Morrigan (19 page)

Tiarn had no intentions of waiting to see if
they listened to Brigid or to thank her for her intervention. He
grabbed Morrigan by the hand and started pulling her toward the
door. Behind them, even over the din of the breakfast patrons, she
could clearly hear the scared, whispered voices rising all around
her. They grew louder and more agitated with each millisecond that
passed.

“He’s a wolf!” one whispered.

Another frightened voice repeated, “A
wolf?”

They whispered until she could sense a whole
room of angry eyes boring into her back. Against her better
judgment, she glanced over her shoulder to see what they were doing
only to find that a group of villagers were starting to converge on
them. Even the motherly Brigid was suddenly gaping at them in open
horror.

Before she knew it, Tiarn had pulled her
through the door, and they were running down the cobblestone roads.
The beautiful temple, the market place, and even the home with the
happy little family she had admired went by in a blur. But as quick
as they were moving, they were not fast enough. The cries of “wolf”
grew louder and were joined by new voices that seemed much closer.
She was afraid to look behind her again to see just how many people
were pursuing them.

In their haste to get away, the tie that held
her padding in place had somehow gotten loose. She didn’t even
notice it until the balled up leggings fell to the ground. Without
thinking, she bent down to retrieve them. Before she could chastise
herself for wasting valuable seconds, she realized it was divine
intervention. One of the merchants, taking up the cause of the
farmers, was only a step behind them and was preparing to hit Tiarn
with a large wooden board.

“Tiarn, watch out!” she cried.

The warning reached his ears just in time. He
ducked down, stuck out his leg to sideswipe the man, and swung
around. The kick came in contact the man’s kneecap, which sent him
sprawling to the ground, slamming his head heard against the
cobblestone walkway. He was dazed for just a second, but that
moment was enough for Tiarn to get the advantage. Before the
merchant had a chance to move, Tiarn had his foot pressed against
his chest and the tip of his sword aimed at his throat.

“Why must you attack us?” Tiarn demanded. “We
have done you no harm!”

“Filthy mongrel!” The man gasped as Tiarn
increased the pressure on his chest, but it did not stop his
hateful onslaught. “A half-breed animal such as you must be put
down!”

“Who is the man and who is the animal?” Tiarn
asked him, furious. “You would sneak up on us from behind instead
of facing me in an honest duel. And once I am dispatched, what
then? You let your damn drunken friends have their way with the
girl?”

Tiarn was growling and so intent on his
attacker he didn’t realize they were no longer alone. Liam,
Patrick, Brigid, and half the village surrounded them. They were
glaring at the pair with hate in their eyes and holding whatever
they could grab as weapons. She saw a few daggers and swords, but
most of the lynch mob carried household cutlery, shovels, or even
large rocks and sticks they had picked up from the ground. There
was not a single pitchfork or torch among them, which Morrigan
almost found funny since they seemed to be the staple of any mob
scene in the fantasy movies she had seen.

“Look!” Brigid cried when her eyes fell upon
Morrigan’s now flat belly. “There is no child! It was a
glamour!”

“She is a witch!” someone in the crowd
cried.

Though her disguise had nothing to do with
witchery, her expression alone must have verified their assumption.
The realization seemed to get a mixed response from the crowd.
Witches were held in great respect in Tír na NÓg, or so Tiarn had
told her. But in a war-torn land, divided by dueling witches, there
was no way to tell friends from foes.

“Only a dark witch would travel with a
lycan!” a voice cried out, and many in the crowd shouted and nodded
in agreement.

“Burn them both! Burn the wolf and the evil
witch!”

Most the people took up the chant, but in the
crowd, Morrigan could see Brigid seemed unsure and contemplative.
Many of the people looked to her for direction, and Morrigan
realized she must hold a position of power in the village. Beside
her, Tiarn was not waiting for them to agree or disagree on whether
to burn them at the stake. He had pulled his captive up from the
ground and was using him as a human shield, pressing the sharp
blade of his sword in the small of his back.

“We mean you no harm!” Tiarn told the crowd
calmly. “We wish only for safe passage. Let us go in peace and we
shall set him free.”

“Do not listen to the wolf!” the merchant
cried. “They speak only lies! He will surely kill me either way.
Take them now! Take the girl!”

A few of the men started circling toward
Morrigan. Tiarn cursed under his breath and threw the merchant
aside to guard her. “Where are those damn felines of yours when
they are needed?” he complained.

They were outnumbered, yet somehow Morrigan
wasn’t worried. This crowd of middle-aged and overweight villagers
armed with simple rocks and shovels were not nearly as threatening
as the trained soldiers they had overpowered. As a few of them
attempted to approach her, she simply had to focus her mind for
just a second and their weapons flew from their hands. Only one man
was brave enough to take another step, and he soon found himself
face down in a puddle as Morrigan used her power of telekinesis to
send him sprawling backward.

“Leave us alone!” she ordered them. “We don’t
want to hurt you. We just want to leave.”

There were shouts of disapproval, but this
time no one made a move to stop them. Only Brigid was brave enough
to step forward. Though she made no attempt to attack them, her
words were as sharp as any blade.

“I know who you are, witch!” Brigid shouted.
All hint of the pleasant patroness was gone from her plump, round
face. She glared at Morrigan with pure hatred in her eyes. “You are
the daughter of Ceridwyn.”

She spat on the ground as though the very
mention of her mother’s name left a foul taste in her mouth.
Morrigan was confused by the anger and horror that revelation
seemed to cause. Were they just nervous that a wanted felon had
been hiding in their midst? Did they fear the wrath of Arianrhod
that much?

“If you know who she is, then you know it is
pointless for mere humans to attempt to restrain her,” Tiarn told
them. “Let us go, and we will spare your lives.”

This time the group didn’t need time to
consider. There were no brave souls to step forward to try to stop
them. They all backed down, but watched with disgust and horror as
Tiarn inched his way toward a filly that was tied to a post a few
feet away. He used his sword to cut the rope before jumping up on
the nervous horse. Without a word, he grabbed Morrigan’s arm to
lift her up beside him.

“By the Goddess, may Arianrhod bring both you
and your mother to your knees!”

Brigid’s curse was the last thing she heard
before the horse took off at a gallop, carrying them toward the
forgiving shelter of the forest.

Morrigan had never ridden a horse before. In
movies, it always seemed romantic to ride off into the sunset with
the hero. In real life, it was much less glamorous. They were
riding bareback, and she was terrified she was going to slip off.
She was clinging so tightly to Tiarn’s back that she was sure her
nails had left permanent indentations. If that wasn’t bad enough,
her legs, thighs, and butt were throbbing from the constant
thumping. She had no idea how she was ever going to walk normally
again, and even sitting was probably going to be a problem for at
least a few days.

The Guardians had been waiting in the shadows
and not long after Morrigan and Tiarn entered the shelter of the
forest, Danu and Dagda joined them. They struggled to keep pace
with the galloping horse in their cat forms. It was already a
strain for the filly to have a lycan riding her, so luckily they
had the good sense to realize if they transformed they would have
startled the already skittish animal even more. Morrigan asked
Tiarn if they could slow down a little, but he was afraid the magic
hounds might be on their heels after the fiasco with the farmers.
He wanted as much distance between them and the village as possible
before they slowed their pace.

They rode hard for what seemed like hours
before the horse began to slow from exhaustion. She was panting so
hard, Morrigan was afraid the poor animal would die on the spot.
Eventually, Tiarn took pity on her and stopped to rest at a little
fresh water lake. It was only about the size of a small swimming
pool, but a stream ran through it, which kept the water from
becoming stagnant. The horse happily lapped up the cool liquid
while Tiarn filled up his lambskin and Morrigan did the same with
her empty water bottles.

“I do not think we will come upon fresh water
again in our travels,” Tiarn mused. “This may well be the last we
see until we reach the castle. So drink your fill now and use what
you take sparingly.”

Morrigan took his advice and bent to dip her
hands into the cool water. It wasn’t easy to do when her legs were
so sore. Despite the physical aches in her body, she exalted in the
beauty of the early afternoon. The rain clouds had long since
departed, and even the ground around them was free of lingering
puddles. The sun beat down gently, providing a blanket of warmth
against the cool fall breeze. She had still been a little frazzled
by the uproar back at the town, and the peace and silence of the
forest was just what she needed to settle her nerves.

She still wondered why the villagers seemed
to hate them so much. Perhaps they had reasons to fear werewolves,
but she was the daughter of Ceridwyn and their rightful princess.
They should have been happy to see her. Maybe they were just afraid
to declare their loyalty when Arianrhod’s soldiers were nearby.
Yet, the look of disgust on Brigid’s face had seemed genuine. Could
the seemingly kind innkeeper have been hiding a darker side? Could
she be a follower of the dark witch? It seemed that nothing was
ever what it appeared to be in Tír na NÓg.

Morrigan was pondering all this while Tiarn
tended to the horse. The cats were sunbathing on the bank of the
stream, and Morrigan took advantage of the solitude. They were
surrounded by the silence of the deep woods, with only an
occasional chirping of a bird or the bubbling of the stream. She
hadn’t seen another living soul for miles. Just as she leaned back
into the soft grass to rest, she heard a strange sound. At first
she thought it was the wind rustling the trees or maybe some
strange animal she was unfamiliar with. As she strained her ears to
hear, she became more and more certain the sound she heard was a
woman weeping. She stole a glance toward Tiarn and the cats, but
they were so deeply involved in their tasks that they didn’t seem
to notice. She shook her head absently and figured she was just
being silly.

She was starting to get hungry, so Morrigan
decided to forget the noise. She pulled out some of the leftover
bread she had taken from the inn to have a little snack. Just as
she was about to put the food to her lips, she heard the cry again,
louder this time. It startled her so much that she dropped her
stale roll into the dirt. This time she knew she wasn’t crazy
because even Danu and Dagda flicked up their ears with mild
interest.

“Help me! Please, someone help me!”

The voice sounded like the light chatter of
wind chimes, yet the words were so crystal clear, they could have
been whispered in her ear. The sound was musical, enchanting.
Almost against her will, Morrigan found herself rising to her feet
to follow the angelic voice. It was only Tiarn putting a
restraining hand on her shoulder that stopped her.

“It is not our concern,” he mildly rebuked.
“We have our own quest to complete.”

Morrigan was surprised. “You heard that?”

“Of course. Lycans have excellent
hearing.”

“Someone is in trouble,” she told him.

“Yes, and for once, that someone is not you
or I.”

“We can’t just ignore it.”

Tiarn shook his head. “Leave well enough
alone, Morrigan. These woods are strange, and the creatures that
inhabit them are apt to play tricks. We should not get
involved.”

Morrigan knew she should listen to him. He
had much more experience with this world and the beings that
resided in it. Besides, the last thing she wanted to do was start
an argument when they had finally come to a good place in their
relationship. Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore the beseeching
cries.

“Please, help me!” the mystery woman
wept.

The wails were breaking her heart. Tiarn must
have read the sympathy in her face, because he quickly gathered up
the water bottles and readied the horse to leave. “That is enough
rest for one day. If we continue at this pace on horseback, we
should reach the castle before the moon rises on the morrow.”

The news should have been exciting and even a
little frightening. Morrigan had stopped listening. She simply
couldn’t ignore the pleas for help any longer. After all, wasn’t it
her duty as princess to protect the people of the land? She
gradually inched her way deeper into the darkness of the forest.
Tiarn didn’t even notice. He was still rambling on about their
plans for the night as Morrigan followed the sound of the
mysterious voice. The cats hardly lifted their heads and made no
move to follow her, which Morrigan decided was proof she was in no
danger.

The crying grew louder and more heart
retching with every second, but Morrigan felt disoriented. She
didn’t know how long she had walked or which direction she had come
from. As she walked deeper into the woods, the trees grew thicker
overhead, and the light dwindled and grew dim, until it seemed like
twilight even though it was only midday.