Morrigan

by Laura DeLuca

  He saw the panicked look on her face and smiled. “Do not worry yourself, Princess. The combination of an emotional evening and a large meal has unsettled my belly. I should have listened to your wisdom and not allowed my eyes to grow larger than my stomach.”

  “My poor Filtiarn,” she soothed him, “you have no luck, do you?”

  “Perhaps my luck has at last changed. After all, I have found my true soul mate, and how many men can claim such good fortune?”

  Tiarn removed his tunic before they climbed into the bed together. Morrigan pulled him close to her, and she snuggled against his fuzzy chest. As they adjusted into a comfortable position, she placed a comforting hand on his sore belly. She could see as well as feel that the normally smooth abdomen was hard, and it rumbled and growled with a mind of its own. While he didn’t complain again, she imagined he was quite uncomfortable. She ran her fingers along his belly in gentle circling motions, trying to massage any aches that remained. He sighed and pulled her closer.

  “Again you amaze me. I complain of a well-earned belly ache, for which you should give me no sympathy. Yet still you tend to me with sweet gentleness.”

  Morrigan blushed. “Would you rather I stopped?”

  “Goddess, no!” he exclaimed. “What canine does not like a good belly rub every now and again?”

  Morrigan laughed; she was glad to see he was nearly himself again. She continued to run her fingers along his body, loving the velvety feel of the hair on his chest that was somehow a combination of human and canine and so much softer than she would have imagined. It was a pleasure and a comfort to snuggle against, so much so that she felt herself easily drifting to sleep beside him. Her eyes were growing heavy. She had almost fallen asleep when he whispered in her ear.

  “I love you, Morrigan.”

  Her heart swelled so large, she was amazed it didn’t explode. “I love you too, Tiarn.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  In the morning, Tiarn was back to business as usual. He was up at the break of dawn gathering their equipment, yet his whole disposition had changed. He still had his moments of sarcasm, which wasn’t surprising since that was part of his normal personality. But he was much more cordial than he had been. He didn’t rush her when she sponged off with the fresh, clean water Brigid had brought for them. He stood patiently whistling with his back to her as she dressed. Never once did he try to sneak a peek over his shoulder. When she was dry, she slipped back into the blue gown and once again padded her middle so she would appear to be pregnant. She pulled her cloak up over her head as an added precaution.

  Tiarn didn’t complain when she was packing up her things even though she was taking her time deciding what to bring and what would stay behind. The letter from her father, the little carved raven from Alden, and her sketchpad were now her most valuable possessions, especially since she had lost her tarot cards. She kept them secure in the inside zipper of her backpack. The alcohol, bandages, and other medical supplies were used up. She hid the empty containers under the bed, figuring by the time the strange items were discovered they would be far enough away to avoid detection. She didn’t want to carry anything unnecessary, but she also knew she had to be careful what she left lying around in plain sight. She did hold onto all the water bottles and filled them with the drinking water Brigid had brought in an old metal pitcher. She checked her food inventory and saw she was down to a package of beef jerky and a bag of potato chips. It was a pretty meager supply, so she grabbed the bread and fruit left over from their supper.

  When they were at last ready to leave, Tiarn took hold of her hand like they were a real honest to goodness couple. They stuck close together and tried to avoid speaking to anyone as they crept by the patrons enjoying their breakfast in the tavern. They were almost to the counter to check out when Tiarn slapped himself in the forehead.

  “Well, I’ll be a three-legged hound dog! I have forgotten my sword of all things!”

  That was one thing they definitely couldn’t leave behind. “You go ahead and get it,” Morrigan told him. “I can settle our bill with Brigid.”

  He looked a little nervous, but he had learned better than to underestimate her. He handed her the velvet pouch while he dashed back up the stairs. Morrigan went to the counter to greet Brigid. She thanked her for her generous hospitality and handed over the required payment. When she was done, they were left with just one last bronze ring. She slid it inside her backpack which she had hidden under her cloak, trying to be discreet so they wouldn’t notice her otherworldly accessories.

  She was zipping up the bag and fretting over their precarious situation when a pair of filthy farmers approached her, trying to look seductive. Morrigan groaned. She was beginning to wonder if they were short on women in Tír na NÓg, or if the men were just all perverts.

  “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

  The one who spoke stood so close she could smell his rancid breath reeked of day-old alcohol. The two of them must have been out on a drinking binge all night. His uncoordinated friend stood behind him, leaning against a chair to keep from falling over and displaying a grotesque smile that revealed a mouthful of blackened teeth. The noxious scent of body odor was so strong she had to cover her nose.

  “Excuse me,” Morrigan said and tried to squeeze past them toward the door, but not before glancing over her shoulder at the stairs to see if Tiarn was on his way. She silently cursed when she saw no sign of him.

  “What’s the hurry, darlin’?” The man slurred his already thick accent as he blocked her path. “You wouldn’t want to be rude now, would you? What with you being a stranger in town and all, you should be lookin’ to make as many friends as possible.”

  He reached out a grimy, dirt-encrusted hand and tried to grab hold of her wrist. Even before she had a moment to react or could back away, Tiarn was beside her. A low rumble escaped his throat as he reached up and caught the man’s arm in midair. He glared at the farmer with pure fury in his eyes.

  “What business do you have with my wife, good sirs?” he demanded with exaggerated pleasantness.

  “What business do you have in our town, stranger?” the drunkard countered.

  Morrigan gasped when one of the men reached for the dagger on his belt. His smelly friend, though seemingly unarmed, looked more than ready to back him up if a brawl were to ensue. As soon as Tiarn sensed the imminent threat, his eyes transformed into the yellow slits of the wolf, and she was sure she saw his canines extending as he snarled at the men. He had just placed his hand on his sheath when Brigid intervened.

  “Liam! Patrick! You leave those two children alone! Are you in such a drunken daze that you cannot see the girl is with child?” She smacked one of them in the rear with a towel she had pulled from her belt. “You better scoot yourselves out of here, you good for nothin’ drunken louses, before I have the pair of you flogged!”

  Tiarn had no intentions of waiting to see if they listened to Brigid or to thank her for her intervention. He grabbed Morrigan by the hand and started pulling her toward the door. Behind them, even over the din of the breakfast patrons, she could clearly hear the scared, whispered voices rising all around her. They grew louder and more agitated with each millisecond that passed.

  “He’s a wolf!” one whispered.

  Another frightened voice repeated, “A wolf?”

  They whispered until she could sense a whole room of angry eyes boring into her back. Against her better judgment, she glanced over her shoulder to see what they were doing only to find that a group of villagers were starting to converge on them. Even the motherly Brigid was suddenly gaping at them in open horror.

  Before she knew it, Tiarn had pulled her through the door, and they were running down the cobblestone roads. The beautiful temple, the market place, and even the home with the happy little family she had admired went by in a blur. But as quick as they were moving, they were not fast enough. The cries of “wolf” grew louder and were joined by new voices that seemed much clos
er. She was afraid to look behind her again to see just how many people were pursuing them.

  In their haste to get away, the tie that held her padding in place had somehow gotten loose. She didn’t even notice it until the balled up leggings fell to the ground. Without thinking, she bent down to retrieve them. Before she could chastise herself for wasting valuable seconds, she realized it was divine intervention. One of the merchants, taking up the cause of the farmers, was only a step behind them and was preparing to hit Tiarn with a large wooden board.

  “Tiarn, watch out!” she cried.

  The warning reached his ears just in time. He ducked down, stuck out his leg to sideswipe the man, and swung around. The kick came in contact the man’s kneecap, which sent him sprawling to the ground, slamming his head heard against the cobblestone walkway. He was dazed for just a second, but that moment was enough for Tiarn to get the advantage. Before the merchant had a chance to move, Tiarn had his foot pressed against his chest and the tip of his sword aimed at his throat.

  “Why must you attack us?” Tiarn demanded. “We have done you no harm!”

  “Filthy mongrel!” The man gasped as Tiarn increased the pressure on his chest, but it did not stop his hateful onslaught. “A half-breed animal such as you must be put down!”

  “Who is the man and who is the animal?” Tiarn asked him, furious. “You would sneak up on us from behind instead of facing me in an honest duel. And once I am dispatched, what then? You let your damn drunken friends have their way with the girl?”

  Tiarn was growling and so intent on his attacker he didn’t realize they were no longer alone. Liam, Patrick, Brigid, and half the village surrounded them. They were glaring at the pair with hate in their eyes and holding whatever they could grab as weapons. She saw a few daggers and swords, but most of the lynch mob carried household cutlery, shovels, or even large rocks and sticks they had picked up from the ground. There was not a single pitchfork or torch among them, which Morrigan almost found funny since they seemed to be the staple of any mob scene in the fantasy movies she had seen.

  “Look!” Brigid cried when her eyes fell upon Morrigan’s now flat belly. “There is no child! It was a glamour!”

  “She is a witch!” someone in the crowd cried.

  Though her disguise had nothing to do with witchery, her expression alone must have verified their assumption. The realization seemed to get a mixed response from the crowd. Witches were held in great respect in Tír na NÓg, or so Tiarn had told her. But in a war-torn land, divided by dueling witches, there was no way to tell friends from foes.

  “Only a dark witch would travel with a lycan!” a voice cried out, and many in the crowd shouted and nodded in agreement.

  “Burn them both! Burn the wolf and the evil witch!”

  Most the people took up the chant, but in the crowd, Morrigan could see Brigid seemed unsure and contemplative. Many of the people looked to her for direction, and Morrigan realized she must hold a position of power in the village. Beside her, Tiarn was not waiting for them to agree or disagree on whether to burn them at the stake. He had pulled his captive up from the ground and was using him as a human shield, pressing the sharp blade of his sword in the small of his back.

  “We mean you no harm!” Tiarn told the crowd calmly. “We wish only for safe passage. Let us go in peace and we shall set him free.”

  “Do not listen to the wolf!” the merchant cried. “They speak only lies! He will surely kill me either way. Take them now! Take the girl!”

  A few of the men started circling toward Morrigan. Tiarn cursed under his breath and threw the merchant aside to guard her. “Where are those damn felines of yours when they are needed?” he complained.

  They were outnumbered, yet somehow Morrigan wasn’t worried. This crowd of middle-aged and overweight villagers armed with simple rocks and shovels were not nearly as threatening as the trained soldiers they had overpowered. As a few of them attempted to approach her, she simply had to focus her mind for just a second and their weapons flew from their hands. Only one man was brave enough to take another step, and he soon found himself face down in a puddle as Morrigan used her power of telekinesis to send him sprawling backward.

  “Leave us alone!” she ordered them. “We don’t want to hurt you. We just want to leave.”

  There were shouts of disapproval, but this time no one made a move to stop them. Only Brigid was brave enough to step forward. Though she made no attempt to attack them, her words were as sharp as any blade.

  “I know who you are, witch!” Brigid shouted. All hint of the pleasant patroness was gone from her plump, round face. She glared at Morrigan with pure hatred in her eyes. “You are the daughter of Ceridwyn.”

  She spat on the ground as though the very mention of her mother’s name left a foul taste in her mouth. Morrigan was confused by the anger and horror that revelation seemed to cause. Were they just nervous that a wanted felon had been hiding in their midst? Did they fear the wrath of Arianrhod that much?

  “If you know who she is, then you know it is pointless for mere humans to attempt to restrain her,” Tiarn told them. “Let us go, and we will spare your lives.”

  This time the group didn’t need time to consider. There were no brave souls to step forward to try to stop them. They all backed down, but watched with disgust and horror as Tiarn inched his way toward a filly that was tied to a post a few feet away. He used his sword to cut the rope before jumping up on the nervous horse. Without a word, he grabbed Morrigan’s arm to lift her up beside him.

  “By the Goddess, may Arianrhod bring both you and your mother to your knees!”

  Brigid’s curse was the last thing she heard before the horse took off at a gallop, carrying them toward the forgiving shelter of the forest.

  Chapter Twenty Morrigan had never ridden a horse before. In movies, it always seemed romantic to ride off into the sunset with the hero. In real life, it was much less glamorous. They were riding bareback, and she was terrified she was going to slip off. She was clinging so tightly to Tiarn’s back that she was sure her nails had left permanent indentations. If that wasn’t bad enough, her legs, thighs, and butt were throbbing from the constant thumping. She had no idea how she was ever going to walk normally again, and even sitting was probably going to be a problem for at least a few days.

  The Guardians had been waiting in the shadows and not long after Morrigan and Tiarn entered the shelter of the forest, Danu and Dagda joined them. They struggled to keep pace with the galloping horse in their cat forms. It was already a strain for the filly to have a lycan riding her, so luckily they had the good sense to realize if they transformed they would have startled the already skittish animal even more. Morrigan asked Tiarn if they could slow down a little, but he was afraid the magic hounds might be on their heels after the fiasco with the farmers. He wanted as much distance between them and the village as possible before they slowed their pace.

  They rode hard for what seemed like hours before the horse began to slow from exhaustion. She was panting so hard, Morrigan was afraid the poor animal would die on the spot. Eventually, Tiarn took pity on her and stopped to rest at a little fresh water lake. It was only about the size of a small swimming pool, but a stream ran through it, which kept the water from becoming stagnant. The horse happily lapped up the cool liquid while Tiarn filled up his lambskin and Morrigan did the same with her empty water bottles.

  “I do not think we will come upon fresh water again in our travels,” Tiarn mused. “This may well be the last we see until we reach the castle. So drink your fill now and use what you take sparingly.”

  Morrigan took his advice and bent to dip her hands into the cool water. It wasn’t easy to do when her legs were so sore. Despite the physical aches in her body, she exalted in the beauty of the early afternoon. The rain clouds had long since departed, and even the ground around them was free of lingering puddles. The sun beat down gently, providing a blanket of warmth against the cool fall breeze. She had still be
en a little frazzled by the uproar back at the town, and the peace and silence of the forest was just what she needed to settle her nerves.

  She still wondered why the villagers seemed to hate them so much. Perhaps they had reasons to fear werewolves, but she was the daughter of Ceridwyn and their rightful princess. They should have been happy to see her. Maybe they were just afraid to declare their loyalty when Arianrhod’s soldiers were nearby. Yet, the look of disgust on Brigid’s face had seemed genuine. Could the seemingly kind innkeeper have been hiding a darker side? Could she be a follower of the dark witch? It seemed that nothing was ever what it appeared to be in Tír na NÓg.

  Morrigan was pondering all this while Tiarn tended to the horse. The cats were sunbathing on the bank of the stream, and Morrigan took advantage of the solitude. They were surrounded by the silence of the deep woods, with only an occasional chirping of a bird or the bubbling of the stream. She hadn’t seen another living soul for miles. Just as she leaned back into the soft grass to rest, she heard a strange sound. At first she thought it was the wind rustling the trees or maybe some strange animal she was unfamiliar with. As she strained her ears to hear, she became more and more certain the sound she heard was a woman weeping. She stole a glance toward Tiarn and the cats, but they were so deeply involved in their tasks that they didn’t seem to notice. She shook her head absently and figured she was just being silly.

  She was starting to get hungry, so Morrigan decided to forget the noise. She pulled out some of the leftover bread she had taken from the inn to have a little snack. Just as she was about to put the food to her lips, she heard the cry again, louder this time. It startled her so much that she dropped her stale roll into the dirt. This time she knew she wasn’t crazy because even Danu and Dagda flicked up their ears with mild interest.

  “Help me! Please, someone help me!”

  The voice sounded like the light chatter of wind chimes, yet the words were so crystal clear, they could have been whispered in her ear. The sound was musical, enchanting. Almost against her will, Morrigan found herself rising to her feet to follow the angelic voice. It was only Tiarn putting a restraining hand on her shoulder that stopped her.