Authors: Laura DeLuca
“Is that all you got?” she mumbled when she
had recovered from the shock.
“Oh, I can do this all night!” Ceridwyn
leered down at Morrigan, with a ludicrous smile spread across her
chafed and bloodied lips. “It is amazing just how much pain a
person can tolerate before they finally die. A lesson your father
learned well.”
Morrigan trembled as she saw the silver hilt
of the blade clasped in Ceridwyn’s scarred hand move toward her
again. It was so small, yet so deadly. Ceridwyn raised the knife
above her head. Morrigan saw it coming down again, but just before
the blade could touch her skin she looked one last time at Tiarn.
If she had to die, she wanted his face to be the last thing she saw
before leaving the world.
To her surprise, his eyes popped open, and
she swore that even in his wolf form, his lips curled into the
sarcastic smile she had come to love. It took only that one look,
and her strength and courage were restored. She didn’t even flinch
when her mother cut into her thigh. Instead, she reached out one
last time for the crystal dagger. She felt her powers burn and
swell within her, until they became an extension of her body, an
almost tangible thing. Her mother lashed out to cut her again,
aiming at her breasts, but before she could strike, Morrigan used
her mental hands to reach for the broken blade. Finally, the athame
struggled free from its rocky imprisonment.
“Time to die, my darling daughter,” Ceridwyn
whispered, almost tenderly. “Give Hecate my best.”
Even as Ceridwyn spoke, the quartz dagger
flew across the cavern into Morrigan’s waiting hands. Morrigan
blocked the knife with the broken athame. Ceridwyn saw too late
what had happened. She made one last effort to win the battle. She
threw herself at Morrigan, screaming her rage with the knife still
clutched in her hand. Morrigan tried to move out of the way of the
attack, but her mother fell on top her, and the jagged crystal
blade plunged deep into her mother’s heart.
Ceridwyn’s eyes widened in shock. Morrigan
stared in wonder at the handle of the dagger jutting from her
chest. Her mother tried to open her mouth as though to protest its
existence, but instead of words, a stream of blood bubbled from her
lips and spilled down her chin. She grabbed the handle of the
athame in disgust, and though it must have been excruciating, she
used the last bit of her strength to pull it free. More blood
flowed onto oozing burns and cuts. With a howl of pain and fury,
she threw the blade against one of the tall crystals. With a loud
clatter, the last of the blade shattered into pieces. She looked
down at the gaping wound and laughed humorlessly before collapsing
into a heap onto the floor.
Morrigan gasped in remorse as she watched her
mother stumble backward. Against her will, her instincts drove her
forward, and she found herself forgetting the others around them.
She knelt by her mother’s side and took her hand.
“Mother?” Morrigan whispered. “Oh, Goddess,
please.” She lifted her eyes to the heavens in desperation. “Please
don’t let her die.”
“Y . . . you,” Ceridwyn managed to mutter
through a mouthful of blood. “You . . . have killed . . . your own
mother.” She didn’t sound angry. If anything, she sounded almost
proud.
“Mother, don’t say that. You aren’t going to
die. We can get you help.” She lifted a fragile hand in her own,
careful not to touch the burns or cause her any more pain. “The
healers will be able to fix this, right?”
“For once . . . in your wretched life, girl .
. . do not be . . . a fool.” Ceridwyn scoffed through a few raspy
breaths. She ripped her hand away. “There is . . . no hope for me
now. And if by some . . . miracle I survived, I would only spend .
. . my life trying to destroy you.”
“You can’t mean that!” Morrigan wept. “I’m
your daughter. You must love me, at least a little.” When Ceridwyn
looked away, Morrigan begged. She didn’t even care anymore if she
sounded desperate. If her mother was going to die, she didn’t want
things to end this way. She didn’t want their last words to each
other to be in anger. “No matter what you’ve done or how angry I
might be, there is a part of me that still loves you. Please, tell
me somewhere in your heart you feel something for me.”
Ceridwyn gave her a small smile, all the more
grotesque because of her cracked and bleeding lips. She lifted one
charred hand to Morrigan’s cheek. Morrigan grasped the hand with
the longing of a child and sobbed. She needed to have this one last
tender moment between them. She needed something good to remember
about her mother.
“Mor . . . Morrigan.” When Ceridwyn to speak,
her body shuddered, and she coughed up another mouthful of blood.
She was getting weaker, and there was no way Morrigan could deny
they were running out of time. “Please, Daughter, come closer.”
Morrigan leaned over, putting her ear close
to Ceridwyn’s lips so she could hear her whispered last words.
“Morrigan . . . I . . . I.”
“Yes, Mother, what is it? I’m listening.”
“I . . .” Ceridwyn began, and then her teeth
snapped shut on the soft flesh of Morrigan’s ear.
Morrigan screamed out in pain and surprise
and inadvertently kicked Ceridwyn as she jerked away. Luckily,
Ceridwyn didn’t have enough energy to do too much damage. The skin
was scraped and bleeding, but she hadn’t torn the flesh away, as
had obviously been her intention. Still, she laughed like a crazed
woman at Morrigan’s pathetic attempt at reconciliation. Then, with
more strength than Morrigan would have believed possible in her
condition, she half dragged herself into sitting position and
looked at Morrigan with a deadly serious and completely heartless
expression.
“You mean . . . nothing to me!” Ceridwyn
spat.
Then she fell over for the last time. Just as
her tarot cards had predicted, Morrigan’s journey had ended in
death.
The pain that ripped through Morrigan’s heart
was almost unbearable. It pulled her down to her knees beside the
body of her mother. She laid her head against her mother’s chest.
She wished she could hate her. She wanted to be angry, but instead,
she felt only insurmountable grief. Morrigan wept in Ceridwyn’s lap
like a little girl. Her mother was dead, and Morrigan had killed
her. The guilt over what she had done paralyzed her, and she had no
idea how long she sobbed and clutched at her mother’s lifeless
body, wishing her desperation might somehow reanimate her and bring
her back as the mother Morrigan had spent her life imagining.
“Morrigan . . . Morrigan, dear. Please, you
must get up.”
The soft voice threatened to break through
Morrigan’s grief, but she wasn’t ready to leave it behind. She
refused to open her eyes, refused to let go of her mother’s body,
even as gentle hands tried to pry her away.
“She is gone, darling,” Arianrhod whispered.
“There is no more we can for her.”
“No! No, she can’t be dead. Not my mother.
After all these years, this can’t be it! It can’t end this way!”
She allowed Arianrhod to wrap her arms around her and sooth her
with soft whispers, even though she knew she didn’t deserve it. “I
killed her. Oh, God, I killed my own mother!”
“Hush now,” the queen soothed. “You have done
nothing wrong. Ceridwyn’s fate was of her own making. You only
delivered the will of the Gods.”
“But she’s dead.”
“Yes, and I know your pain is terrible. But,
Morrigan, not all is lost. Look.” She forced Morrigan to lift her
head from her breast and pointed to the edge of the stone circle
where Tiarn was just beginning to stir. “Your love awaits you. He
is very much alive, and he needs you now.”
“Oh, Goddess, Tiarn!” Morrigan instantly
leapt to his feet.
She couldn’t believe she had forgotten him,
however briefly. She wiped the tears away from her eyes in disgust.
She stepped over Hecate, careful not to touch the already
stiffening body, and ran to his side. He was no longer in his wolf
form. Somewhere during the final battle with Ceridwyn, he had
transformed back into a man. Now he lay on the cavern floor in all
his naked perfection. The only mar to the beauty of his bare,
sun-kissed chest was the pock-marked wounds Ceridwyn had inflicted
and the much scarier gaping wound on his side. There was also a
large black-and-blue bruise spreading across his forehead, but
despite his injuries, Tiarn was conscious. He tried to struggle to
his feet when he saw her approach, but he was still a little
unsteady, so Morrigan wrapped her arms around his waist to help
stabilize him. If he was embarrassed by her touch against his bare
skin, he didn’t show it, though Morrigan blushed despite
herself.
“Morrigan!” he cried and looked her up and
down. “Are you hurt?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” she assured him as he
fretted over her small bruises and cuts, though his wounds were far
more severe. “Tiarn, what were you thinking coming here? You
could’ve been killed! How did you even get in here?”
“It was not hard to figure out where they
would be taking you. Even if I had not guessed their plan . . . .”
He leaned down to sniff her hair. “I could follow your scent to the
ends of the earth.”
Morrigan wasn’t about to be distracted by his
sensuality, even though her heart gave a little flutter. “What
about the guards? How did you get past them?”
“The majority of the kingdom is loyal to the
true queen. The guards saw my approach, but chose to cast a blind
eye. I can only assume they knew I meant to free you and the queen.
In which case, they would be happy to see me succeed or would
pretend they knew no better should I fail.” Morrigan tore a piece
of white silk from her gown, and he flinched as she pressed it
against his side to try the stop the bleeding. It wasn’t as deep as
she had thought, but still troublesome. “I am sorry I did not obey
your command to stay away, Princess. But you must know by now I am
not very good at taking orders.”
“Thank goodness for that! But look at you. We
need to get your out of this cave. You’re hurt . . . and
naked.”
He laughed. It was a sound that was like
music after the horrors of the day. “The wound is far less severe
than it appears. I will be fine. Better than fine because, Goddess
Morrigan, did you hear Hecate?” His strong voice cracked with
emotion. “Did you hear the hag confess? I thought at first I was
only dreaming—that it could not be so. Please, Morrigan, tell me it
was not just a foolish fancy brought on by my wounds. It is true I
did not kill that child?”
Morrigan nodded. “Yes, Tiarn, it’s true.
Hecate killed the little boy herself and let you take the
blame.”
“It was not a dream!” Tiarn closed his eyes,
barely able to speak. “The animal within me does not have control.
I am not a monster.”
Morrigan felt a lump rise to her throat when
she saw years of grief and guilt melt away from Tiarn’s eyes. All
that she loved in him was suddenly magnified as the pain he had
guarded so closely was released. She had to clear her throat before
she could speak again.
“For the record, I knew you couldn’t hurt
anyone.”
Tiarn pulled her close and buried his head in
her hair. “I am innocent,” he repeated.
“You are also a hero,” Arianrhod
proclaimed.
Despite the obvious pain it caused him, Tiarn
bowed down low as Arianrhod glided toward them, looking amazingly
elegant and royal despite her disheveled hair and plain, torn
robes. She had given them a few moments of privacy, but Tiarn’s
injuries needed tending, and there was a whole court waiting to
learn the fate of their kingdom. She brought with her the little
cloth that had been on the altar and cast her eyes away until Tiarn
was able to cover up at least his lower half.
“Your Majesty!” Tiarn exclaimed. “Forgive me
for breaking the most sacred of laws. I realize no man, least of
all a lycan, is worthy to enter these magical caverns. It is taboo,
and I will accept whatever punishment you see fit both for this
transgression and for my part in helping the dark queen.”
The strain of bowing was hurting him.
Arianrhod noticed right away and took his other arm to help
Morrigan support his weight. He looked amazed that she would lay
her hands upon a commoner, and she seemed amused by his
surprise.
“Please, Filtiarn, rise. There are some rules
that are meant to be broken. And it is I who should bow to you.
Without your bravery, Morrigan and I would not have survived this
night. Everything has played out just as it was meant to, and you
have more than proved your worth. Now, let us find a healer to tend
to those wounds.”
“Wait! What about the guards and mages?”
Morrigan reminded her. “How do we get by with Tiarn hurt and our
powers already drained?”
Arianrhod waived her hand in dismissal.
“Ceridwyn and Hecate are dead. No one will challenge us now. Trust
me, Morrigan, the people will revel in this victory, for it means
peace can return to the land. Thanks to you, there will be no more
battles, at least not in my lifetime. Now come, let’s leave this
nightmare far behind us and begin life anew.”
Arianrhod took the lead, and Morrigan
followed her from the crystal cave. As beautiful as it was, she
wasn’t sorry to leave it behind. Despite the added burden of Tiarn
leaning heavily against her as they scaled uphill through the
underground caverns, the journey seemed much shorter. She couldn’t
wait to get cleaned up and get some rest, though she doubted she
would be able to leave behind the memories as easily as Arianrhod
believed she could.
“You do realize, Morrigan,” Tiarn announced
just as they reached the large wooden doors that guarded the caves,
“you have fulfilled a prophecy after all.”
Morrigan cocked her head. “What prophecy is
that?”
“The prophecy that good shall triumph over
evil. Is that not the moral of all the best fairytales?”