Morrigan

by Laura DeLuca

  The two witches spoke in a perfect, eerie synchronization, reciting the words completely from memory. They called on the Guardian elements—earth, air, fire, and water, and asked for their aid. Morrigan sensed their arrival and the crackling cone of power in the circle increased tenfold. Like nature itself, the elements were a perfect balance of light and darkness and answered to all who invoked their presence. Ceridwyn also called to the God and the Goddess, and Morrigan swore she felt the wings of her little raven beat against her chest in response, reminding her she was not alone.

  The ritual progressed in a blur. Ceridwyn and Hecate didn’t speak in English, but there were some parts Morrigan was able to interpret, most of which were centered on sacrifice and bloodletting. They took the cakes and wine and made offerings to the deities and their ancestors before they sipped the wine and nibbled a few morsels themselves. They insisted Morrigan do the same. Even though she had eaten nothing all day, the dry cakes did not go down easily. Ceridwyn glared at her when she coughed. She tried to wash it down with the wine, but she wasn’t used to drinking. Even those few sips of alcohol made her arms and legs feel heavy, and her head even more jumbled.

  As the ritual progressed, Morrigan’s thoughts wandered. She tried desperately to think of a way to save Arianrhod. The smoke and the wine made it impossible to think clearly, and she wasn’t getting any helpful signals from her aunt either. If she had to, she would refuse to do her part and ruin the ritual, even if that meant Hecate and Ceridwyn would kill them both. They would continue to rule, but forty or fifty years was better than eternity.

  “It is time for the sacrifice,” Hecate announced, snapping Morrigan back to the present. “The moon is at her peak and so is the power of the night!”

  The crone looked up at the sky, and Morrigan automatically followed her gaze to find the large mother moon was centered in the cavern window. Morrigan was starting to panic. She was going to have to think of something now or Arianrhod was as good as dead. Already Ceridwyn had moved toward the altar. She unsheathed the dagger, which was shorter than a sword but longer than a typical knife. The handle was made of white ivory, engraved and bejeweled with symbols and precious stones. A large silver pentacle stood guard at the tip of the hilt. On closer inspection, Morrigan realized the blade was fashioned from the same crystal quartz as the stone circle. It glittered like diamonds in the moonlight, but this made it no less of a deadly weapon, especially in the hands of her mother.

  Ceridwyn inched closer and closer to Arianrhod with the dagger raised above her head. Morrigan had just decided to launch a kamikaze attack when Hecate interrupted both of their plans by taking hold of her daughter’s arm. Morrigan froze in mid-leap, waiting to see what was happening between the two older witches.

  “It is the Maiden, not the Mother who should make the sacrifice,” she insisted in her thick, rasping voice. Morrigan was glad she couldn’t see her dark eyes studying her, even though she could feel them boring into her soul through the black veils. “That is how the ritual is written.”

  Ceridwyn seemed annoyed. “Rituals are open to alternation, Mother, if the circumstances call for it. You know that as well as I. In this case, I think it more appropriate that I take the life of my dear sister.” She glared at Arianrhod who still lay in feigned sleep. “I have been looking forward to this moment since we were children.”

  Hecate shook her head firmly. “The loss of blood innocence shall enhance the power of the sacrifice, and we all know you have long since crossed that threshold. The magic may not be strong enough for us to achieve immortality if the girl does not do it.”

  Ceridwyn frowned. She tried to whisper, but her voice echoed in the cavern. “I do not think she is ready.”

  Hecate shrugged. She sighed in disappointment, but seemed ready to concede. Morrigan saw her chance and she took it.

  “I’ll do it,” she declared.

  Her mother and grandmother both turned toward her, and in Ceridwyn’s unveiled face she saw mild surprise mingled with amusement. “You will do it? For one who was so easy to quake at the sight of blood just yesterday, you seem awfully eager to see it flow today. Do you realize what the task requires? What it is you must do?”

  “Yes.” Morrigan nodded. “I understand. I told you before. I want her dead. Let me do it.”

  Ceridwyn was still unconvinced. “It cannot be just one quick jab in the heart and it is all over. You must cut her, slice her open, and watch as every drop of her lifeblood pours onto the altar. Only when she takes her last breath and has bled dry will the sacrifice be complete.”

  Morrigan swallowed back the bile and stood firm. “I can do it. I want to kill her. I want her to die so I can live forever with my family.”

  Ceridwyn practically beamed with pride. “Very well.” She held the dagger out toward Morrigan, but when she tried grab for it, her mother swiftly snapped it out of her reach. “Just keep in mind that if you betray me—if you do anything to jeopardize the ritual, daughter or no, it will be you who bleeds out on that altar.”

  “I understand. Let me prove my loyalty to you, Mother. I know I can do this.”

  “Just give her the blade, Ceridwyn!” Hecate screeched. “Time is short!”

  Ceridwyn handed her the knife, albeit grudgingly. It was surprisingly light for its size, but Morrigan could feel the power surging through the magically charged tool. They had to shift positions for Morrigan to be able to reach the altar where Arianrhod lay. She stood with her back to the inner cavern, while Hecate and Ceridwyn guarded the only way to reach the exit. She knew her aunt was listening to every word and could sense her approach. She could almost hear Arianrhod’s heartbeat accelerate. Morrigan’s own heart pounded in unison as she inched closer. She was terrified. She was certain she was about to die. She even considered giving up.

  Then she saw something that renewed her hopes and lifted her spirits like nothing else could. It was just a flash, and then it had vanished. She swore she saw a glimpse of movement before a leg covered in animal hides disappeared behind one of the tall crystals. Luckily, Hecate and Ceridwyn were too busy watching her and didn’t notice their visitor. Morrigan realized her hero had arrived, and it gave her the strength to forge on.

  Taking the dagger firmly in both hands, Morrigan raised it high above her head, while her mother and grandmother watched with greedy glances. There had been no spoken plan, but it was as though she and Arianrhod were on the same wavelength. Arianrhod’s eyes popped open and she raised her arms as high as possible just as Morrigan plunged down the blade to cut the ropes that bound her. Ceridwyn screamed out in bloodcurdling fury.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The knife came down and sliced into the ropes that bound Arianrhod’s wrists. The ropes were much thicker than Morrigan had imagined. She had been so afraid of missing her target and hitting the queen that she hadn’t been forceful enough. Even as her mother’s scream of protest ripped through the air, Morrigan realized the ropes were only cut halfway through, and she knew she may have just blundered her one and only chance at freedom. She looked again toward the crystal pillar where she swore she had seen Tiarn, but if he was there, he gave her no signal. Perhaps he was waiting or perhaps her desperation to see him and make amends had sparked a crazed hallucination.

  Arianrhod realized their predicament just as quickly as Morrigan had, and she desperately yanked and pulled at the bonds to try to snap the cords. The queen was weak from her imprisonment and had most likely been drugged, so she wasn’t strong enough to break free. Without the use of her hands, Arianrhod had little control over her powers. Morrigan made another pathetic attempt to lift the crystal dagger, but before she could reach the rope, Ceridwyn was on top of her. With an almost feline hiss, she knocked Morrigan aside, and the blade fell to the ground.

  “You deceitful little witch!” she shrieked. “How dare you betray me?”

  Ceridwyn picked up the knife and pressed it against Morrigan’s throat. She could feel the prick of the dagger again
st her neck, so sharp that a trickle of blood dripped along her flesh. Morrigan knew she should have been terrified, but the fury and pain she had denied herself finally broke free. She returned her mother’s hateful gaze without flinching.

  “No, Mother, how dare you!” Morrigan demanded. “You tricked me into coming here and helping you. You made me believe it was because you loved me and wanted me in your life. But it was all a lie! You’re nothing but a monster!”

  Ceridwyn looked at her in disgust. She took the knife away from the throat and pulled her to her feet by her hair, crushing the flower petals the handmaidens had so painstakingly weaved into her braids. Her beautiful white gown was covered in the dirt and grime of the earthen floor. Ceridwyn either didn’t care or didn’t notice the costume she had commissioned was ruined. She dragged Morrigan back toward the altar. She tried to squirm out of her grasp, but her mother was much stronger than she appeared.

  “You are just like your father, fool that he was!” Ceridwyn spat.

  “You killed my father!” Morrigan cried. “Admit it!”

  “Of course I killed him! I bedded him for his seed and the pleasures I heard he could provide. I never dreamed he would care for the bastard child he helped to sire. The day he came for you was the day he took his last breath! Connelly thought he was so noble.” She said the last word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. “His nobility was the death of him, and it shall be the same with you!”

  “I would rather die his daughter than live as yours!” Morrigan swore. “All that’s good in me came from him! Thank the Goddess I am nothing like you.”

  “Is that so?”

  Morrigan squealed as her mother yanked her head up, bringing her to eye level so their gazes locked. Morrigan lashed out wildly. When her blows fell short, she tried kicking the legs out from under Ceridwyn, but she only managed to brush her shin. Her attempts enraged Ceridwyn even more, and she threw Morrigan back to the ground and kicked her in the ribs so hard she could barely catch her breath. She coughed and gagged, but refused to give her mother the satisfaction of crying out in pain.

  “You will pay for your disrespect!” Ceridwyn swore. “And believe me when I tell you there are punishments far worse than death.”

  “Leave the girl alone!” Arianrhod yelled, even as she still struggled to set herself free from the fraying ropes. “The battle is between us!”

  “Are you as blind as that? This has nothing to do with you! Stealing the throne from you was only the beginning of our plans. One way or another, before this night is through, I will be more than just a queen! I will be a Goddess!”

  “What?” Arianrhod’s eyes widened and she paled. “You cannot be serious, Ceridwyn! The prophecy is a myth. The only immortality we can achieve is that which is born of the eternal spirit. And with your very words and actions you are poisoning your soul for lifetimes to come!”

  “Perhaps you should be more concerned with your own soul, my dear sister,” Ceridwyn said sarcastically. “Once this ritual is complete, your sweet little soul will be devoured by the darkest of demons.”

  “Oh, Ceridwyn.” Arianrhod wept and Morrigan realized her cheeks were damp as well. “How have you fallen so far? I know we loved each other once.”

  “Enough—all of you!” Hecate screamed. “There is no time for this foolishness! There is no time!”

  “Mother,” Arianrhod pleaded. “Please, I am your child as well. You cannot do this to me!”

  Hecate grabbed the crystal dagger from Ceridwyn and silenced her elder daughter by slamming the hilt of the athame into her temple. Arianrhod’s eyes rolled drunkenly and closed. Her arms fell limp onto the altar. Bravely, Morrigan forced her shaking legs to stand, and she faced her mother and grandmother.

  “This isn’t going work!” Morrigan told them. “I’m not going to help you. You can’t complete your damn ritual without me. And I don’t care if you kill me, I won’t be a part of this!”

  Ceridwyn gave her an almost amused half-smile. “You little fool,” she said. “Yes, it may have been slightly more powerful if the maiden made the kill, but do not believe for an instant you need to be a willing participant in this ceremony. The link between us was already formed the moment you completed the triad in the dungeon. Now we need only to touch your hand for the energy of the Maiden, Mother, and Crone to flow between us.”

  Even as she spoke, Ceridwyn wrapped her fingers in a vice-like grip. Morrigan struggled, but before she could raise her other hand in defense, Hecate already had her claws digging into her flesh. Morrigan was dizzy and overwhelmed by the unbelievable surge of power that erupted between them. The other times they had joined forces, it had been her choice, and they had fed each other’s power. Now her mother and grandmother were sucking the energy from her like psychic vampires, leaving her weak and defenseless, while their own powers grew to an almost orgasmic high. Even though Arianrhod had begun to stir again, there was no chance she was going to overpower her mother and sister now they were reaching their magical peak. Try as she might, Morrigan was not strong enough to break free from the older witches who held her ensnared.

  “No, you can’t do this!” Morrigan cried. She twisted her arms to squirm free, but that only made them grip her tighter. Hecate’s long sharp nails were starting to draw blood. “Agghhh!” she cried out. “Let me go, let me go!”

  “Shut your infernal mouth, girl!” Hecate screeched and elbowed her in her sore ribs. “And perhaps we shall give you a decent cell to spend eternity in when all of this is over.”

  “Hag!” Morrigan screamed.

  She tried in vain to reach down and bite the wrinkled hand that held her captive, but when that proved impossible, she spat in Hecate’s direction. Even though her face was still covered, the crone was infuriated. With an audible snarl, Hecate used her free hand to tear the veil away and wipe off the spittle. Morrigan looked again into her twisted and haggard face. Eyes black as coal and just as lifeless peered back at her, while her dry lips and broken teeth twisted in fury. Hecate smacked her upside her head so hard her ears rung.

  “Impudent wench!” Without taking a breath, she turned to Ceridwyn. “We must do this now! Time is short. Give the ritual blade to me! I shall do the deed myself. You must keep your wretched spawn in line. We cannot afford any more delays!”

  “Yes,” Ceridwyn whispered. She handed her mother the crystal dagger, and in unison, the three witches looked up at the mother moon, which was inching away from the opening of the cavern. “Yes, we must do it now! We have only minutes left. Do it, Mother! Kill her, kill her now!”

  Hecate took a few steps closer to the altar, dragging Morrigan along so as not to break the chain, while Ceridwyn concentrated on keeping her restrained. Morrigan was the center link between them that held them all together; she kept the intense power flowing. She couldn’t break free, and there were only seconds left before Arianrhod died at the hands of her own bloodthirsty grandmother. Hecate was clutching the athame like a well-earned trophy, preparing for the kill. Arianrhod, though dazed, opened her eyes just as her mother raised the ritual dagger above her head.

  “Mother!” Arianrhod sobbed. “Please, no!”

  Hecate’s lips twisted into a sarcastic grin. “You always were a pathetic child. Is it any wonder I chose your sister as my heir?”

  Arianrhod closed her eyes as she waited for the blow. Morrigan had to turn away as Hecate thrust the crystal blade toward her daughter’s heart. It was only milliseconds before Hecate struck the blow that a large gray wolf came barreling through the sacred circle of stones. It leapt through the air, landed on Hecate, and knocked the enraged crone to the ground.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Sacrilege!” Hecate screeched and dropped the crystal dagger as she attempted to fend off the attack. “Blasphemy! Get this beast off of me! Remove it from the sacred caverns!”

  Tiarn was dragging the crone from the circle by the sleeve of her gown, but Hecate wasn’t making it easy for him. She kicked and screamed w
ith a fury and strength that shouldn’t have been possible for a woman of her age. When the black lace finally gave way, he was forced to go for her flesh. Hecate screamed again as fangs tore at her wrinkled skin. Tiarn, even in his most powerful form, struggled to keep her from breaking free. Hecate kept reaching toward a scabbard on her ankle, but she couldn’t quite manage it.

  Ceridwyn and Morrigan forgot their own struggles for a moment as both stared in wonder and shock as the wolf battled with the ancient witch. As soon as the connection with her grandmother was broken, Morrigan instantly felt more in control of herself, more grounded. She was still terrified. At the same time, she felt an almost euphoric sense of hope. It was the first time she had seen Tiarn in wolf form, and it was a glorious sight to behold. Never had she seen a more majestic animal. His thick fur was a dark gray tinged with streaks of silver. He snarled as he fought, revealing fangs the color of polished ivory. He was beautiful, and even if she had never known he was a lycan, she still would have recognized him as her dark knight. Behind the animal guise, her Tiarn was still there. She saw his very human soul reflected in the deep yellow eyes of the great wolf, and she felt her love brim over despite the perils they faced.

  “Damn you and your fool lap dog!” Ceridwyn cursed, forcing Morrigan to tear her eyes away. “He will ruin everything!”

  Ceridwyn threw down Morrigan’s hand and moved to help Hecate. Morrigan knew Tiarn would never be able to take on both witches at once. Especially since he had the ample opportunity to go for Hecate’s throat, but he never took advantage of it. Instead, he tried to wrestle her into submission with his strong paws. Morrigan was trying to think of a good way to distract Ceridwyn from assisting Hecate when Arianrhod beat her to it.