Morrigan (6 page)

“It . . . it was two years ago that I found
them,” Morrigan admitted.

Condon raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Well,
she speaks! I was afraid she might be a deaf mute, standing there
so still and silent.”

Tiarn laughed and Morrigan felt her lips curl
back into a frown. “Hardly,” she said and folded her arms. “I just
wait to speak until there’s someone worth talking to.”

“Ha, royalty indeed!” Condon laughed. “No,
don’t worry, Princess Morrigan . . . I do not take offense. I am
sure a witch of your stature is aware this guise is nothing but an
illusion.”

“Yes, Morrigan,” Tiarn teased. “Why not kiss
him and see if he turns into a prince?

Morrigan felt like they were making fun of
her, and she didn’t like it. She had been teased enough in her
life. She thought she was finally escaping that kind of torment.
She was even more annoyed when she felt her eyes stinging with
tears.

“What about the cats?” Morrigan asked, trying
to change the subject. “You said they came through your gate before
I found them?”

“You found them?” Condon laughed again. It
made him seem even less vulgar, and made it hard to stay angry with
the old man. “Oh, no, my dear—they found you. They were sent to you
for protection.”

That piqued her interest. “Sent by who? My
mother?”

Tiarn snorted. “That is doubtful.”

“I cannot answer that question,” Condon said
with a shake of his head. “But I am sure once they are home, your
pets will find a way to answer it for you. Now, are you ready?”
Tiarn nodded and so did Morrigan, though she wasn’t nearly as
certain she was ready. “Then let me call my brother, Dunham, and we
shall have you two children on your way to Tír na NÓg.”

He was so casual in the mention of calling
his brother, Morrigan half expected him to pull out a cell phone.
Instead, his features went instantly blank, and he fell into a
strange, almost catatonic state. The air around him seemed to buzz
with energy she could almost see, like an aura of silver-white
light all around him, and she knew he had much less conventional
ways of communicating with his brother.

“His twin brother is in Tír na NÓg,” Tiarn
explained in a soft whisper. “They both need to open their ends of
the portal in order for anyone to cross over. Identical twins are
the key to opening the gateways between worlds. Even here, some are
born with the power. That is why twins were often separated at
birth and sometimes killed in ancient times. Too much power always
scares the people of this world. Twins have little to fear now,
since few people here believe in magic anymore.”

His breath teased the hairs on the back of
her neck, making her shiver though she was hardly cold. It was a
magic that was very different than what she was witnessing with
Condon, but it was just as captivating. She was a little
disappointed when he stepped away.

It seemed they were standing there for an
eternity with no change in Condon’s expression. Morrigan started to
shiver in the cool autumn night. She was about to ask how she would
know when the brothers made their connection when Condon answered
the unspoken question for her. Not with words, but with his fluid,
surprisingly agile movements. He stood with his eyes still closed
and raised his gnarled hand to the sky. On the palm of that hand
was what might have been a tattoo or even a birthmark. It was an
endless spiral—the spiral of creation.

Morrigan gasped at the familiarity of the
symbol. She instantly recognized its power. Just looking at it made
her feel dizzy and somehow less substantial, even before it started
to glow a brilliant, radiant purple. Then she could only sit back
in silent awe as the symbol grew and rose away from the man’s palm,
growing larger and brighter, until it became an entity all its own.
The spiral glowed in shades of violet and green and moved in a
circular motion in never-ending rays of light. Entranced by its
strange beauty, Morrigan took a step toward the gateway, but Tiarn
restrained her.

“Sorry, Morrigan, I am always a gentleman,
and under normal circumstance, I would certainly abide the rule of
ladies first. But when you are traveling between worlds, you never
know what might be waiting for you on the other side. And Condon’s
brother is known for his lack of integrity. So, I think it best I
do the honors.”

Morrigan couldn’t argue with that. She hardly
wanted to be the first to walk into a dragon’s lair or a castle
under siege. She stepped back and allowed Tiarn to move
forward.

“I shall see you on the other side,” Tiarn
said and winked as he approached the portal. “I hope...”

He jumped into the swirling circle of light
before she could ask what he meant by “I hope” and instantly
vanished from her sight. To her surprise, Danu and Dagda were fast
on his heels. They must have been anxious to get back to their true
home because they felt no fear whatsoever about what was waiting
for them on the other side. Morrigan didn’t feel nearly as brave
when it was her turn. She breathed deeply to steady her nerves and
took a small step forward.

Before she could go farther, someone grabbed
hold of her wrist. This time is was Condon. He looked at her in a
strange way, and tried to open his mouth to speak. It was obviously
difficult for him. It must have taken a great deal of energy to
keep the gate open. To try to do any more had to be next to
impossible.

“When . . . the time comes . . . sweet
Morrigan . . . choose the light . . . choose the light . . . .”

He didn’t give her time to ask what that
meant. She saw him start to crumple to the ground just as he shoved
her through the opening of the portal.

Morrigan was floating, surrounded by a
whirlpool of colors. Red and orange, yellow and green, blue and
indigo flashed before her eyes in a blinding kaleidoscope. Then
finally a bright violet overtook all the other colors. The color
seemed to become almost a tangible thing, wrapping her in its glow;
opening and expanding like a lotus flower in bloom. She could
almost feel the soft petals of the flower against her skin,
embracing her, like a warm and welcoming blanket. She let her eyes
slip closed for just a moment, feeling surrounded by peace and
wanting to linger in the safety of the womb-like shelter.

Nothing so wonderful could last forever. She
felt the warmth suddenly withdraw, and the air around her grew
cold. When she opened her eyes again, the soft violet petals were
gone. In their place there was an endless maze of life-size tarot
cards—the same five cards from her reading. Wheel of Fortune, The
Empress, Six of Cups, The Knight of Wands, The Moon, and Death
duplicated again and again, closing in on her like the walls of a
mystical prison. Death multiplied in endless repetition. The
skull-faced man on the Death card was coming toward her with his
scythe—coming for her, ready to drag her down into his dark
realm.

It seemed hours had passed. The cards were
moving and spinning, the reaper was coming toward her. Morrigan
tried to fight it, but she felt like her body was being pulled by
the most overpowering undertow. The constant swift movements made
her feel queasy and desperate. She had trouble breathing as panic
took hold of her. She wondered if the terrible ride would ever end.
Then, just when she thought she could no longer stand it—when she
was sure she had already found the path that led to death or maybe
even oblivion—the dizzying movement came to a sudden and abrupt
halt.

Morrigan eyes snapped open, and she was
surprised to find her feet were planted firmly on solid ground.
There was no grinning death mask looming over her, just the
smirking face of Tiarn watching her with amusement from just a few
steps away.

“A little lightheaded, are you? Nothing to
worry about, Princess. It is quite normal. Especially for your
first time.”

“You could have warned me to take some
Dramamine,” Morrigan complained as she tried to steady herself on
the edge of a rough, splintery table.

“Would you like to sit down, Princess
Morrigan? Would you like some water? Something to eat? I only have
some thin gruel, but I would be more than happy to share my meager
meal with you, Your Majesty.”

Before Morrigan could reply or figure out who
was speaking to her, an elderly man who could only be Condon’s twin
brother grabbed her arm and ushered her to a small creaky chair by
the fireplace. He had the same ragged appearance, the same dull
eyes, even the same missing teeth. And, she noticed as he thrust a
wooden cup into her hand, the same spiral tattoo on his hand.

She accepted the drink gratefully. She was
too shaky to do much else. She dropped her bag on the floor and
settled in, happy to take the weight off her wobbly legs. She had
to admit the fire warmed her trembling body, but she took one sip
from the water and had to fight the urge to spit it out across the
room. It was stale and stagnant, and she was pretty sure it had a
thin film of slime across the top. Tiarn watched her from his
corner with an undeniable smirk, while Danu and Dagda made
themselves at home on the ratty carpet by the fire. They were
taking the time warp thing a lot better than Morrigan—maybe because
they had been through it before.

Morrigan turned away from Tiarn and the cats
to find Condon’s brother kneeling at her feet. He didn’t look like
he had any intention of moving. She assumed he was waiting for her
permission, which made her feel very uncomfortable. This whole
royalty thing was going to take some getting used to. She realized
if she didn’t say something, the old man was going to stay in a
crouched position permanently, and she didn’t want to be
responsible for him developing sciatica pain.

“Thank you, Ummm . . . .” She paused, unsure
how to address him.

“Dunham,” the Gatekeeper announced. He stood
up, but then bowed so low it was more like a grovel. “Welcome to my
humble home, Princess Morrigan.”

He was right about it being humble—it was
more of a shack than a home. There were holes in the straw roof and
a few in the walls. Candles, practically burned down to their
bottoms, were the only light other than the flicker from the
fireplace. Hanging in the flue was a large kettle, simmering and
bubbling over the edges. She could only guess it contained the
previously offered gruel. It smelled terrible, like a combination
of week old garbage and the boy’s locker room, making Morrigan glad
she hadn’t taken Dunham up on his offer to share it.

“Thank you again, Dunham, for such a warm
welcome,” Morrigan told him. “But please, just call me Morrigan.
And you don’t need to keep bowing like that. I’m hardly a
princess.”

“Yes, Your Majesty! Whatever you say, Your
Majesty!” Despite his verbal agreement, he continued to grovel at
her knees, and Morrigan knew she was fighting a losing battle.

Tiarn actually laughed out loud. “Come along,
Your Majesty . . . we have a long way to travel. We should be on
our way.”

Morrigan nodded and placed her water mug down
on a wobbly-legged table. As she flung her backpack over her
shoulder, she watched Tiarn out of the corner of her eye. He too
was gathering up his bags. He must have left his traveling
equipment with Dunham while he was in her world. It was
understandable. They were hardly the average accessories for a
modern American teen. For his own world, he was well prepared if
not stylish. His carry bag and sleeping rolls were fashioned from
worn animal hides. There were a few well-used cooking utensils tied
the bag, as well as a water canteen which was also made from skins.
And, she noted with slight apprehension, he secured a long,
sheathed sword against his waist.

“Who are you planning to use that on?”
Morrigan asked.

She had meant it as a joke, but Tiarn’s
answer was deadly serious. “On anyone who means us harm. I expect
it will get its fair share of use before we reach the castle.”

Morrigan swallowed hard and tried to focus on
the less terrifying aspect of the sentence. “What castle?”

“The castle where your mother is imprisoned.”
He sounded a little exasperated. “The grounds will be surrounded by
guards, of course. It will be next to impossible to gain entrance,
and that is assuming we survive the journey . . . .”

Why was it so hard to steer him away from the
scary stuff? “How long will it take to get there?”

“Without interruptions it should take only
two, maybe three days,” Tiarn told her as he pulled his sword from
the sheath to check the point.

“But you expect delays?”

“Are you afraid, Princess?”

“Of course not,” she huffed. “I told you. My
name is Morrigan. Just Morrigan.”

“Well, Just Morrigan, yes I expect delays and
plenty of them. The castle guards are only the beginning of the
problems we are about to face.”

Morrigan was going to ask just what else he
expected when, or if, they ever reached this elusive castle, but
she wasn’t sure she was ready for an answer. So instead, she called
her cats, her Guardians, to her side, took a deep breath, and
prepared to follow Tiarn out into the new world of Tír na NÓg.

“You will tell Queen Ceridwyn how helpful I
have been, yes?” Dunham asked as she followed Tiarn toward the
door. “You shall tell her she has my undying loyalty?”

Tiarn rolled his eyes, but Morrigan gave the
old man a small smile. “Of course we will, Dunham. I’m sure my
mother will be very grateful. And thank you again for all your
help.”

“Anytime, Your Highness. I live only to serve
you and Queen Ceridwyn. Anything you need, anything I can do for
the cause . . . .”

Tiarn shook his head, grabbed a lantern from
the corner of the room, and pulled open the rusty-hinged door. He
slammed it shut before Dunham could finish his monologue. He
stepped out into the crisp autumn night with Morrigan close at his
heels. She only had a moment to take in the vast beauty of the
land. Trees and mountains, untouched by the pollution of so-called
technology, spread out for endless miles. Leaves in miraculous hues
of gold, red, and orange were somehow so much brighter, so much
more alive, than any she had seen in her world. The branches almost
seemed to reach for her, to breathe and whisper nature’s
secrets.