Morrigan (12 page)

“Look at the cornered animal fighting for his
miserable life,” one of them jeered.

The man tried to poke Tiarn with his dagger
while a second had practically driven him to the ground. Using his
injured arm, he maintained a precarious grip on the hilt of his
sword, but it trembled under the strength of his combatant. His
face was beaded with sweat as he tried to push back the blade that
was inches from his throat. He had seconds, at best, before he
would have to surrender or die.

Morrigan was filled with fury and fear for
his safety. Yet she wasn’t sure she could use her telekinesis
without Tiarn being swept up with the rest of them. She couldn’t
risk him becoming a casualty, so she had to think quickly. She
turned her gaze upon the campfire. The flames had begun to dwindle,
but the small embers were all she needed. With a single wave of her
hand, the fire grew and extended, snaking its way free from the
containment of the pit. The blaze changed from an orange glow to an
electric blue as the fire sliced through the air, finally coming to
rest on the soldier who had pinned Tiarn to the ground. The burst
of flames engulfed him and all the trees and brush that surrounded
him. The others were so shocked they forgot all about the werewolf
and turned their attention to Morrigan. She could feel herself
burning as hot as the flames as her anger all but consumed her. The
force of the magic had elevated her slightly from the ground, and
she knew her skin was glowing in a bright unearthly hue.

“Get the witch!” one of them cried.

The remaining soldiers charged Morrigan,
while their comrade screamed and rolled in the dirt to extinguish
the flames on his clothing. Danu and Dagda had long since
dispatched of their targets; only two guards remained standing.
When the cats saw them headed in Morrigan’s direction, they tried
to pounce, but there wasn’t enough time. As soon as they were far
enough away from Tiarn, Morrigan attacked them with her mind. She
had only to glance in their direction, and with a smile of
satisfaction, she sent them sprawling.

When they tried to stand, she refused to
allow them to regain their footing. She controlled them like a
marionette with her puppets and pressed their faces into the
ground, smothering them into the earth. They swung their fists
against an invisible foe as they struggled to breathe.

“Enough, Morrigan! Do you wish to kill
them?”

Morrigan turned her wrath onto this new
assailant who dared to question her and only barely managed to
control herself before she sent an already injured Tiarn sprawling
to the ground. She took a deep, calming breath and tried to pull
back the magic that had overtaken all rational thought. She
realized the soldiers could have easily killed them if that had
been their goal. They must have had orders to bring them all in
alive. They were lucky Morrigan was willing to offer the same kind
of mercy.

She allowed the men to sit up, though she
continued to glare at them. If they had any intentions of
continuing the battle, the growling cats made them think better of
it. They struggled to their feet and then scampered into the woods
as fast as their limping legs could carry them. The others were
either unconscious or had long since retreated. Morrigan watched
them go, feeling flushed from the pure rush of adrenaline brought
on by the release of her magic and the exhilaration that came with
victory.

“You lived up to your name on the battlefield
this night, Princess Morrigan.”

She had almost forgotten again that Tiarn was
there until he took hold of her hand, which was still trembling
from her spent fury. He gently opened her fingers and placed on her
palm the one remaining tarot card she had dropped before the
battle. It was the first she had drawn when she attempted her
divination. Ironically, it was The Fool.

“Magic is only a small part of who you are,
Morrigan,” Tiarn whispered, his eyes once again haunted by that
sadness she couldn’t explain. “If you let the dark magic of fury
consume you, it will forever tarnish your soul.”

Tiarn began gathering up their supplies,
hoping to move on before reinforcements arrived. Morrigan was left
to stare at the carnage that surrounded her. The once lovely
terrain she had admired for its simple beauty was gone. Instead she
saw only a blood splattered ground, charred remains of trees and
bushes, and general destruction. Suddenly, her victory didn’t feel
quite so glamorous, and the meaning of The Fool card became crystal
clear.

The rest of the evening gave new meaning to
roughing it. Tiarn found a large hollowed out tree that had fallen
to the ground, and Morrigan squeezed inside the confining space. He
covered it up with branches and leaves and left her there while he
ran circles around the forest, leaving behind this scent and
confusing tracks in order to lead the guards and their hounds in
the wrong direction. The Guardians waited in the shadows to attack
if anyone dared get too close to her hiding place.

Morrigan had no idea how long she was there,
cold, alone, and terrified Tiarn might never return. The log was
damp and smelled like mold, and she shared the cramped space with a
variety of different insects that slithered and crawled across her
body. She had already felt filthy after a few days without a
shower. Now, she felt absolutely disgusting. She suffered in
silence, knowing it was her own fault she was stuck there. If she
hadn’t tried to learn about Tiarn’s true feelings with a deck of
cards instead of just trying to talk to him, she wouldn’t be in her
current situation. She didn’t allow herself to scream when
something furry scurried across her chest. She clamped her mouth
shut when she heard the voices of nearby soldiers. She even managed
to doze off a few times. When Tiarn finally returned, he helped her
out of her temporary prison, and she stretched to remove the kinks
from her tired body. The sun was just beginning to peek over the
horizon.

“Come,” he told her. “The soldiers are
searching in the east. I think we are safe for the time being.”

Even though her eyes had to readjust to the
sunlight, Morrigan noticed right away that Tiarn’s face was pale
and drawn. She saw his bloodied clothes and knew it was more than
just the sleepless night that made him look so weary.

“Your arm,” she said, “it needs to be taken
care of.”

“It is just a scratch,” he lied. She could
see the blood oozing through the sleeve of his tunic.

“It should at least be bandaged before we
move on,” she told him. He opened his mouth to protest, but she
silenced him with one stern glance. “I don’t want to hear any
arguing. We are fixing that arm. And that’s a royal order.”

Tiarn gave her the smallest of smiles. “Well,
Your Majesty, I suppose I cannot argue with that. Just for the
record, I could have handled those soldiers back there without your
assistance. I was just about to finish them off when you sent them
all flying.”

Morrigan smiled wryly. “I’m sure you could
have.”

They set up a small camp, and Tiarn got the
fire going, but they didn’t unpack all the supplies. They knew they
couldn’t stay in the area long. Eventually the soldiers were going
to realize they had been tricked and circle back to look for them.
Since there was no time for hunting, Morrigan reached into her bag
and produced a few packages of instant soup. It was a small meal
that was hardly satisfying, but it was better than nothing. Even
Tiarn slurped it down without complaints after a few speculative
sniffs. The cats had disappeared in the forest, so she assumed they
were hunting in their Guardian forms to fill their bellies. At
least half of their party wouldn’t go hungry that night.

When they were finished eating, Morrigan got
to work on Tiarn’s arm. She was happy she had the presence of mind
to pack the few measly medical supplies that were available in her
foster parents’ medicine cabinet. She took out a package of gauze,
rubbing alcohol, a bottle hydrogen peroxide, and the antibacterial
ointment. Once she had her supplies lined up, she had him slip out
of his tunic. She had to bite her lip to keep from gasping when she
saw all the blood. She didn’t have much experience with medical
emergencies, but she figured she was at least a step ahead of the
locals with her modern day medicine. She started off by using the
water canteen to wash away the worst of the blood. She dabbed it
dry with the only extra shirt she had brought for herself before
pouring half the bottle of rubbing alcohol onto the wound.

Tiarn flinched and pulled his arm away. “Are
you attempting to heal me or burn my skin away with your magic
potions?”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” she scolded, and
he glared at her. “It’s just a little modern medicine. There’s no
magic involved. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson.”

Again she patted dry the alcohol and moved on
to the peroxide. It bubbled and sizzled when it made contact with
his skin, but if it made him nervous again, he didn’t say so.
Instead, he watched her with mild curiosity in his eyes. He picked
up each bottle and sniffed its contents before turning up his nose
in distaste.

“I don’t know why you are making such a
fuss,” he told her. “I have certainly sustained far more serious
injuries in my lifetime.”

She could see it was true. There were several
scars on his arms and one large one on his well-formed abdomen,
visible through the thick layer of black hair. There were even a
few large scars on his back, which was the only part of his anatomy
she had seen that was actually smooth and hairless. The marks
looked like they might have been from a whip, but the only
comparison she had to go on were scenes from old renaissance
movies. She thought about asking him how it happened, but she was
afraid something so unpleasant might be too difficult for him to
talk about. As she worked, she asked some other, less personal
questions.

“So,” she said as she dabbed the last of the
blood from his arm, “tell me more about Tír na NÓg. Has it always
been here? Was it ever a part of the world I knew?”

It seemed like a good distraction. Tiarn
fiddled with a stick as he explained. “This place has had many
names. Some call it Avalon, Atlantis, or even Oz. The stories you
may have read about these magical lands have been twisted and
exaggerated over time, but there is a basis of reality in them. All
of the magical stories of your world leak from the edges of ours.
King Arthur lived and died here—husband to the queen witch,
Guinevere. Hercules, son of a god, could only exist in this place
of magic. Dragons, though long extinct now, like the dinosaurs of
your world, did once dominate our skies. The gateways exist so the
people of our world can keep a little magic alive in yours.”

Morrigan listened intently as she smeared a
generous portion of ointment onto the wound. Once it was cleaned
up, the cut didn’t look nearly as bad. The bleeding had stopped,
and she didn’t think it needed stitches. She did notice Tiarn’s
flesh peppered with gooseflesh whenever she touched him. She liked
to believe it was her touch and not the cold that was having that
effect on him.

“It is believed that once, before time was
recorded, the two worlds were one,” Tiarn continued. “But man did
not tolerate magical creatures well. Though we are stronger than
the average human, we were still greatly outnumbered. We were often
hunted down and killed. Witches were burned at the stake,
changelings were hung. The humans envied our abilities to fly, to
wield the elements, and to change form. And what humans envy, they
tend to destroy. To save us all, the priests and priestesses,
shamans, druids, faeries, and all magical beings, created Tír na
NÓg as a safe haven. It is a mirror image of your world, and the
veil between the two can only be lifted by the power of twins whose
eyes are endless mirrors of one another. Here our kind escaped the
petty jealously of the old world, at least for a while.

“Tír na NÓg was meant to be a place of peace.
A way to end the unnecessary death caused by fear. Of course, a few
humans have stumbled in along the way, but as you well know, it is
the witches who rule. They were chosen for their wisdom as well as
their power, and for many centuries they ruled well. But there is
always evil waiting to find the right soul to prey on. As time
passed, some of the witches turned to dark magic. The good and the
evil witches have fought for dominance for generations, blood
against blood, and sister against sister. Now that you have
arrived, some believe things will change. There were always stories
about a maiden from another land, prophesized to sway the tides
permanently. Hopefully the light will prevail, because if the dark
witch has her way, we will find ourselves in a world far more
horrible than any we have faced before. Or so the legend goes. I
personally do not believe in such nonsense.”

He ended nonchalantly, with a careless shrug
of his shoulders. Morrigan wondered how much of the legend was
truth and how much was just simple folklore. She tried not to
appear shaken, but it was unnerving to think she could be the one
to change the fate of the whole land or that she was a part of some
ancient prophecy. She preferred to believe people made their own
fate based on the decisions they made.

“Wow, that was quite a story,” she said.
“Hopefully we will give it a happy ending before all this is
through.” She put the finishing touches on his bandages. “There,
all done.”

Tiarn sniffed his arm warily, before turning
back to poke the fire with his stick. “Thank you,” he said, albeit
grudgingly. “Though I do not understand why it is you should care
what happens to me.”

“I do care, Filtiarn,” Morrigan said, her
throat suddenly tight. “More than you can imagine.” She hoped, she
wished, she prayed for a response. He refused to meet her gaze.
Instead, he continued to stoke the flames, intent on watching them
rise higher. She cleared her throat. “Well, I think now that you’re
all taken care of, I’ll go clean myself up a little, if that’s
okay.”