh straightened and wiped his palms on his breeches as if he’d had his hands and not just his spittle in the wound. “Healed. Do not forget our bargain. I certainly will not.” Just before he disappeared into a blazing ball of light, he frowned down at his son. “And do consider using the Gáe Bulgwiththe berserker. You don’t have many years left to make certain our names sing through history. It would be incredibly annoying should you die even sooner than fate has decreed.”

* * *

“You certainly proved me wrong. You heal as quickly as this.” Lonán snapped his fingers and grinned.

“Cu, he was really here? At this very castle?” Fergal’s body almost hummed with excitement.

“Yes,” Cuchulainn said. “Lugh was here.”

Fergal whistled softly. “It would have been a grand sight to see Lugh of the Long Arm.”

Cuchulainn slid the reins over the stallion’s neck and then turned to face the warriors standing beside him. “Fergal, I give you my word. If I call my father again while I’m at Dunscáith I will be sure you are with me.”

Fergal’s eyes were luminous. “Truly, Cu?”

“Truly.”

Lonán cleared his throat. “In that case, could I be present the next time as well?”

“Yes, my friend. You may.” Cuchulainn almost added that he would never call his father again if he could avoid it, but the delight in his friends’ eyes kept him quiet. He mounted his horse and smiled down at the two warriors. “Thank you for your aid in getting my weapons and gear ready so quickly. And now I must ride hard if I’m to catch the Shadow Guard.”

Fergal looked up at him. “Fight by her side, Cu.”

“I will,” said Cuchulainn.

“Be sure she returns to Dunscáith,” said Lonán.

“The Queen of Shadow will return. You have my oath on it.” Cuchulainn pointed his horse to the raised wooden road from the castle and kneed him into a gallop.

* * *

Though Cuchulainn had to ride hard and fast, he was still moved by the rough beauty of Scáthach’s island. He was familiar with the ferry at Kylerhea; it was how he’d arrived on Skye, though this time he did not follow the road from there to Dunscáith. Instead, he did what an army the size of the Shadow Guard could not—he wove around rocky hillocks through narrow passages and urged his horse up and then down the craggy terrain, taking every shortcut he and his horse could manage. The land called to him. Cuchulainn was drawn to its wildness and to its unique beauty. Skye was a roughly hewn jewel that needed no craftsman’s polish; it shined with a magick of its own.