The years of your daughter’s life will be only a tiny ripple in the pond of eternity. Do you truly ask an interminable fate for something that is in essence so transient?
Rhiannon leaned her pale cheek against her daughter’s soft head. “I do, Epona.”
The Goddess smiled and, even so near death, Rhiannon was filled with a rush of indescribable joy.
Finally, my Beloved, you have conquered the selfishness in your spirit and followed your heart. The Goddess stretched her arms over her head. Pryderi, god of darkness and lies, I do not relinquish my rightful hold on this priestess! You shall not claim her soul without first vanquishing me! Light shot from the Goddess’s palms, splintering the shadows that had skittered to the edges of the clearing. With a terrible shriek, the unnatural darkness dissipated completely, leaving what Rhiannon now recognized as only the normal and comforting darkness that twilight foretold.
“My spirit feels light,” she whispered to her daughter. That is because for the first time since you were a child your spirit is free of the influence of darkness.
“I should have taken this path long ago,” Rhiannon said faintly.
Epona’s smile was, once again, filled with limitless kindness. It is not too late, my Beloved.
Rhiannon closed her eyes against a wash of emotions that drained her of the last of her waning strength. “Epona, I know this isn’t Partholon, and I am no longer your Chosen One, but would you greet my daughter?” Her voice was almost inaudible.
Yes, Beloved. For the sake of my love for you, I greet Morrigan, granddaughter of The MacCallan, and I bestow upon her my blessing.
Rhiannon opened her eyes at the sound of the whir of wings. Epona had disappeared, but the sacred grove had been filled with thousands upon thousands of fireflies that dipped and dived and soared all around her and the infant who rested in her arms. In the fading light they illuminated the air around them as if the stars had temporarily taken leave of the night sky just to dance about the glade in celebration of the birth of her child.
“The Goddess heard your plea,” the old man said reverently. “She did not forget you. She will not forget your child.”
Rhiannon glanced at him, and had to blink hard to focus on his face. “Shaman, you must take me home.”
His eyes met hers. “I do not have the power to return you to the Otherworld, Rhiannon.”
“I know that,” she said weakly. “Take me back to the only home I have known in this world—to Richard Parker, who is the mirror image of my father, The MacCallan.” Rhiannon grimaced and pushed back the memory of Shannon Parker’s voice telling her that in Partholon her father was dead. “Take my body there and present Morrigan to him as his granddaughter. Tell him…” She hesitated, trying to speak through the numbness that was quickly enclosing her. “Tell him…that I believe in his love and know he will do the right thing.”
The shaman nodded solemnly. “How do I find Richard Parker?”
Rhiannon managed to gasp simple directions to Richard Parker’s small ranch outside Broken Arrow. Thankfully, the old man questioned her little and seemed to understand the words she whispered between gasps.
“I will do this for you, Rhiannon. I will also offer prayers for your spirit in the Otherworld. May you watch over your child and keep her safe.”
“My child…Morrigan MacCallan…blessed by Epona…” Rhiannon whispered. She found that she could not fight against the numbness any longer. Still holding her daughter to her breast, she allowed her head to fall back so that it rested on a gnarled root. And while firefly lights played all around them to the tune of ancient drums, Rhiannon, Priestess of Epona, died.
3
Partholon
“Okay, so here’s the absolute friggin truth. If it was fun, they wouldn’t call it labor.” I grimaced and tried to find a more comfortable position on the huge down-filled mattress I’d dubbed the marshmallow, but I was so damn tired and my body was sore in so many intimate places that I gave up and settled for sipping more of the mulled wine a helpful nymphet offered me. “They’d call it something like party,” I continued. “Women would say, ‘Oh, boy! I’m going into party now and having a baby. Yippie!’ Nope. It’s definitely not called party.”
Alanna and her husband, Carolan (who had just delivered my daughter), glanced over their shoulders at me. Both of them laughed, as did several of the nymphlike handmaidens who were clustered around the room, tidying, fussing, basically doing the handmaiden stuff they loved to do (and, quite frankly, I adored their abject adoration).
“I don’t know what you’re laughing at. In a couple months you’re going to know exactly what I’m talking about,” I reminded Alanna.
“And I will count on you to hold my hand through every moment of it,” Alanna told me happily, and then kissed her husband’s cheek.
“That’s fine with me. I’ll look forward to being on the hand-holding end of the childbirth thing.”
“I thought women quickly forgot the pain of the birth.”
I looked up at my husband, the centaur High Shaman ClanFintan, whose strength and stamina surpassed a man’s, but who at that moment appeared uncharacteristically worn and bedraggled, as if he had fought his way through hell and back instead of standing by his wife’s side as she labored (for a friggin day) and gave birth to their daughter.
“Are you going to forget it soon?” I asked him with a knowing smile.
“Not likely,” he said solemnly, and for the seemingly thousandth time in the past day he bent to brush the sweat-damp hair from my face and kiss me softly on the forehead.
“Yeah, me neither. I think that whole ‘women don’t remember the pain of childbirth’ thing is a big lie started by freaked-out husbands.”
Carolan’s deep chuckle rolled across the chamber. “I would have to agree with your theory, Rhea,” he said.
I frowned at his back. “Great. My doctor didn’t think to mention that to me before I went into labor?”
“No, my Lady.” I could hear the thinly veiled humor in his voice. “Little good it would have done then. If I would have mentioned it, it should have been before you bedded the centaur.”
“Hrumph!” I said, purposefully sounding like my husband, which caused Carolan to chuckle again.
“Ah, but Rhea, wasn’t it all worth it?” Finally finished swaddling my newborn daughter, Alanna, smiling like she was Santa Claus, brought the baby back to my waiting arms. I took her eagerly from my best friend and all-around girl Friday, executive assistant and expert on everything-Partholon-that-I-didn’t-know.
“Yes.” I breathed the word, overwhelmed by the not-yet-familiar rush of love and tenderness holding my daughter evoked. “Yes, she is worth every bit.”
ClanFintan knelt beside our mattress with the fluid grace with which centaurs moved. “There is nothing she is not worth,”
