Morrigan (29 page)

Morrigan looked down in repulsion at the
fruit which she still clung to. The seeds suddenly reminded her of
squirming maggots. She flung it away in disgust and watched with
relief as her hand instantly returned to its normal pigment. As she
struggled to her feet, she saw Willow beside her. The gentle
seduction and sweet smile had faded, replaced by an outrage that
twisted her beautiful face into a hideous scowl.

“You ungrateful witch!” Her voice boomed, and
she suddenly seemed to tower over Morrigan. “You would refuse my
gift? Do you know what others would pay to be in your place?”

“I . . . I’m sorry,” Morrigan stuttered,
still shaken by what she had seen in her glimpse of the future as
well as the unbridled anger of the faery. “But as nice as it
sounds, I just can’t take you up on your offer. I have to go back
to Tír na NÓg.”

Willow seemed stunned. “How can you turn down
such bounty? No mortal has ever come into the mists and walked
away. What do you think you will find if you return? There is only
death and grief waiting for you there.”

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t appreciate
what you’re trying to do for me. But I just can’t run off like
this. My people need me!”

Willow snorted. “Your people? Need you? You
are nothing but a little girl from a foreign world who is already
hated and feared because the blood of Ceridwyn is putrefying your
veins. What can you possibly do to help your people?”

Despite the sarcasm and the fact that she was
surrounded by a sea of angry brown faces, Morrigan stood firm. “I
don’t know what I’m going to do yet. But I have to try to do
something. I can’t let my mother hurt any more innocent people. Not
if there is any chance I can stop her.”

“You realize you could die trying to save
these people who care nothing for you? Even assuming you could
somehow succeed, you will eventually wither and grow old. You will
lose your beauty. You will watch loved ones die. There will always
be great suffering in your wake because such is the lot of
mortals.”

“But there can also be happiness,” Morrigan
argued. “There can be love. There can be families. Even if I don’t
have those things right now, I know I can find them. I’ve struggled
all my life, but those struggles have made me the woman I am today.
A strong woman and a powerful witch. I am proud of who I am and
don’t want to forget it. As hard as things are right now, I know I
can get through it because I have a cause that’s worth fighting
for. My life may not be perfect, but it’s a life worth living. And
if I have to die, at least this way, I know it won’t be in vain. At
least I’ll go out fighting for what I believe in.”

Just as she finished her speech, Morrigan saw
that Willow was raising her hands. She flinched and backed away,
afraid the faery might strike her. She had no idea how powerful the
fey might be, or if her own magic would even work in this land of
enchantment. Though she had felt strong and brave a moment before,
she wondered how she could possibly fight off a whole band of
immortals.

Instead of striking her, Willow broke into a
wide smile. She even started to clap her hands together. At her
queue, the rest of the somber faces vanished into laughter and
applause as well. Even as the sound reached a crescendo, their
audience grew dim and began to fade. Again Morrigan had that
strange sensation of moving though she was standing completely
still. She blinked a few times to clear her head, and when she
looked up again, the faeries and the woods had vanished. She was
back in her room feeling startled and dumbfounded.

“What . . . what’s going on?” Morrigan
asked.

Willow was still at her side, but she had
become ghost-like in her appearance. When she spoke, her voice was
like church bells fading into the distance. “You have made the
right decision, Princess Morrigan. The Goddess is proud.”

Morrigan was still confused. “The
Goddess?”

“She whom we both serve and whose name you
carry,” Willow explained.

“The Morrigan.” She trembled in awe.

Willow nodded. “In Her name, we are truly
sisters. She knew that in this time of discovery, you would
struggle to find your way. Yet, She never lost faith in you. She
knew that if tested, you would find the strength inside yourself.
It is a strength you have always possessed. You just needed to be
reminded. And now, my sister, it is time that I leave you. You must
complete your quest on your own.” Already, Willow was starting to
back into the waiting swirls of mists from which she came.

“Wait!” Morrigan called, feeling panicked.
“Isn’t there something else? Aren’t you going to tell me what to
do?”

Willow smiled, took her hand one final time,
and pressed something hard and cold into her palm. “You do not need
me. You have a much greater power guiding you. Just keep this close
to your heart, and She will always be with you.”

In an instant, the faery was gone. Morrigan
opened her hand and found the little stone raven. She ran her
fingers along its intricate wings, before tucking it safely under
her dress, right beside her heart.

“Goddess Morrigan,” she whispered, “tell me
what I need to do.”

Morrigan closed her eyes and waited for some
kind of divine inspiration. If the Goddess had intended to answer,
She didn’t get a chance. Before Morrigan knew what was happening,
there was a loud crash and a splinter of wood as something heavy
slammed into her door. Morrigan took a deep breath and prepared for
the worst.

Morrigan backed into the corner as a large
tree trunk came barreling through the door, tearing the carved
mahogany to splinters. She covered her eyes as pieces of debris
flew through the air and struck her in the face. When it was over
and the dust had settled, she stood stunned as her mother rushed
across the threshold and threw her arms around her. Hecate, her
hound at her feet, and a dozen armed guards watched the scene from
the doorway.

“That is all. Leave us!” Ceridwyn ordered.
One-by-one the soldiers bowed out of the room, and Ceridwyn turned
back to her daughter. “Morrigan,” she exclaimed, “thank the Gods
you are safe! We were banging on the door for hours. When you did
not answer, I was beside myself with worry. I did not know what
else to do but to call the guards to assist me. I was so
distraught; I could not even call up my powers to aid me.”

Morrigan hardly knew how to react to her
mother’s desperate embrace coupled with her barbaric entrance. Even
Danu and Dagda seemed confused by the strange combination of
violence and warmth, so much that they paused halfway through their
transformation. They were stuck somewhere between cats and wild
beasts. Each of them had grown to about the size of a bobcat, with
fangs and claws at the ready, but they never completed the
metamorphosis. With a light nod, Morrigan let them know she had the
situation under control. They shrunk back to their normal size, but
stayed close. Morrigan raised her arms and, with difficulty,
returned her mother’s strangling embrace.

“I’m fine, Mother,” Morrigan assured her.
“I’m sorry that I worried you.”

“When you did not answer your door, I had
feared that traitor of a wolf had spirited you away into the night.
Or that perhaps in your misguided grief you had done the
unthinkable and harmed yourself.” Ceridwyn fretted.

Morrigan almost snorted in disgust, but
managed to control herself. “No mother, I am not quite as weak as
that. But I did realize that I might have been a little hasty with
my judgments. I think I understand what you were trying to say
before, about things not being as black-and-white as they
seem.”

Ceridwyn released her snake hold and looked
Morrigan over from head to toe with a wary eye. “I must admit,
Daughter, that while I am happy to see you so cordial, it comes as
something of a surprise. Tell me what has happened behind these
closed doors in the last few hours that invoked such a change in
your feelings toward me.”

Morrigan was confused by the passing of time;
hours had felt like minutes. She could only assume time moved
differently in the faery realm. She couldn’t let Ceridwyn know
about Willow, so she had to think of an explanation quickly. She
hoped she had inherited her mother’s innate ability to weave
elaborate tales of deceit.

“I was meditating out on the balcony,”
Morrigan explained. Her voice only quavered a little. “When I am in
that state of mind, the outside world fades into the background. I
didn’t hear anyone knocking at the door, and I had just come out of
it seconds before you arrived.”

“You should have let me know, dear,” Ceridwyn
reprimanded. “I would have had guards posted to protect you while
you were in such a vulnerable state.”

“Sorry, I didn’t really plan it. It just kind
of happened.”

Ceridwyn nodded, appeased by that
explanation. Morrigan let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was
holding. She noticed that although Hecate remained silent, she was
glaring at her from the doorway. She didn’t seem nearly as
convinced of her change of heart.

“What’s done is done, I suppose,” Ceridwyn
conceded. “Now, do you care to share what revelations you
discovered on this spiritual journey? What did you see that makes
you willing to accept me so readily?”

Morrigan clasped her hands to stop them from
shaking and did her best to ignore Hecate’s cold stare. This was
going to be the real test—making her mother believe that she
understood her madness when really just the thought of it brought
tears to her eyes. Luckily, Ceridwyn confused the dampness for
tender emotion rather than loathing.

“In the calm state of trance, I was able to
think more clearly. I realized that it’s not my place to judge you.
You’re my mother, and Hecate is my grandmother and an ancient. It’s
my duty to respect you both and trust in your wisdom. Whatever path
you might lead me in, it will be what’s best for me and the
kingdom, so that we maintain our place in the royal line.” Morrigan
sighed and almost choked on the words she had to say next. “But
even more important than rituals and royal duty, you’re my mom.
I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

Ceridwyn smiled and pulled Morrigan close
once again. “I told Hecate that you would come to your senses if we
gave you time. You do, after all, have my blood coursing through
your veins. You belong with us, Morrigan. This reunion has always
been meant to be. Together, as Maiden, Mother, and Crone, we will
forever change the land of Tír na NÓg.”

“Yes.” Morrigan nodded. “I’m sure you’re
right. But if you don’t mind, Mother, I would rather talk about all
that tomorrow. Right now, I would really like to get some rest. I
haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a long time.”

“Of course,” Ceridwyn agreed, then looked at
the discarded battering ram and broken wood that littered the floor
and the bed. “However, this room will never do. Let’s get you moved
into another guest room, just until your permanent quarters have
been designed.”

She gestured for Hecate to back up so they
could pass. Morrigan tried not to look at the old woman, but she
could still feel her grandmother’s stare as Ceridwyn led her to a
room which still had the door intact. It was almost an exact
duplicate of the chamber they had left behind, with the exception
of the maroon curtains and bed linens that took the place of the
green. The cats scurried into the room under their feet just as
Ceridwyn was about to close the door. Even though they hadn’t been
officially invited, they darted into a corner and watched every
move her mother made with narrowed eyes. Ceridwyn didn’t even
acknowledge their presence as she fluffed pillows and rearranged
chairs in her effort to be convincing in the role of a concerned
parent.

“Thank you, Mother.” Morrigan smiled, but she
was hoping that her mother would just go and leave her in peace.
“The room is lovely.”

“You are most welcome, my dear. I will have
some food sent up shortly,” Ceridwyn told her. “You can rest for
the remainder of the evening. Sleep well, for tomorrow we will
complete the ritual and it will take up the whole of your day. Oh,
do not look so afraid.” Ceridwyn tried to give her a reassuring
smile when Morrigan’s face turned white. “It is a simple tradition.
Think of it as a coronation of sorts. Once the ritual is complete,
no one, human or witch, will be able to challenge our right to the
throne again.”

Something in the crazed look in Ceridwyn’s
eyes as she spoke led Morrigan to believe that the ritual was much
more important than she was letting on. She couldn’t believe that
she had missed that zealot flare when they first met. Had she
really been that starved for affection?

“It sounds like fun,” Morrigan replied. She
had never been a good liar, and Ceridwyn seemed to be picking up on
her nervousness. Though she didn’t come right out and say so, her
narrowed eyes and her tight-lipped smile revealed her true
feelings.

“Indeed, I am sure it will be . . . fun. Well
then, I shall retire for the night as well. We will return for you
at first light to begin preparations for the ritual. In the
meantime, a guard will be posted at your door. For your protection,
of course.”

“Of course. I appreciate your concern for my
safety.” Morrigan forced a smile and wondered why they were even
bothering to try to fool each other anymore. “Good night,
Mother.”

“Goodnight, my darling.” There was a light
click as Ceridwyn disappeared behind the door.

Once she heard the patter of her footsteps
fade into the distance, Morrigan plopped down onto the bed with a
loud sigh. Danu and Dagda jumped up beside her, and she gave them a
distracted pat. Her brief moment of bravado back in the fey forest
was beginning to seem almost ridiculous. She had no idea how she
was going to stop her mother. Ceridwyn herself had said Morrigan
was powerful, but she was untrained and completely alone. Maybe if
Tiarn—but she couldn’t let herself finish the thought. Tiarn was
gone and she didn’t have time to nurse a broken heart. There was
only one thing that was working in her favor. She knew she would be
safe until the big ritual was over. They wouldn’t be able to
complete it without her.