by J. P. Rice
“Ha. Welcome to my world.” I turned back to her, and she was wiping pickle juice off her lips with her cloak. I said, “I never know what’s going on. I’ll keep my ears peeled, but like I said earlier, I’ve got a few other things on my plate right now.” I needed to keep planting that seed in case an emergency bailout became necessary.
“If I need you, can I call on you?” She held up the back of her hand and showed me the scar that had sealed our fate as blood sisters.
I stared at the matching scar on my hand, suddenly remembering how close we had been. I almost felt obligated to help her. No, I couldn’t go down that road again. “I can’t commit fully just yet.” Until I knew the full details of the Morrigan’s plan, I couldn’t agree to anything.
She pounded her fist into her open hand. “Come on. After all I’ve done for you. You’d be back in Sleepy Willow pining about your stupid husband if it weren’t for me. I gave you magic. You were nothing without me.”
So this bitch went straight for the jugular. Goddess or not, game on. “Yeah, I was nothing. You know what else? I wasn’t a monster. I know why you created me. To handle your destruction for your amusement. Don’t act like you’ve done anything for me. You made me this way so you didn’t feel so bad about your own malicious behavior. You don’t give two shits about me. Never did.”
The Morrigan’s face flushed and her icy eyes filled with anger as her red pupils widened. She tucked her arms inside her cloak and turned away. “All you had to do was say no. Not once did you do that. I took you from a whiny little girl to one of the baddest bitches ever known.” She faced me again, shaking her head slowly. “And this is how you repay me?”
I knew I shouldn’t have given her that Red Bull. She got too hyped up. I said, “Again. You didn’t do it for me. Stop even acting like that. You haven’t had to deal with any of the repercussions. I’m the one constantly being chased by the magic councils. I’m the one who fights against my dark blood every single day. Not you. Me. You don’t have to look constantly over your shoulder in worry.”
The Goddess shook her head, disappointment running through her eyes. “I can’t believe you’ve gone soft. It’s tragic really. And to top it off, you’re acting like a child. I’m the one. I’m the one. Blah, blah, blah. Remember when you were trapped in the Lair of Justice. I’m the one who got you out. Not you,” she said, mocking my voice. “Never would have thought you would turn on me.”
Why was she attacking me? “I’m not turning on you, but if you’re going to act like this, maybe it’s for the best. You go your way and I’ll go mine.”
“I have a feeling it will work out a lot better for me.” She started to laugh and cut herself off. I couldn’t believe she was trying to intimidate me.
“You know what? I don’t even care anymore.” I was done letting her manipulate me. “You’re just mad because I’m the only one who will stand up to you. Everyone one else lets you do whatever the fook you want. You’re the reason I snap at people and act like...like...like you. No wonder we butt heads.” I held my hands out at my sides. “You want to do away with me, then get on with it. I’m already fookin’ dead inside anyway.”
Her cheeks reddened, and her breathing deepened, the obsidian feathers of her cloak pulsing rhythmically. “Don’t tempt me. You should rethink the situation and commit to helping me out. Why don’t we leave it at that?”
The Morrigan cartwheeled over to my door. She ended up standing on my welcome mat, facing the other way and waved goodbye as her body dissipated. Showoff.
Within a few moments, her form dissolved into nothing, leaving no trace that she had been there other than the empty Red Bull can and pickle jar with her fingerprints on it. I lowered my head and realized she’d left a trail of sludge in her path.
How dare she attack me like that! I was basically Frankenstein’s monster to her. She’d targeted all the creatures I’d stolen magic from including the dragon. She’d egged me on the entire time. Now she wasn’t happy that the monster was rebelling. Boo fooking hoo.
I held my arm up and my fingers were quivering. Thoughts of the sandy beaches of Hilton Head rushed into my mind. I didn’t have to deal with any of this nonsense down there.
A buzzing sound filled my ears. I’d nearly forgotten about my roommate as Titania zoomed into the room. She spoke through her yawning, “Everything all right? I thought I heard something out here.”
She wasn’t exactly the best guard dog considering the Morrigan could have eaten me alive as Titania slept in the other room. I said, “Just fine. Hope I didn’t wake you. You can go back to sleep if you want.”
Before jumping to a rash decision, I decided it would be wise to seek counsel from my father. The former King of Ireland always had the right answers.
Chapter 5
Luckily, my father’s venomous family was out shopping so the butler led me right back to his quarters. My breathing slowed down from my trip over here. It seemed like I was being followed, but now in the comfort of my father’s protection, safety surrounded my heart.
The scent of Irish Spring brought a smile to my face as I entered the room. A swirl of blue and gold flames roared inside the giant fireplace, keeping the room nice and toasty. My father, seated on his throne-like recliner, used the hand crank to lower the footrest.
He groaned in pain as I walked across the stone floor, snow falling from my boots and pant legs. As I approached, he pushed the black and gold Steelers blanket aside and patted his knee. I took off my coat and set it on the end table at the step of his dais. My father welcomed me onto his lap.
I gave him a big hug and kissed him on the cheek. I lay my head on his chest and his long beard tickled my cheek. After my encounter with the Morrigan, I needed this.
He patted me gently on the back and said, “My little Goddess has come to see me. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I sat up and looked into his burning blue eyes. “I just wanted to see you. I’m a little confused and could use some guidance as usual.”
He rubbed my upper arm to keep it warm, and he said, “You need little guidance from me, I’m afraid. The answers. They are within you. I only help you fish them out. Perfect example is Lugh’s Spear. I gave you one tiny clue to a giant puzzle that you put together yourself.”
“A lot of good it did me,” I commented.
He sucked in his bottom lip, causing his eyebrows to scrunch together. He tilted his head and said, “Punching your mother in the face may have tarnished the shine of your moment.”
“She deserved it.” I got up from my father’s lap and walked over to the fireplace. I peeked back and noticed a wide grin on my father’s proud face.
My father composed his guilty pleasure. And in a fatherly way, he took a deep breath and raised his voice, “I am not arguing that in the least. Somewhat surprised it hasn’t happened before.”
I picked up a quartered log, opened the metal screen and tossed it on the fire. I spoke over my shoulder, “That makes two of us. I can’t seem to control myself sometimes.”
My father turned shyly and scratched his red ear. “Yes, I’m afraid that comes from me. It’s hard to tell now that I was a hothead in my younger day. You know, when I was spry like you are now. But it appears I’ve passed that trait along to you.”
My father knew about how I’d obtained my magic and that I had dark magic running through me. He was one of the few who hadn’t chastised me about my method. “Something else has come up. But it involves working with the Morrigan.”
King Nuada chuckled and his golden circlet crown shifted on his head. It was the first time I’d ever seen the giant sapphire on his forehead move. The crown no longer appeared as though it were floating above his head like a halo.
Nodding, he said, “I can see the issue there. Causing death and destruction are antithesis to what you are trying to achieve, but that is a fundamental tenet of the Morrigan’s existence. Without death, she is nothing. Causing death is merely job security to her.”
> I threw two more logs on the fire and grabbed the poker. “I guess we all view the world with different lenses.”
My father shifted around in his recliner. “Precisely. What would be out of focus and blurry beyond recognition to you would come through nice and clear to her.”
“So what should I do?” I asked as I rearranged the orange coals and lined up the logs.
He chuckled. “You’re smart enough to realize now that I’ve never given you answers. I’ve always turned the questions around on you and through a bit of introspection, you provide the answers. You’ve given me far too much credit over the years.”
I shut the screen, walked back over to my father and sat on his lap again. I smiled. “So you’re going to ask what I think I should do?”
He scratched the back of my neck. “You seem to know the answer to that one.”
I mused, “If I’m trying to test myself on being a better person, this would provide the ultimate testing ground.”
“That is true. It’s easy to be virtuous when one eliminates temptation. But when that blackbird keeps pecking away, can one stand strong?” he questioned, raising his right eyebrow.
“The overall goal would benefit the whole, and maybe the Morrigan’s methods could be sloppy, but the act would keep the balance,” I told him, but I was really trying to rationalize the situation for myself.
“It seems I’ve made up your mind.” He laughed, and it spurred on a coughing fit.
I got up from his lap, and he finally stopped hacking, pulling a handkerchief from his robes. He looked up at me red faced and out of breath. He said, “I’m certain you’ll make the right decision and you will make me proud once more.”
I knew my father stayed abreast of the supernatural situation in Pittsburgh. He’d probably heard the story of me rescuing the spear from Arawn from fifty sources by now. And I thought that each time, he’d probably been smiling like a butcher’s dog. I gazed at my father’s face and something strange happened.
As if a flash of lightning had struck me and transported me to a murderous battlefield, I suddenly saw my father, the young warrior King of Ireland. His long red hair, stained with mud and sweat, was held in place by his crown and rippled in the stiff wind. The dried blood of his fallen enemies freckled his face. His intense blue eyes searched the battlefield making sure his men were safe. Sweat dripped from his cleanshaven chin as he raised his sword above his head, the silver blade catching the last remaining gleam of the setting sun. With a baritone howl of, “Charge,” he was off, and his men followed him into the fray, confident their leader would fight to the death right alongside them.
The only thing missing was his armor. He was wearing layers of boiled leather, but his armor overlay was noticeably absent. A clanking sound caught my attention, and I turned to see what it was. A bearded man in a hooded cloak turned away from me before I could get a good look. He pulled a ring mail jacket out of the stream and washed it with a rag that dripped red. On closer inspection, it was my father’s gold jacket.
Legend had it that if a warrior saw a vision of the Morrigan washing his armor, it meant he would die in battle. But who was this man? Why did he have my father’s armor?
I couldn’t identify him with his back turned and the hood covering his head. Instinctively, I walked toward him, my brain demanding to know who this gentleman was. As I neared the rushing stream, a scream of pain invaded my ears and rattled my soul. I’d heard painful screams for most of my life. But I’d never heard the desperate pleas coming from my father.
The man turned to me, his hood covering his entire face. He began to pull back his hood. Slowly. He revealed a healthy black beard.
Just when I was about to identify the mysterious man, my father stole my concentration back, as he said, “Might I make one suggestion?”
“Of course,” I replied, shaking my head to snap out of that vision.
“If you do succeed in finding the producer of these false death cards, and there is a celebration afterward, stay away from your mother. Please.” He pinched my upper arm playfully.
“I think I can do that,” I said with a smirk. “I just saw her hugging someone else. And the fact that she’s never so much as touched me, made me lose it.”
“As I said earlier, I cannot blame you on this matter. Centuries of pent up anger have a strange way of surfacing. Although, had you done this in private...” he let the words linger.
“That’s just it. I’ve tried to get her alone, and she runs away, back to the crowd so they will drown out my desperate pleas for her to simply admit that she’s my mother. She knows it, you know it, and I know it. I just want to hear the words from her mouth.”
“Sufficeth to say, I wouldn’t wake every day with high hopes of that wish being fulfilled. Still cold outside?” he asked and turned toward the window.
He knew the answer. He just wanted to change the subject because he knew talking about my mother only upset me. “Yep. And I think we both know why it’s happening. Because I failed to get it out of the Red Cavern.”
“Yes, well, had you not been drowned in lava, I have full confidence you would have returned with the Dagda’s Harp.” His big arm pulled me in tight for a firm hug. I felt our hearts beating together and it brought tears to my eyes.
I sat back and swept some of his hair behind his ear. Gazing into his sapphire eyes, I said, “But I didn’t. I failed. And now all the citizens of Pittsburgh are suffering. I’ve been thinking about going back in there.”
He used his thumb to chase the tears from my cheek, brushing gently against my skin. He gave me a tightlipped smile and a nod. It gave me instant strength.
He said, “I’ve always bragged to anyone who would listen of your bravery. Dare I say, you’re the only one who may be stronger than I?” He pursed his lips and turned to the ceiling. “Those words have never escaped my mouth before. A high honor indeed.”
The fire cracked, and I looked over to make sure no coals made it through the screen. I faced my father and smiled. “Thank you. It means a lot.”
He tapped me playfully on the tip of my nose. “You are quite welcome. Now if you are to move on and become a better person, sometimes you must slay the demons of your past. Retrieving the Dagda’s Harp would require that necessity. It could be the soul cleansing you need. But again, you must choose.”
I wasn’t ready to face those ghosts just yet. Perhaps I could help the Morrigan solve the death card fiasco, then invade the Red Cavern and bring back the Dagda’s Harp to stop this endless winter. Oh, how simple everything always sounded in my head. If only the plans went accordingly.
“Now that you are staying in Pittsburgh, I expect more frequent visits,” he said with a gentle grin.
I’d never really told him about the jousting I had to do with his new family just to see him. He had enough to worry about. “You got it. Hopefully, I can make the weather break soon and we can get some archery targets set up in the yard.”
He rubbed his right shoulder with his thumb, and with a grimace, he said, “I’m afraid I’m not sure I can draw back a bow string anymore.”
I told him, “That’s what crossbows are for. I’ll bet you can still pull a trigger.”
Too bad my father didn’t like guns. He viewed them as a cheap way to do battle and wasn’t even very fond of the crossbow or any long-range weapon for that matter. He always said that a man should look another man in the eye if he was going to kill him.
He flexed his index finger in front of his chest. “That appears to be a full go.”
I enjoyed the lighthearted moments that came few and far between with my lifestyle. If I could figure out his new family’s shopping schedule, I’d stop by a lot more often. “Take care of that digit so we can have some fun,” I joked.
“I’ll try my best,” he promised and tucked his hand under the blanket.
“That’s all I can ask. Is there anything else going on around Pittsburgh that you need to tell me about?”
My fathe
r started coughing, and I waited patiently for him to stop. After his face turned purple, I sprinted across the room and screamed at the door, “Help. We need a doctor. Fast.”
I sprinted back over to the recliner and pried open my father’s mouth since it appeared he was choking. I couldn’t see any obstruction and stared into my father’s desperate eyes, which were bulging from their orbits.
A cold sweat glazed over my panicked body as tears rushed to my eyes. What was happening? With his left hand, my father clutched his chest and his labored breathing got louder, but slower. My father looked at me. I expected to see a portrait of panic. But in true form, if this was death knocking at his door, death was in for a fight. My father appeared as calm as could be.
In a raspy tone, he uttered, “I love you. I always have.” He fell forward off the recliner and rolled onto his back. He pointed to his mouth as his heavy breathing went silent.
As my father’s lungs betrayed him and stopped functioning, I used the heel of my hand to hit him in the chest. I hit him again, desperately attempting to save the only person who loved me. Tears covered my face and blurred the vision of my hero, tarnishing the image that had given me so much strength over the years.
My father gargled and rolled onto his side, curling his body into a heap on the dais. I hovered over my father, unsure of what I could do to save him. Tears ran off my face and collected on my father’s wrinkled white robes. I held his hand and tried to inject some of my strength into him.
Then he stopped moving completely, and I knew it was over. My body went numb and a buzzing sound filled my ears. I was kneeling right next to him holding his hand when the door flew open. It was my worst nightmare.
My father’s family marched through the door, all dressed in long black fur gowns and matching hats.