Page 88 of Queen of the Shadow

Cuchulainn nodded. “Correct. It was an accident. He was young and easily spooked. Probably didn’t have the right temperament to pull a chariot at all.”

“True,” said Scáthach. Chance’s ears flicked back and he snorted, which had them smiling. “So had he died that day, he would have found himself here, in the Autumnal Realm, where he would have done exactly what I tasked him with when I sacrificed him and sent him to the entrance of Annwn.”

“He would have remained here until he learned to be calm and wise,” said Cuchulainn.

“Yes. Then Mother would gladly welcome him into the Summerlands. But had Chance been mean-tempered, had he maliciously bolted with Uathach, purposefully causing her death and inadvertently causing his own, we would find his spirit wandering the Winterlands of this realm, probably lashing out at all who approached him. He would not learn. He would not become calm and wise.”

“And he would forever remain in the Winterlands,” Cuchulainn finished for her.

“Which is where those spirits who will not admit or atone for their evil acts belong,” said Scáthach.

Cuchulainn glanced at her. “Spirits must atone?”

“Of course. Admitting a wrong doesn’t keep it from happening again. When a spirit is ready to change, grow, become wise and kind, Béfionn welcomes them to the Summerlands and assigns them tasks that aid in their development,” said Scáthach.

“So to continue with the example of Chance, when he is in the Summerlands, he will be required to... what?”

“I am not my mother, but I do know her well enough to take a guess. In Chance’s case he will probably be asked to aid the very young or very old. I can imagine him belonging to a wise old grandmother who enjoys a calm canter around a loch every morning.”

Chance snorted again and tossed his head, clearly not upset at all about being required to carry around a grandmother.

Scáthach grinned at the horse. “You see, Sentanta, when Chance is allowed to pass to the Summerlands, he will have already matured enough that what Béfionn asks of him won’t be an annoyance or a hardship. He willwantto be of service.”

“And it’s the same for the spirits of people?”

“There is little difference between animal spirits and human spirits, but the truth is there are few animals in the Winterlands as evil tends to be exclusive to humanity.”

Cuchulainn nodded slowly. “The Underworld and its goddess are just.”

“They are,” Scáthach agreed. “Those who never move on from the Winterlands have done things so heinous they should never be reborn.”

“And in which part of the Underworld will we find the sea monster Curruid?”

“Curruid was a vile monster who broke apart ships deep out at sea, ate their crews, and hoarded their treasures.”

“So, in the Winterlands?” Cuchulainn asked.

“Exactly.”

They drove on in silence, moving at a steady, ground-eating trot until Cuchulainn pointed to a human shape standing on a hill they were passing. “Is that a spirit?”

Scáthach chuckled softly. “The only living people here are you and I.”

They glimpsed more and more spirits as they went deeper into the Autumnal Realm. Usually the spirits were solitary, often sitting under a tree or beside a stream. They looked up at the chariot but didn’t show much interest in them.

“I understand why they’re alone.” Cuchulainn’s voice was pitched low. “It’s difficult to be introspective in a group.”

“That’s true. I can usually tell how newly dead a spirit is by whether they’re alone or clinging to a group. The newly dead are too often fearful of the Underworld and try to attach themselves to others for safety, not understanding that it is themselves they must battle to move on.” Scáthach shook her head. More to herself than Cuchulainn she added, “I will speak to Mother about it when she returns from Valhalla. More of our dead should be given guidance—not just those who are automatically welcomed into the Summerlands.”

“You would be good at that,” Cuchulainn said. When she turned to look at him, Cuchulainn smiled and shrugged. “You’re an excellent teacher.”

Scáthach was considering his words when Cuchulainn pointed ahead of them. Two figures walked along the road together. Their arms were linked, and though their hair was thick and free of gray and their shoulders wide and strong, the two moved slowly, like stiff old men. “They must be newly dead to cling together like that,” Cuchulainn remarked.

“Or they’ve been here for centuries, not able to move on because they cling so tightly together that they refuse to look within,” Scáthach said.

They’d drawn close to the two men, and at the sound of Scáthach’s voice the men whirled around and stared at them. Their eyes widened and their slack expressions shifted to surprise and then delight.

“Scáthach!” one man cried.