Morrigan (33 page)

Another quick glance at Arianrhod revealed
she was in no condition to offer any assistance. The queen was
bound at her arms and legs by a thick hemp rope, and she appeared
to be unconscious. She was dressed in only a plain white sheath
that covered the length of her slim frame. Her long hair was loose
and so long that it dangled down over the edge of the altar and
swept across the floor. Even stripped of her royal finery,
Arianrhod resembled a sleeping angel.

Morrigan watched her for a long time, but she
didn’t stir. She was worried her aunt had been drugged or that she
might already be dead. Thankfully, while Hecate and Ceridwyn were
busy going over last minute preparations, one blue eye opened, and
Morrigan knew she was just biding her time. Arianrhod gave her a
wary but desperate stare before closing her eyes again in feigned
sleep. Morrigan understood her doubts. Neither of them knew for
certain if they could trust the other, but they both knew they had
no other choice if they wanted to survive.

Around them, the room had begun to get
darker. The sun had vanished. Only the flickering light of the
torches and candles illuminated the cave. The flames’ reflection
danced like diamonds on the surface of the large crystals. The same
lighting failed to compliment her mother. The dim glow cast an
eerie shadow over Ceridwyn’s normally lovely face, bringing to the
forefront the true nature of the monster that hid beneath the
charming exterior.

“We must tarry no longer,” Hecate instructed
briskly. “We need to reach the peak of the ritual just as the
mother moon reaches its highest point. It must shine down upon us
and bear witness to our magic through the cavern window.”

Ceridwyn nodded. “So mote it be. The ritual
has begun. We must now remain within the confines of the circle for
the duration of the rites.”

With a solemn face, Ceridwyn lifted a bundle
of herbs much like the one the maidens had used during Morrigan’s
cleansing. She placed the tip into one of the candles to light it.
When she pulled the herbs away from the flame, there was only a
tiny glowing ember. As soon as Ceridwyn added a whisper of her own
breath to fan the flame, the whole bundle began to crackle and
smoke. The top burst into flames that blazed for only a second
before settling into a more controllable radiance. It was a magic
that could only be possible due to Ceridwyn’s control over the
element of air.

Once the smudge stick was smoldering,
Ceridwyn walked the perimeter of the stone monuments, mumbling
something that sounded like Gaelic. Hecate stood in the center of
the circle, with her arms outstretched, breathing deeply to inhale
the intoxicating smoke which filled them all with an almost
euphoric headiness. Morrigan tried to hold her breath to avoid the
thick fog. Despite her efforts, it curled around her like a warm
blanket, making her feel disorientated. She could barely feel the
ground beneath her feet as her witch’s spirit struggled to embrace
the growing magic around her. Her heavy eyes should have been
glazed, but instead she saw with even greater clarity the glorious
beauty of the majestic crystals. For just a moment, she forgot the
horrors her mother had planned.

Eventually the smoke began to dissipate, and
Morrigan felt more like herself. Ceridwyn seemed even more
entranced. Her mother began the next steps of the ritual by walking
three times around the circle, sprinkling salt and water along the
way to cleanse and purify the space they intended to defile. As she
moved on, her strange words sounded more and more like desperate,
possessed chanting. Hecate had taken up the mantra, and she started
to sway to the natural rhythmic tone of their voices.

The two witches spoke in a perfect, eerie
synchronization, reciting the words completely from memory. They
called on the Guardian elements—earth, air, fire, and water, and
asked for their aid. Morrigan sensed their arrival and the
crackling cone of power in the circle increased tenfold. Like
nature itself, the elements were a perfect balance of light and
darkness and answered to all who invoked their presence. Ceridwyn
also called to the God and the Goddess, and Morrigan swore she felt
the wings of her little raven beat against her chest in response,
reminding her she was not alone.

The ritual progressed in a blur. Ceridwyn and
Hecate didn’t speak in English, but there were some parts Morrigan
was able to interpret, most of which were centered on sacrifice and
bloodletting. They took the cakes and wine and made offerings to
the deities and their ancestors before they sipped the wine and
nibbled a few morsels themselves. They insisted Morrigan do the
same. Even though she had eaten nothing all day, the dry cakes did
not go down easily. Ceridwyn glared at her when she coughed. She
tried to wash it down with the wine, but she wasn’t used to
drinking. Even those few sips of alcohol made her arms and legs
feel heavy, and her head even more jumbled.

As the ritual progressed, Morrigan’s thoughts
wandered. She tried desperately to think of a way to save
Arianrhod. The smoke and the wine made it impossible to think
clearly, and she wasn’t getting any helpful signals from her aunt
either. If she had to, she would refuse to do her part and ruin the
ritual, even if that meant Hecate and Ceridwyn would kill them
both. They would continue to rule, but forty or fifty years was
better than eternity.

“It is time for the sacrifice,” Hecate
announced, snapping Morrigan back to the present. “The moon is at
her peak and so is the power of the night!”

The crone looked up at the sky, and Morrigan
automatically followed her gaze to find the large mother moon was
centered in the cavern window. Morrigan was starting to panic. She
was going to have to think of something now or Arianrhod was as
good as dead. Already Ceridwyn had moved toward the altar. She
unsheathed the dagger, which was shorter than a sword but longer
than a typical knife. The handle was made of white ivory, engraved
and bejeweled with symbols and precious stones. A large silver
pentacle stood guard at the tip of the hilt. On closer inspection,
Morrigan realized the blade was fashioned from the same crystal
quartz as the stone circle. It glittered like diamonds in the
moonlight, but this made it no less of a deadly weapon, especially
in the hands of her mother.

Ceridwyn inched closer and closer to
Arianrhod with the dagger raised above her head. Morrigan had just
decided to launch a kamikaze attack when Hecate interrupted both of
their plans by taking hold of her daughter’s arm. Morrigan froze in
mid-leap, waiting to see what was happening between the two older
witches.

“It is the Maiden, not the Mother who should
make the sacrifice,” she insisted in her thick, rasping voice.
Morrigan was glad she couldn’t see her dark eyes studying her, even
though she could feel them boring into her soul through the black
veils. “That is how the ritual is written.”

Ceridwyn seemed annoyed. “Rituals are open to
alternation, Mother, if the circumstances call for it. You know
that as well as I. In this case, I think it more appropriate that I
take the life of my dear sister.” She glared at Arianrhod who still
lay in feigned sleep. “I have been looking forward to this moment
since we were children.”

Hecate shook her head firmly. “The loss of
blood innocence shall enhance the power of the sacrifice, and we
all know you have long since crossed that threshold. The magic may
not be strong enough for us to achieve immortality if the girl does
not do it.”

Ceridwyn frowned. She tried to whisper, but
her voice echoed in the cavern. “I do not think she is ready.”

Hecate shrugged. She sighed in
disappointment, but seemed ready to concede. Morrigan saw her
chance and she took it.

“I’ll do it,” she declared.

Her mother and grandmother both turned toward
her, and in Ceridwyn’s unveiled face she saw mild surprise mingled
with amusement. “You will do it? For one who was so easy to quake
at the sight of blood just yesterday, you seem awfully eager to see
it flow today. Do you realize what the task requires? What it is
you must do?”

“Yes.” Morrigan nodded. “I understand. I told
you before. I want her dead. Let me do it.”

Ceridwyn was still unconvinced. “It cannot be
just one quick jab in the heart and it is all over. You must cut
her, slice her open, and watch as every drop of her lifeblood pours
onto the altar. Only when she takes her last breath and has bled
dry will the sacrifice be complete.”

Morrigan swallowed back the bile and stood
firm. “I can do it. I want to kill her. I want her to die so I can
live forever with my family.”

Ceridwyn practically beamed with pride. “Very
well.” She held the dagger out toward Morrigan, but when she tried
grab for it, her mother swiftly snapped it out of her reach. “Just
keep in mind that if you betray me—if you do anything to jeopardize
the ritual, daughter or no, it will be you who bleeds out on that
altar.”

“I understand. Let me prove my loyalty to
you, Mother. I know I can do this.”

“Just give her the blade, Ceridwyn!” Hecate
screeched. “Time is short!”

Ceridwyn handed her the knife, albeit
grudgingly. It was surprisingly light for its size, but Morrigan
could feel the power surging through the magically charged tool.
They had to shift positions for Morrigan to be able to reach the
altar where Arianrhod lay. She stood with her back to the inner
cavern, while Hecate and Ceridwyn guarded the only way to reach the
exit. She knew her aunt was listening to every word and could sense
her approach. She could almost hear Arianrhod’s heartbeat
accelerate. Morrigan’s own heart pounded in unison as she inched
closer. She was terrified. She was certain she was about to die.
She even considered giving up.

Then she saw something that renewed her hopes
and lifted her spirits like nothing else could. It was just a
flash, and then it had vanished. She swore she saw a glimpse of
movement before a leg covered in animal hides disappeared behind
one of the tall crystals. Luckily, Hecate and Ceridwyn were too
busy watching her and didn’t notice their visitor. Morrigan
realized her hero had arrived, and it gave her the strength to
forge on.

Taking the dagger firmly in both hands,
Morrigan raised it high above her head, while her mother and
grandmother watched with greedy glances. There had been no spoken
plan, but it was as though she and Arianrhod were on the same
wavelength. Arianrhod’s eyes popped open and she raised her arms as
high as possible just as Morrigan plunged down the blade to cut the
ropes that bound her. Ceridwyn screamed out in bloodcurdling
fury.

The knife came down and sliced into the ropes
that bound Arianrhod’s wrists. The ropes were much thicker than
Morrigan had imagined. She had been so afraid of missing her target
and hitting the queen that she hadn’t been forceful enough. Even as
her mother’s scream of protest ripped through the air, Morrigan
realized the ropes were only cut halfway through, and she knew she
may have just blundered her one and only chance at freedom. She
looked again toward the crystal pillar where she swore she had seen
Tiarn, but if he was there, he gave her no signal. Perhaps he was
waiting or perhaps her desperation to see him and make amends had
sparked a crazed hallucination.

Arianrhod realized their predicament just as
quickly as Morrigan had, and she desperately yanked and pulled at
the bonds to try to snap the cords. The queen was weak from her
imprisonment and had most likely been drugged, so she wasn’t strong
enough to break free. Without the use of her hands, Arianrhod had
little control over her powers. Morrigan made another pathetic
attempt to lift the crystal dagger, but before she could reach the
rope, Ceridwyn was on top of her. With an almost feline hiss, she
knocked Morrigan aside, and the blade fell to the ground.

“You deceitful little witch!” she shrieked.
“How dare you betray me?”

Ceridwyn picked up the knife and pressed it
against Morrigan’s throat. She could feel the prick of the dagger
against her neck, so sharp that a trickle of blood dripped along
her flesh. Morrigan knew she should have been terrified, but the
fury and pain she had denied herself finally broke free. She
returned her mother’s hateful gaze without flinching.

“No, Mother, how dare you!” Morrigan
demanded. “You tricked me into coming here and helping you. You
made me believe it was because you loved me and wanted me in your
life. But it was all a lie! You’re nothing but a monster!”

Ceridwyn looked at her in disgust. She took
the knife away from the throat and pulled her to her feet by her
hair, crushing the flower petals the handmaidens had so
painstakingly weaved into her braids. Her beautiful white gown was
covered in the dirt and grime of the earthen floor. Ceridwyn either
didn’t care or didn’t notice the costume she had commissioned was
ruined. She dragged Morrigan back toward the altar. She tried to
squirm out of her grasp, but her mother was much stronger than she
appeared.

“You are just like your father, fool that he
was!” Ceridwyn spat.

“You killed my father!” Morrigan cried.
“Admit it!”

“Of course I killed him! I bedded him for his
seed and the pleasures I heard he could provide. I never dreamed he
would care for the bastard child he helped to sire. The day he came
for you was the day he took his last breath! Connelly thought he
was so noble.” She said the last word as if it left a bad taste in
her mouth. “His nobility was the death of him, and it shall be the
same with you!”

“I would rather die his daughter than live as
yours!” Morrigan swore. “All that’s good in me came from him! Thank
the Goddess I am nothing like you.”

“Is that so?”

Morrigan squealed as her mother yanked her
head up, bringing her to eye level so their gazes locked. Morrigan
lashed out wildly. When her blows fell short, she tried kicking the
legs out from under Ceridwyn, but she only managed to brush her
shin. Her attempts enraged Ceridwyn even more, and she threw
Morrigan back to the ground and kicked her in the ribs so hard she
could barely catch her breath. She coughed and gagged, but refused
to give her mother the satisfaction of crying out in pain.