by Renée Jaggér
I laughed, feeling better. “I don’t believe chess requires much personality.”
“How are you, really?” my mother prodded.
I’m burnt out, Mum, I almost admitted, but I didn’t want her smothering me with concern. Now that I was her only child, I received all of her attention. Sometimes, it was too much.
“The hospital is having me take a break, but I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it.” The thought of being inside my flat for a week while there were children in horrible situations like the one I had attended to today made my stomach churn. Anger and frustration flared within me, but I realized Simon was trying to be generous.
He’s always tried to help me, I thought with fondness. My time with him in Haiti had been a bittersweet experience. I didn’t like to think about the feelings I had developed for him while we were there, especially since we had returned to normal life as mere friends. Now he was a colleague with whom I had once shared an adventure, nothing more.
To my mother I said, “Simon Lorne. You remember him? He was in Haiti. Well, he’s the new Emergency Director, and apparently, he deemed it necessary I take a break.”
“Oh, yes,” my mother responded. Her tone grew more cheerful.
Here it comes, I thought.
“A wonderful young man. A bit of a studious one, I remember, but quite handsome.”
“Studious” was my mother’s way of saying “nerdy.”
With a sigh, I responded, “Yes.”
“I always thought you two would make a lovely pair. Are you sure—”
“That was ten years ago, Mum,” I cut in. I leaned forward, rubbing my eyes. “Now I work under him.”
“Still, you know I’m not getting any younger, and I would love to be—”
“A grandmother,” I finished. “And I would one day love to be a mother, but now is not the time. I’m not sure it ever will be.” The world was in shambles, and I could barely keep my own life together, let alone that of a child.
My mother sighed. This had to be the hundredth time we’d had this conversation.
“I’m sorry I won’t make you a grandmother anytime soon, but this world needs to change before I’ll be comfortable having a child. So, since nothing will change the world right now, you are stuck with just me, Mum.”
“I understand, Ang,” my mother replied in a sad yet earnest tone. “Perhaps, though, change is coming.”
A silence fell between us, and I could sense my mother searching for words on the other end. “You should take a true break, dear, and go visit your grandmother. It’s quiet out where she lives. A change of scenery.”
I thought back to what Simon had said earlier about the countryside. My grandmother lived in a cottage surrounded by forest, and although it would be a delightful location to rest, my grandmother could be tedious company. A long drive there, and even longer stories to sit through. Despite this, I had past memories of staying with her that were pleasant.
“I don’t know, Mum.”
If my mother had been with me, she would have shrugged, pulled me into a hug, and said, “Do something for yourself.” I didn’t get a shrug or an embrace, but she did say the words. My spirits warmed when I heard them.
“Thanks, Mum. You're right.”
I knew her eyes sparkled as she replied, “Always.”
Chapter Two
“Their slain shall be cast out,
and the stench of their corpses shall rise;
the mountains shall flow with their blood.
All the host of heaven shall rot away,
and the skies roll up like a scroll.
All their host shall fall,
as leaves fall from the vine,
like leaves falling from the fig tree.”
—The Book of Isaiah, Passage XXXIV
I stepped out of the residential building onto the empty street, suitcase in hand. Here I come, Gran. I hadn’t been able to call her since she didn’t have a phone, but my mother had promised to send word. How, I had no clue.
I heard a caw and glanced at the crow sitting on my windowsill. “Good morning, you little shit,” I muttered as I grinned up at it. “You won’t be seeing me for a whole week.” The crow tilted its head, flapped its wings once, and stared at me. Hopefully, it would find someone else to annoy while I was gone and would move on by the time I returned. I glanced at the sky. The day was overcast but not rainy, though there was the promise of it soon.
I drove to the railway station and boarded just before the rain came. There were other passengers, but we were assigned seats in such a way that we were socially distanced. Presently, I found myself seated across from a large man wearing a pair of bright red suspenders. They were the brightest, reddest suspenders I had ever seen.
I made to tear my eyes away from him, but he caught my stare just in time. I groaned internally, knowing he was of the chatty type. His eyes lit with a smile. “Hello, Miss! Where are you going today?”
Why can’t I just enjoy my trip in peace and quiet? I thought, but then I said, “Sir, you really should be wearing a mask.”
The man’s expression turned sour. He wagged his finger at me. “Now, Miss, don’t be listening to all that bullshit about masks. They don’t do a darn thing!”
“Actually—” I started, but he cut me off.
“Where are you going today?”
I drew a deep breath. You’re part of the reason we have overrun hospitals. I wanted to explain to him how much his being inconvenienced by a face covering affected my job. Stay cool, I commanded myself. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to put on this mask.” I withdrew an extra one from my bag and handed it to him. He gave it a long, rueful look before taking it with a grunt.
“North of England,” I said after he put it on. I did not give him my exact destination. “On holiday.”
His excitement about chatting with me returned. “I’ve not been home near eight months! My wife—we've been married near thirty years—says she’s done with me. Wants me to take a holiday and visit my sister!”
“Where are you taking your holiday?” I asked, though my eyes wandered away from him. Why did I have to be seated near the chattiest person on the train? Everyone else in the vicinity seemed perfectly happy to keep to themselves.
“North of England as well,” the man told me. He folded his bulbous arms over his puffed-out chest.
“I hope you enjoy it.”
Perhaps enjoy it enough that you don’t want to come back to the city and have to ride this train again. I knew, however, that the chances of us crossing paths again were slim. Thank God. My eyes drifted to the window, from which I could see rolling hills and clusters of trees. The features of the countryside were blurred by the fast pace of the train.
I started as the man leaned toward me, his frame bulging out of his seat and over the aisle. “You’re going on holiday, you said?” he asked in a low, conspiratorial voice.
I turned away from the window and tried to appear patient. No need to make a scene in a train, I thought, even though I very much wanted to move seats. I nodded. If only this man knew what I was getting a break from and what I would return to. I was going to inform him of my occupation when he interrupted me.
Again.
“Hmm, I see now. Have you ever been to the north of England? Many have, of course, but you younger folk who live in the city don’t seem to want to go near... Why in all the hells IS THERE A CROW IN HERE?” He finished his sentence in a bellow and swiped his hand toward the bird.
When did that get in here? I wondered, nearly jumping out of my own seat. Here I thought I was going to get away from the pesky animal. Did it follow me? Thinking this was absurd, I opened my window and ushered the bird out. Other passengers were crying out in alarm. I shut the window and the bird flapped against it.
Leave me alone, I thought. I stuck my tongue out at it, and it flew away. I sank back into my seat with a deep sigh. The bird’s interruption had been startling, and the man wearing the red suspen
ders was now too ruffled to speak to me anymore.
Good riddance! Maybe I could take a nap before we got there.
The rain had dissipated by the time I left the train, rented a car, and driven into the forest between the station and where Gran lived. Although I had gone through these woods many times as a child, I felt as though I was entering foreign territory.
The trees grew close together. They were tall, spindly things that reached their lower branches over the road, so my car brushed them as I drove past. The brush was thick on either side as well. Looks more like a hiking trail than a road, I thought. If only there were another route, but this was it, which meant I had to take my time so as not to scratch up the car. The road was littered with broken limbs and loose stones. Few, I guessed, had traversed it recently.
The thick canopy allowed little light to filter through, so I flicked on my headlights. I heard rustling to my left and whipped my head toward the sound. I caught a flash of black before whatever it was vanished. An animal? I wondered as I looked at the road once more. The forest was quiet. Too quiet. The leaves were wet from the rain, so they didn’t make much noise. The wind brushed through the branches, but no birds chirped. The trees looked ancient, as if they had stood here for thousands of years.
I shuddered but wasn’t sure why. I turned on the radio, but it played only static with the faint sound of music behind it. Sighing, I turned it off and contented myself to hearing the puttering of the exhaust and the wind in the forest. As I drove, however, I felt as though I were being watched. I scanned the trees above, and to my relief, I found no crows.
I shook the feeling and focused on my driving. Ahead, the road split in two. Great, I thought. I don’t remember this. Was I supposed to go left or right? Against a tree at the fork was strapped a sign with faded lettering. I stepped out of the car and went closer so I could read it.
Once the wrong turn is made,
the willful strike is stayed.
Choose with wisdom,
avoid thy strife.
Conquerors and kings have died over less.
I scratched my head. I didn’t remember this, and why the hell was there a riddle in the middle of the road? Was it supposed to tell me where to go?
I repeated the words aloud, hoping I could gain something from them, then crossed my arms and sighed. Conquerors and kings have died over less. That didn’t seem comforting. Another shudder passed through me.
Before I could decide which fork to try first, I heard rustling in the brush behind me. I whirled but only caught a glimpse of a black tail before the animal plunged into the trees.
My heart hammered. Whatever it was, it was large. And following me. I made haste back into my car and chose the left fork. To my immense relief, it took me out of the forest’s grasp and onto a road lined with low stone walls. The countryside sprawled on either side of me, the lush green hills rolling under the setting sun.
Although the air still smelled like rain, the clouds were breaking apart to allow the last light of day to seep through. I parked my car at the bottom of the hill and saw that Gran, a stooped old woman, was coming down to meet me. I smiled. She looked just as she had several years ago when I had come here last.
“Get lost?” she called to me as she reached the end of the path.
She must have noticed my distracted state. Got lost, and I might have been followed by something. “For a second, yes,” I admitted as I took out my suitcase and walked toward her. “But here I am at last.” I embraced her. “Thank you, Gran, for having me. I’m sure getting away will do me good.” I wasn’t at all sure it would, but I was going to try.
Gran pecked me on the cheek. “I’ve been eagerly awaiting your visit for some time.” She gave me a tender smile. “I am elated you finally decided to come up and see me.”
I smiled back. “I’m sorry it didn’t happen sooner.”
“Work?” Gran asked.
I nodded. “We’re in a strange new world.”
Gran grinned. “Not as strange as you think.”
I suppressed a laugh. Gran lived alone in the forest. I doubted what she considered strange was similar to what I did. Gran patted my hand. “Did you have a pleasant trip?” She looped her arm through mine as we began to ascend the hill.
I nodded. “Strange thing, though. There was a crow in the train.” I laughed. “Scared a lot of us. I don’t know how it got in there.”
I glanced at Gran, whose expression had grown grave. She nodded and tsked. “Yes, yes, those crows make their way around, and wolves, too.”
Wolves? I thought, alarm rising within me. Was that what was following me?
Gran’s cheerful smile returned. “We must be careful out here.”
If it was a wolf, how did she know? I decided not to ask that question just yet. I was here for a holiday, which meant rest, and the gods knew I needed it.
I was going to relax, damn it!
The First Morrigan
The wind was quiet, a mere whisper across the plain.
The sky hung low and gray. Both sky and earth were burdened.
She stepped forward, bare feet dragging through the thick black mud and the blood of the thousands lying here. More spears and arrows protruded from bodies than from the soft earth. Most of the projectiles had been snapped in two.
Her arms and shoulders were as bare as her feet, and all were scratched and bruised. Blood and dirt caked almost every visible inch of her skin, as well as her armor and the long crow-feather cloak. It dragged on the ground, collecting the filth of what she had summoned.
War. She hadn’t invented it, but she had made it what it was today.
War. She knew the word in every tongue.
Pólemos, Greek. Bellum, Latin. Harb, Arabic. Voyna, Russian. Krieg, German.
Cogadh, Irish.
War.
It tasted bitter but necessary.
She hated the sight of blood. It was what kept humans alive, and it also proved them dead.
She couldn’t take it any longer. Strength spent, she allowed her body to slump among the dead, knees pressing into the now-cold earth. Her fingers curled into the mud, and she filled her hands with it. Her bruised knuckles would heal. Every part of her body could heal right now if she wanted it to. For once, though, she wanted to feel human again.
No more burden of power. No more wisdom. No more strength. She just wanted to be.
She closed her eyes so she could feel that soft wind on her every wound. Tomorrow, she would wipe them away. For now, she thought, let them stay. Let every mark remain. She didn’t need to prove her power or wisdom or strength, but for once, she wanted her body to reveal all of it.
She opened her eyes, hoping to see a green and blossoming meadow but it was still the blood-soaked battlefield. Perhaps the survivors would come and bury their warriors, but her crows were already gathering. They fluttered to and fro, plucking out eyes and taking what would feed them for years to come. They always followed the battles, their prey slain.
Because of me, she thought. I am war. I am death.
Her smile was bitter, and a tear slipped down her cheek. You’re welcome.
Something wet nudged her arm. She turned to see the snout of a gray creature brushing her skin. She nodded at the wolf, and it put its head into her lap. It lay beside her, and she stroked its blood-covered fur.
“We fought well today.”
The wolf released a low whine, but the silent battlefield did not answer.
Chapter Three
“O kings, seers, and conquerors
come and serve the throne
of your blessed Phantom Queen.
Bring her victory, bring her home.
O King divine, place your sword in her hand.
O Seer divine, light the path she treads.
O Conqueror divine, drive the sword home.”
—The Ancient Book of Morrigan, Passage XII
I remembered my grandmother’s house as being small. It had seemed like a cage to me w
hen I was a child, but it now felt quaint. The cottage on the hill was backed by a forest so dense I could hardly see beyond the first line of trees. It had been well-built and was well-maintained but very old. Almost as ancient-looking as the forest I just came through. I wonder if I’ll find any riddles here? was my rueful thought.
A pen of goats was on one side of the structure, while a garden grew on the other. Could they be the same animals? If so, I thought I remembered some of their names. I had split my time evenly between the goat pen and the garden the few times my mother had brought me here as a child.
I glanced at my surroundings before entering, noting that this place was just as isolated as it had felt years ago. The closest building was a farmhouse down the hill. The only sign that the cottage was atop the incline was my parked car at the bottom, concealed as it was by the ridge. My stomach twisted as I wondered why Gran was hidden away.
I ignored this, however, as I settled in. Once we had eaten shepherd's pie, fresh apples, and custard, my grandmother beckoned me into the den. I chose an old upholstered armchair by a small window overlooking the garden. From the window, I could see the fruit trees and hear the goats on the other side of the cottage.
“Tea?” she offered.
I looked to see her pouring something from a flask into her cup. She grinned at me. “I like more gin in my tea than tea. Shh, don’t tell your mother. I have to hide it from her when she’s here.” She chuckled and stirred in a spoonful of honey.
I suppressed a laugh. I only drink tea with honey when I’m sick. I smiled at Gran anyway. “Tea is fine. No gin, thank you.” I accepted the cup but thought, I wish more people liked coffee. In Haiti, coffee had been abundant, and it was there my love for it had been kindled. I sipped the tea and confirmed my wish that it was coffee.
I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. The window was cracked open, and the pleasant evening breeze brushed my face. I feel better. After the maskless man with the suspenders, the interruption of the crow, and nearly getting lost, I was more than ready for a long, deep sleep.
