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“Are you quite sure, Etain?” Fiona’s brow wrinkled in worry.
“You said walking would make the child come more quickly.” Etain held out her hands and Fiona helped pull her awkwardly up from the chaise. “And quickly sounds wonderful to me at this moment.” She winked and the concern in Fiona’s face lightened. The Chosen One tossed her head and smiled at the attending group of women. “Ladies, please sing for me while I hurry my daughter’s arrival.”
The women clapped their hands happily. Some of them broke into a little celebratory dance that caused magic to sparkle in their wake. Linking her arm through Fiona’s, the two women walked slowly through the diaphanous curtains.
Etain inhaled deeply. “This is something I will miss about being pregnant.” Fiona looked at her quizzically. “My incredible sense of smell. All through this pregnancy my sense of smell has been amazingly acute.” She lumbered to the nearest rosebush and gently passed a finger over the velvety petals before continuing down the path.
“Yes, this is amaz—” The word ended in a grunt as the next contraction took her by surprise.
“Slowly, remember not to fight it, Etain.” Fiona spoke softly in her ear as her friend leaned heavily against her. “Should we go back to the other women?” she asked.
Etain shook her head and panted. “No. I feel like I can breathe better out here.” The contraction subsided and she straightened slowly, wiping the sweat from her face with her sleeve. “And I like how their song sounds on the breeze—like the whole world is filled with the magic of this baby’s birth.”
Fiona’s eyes sparkled suddenly with tears and she hugged Etain. “It is, my Lady, it is!”
The Chosen of the Goddess cleared her mind of pain by focusing on her blessings as they continued their halting trek through the garden. The nation of Partholon honored many gods and goddesses, but Epona would always hold a special place in her peoples’ hearts.
Epona breathes life to the morning sky, and Epona’s face is reflected in the fullness of the moon. She is Warrior Goddess of the Horse, as well as Benefactress of the Fruits of the Harvest. And Partholon would always revere her as their protectress. It was Epona’s Chosen, along with her shaman lifemate, who repelled the invasion of demonic Fomorians and saved Partholon from enslavement. That it had been almost one hundred years since the Fomorian war mattered little in the minds and hearts of the Partholonians. Epona’s largess would never be forgotten, and her Beloved would always be honored.
She was Beloved of the Goddess, Epona’s Chosen One, Etain reminded herself as she panted through another contraction. And that meant that her firstborn would be a daughter, and that she, too, would be touched by the Goddess. She would be the granddaughter of the legendary Fomorian-slaying Rhiannon. The thought that her child would probably be destined to follow her as Epona’s Chosen was exciting, and it made the tedium of labor somewhat easier to bear.
The wave of the next contraction scattered Etain’s thoughts, and she quickly understood that it was different than the others. It was accompanied by a deep burning sensation and a need to push that was so overwhelming it made her gasp. Her knees buckled and Fiona struggled to help her gently to the ground.
“I have to push,” she panted.
“Wait!” Fiona said sharply, then yelled over her shoulder in the direction of her bedchamber. “Women! Come to me! The Goddess needs you!”
Etain couldn’t tell if anyone had heard her because her entire being was focused within. The urge to push was raw and primal, and it took all the strength of the fear for her daughter’s life to struggle against it.
Then a sound pierced through The Chosen’s concentration, and her soul leaped with joy as she recognized it. It was the sound of hooves beating against the firm ground of the path. Etain blinked the sweat out of her eyes as the centaur burst around a curve in the path and slid to his knees before her.
“Here, love. All will be well now. Put your arms around my shoulders.” Her husband’s deep voice seemed to chase away the pain as the contraction eased and then dissipated completely.
Wordlessly she wrapped her arms around his granite-like shoulders and let her head fall against him as he effortlessly lifted her. In a few long strides the bedchamber was in view. Seconds later he was laying his wife gently on the chaise longue. She clutched him, but needn’t have worried. He had no intention of releasing her.
“I am so glad you are here,” she said slowly, still trying to catch her breath.
“I belong nowhere but here.” He smiled and brushed a limp curl away from his wife’s sweaty face.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t make it. I didn’t think Moira would find you in time.”
“She didn’t,” he said with a cryptic shrug of his shoulders. “Your Goddess did.” And he kissed her softly.
Oh, Epona, thank you for bringing him to me in time—and thank you for fashioning him to be my lifemate. Through eyes filled with tears she watched her handsome centaur husband fuss with the pillows on which she was propped. Even after five years of marriage, the strength and virility of his centaur form still thrilled her. Of course, as High Shaman he had the ability to shape-shift so that they could truly mate, but she loved him completely, and reveled in the fact that her Goddess had crafted such a wondrous being to be her lifemate.
Before she could tell him once again how much she loved him, Etain felt the stirrings of the next contraction. Her moan summoned the Healer.
“My Lord, help us get her into the birthing position.” She gave deft orders and Midhir’s strong arms once again lifted his wife. This time he stood behind her with his hands linked under her arms and her back pressed firmly against him as he easily supported her weight. Fiona stood on Etain’s right, holding her hand, and another woman took her left hand. The Goddess Incarnate looked down at the Healer who was crouched between her legs and was vaguely surprised to realize that somehow she had become naked. The Healer’s fingers gently probed.
“You are fully ready. You must push with the next contraction.”
And it enveloped her. Etain became nothing but a push. Brilliant colors exploded against her tightly closed lids. She saw splashes of gold and red and heard a guttural, inhuman sound, and with a strangely detached thought she realized it must be her own voice making that animal-like noise. For a moment she couldn’t breathe.
Then a wordless humming registered through the fog of bearing down. Etain could not see the women, but she felt them. Their birthing song filled her and she was able to breathe again.
“Once more, Goddess. I see your daughter’s head!” the Healer encouraged.
She heard Midhir’s whispered litany of prayer. The words from his old language, which always sounded so magical to his wife, seemed to mirror the rhythm of the birthing song just as the contraction took control of her.
Again Etain became nothing but a push. She was being torn in half. Struggling against panic and fear, her mind reached out to tap into the power that surrounded her. She let the enchantment of the birthing circle fill her, and focused on pushing with the combined power of will and magic. With a liquid feeling of release the warm wetness that was her daughter slid from her body.
Then time seemed to speed up and things happened very quickly. Etain struggled to catch a glimpse of her daughter, but was only able to see disjointed images of the Healer bundling the wet form against the folds of her robe. The old woman’s hands shook as she cut the cord.
Silence.
Etain’s knees buckled, and Midhir and Fiona supported her back to the chaise.
“Why isn’t she crying?” Etain gasped.
Midhir’s eyes narrowed in concern and he turned quickly back to the Healer who was still huddled on the floor over the small bundle.
Then the sweet, strong cry of a newborn pierced the air and Etain felt her fear thaw. But it was only a momentary reprieve because almost instantly she registered the look of shock that had immobilized the Healer’s pale face.
The women who surrounded them had noticed, too, because their joyous song of welcome had fallen suddenly still.
“Midhir?” She sobbed his name as a question.
The centaur moved with inhuman speed to stand over the bundle that was his lustily crying daughter. The Healer looked up at him, confusion and dismay glazing her eyes. Swiftly Midhir dropped to his knees and reached out to unwrap the covering that concealed his child. And he froze.
His body was shielding the view of the baby from Etain and she fought against exhaustion to sit up so that she could see what was happening.
“What is it?” she cried, her stomach clenching with much more than the pains of afterbirth.
At her words a quiver ran through Midhir’s muscular body, then he reached forward and scooped the baby from the floor. In one motion he turned to his wife, his eyes alight with joy.
“It is our daughter, my love.” His voice was thick with emotion. “And she is a wee goddess!”
With those words he strode to Etain and gently handed her the now silent, but still kicking bundle. The Chosen of Epona gazed for the first time at her daughter.
Etain’s immediate thought wasn’t shock or surprise, but simply that she had never seen anything as exquisitely beautiful. She was perfect. Even though birth fluids still covered her, the infant’s head was feathered with dark wisps of amber-colored hair. Her skin was a lovely creamy brown, a shade somewhere between bronze and gold. She looked exactly as if someone had poured her skin and Midhir’s skin together, was the abstract thought that drifted through Etain’s mind, which was hazy with wonder. Her gilded skin shaded down to her waist, where her body suddenly became covered with a fine coat of hair, the same color as the hair on her head, but in which speckles were already appearing in drying patches, as if it was the coat of a newborn fawn. She squirmed and kicked her two legs that tapered gracefully down to form two tiny hooves, which still glistened damply. Then she opened her perfect little mouth and let out an indignant cry.
“Sssh, my precious one,” Etain cooed, kissing her face and marveling at the amazing softness of her skin. Love for her daughter poured into her, filling Etain more completely than she had ever believed possible. “I am here and all is well.” At the sound of her mother’s voice, the infant’s incredibly dark eyes seemed to widen and her cries instantly quieted.
“Elphame.” Midhir’s deep voice was choked with emotion. He knelt beside them. One of his arms went around his wife so that she could rest securely against him, and his other hand reached down to touch his daughter’s body. “Elphame,” he repeated. His deep, wonderful voice added magic to the word, like he had just ushered the Queen of the Fairies into their midst. The name seemed to hang suspended in the air around them.
Etain gazed at him through her tears. The name was vaguely familiar, like she had heard it spoken in a dream. “Elphame…What does it mean?”
His warm lips first brushed his wife’s forehead and then his daughter’s forehead before he answered. “It is the shamans’ ancient name for the Goddess as a maiden. It is She who is most exquisite, filled with the magic of youth and the wonder of life beginning anew.”
“Elphame,” she murmured as she guided her daughter’s hungry mouth to her aching breast. “My precious one.”
Yes, Beloved. The Goddess’s voice drifted through her Chosen’s mind. The Shaman has named her truly. She shall be called Elphame—announce to Partholon the name of your newborn, who is also Beloved of Epona.
Etain smiled brilliantly and raised her head. In a voice magnified by the power of Epona her words joyously split the air.
“Rejoice, Partholon! We have been given a gift worthy of a goddess in the birth of my child.” Her gaze shifted from the staring women who still silently surrounded them to her husband, whose face was wet with tears. “Her name is Elphame. She is truly a wee goddess, most beautiful and exquisite!”
At the Goddess Incarnate’s announcement there was a stirring in the air, like a crackle of lightning. Then the breeze that had been pulling the billowing drapes out of the open doorway shifted direction, and the golden gauze blew into the chamber in a rush of fragrant, warm air—and suddenly they were enveloped in a gossamer cloud of delicate wings. Hundreds of shimmering butterflies fluttered around and above the gathering, fanning them with their magic.
“Thank you, Epona!” Etain laughed, delighted with the demonstration of her Goddess’s pleasure.
Then the women began to hum and twirl. Slowly at first, then more quickly and joyously they took up the ancient ceremony that was the traditional greeting for the birth of a child of Partholon.
Etain rested within her husband’s arms as he cradled his family against his strong chest.
“The magic of youth and the wonder of life beginning anew,” she whispered to her daughter. Etain touched the infant reverently, unable to look away from her, not wanting to miss one breath or one movement. Her fingers ran down Elphame’s body wonderingly, as she caressed her unique legs and learned the contours of each delicate hoof. Satyr. The name fluttered through her mind. But, no. She wasn’t at all goatlike; she was too delicate and finely formed to resemble Pan. She was simply a perfect blending of human, centaur and goddess.
A sense of awe rushed through Etain, and laughter bubbled from her chest.
Midhir squeezed his wife’s shoulders in response. “I, too, am filled to overflowing with the wonder of her.”
She nodded her head, agreeing with him. Then, through more laughter she added, “Yes, but that’s not why I’m laughing.”
He arched an eyebrow questioningly.
She grinned and stroked one of Elphame’s little hooves. “I used to think that she must be clothed and wearing boots, as hard as her kicks sometimes felt. Now I see exactly what it was I was feeling.”
Midhir’s laughter joined his wife’s as they reveled in the magic of their newborn daughter.
Chapter 1
Power. Nothing was that good. Not Partholon’s finest chocolate. Not the beauty of a perfect sunrise. Not even…no, she wouldn’t know about that. She shook her head, purposefully changing the pattern of her thoughts. The wind whistled sharply through her hair, and some of the long strands blew into her face making her wish she had tied it back out of the way. She usually did, but today she had wanted to feel its heavy weight, and she admitted to herself that she liked the way it flowed behind her when she ran, like the flame-colored tail of a shooting star.
Her stride faltered as her concentration wavered and Elphame quickly regained control of her stray thoughts. Maintaining speed took focus. The field she ran in was relatively flat and free of most rocks and obstructions, but it wouldn’t be wise to let her thoughts wander. One misstep could snap a leg all too easily; it would be foolish to believe otherwise. For all her life, Elphame had made it a point to shun foolish beliefs and behavior. Foolishness and folly were for people who could afford everyday, normal mistakes. Not for her, for someone whose very design said that she had been touched by the Goddess, and was, therefore, held apart from what was accepted as normal and everyday.
Elphame deepened her breathing and forced herself to relax her upper body. Keep the tension in your lower body, she reminded herself. Keep everything else loose and relaxed. Let the most powerful part of your body do the work. Her teeth glinted in an almost feral grin as she felt her body regather and shoot forward. Elphame loved the way the corded muscles in her legs responded. Her arms pumped effortlessly as her hooves bit into the soft green carpet of the young field.
She was faster than any human. Much faster.
Elphame demanded more of herself, and her body responded with inhuman strength. She may not have been as fast as a centaur over long distances, but few could outdistance her in a sprint, as her brothers liked to frequently boast. With a little more hard work, perhaps none would be able to best her. The thought was almost as satisfying as the wind on her face.
When the burning started she ignored it, knowing that she had to push herself beyond the point of simple muscle fatigue, but she did begin to angle her strides so that her run would take her in a huge spherical path. She would end up back where she had begun.
But not forever, she promised herself. Not forever. And she pushed herself harder.
“Oh, Goddess.” Watching her daughter, Etain whispered reverently, “Will I ever get used to her beauty?”
She is special, Beloved. Epona’s voice shimmered familiarly through her Chosen One’s mind.
She pulled the horse to a halt well within the stand of trees that flanked one end of the field. The silver mare stopped and twisted her head around, cocking her ears at her rider in the horse’s version of a question. And Etain knew that her mare, the equine incarnation of the Goddess Epona, really was asking a question.
“I just want to sit here and watch her.”
The Goddess blew imperiously through her nose.
“I am not spying!” Etain said indignantly. “I am her mother. It is well within my right to watch her run.”
The Goddess tossed her head in a reply that proclaimed she wasn’t so sure.
“Behave with the proper respect.” She jangled the mare’s reigns. “Or I shall leave you at the temple next trip.”
The Goddess didn’t dignify the comment with so much as a snort. Etain ignored the mare who was now ignoring her, and muttered something about grumpy old creatures, but not loud enough for the mare to hear. Then she squinted her eyes and held her hand up to block the setting sun from interfering with her view.
Her daughter was running with a speed that caused her lower body to blur, so that it appeared that she flew above the brilliant green shoots of new wheat. She ran bent forward slightly at the waist, with a grace that always amazed her mother.
“She is the prefect blending of centaur and human,” Etain whispered to the mare, who swiveled her ears to catch the words. “Goddess, you are so wise.”
Elphame had completed the long loop in her imaginary track, and she was beginning to turn toward the grove in which her mother waited. The setting sun framed her running body, catching the girl’s dark auburn hair on fire. It glowed and snapped around her in long, heavy strands.
“She certainly didn’t get that lovely straight hair from me,” Etain told the mare as she tried to tuck one of her ever-escaping curls behind her ear. The mare cocked an ear back attentively. “The red lights that streak her hair, yes, but the rest of it she can thank her father for.” She could also thank him for the color of those amazingly dark eyes. The shape was hers—large and round, resting above high delicate cheekbones that were also copies of her mother’s, but where Etain’s eyes were mossy green, her daughter’s eyes were the entrancing sable of her centaur father’s. Even if Elphame’s physical form hadn’t been completely unique, her beauty would have been unusual—coupled with a body that only the Goddess could have created, the effect was breathtaking.
Elphame’s pace began to slow, and she changed direction so that she was heading directly for the stand of trees in which her mother and the mare waited.
“We should make ourselves known so that she doesn’t think we were lurking around in the shadows watching her.”
They emerged from the tree line, and Etain saw her daughter’s head snap in their direction in an instinctively defensive gesture, but almost immediately Elphame recognized them and raised her arm to wave hello at the same time the mare trumpeted a shrill greeting.
“Mama!” Elphame called happily. “Why don’t you two join me for my cooldown?”
“Of course, my darling,” Etain shouted back. “But slowly, you know the mare is getting old and—”
Before she could finish the sentence the “old mare” in question sprang forward and caught up with the young woman, where she pranced spryly sideways before easily matching her gentle canter with Elphame’s gait.
“The two of you will never be old, Mama.” Elphame laughed.
“She’s just a putting on a show for you,” Etain told her daughter, but she reached down and affectionately ruffled the mare’s silky mane.
“Oh, Mama, please. She’s putting on a show…” Elphame let the sentence trail suggestively off as she quirked her eyebrow and gave her mother a knowing look that took in her glittering jewelry and the seductive wrap of her buttery leather riding outfit that fitted snuggly over her still shapely body.
“El, you know wearing jewelry is a spiritual experience for me,” she said in her Beloved of the Goddess voice.
“I know, Mama.” Elphame grinned.
The mare’s snort was decidedly sarcastic, and Etain’s laughter mingled with her daughter’s as they continued compatibly around the field.
“Where did I leave my wrap?” Elphame muttered half to her mother, half to herself as she searched the edge of the tree line. “I thought I put it on this log.”
Etain watched her daughter scramble over a fallen limb as she searched for the rest of her clothing. She wore only a sleeveless leather top, which was wrapped tightly around her full breasts, and a small strip of linen that hugged her muscular buttocks, and was cut high up on her hips, before it dipped down to a triangle to cover her in the front. Etain had designed it herself.
