Morrigan

by Laura DeLuca

  Tiarn had remained strangely silent since they had found her family. She took advantage of the trek through the castle to fall back a little so she could speak with him. He gave her the smallest of smiles. “You have done well, Morrigan. You should be proud of your victory.”

  “Our victory,” she reminded him. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

  “You do not need me, Morrigan. As your grandmother has so kindly reminded me, I am nothing but a dog. And you already have your pets.” He gestured to Danu and Dagda. “What need have you of one more?”

  Morrigan was a little shocked at this complete change in attitude. She was about to argue with him, but they had arrived at their destination. They stood before two large doors, each engraved with strange letters and symbols. Some she knew, like the Celtic knot, the triquetra, and the pentacle, but others were foreign. She wasn’t certain, but the doors appeared to be made from solid gold. They must have been impossibly heavy, but that didn’t slow down Hecate and Ceridwyn. As soon as they reached the large doors, which would have been a barrier for any mere human, Ceridwyn simply called upon the wind, her power element, and they blew open with the force of a hurricane.

  The witches did not move silently. They did not bide their time or discuss any grand plans to take over the castle. They simply barged into the room as though they feared nothing, and Morrigan was forced to follow them blindly or be left behind. On the other side of the doors, she found herself in what must have been a sort of town hall. There were glorious chandeliers glimmering with candles and a floor the size of a ballroom that was emblazoned with the circle of life, the same symbol that had been on the hand of the Gatekeepers.

  Along three of the walls were rows of seats similar to the pews of a church, and each section was occupied by a different group of people. Based upon the style of their clothing, Morrigan guessed they were divided by the witch’s council, the nobles, and the peasants. Mixed in among them were several familiar faces. A very shocked Brigid stood with a group of townspeople, and Caedmon was among the soldiers who guarded the queen. There were at least a hundred people in the room, and at the head of them all, perched on a silver throne bedecked with jewels, sat queen Arianrhod, with her ladies in waiting lined up behind her.

  Even had she not been seated on the throne, Morrigan would have known it was Arianrhod. She was stunning, and Morrigan was immediately reminded of the Empress card in her tarot reading. She was dressed in a magnificent golden gown embroidered with silver thread. Her hay-colored hair was pulled back in braids on the sides, but allowed to flow naturally down her back in delicate waves. On her forehead sat the crown and symbol of her office. It was in the shape of the triple moon with a large round pearl in the center and cut diamonds making up the shimmering outer crescents. Behind her, perched on a makeshift swing, was a glorious white owl.

  It seemed as though they had interrupted a town meeting. A man with a scroll was standing beside the throne. His mouth was still hanging open though he had stopped reading the moment Ceridwyn and her mismatched army had thundered into the room. They were greeted by startled screams and cries, all of which went ignored. Ceridwyn strode directly up to the throne.

  Arianrhod watched the band of warriors approach and seemed neither afraid nor surprised. Morrigan was terrified, especially when a second fleet of soldiers arrived just seconds after them, led by the guards who had fled the dungeons. They had been smart enough to skip going back to the dungeon and head right to the intended target of the prison break. Though perhaps it was too little too late, because her mother and grandmother didn’t seem concerned, even though they were surrounded by potential enemies.

  At least Tiarn had the good sense to be on the defensive. He instantly had his sword drawn. He took a protective step toward Morrigan, while her panther and tiger Guardians growled in the direction of anyone who looked like they were going to make a move. The bystanders could only watch as the sisters locked eyes and prepared for the inevitable battle. No one moved. No one attacked, though the soldiers seemed ready to do so if given the order. The room had fallen into a terrible silence.

  “Your time on that throne is over, Sister!” Ceridwyn proclaimed. “Step down and perhaps we shall spare your life.”

  The guard Morrigan recognized took a step toward her mother, but Arianrhod ordered him to stand down with just a glance. “No, Caedmon. This is not your battle.” He did not question the order, but stepped back into the crowd of onlookers. Arianrhod turned to her sister. “I knew even magical bars would not hold you forever, Ceridwyn. I knew this day would come.”

  “You were a fool to try and steal my crown! But now, you face not only the rightful queen of Tír na NÓg, but a full triad of royal witches. You will never be able to overcome our combined magic!”

  “It is not about who holds the greatest magic, Ceridwyn! It is about bringing peace to the kingdom. Would you ignore the will of the people?”

  “This is not a democracy! The people will serve the rightful queen as they have for time immortal. I am the eldest sister. By birthright, it is I who should sit upon that throne!”

  “You gave up that right the day you—”

  “Silence!” Hecate interrupted. “Both of you! Your words are wasted. As is our custom and as the council of witches and sorcerers will undoubtedly agree, there is only one way to decide which of my daughters should take the crown. There will be a magical duel, and the winner must be accepted by all. As is also our tradition, the Queen Mother may choose to stand beside the daughter she feels is the rightful heir. Of course, future generations may also stake their claim to maintain their place in the succession. On that note, let me introduce to the council my granddaughter, daughter of Ceridwyn, the Princess Morrigan.”

  Hecate grabbed Morrigan and practically shoved her toward the council members. They looked her over with mild curiosity. It was only Arianrhod whose eyes bore into her, making her feel as though her aunt had the power to reach down into her soul.

  “She has fought her way to this castle from another world just to see that things are set right in our land,” Hecate continued. “The three of us, as is our royal right, challenge Arianrhod. Would the council deny this sacred tradition?”

  The robed figures convened and Morrigan heard a few whispers of the prophecy. The men scratched their long beards, while many of the women exchanged nervous glances. Finally, an ancient, fragile-looking man rose to speak. He spoke in a stern yet remorseful voice.

  “The Queen Mother, Hecate, speaks the truth. Their claim to the throne is legitimate. They have the right to duel and we must believe the Goddess will lend Her might to the rightful queen.”

  Brigid stood from her seat, the only mortal brave enough to speak. “And what of the village elders? Have we no say in who is to be our queen?”

  Hecate all but spat in her direction. “Commoners have no say over matters of state. Go back to your ploughs and horses before I have you thrown in the dungeon for your impudence.”

  A few of the other peasants started to shout and even curse at the insult. At Hecate’s feet, the hound showed the first hint of emotion and growled dangerously in their direction. A rustling had stirred in the crowd, which infuriated Hecate, but it was Arianrhod who silenced them.

  “Please, dear Brigid, sit down. All of you take your seats! I know you mean well, but what must be, will be. I do not wish to see any of you harmed on my behalf. Especially when it will change nothing.”

  “Yes, Majesty.” Brigid bowed and obeyed Arianrhod, but continued to glare at Morrigan and her family. “We shall do as you bid us, though we are not happy about it.”

  Arianrhod smiled. “Duly noted.”

  “Enough of this foolishness,” Ceridwyn said with a wave of her hand. “The time has come, Sister. The challenge has been made. What have you to say?”

  Arianrhod sighed. “Here before the council and leaders of Tír na NÓg, I do hereby accept your challenge, though it is with a heavy heart.”

 
; As Arianrhod stepped down from the throne, one of young hand maidens took hold of her hand and tried to pull her back. She was dressed in robes as fine as the queen herself, and though her auburn hair was in disarray and her green eyes were wide with fear, she was still beautiful. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she fell to her knees at the queen’s feet.

  “Please, Arianrhod,” the girl begged. “You cannot do this. You will be killed!”

  Arianrhod knelt for just a moment to cup her cheeks and lay a delicate kiss on her lips. “Do not fear for me, my dear Deirdre. No matter what happens, you shall always be my beloved. It is in the hands of the Goddess now.”

  The girl wouldn’t be consoled and continued to sob as Arianrhod faced her adversaries. Morrigan had barely begun to worry about her first magical battle, when her mother clasped her hand. On the other side of Ceridwyn, Hecate had done the same. Instantly, Morrigan was swallowed up by that same unbelievable surge of energy.

  When they had focused on breaking down the magical barrier in the cell, there had been no emotions tied to it. This time, Morrigan was instantly overwhelmed by the intense anger and hatred her mother and grandmother felt for Arianrhod. It consumed them and fueled their magic. Once she was wrapped in that all-consuming blanket of hate, there was no fear, only the longing for vengeance. She needed to defeat Arianrhod no matter what the cost.

  Arianrhod stood her ground bravely when she met the three witches, facing them straight on without blinking. The magical battle was nothing like the physical assault of the soldiers in the woods. It was a battle of wills between the two would-be queens. Morrigan’s part in the duel was minimal. She was working like a battery to charge and enhance her mother’s abilities. In reality, it was only Ceridwyn who fought her sister. It was her strategies. It would be her victory.

  The two feuding sisters stood with eyes locked, and Morrigan felt the lash of power come at her, almost like a slap in the face. It was so weak, it barely grazed her, yet Arianrhod could not stand up to the rebuttal. Her mother had invisible hands wrapped around her sister’s neck. Arianrhod sputtered and gagged as she tried desperately to breath. Her face was turning blue, and Morrigan, so in tune with her mother’s vicious hatred, was happy to see her suffer. The breath of life was slipping away, and Arianrhod wasn’t even trying to fight anymore. She was on the verge of unconsciousness when her handmaiden, Deirdre, cried out.

  “Please! Please don’t kill her! She is your sister! Show mercy!” The other girls were trying to keep her from throwing herself at Ceridwyn. “The same mercy she showed to you!”

  Ceridwyn allowed her attention to be diverted, and the chain of power was broken. Furious, she let go of Morrigan’s hand, and instantly the rage she had felt was extinguished. She realized Deirdre had probably just saved Arianrhod’s life. The now former queen fell to the ground, breathless and weak, but still alive. Everyone knew the battle was over, and Ceridwyn turned her fury onto the young girl who had nearly collapsed into the arms of the other handmaidens as grief overcame her.

  “Mercy!” she spat. “You call months in that prison cell mercy? It would be more of a mercy to let her die!”

  Ceridwyn approached her fallen sister, who still sputtered and choked. She bent down to look at her and was almost gentle as she brushed the hair from her eyes. Morrigan even thought she might kiss her, but instead, she ripped the jeweled crown from Arianrhod’s head.

  “Now you have taken your crown.” Arianrhod was barely able to whisper. “Will you take my life and make your victory complete?”

  “Do not fear, Sister. It is not your fate to die on this day. Oh, no, I have other plans in store for you.” Ceridwyn pushed her sister away in disgust and turned to the guards, who leapt to attention though they still wore the crest of the owl. “Take her to the dungeon.”

  A deadly silence descended upon the great hall, though many wept, as the people watched their former queen being taken away in chains. She was too weak to walk, so they dragged her through the crowd. Long after she was gone, everyone still stood, stunned by how quickly their lives had changed. It was the Hecate who finally broke the silence.

  “Would anyone else dare to challenge us? Will the council or the elders deny their true queen? The Goddess has taken the side of Ceridwyn! She is victorious! She is your leader!”

  “Ceridwyn!” They people cried. “All hail Queen Ceridwyn! All hail the Queen Mother, Hecate! All hail Princess Morrigan!”

  The room had erupted in cheers, but Morrigan noticed many people in the crowd were unhappy. Though they remained silent, more than one of the council members were frowning. Arianrhod’s handmaiden lay weeping on the floor beside the other ladies in waiting. Most of the town elders, including Brigid, whose face was as flame red as her hair, couldn’t hide their agitation. Despite the divided court, it seemed no else dared to stand against the triad. Morrigan thought it was finally over, when a strong voice rang through the crowd, so loud that he was heard over all the whistles and cheers.

  “I will challenge you!” The lone voice rose above all, powerful in its conviction. Caedmon, the soldier from the woods, stepped forward. As it turned out, he was even more important than Morrigan had imagined. “I am the commander of the queen’s army. My loyalty lies with Queen Arianrhod. I will die before I serve any other.”

  Morrigan saw her mother glare at him with barely contained fury, but it was Hecate who approached him. Her face was still hidden behind her veils and when she spoke, her voice dripped with disgust.

  “You would rather die than serve your rightful queen?” she hissed.

  “I would rather die than serve a false queen,” Caedmon contested.

  The Queen Mother nodded. “Then so you shall.”

  From somewhere within her robes, Hecate produced a jewel tipped dagger, with hounds carved into the ebony handle. Without a second thought, she lifted the knife to the soldier’s neck and sliced his throat.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “You . . . you killed him!” Tiarn barely managed to catch Morrigan as her legs crumbled beneath her. “How could you just . . . just kill him like that?”

  Around her, the great hall fell into stunned silence. While Hecate stood with the dripping dagger clutched in her hand, no one dared to move or speak, lest her vengeance be turned onto them. The only sounds were Caedmon’s last feeble gurgles and sputters as his dying body slipped to the ground, and Morrigan realized that despite her desperate cries, he wasn’t quite dead yet.

  As the man fell forward, his hand reached up in one last attempt at self-defense. He only managed to grasp Hecate’s veil and pull it free. As it fluttered to the ground, Morrigan’s eyes fell upon her grandmother’s face for the very first time. It held none of the regal beauty of either of her daughters. With some older women, it was possible to see a glimmer of the beauty of their youth. With Hecate, it seemed she had always been ancient.

  Her face was a crater of wrinkles. Her eyes were so sunken that it was impossible to tell their color, and she was emancipated to the point of looking half-starved. Her nose was large and hooked, and her hair just thin gray wisps clinging desperately to her withered skull. Though she walked with the demeanor of a queen, she had to hide the face of a hag beneath a cover of lace. Lace that was now drenched in the blood of her victim. Morrigan watched, numb with horror, while Hecate stood grinning, as she watched Caedmon take his final breath.

  “He’s dead!” Morrigan cried, her voice bordering on hysterical. “Oh Goddess . . . he’s dead!”

  “Morrigan, my love, do not look at him,” Tiarn said in a soothing tone. “Turn your eyes away.”

  Even when Morrigan shut her eyes, she still saw the look of horror on Caedmon’s face. She still saw the blood dripping into a puddle on the floor. Even the combined forces of Tiarn and her Guardians standing protectively on either side of her didn’t make her feel safe. The shock and horror of what she had seen left her physically ill. Around them, a few onlookers began to quietly weep, but most remained silent as they
bore witness to the gory scene.

  “Mother, what have you done?” Ceridwyn grabbed the dagger and threw it angrily to the floor. The clatter of metal against tile resonated through the eerily quiet hall. “That was not necessary. Imprisonment would have been sufficient for his crimes.”

  Hecate glared at her daughter. “This is the thanks I get for halting a revolution in its tracks?” she whispered loud enough for Morrigan to hear. “Those who question our authority must pay the ultimate price!”

  Ceridwyn shook her head. “Sometimes, Mother, you are an old fool. You forget your place. Your time as mistress of this castle has passed. I am the reigning queen now, and all decisions, including the punishments of traitors, fall on my shoulders!” She turned to the crowd of terrified onlookers. “Enough for one day! We will take care of matters of state tomorrow. For now, court is adjourned. Leave us! Today I must tend to more personal matters.”

  The court members, for the most part, looked relieved to be set free. They filed out of the room in droves while Ceridwyn knelt down beside Morrigan who was still huddled on the ground, clinging desperately to Tiarn. She hadn’t even realized it, but her tears had soaked the sleeve of his servant’s uniform. She couldn’t stop looking at the body—at the blood. Caedmon’s eyes stared lifelessly up at the sky. Morrigan had never witnessed death before, and it left her paralyzed.

  “Oh, my poor Morrigan!” As soon as the court and council members had left them, Ceridwyn flew to Morrigan’s side, pushing Tiarn out of the way with a careless shove. With the large hall empty, even her whispered voice seemed to bounce off the high ceilings. “Morrigan, do not blame your grandmother for her cold exterior. She has seen many horrors in her long life, and she fought long and hard to maintain her place on the throne. If she seems harsh, it is only because she has faced great hardships, and she has learned to act accordingly.”