by Amy Sumida
“Is that her?” I asked, squinting my eyes against the sun's glare. “And can't an underworld actually be under a world for once? An underworld with its own sun is disturbing.”
“The Greek Underworld is underground,” Torrent said.
“No, it's not,” I argued. “Tartarus is, but the Underworld itself is an open-sky territory.”
“Hmm.” Torrent considered it, and then said with a good measure of surprise, “yes, that's correct.”
Torrent was rarely wrong; when he was, it just tickled him pink.
The crow cawed, and we all looked toward it again. It was almost as if it were taunting us. It spiraled down dramatically, and we noted where it landed. A quick nod and we were racing off in the direction of the ascending crow. I was hoping that following the birdy wouldn't end up becoming a wild-goose chase. Ninjas didn't chase geese.
Morrigan did like to take the form of a crow. It was one of her personas. The Morrigan is a triple goddess, so she has three different personalities. There are a few of these trinity gods that can be found in several pantheons, but the Morrigan is a special case. Where most trinities were three separate gods or goddesses, joined by their magic, Morrigan was one goddess who shapeshifted into three different women. It gave the term “multiple personalities” new meaning.
One of her personas was Badb, who was also known as the Scaldcrow, and Badb's favorite form to shift into was the crow–duh. Not only was Badb a crow, but she was also a washer woman, the washer woman. The Washer at the Ford is a goddess who foretells the death of warriors. She had once foretold Kirill's death, but what she didn't see was that she would be the one who would attempt to kill him. Or, at least, one of her would be.
The Morrigan had two other forms; Macha was a red-headed Victory goddess, and Morrigan was the dominant personality whose name was used for both the collective and the individual persona. This alpha personality was reputed to be a battle queen. These two versions: Macha and Morrigan, are also associated with crows. So, it wasn't far-fetched to think that the bird we'd spotted was the goddess herself, getting a little exercise in her underworld–not really under anything–hideout.
Unfortunately, I had underestimated the walking distance.
We headed down a packed-earth path at first but had to veer off it, into the woods, after a few minutes. With three animals inside me, I was okay with a walk through the woods. Things that might have tripped or hindered your average human were irrelevant to me; I dodged roots and climbed over debris with hardly a glance. I could sense the forest around me, and I did it all subconsciously. But I was anxious to find Morrigan and be done with this dismal task. Every extra moment spent hiking was making me more irritable.
And I wasn't the only one. By the time we'd reached the spot where the crow had touched down, we were all sweaty and grumpy. And, of course, the crow was gone. To think that it was just going to sit there and wait for us, whether it was Morrigan or not, was just silly. Crows don't perch on a branch, shaking their tail feathers while–
“It's about time you got here,” Morrigan said from above us.
We all craned our necks upward to see her sitting on a tree branch, swinging her feet like a child. Morrigan sighed and looked us over with obvious disdain.
“Is this all you brought?” Morrigan huffed. “After the last time I kicked your asses, I would have thought you'd rustle up an entire army to face me.”
“You knew that we were coming?” I narrowed my eyes on her.
“I knew you'd be coming.” She shrugged and tapped her temple. “Seer, remember? I just didn't know when exactly you'd arrive. I was out flying and spotted you, just standing up on that plateau like a bunch of buffoons. You might as well have waved a flag and shouted 'We're here!'”
“You know, I love your snark,” I said sadly. “I almost hate to kill you. Almost.”
“I have no problem vith it,” Kirill said.
“You're awfully confident for losers.” Morrigan narrowed her eyes on us.
I elbowed Torrent. We didn't want Morrigan tapping into her battle prophecy before we even began the fight. Torrent nodded and focused on the Celtic goddess. I felt the tickle of his un-magic in the air and watched with glee as Morrigan scowled, and then began to look nervous. She cocked her head and concentrated. Then her eyes widened.
“What have you done?” Morrigan screeched as she jumped off the branch and turned into a crow. She flew towards us, cawing angrily.
Fenrir shifted as soon as Morrigan jumped, and as she flew by him, the Great Wolf leapt into the air and brought her down. The bird's shrieking turned into the screams of a woman. Instead of a crow, Fenrir held Morrigan within his massive jaws.
That's when Morrigan began to scream in earnest. The other wolves closed in around her and set to work carving their message into Morrigan's flesh. A warning, not for her, but to anyone else who might think to go up against the Froekn. You may see it as cruelty, but this was the method Fenrir used to keep his family safe. Fear; it worked every time. The only problem was, you had to do something horrific to put fear into the hearts of gods. Fenrir had a lot of practice, though, and it showed in the gruesome masterpiece he made of Morrigan. She hadn't stopped screaming, not even when her voice began to give out. Morrigan didn't stop until I stood over her, one of my hands shifted into a dragon claw.
Morrigan's eyes fastened on my hand, and she went still. The men backed away from us, and I faced the enemy who had haunted my nightmares for the past few months. Morrigan had come very close to killing me and had actually succeeded in killing Kirill. I had to pull his soul back into his body with the help of Lesya's encouragement. There was a lot I could forgive in this God War; all's fair, after all. But the deliberate murder of one of the men I loved was not something I could ever overlook. It required some permanent vengeance.
“Goodbye, Morrigan.”
“Goodbye, Godhunter,” she said calmly. “May you–”
I removed her head with one quick swipe, literally cutting her off. Because I wasn't about to allow her to utter a death curse. Not today, Morrigan!
Chapter Seven
We booked it out of Annwn without even taking the time to check out the glass fortress. Fenrir, Ty, and UnnúlfR headed back to Fenrir's island in the Norse territory of the Nine Worlds, while I went home with my husbands and Torrent. We walked out of the tracing room of Pride Palace with satisfaction and a bit of disbelief.
“That was easier than I thought it would be,” Trevor said with a little wonder.
“Don't say zings like zat,” Kirill chided him. “You tempt fate.”
“I don't think the sisters can hear me,” Trevor whispered conspiratorially to Kirill.
“It wasn't an easy death for Morrigan,” I noted, thinking back to the torture Fenrir and his sons had inflicted upon the goddess. The only one who had stayed out of it was Kirill. “Why didn't you claim your own piece of vengeance?” I asked my black lion.
“I had enough of it by vatching.” Kirill shrugged. “Morrigan is dead and vill not harm our family, zat is good enough for me. I had no desire to add to her torment.”
“You are a better man than I,” Trevor huffed. “I wouldn't have been satisfied without feeling her blood coating my hands.”
“So, she's truly dead?” Lugh asked from the doorway to the dining hall. “The Morrigan is dead. Just like that?”
“It was very just, but it wasn't quick.” I sighed. “Is it wrong that I'm hungry now?”
“No, I'm hungry too,” Trevor said. “Relief can do that to a person.”
“I had no idea that I was so worried about what Morrigan might do to us.” I shook my head.
“You vere having nightmares,” Kirill said gently.
“You knew about those?” I asked. “I tried not to wake you.”
“We're your husbands”–Trevor's honey-eyes met mine–“of course, we knew.”
“I kept up my end, Vervain,” Lugh said. “I told you where to find Morrigan. Now, will you go bac
k to Annwn and speak to the Tuatha dé Danann?”
“I just got home,” I grumbled and headed past Lugh. “At least let me eat first.”
“Sure, have another sandwich.” Lugh rolled his eyes. “It's only my mother's life that's in jeopardy.”
“Do not try and deprive my vife of food,” Kirill said in a low, deadly tone.
“Is this a lion thing?” Lugh asked hesitantly.
“Sort of,” I said. “Food is very important to a lion pride. In nature, with a normal pride, the male eats first, then the females, and finally, the cubs. In times of scarcity, the cubs starve. Harsh, but that's nature for you. In our Intare Pride, though, I eat first. And when I'm hungry, it's kind of a big issue to see me fed.”
“Oh.”
“Don't worry, Lugh, I doubt that they're heading out to attack the Fomorians this very minute,” Trevor consoled our guest.
“Yeah, okay.”
“And I don't want another sandwich.” I headed into the kitchen.
“Oh, good,” Lugh said with relief.
“I'm thinking lasagna.”
“I'll make the garlic bread!” Trevor said excitedly.
Lugh groaned and took a seat at the dining table.
Chapter Eight
Lugh contacted the Tuatha dé Danann, and they agreed to speak with us. King Arawn also gave us permission to enter his territory. So, we got to go in legitimately this time. Kirill had taken over Lesya patrol from Azrael, and Arach was in Faerie, but the rest of my men were with me. I considered bringing Arach along. Now that he had his own Ring of Remembrance, ROR for short, he could join me in the God or Human Realm and return to Faerie a few moments after he'd left it. But the last time I'd been a part of a meeting between two leaders of the Wild Hunt, it hadn't gone so well, and I was already bringing Odin with me. Arach would make it three; three kings and three leaders of the Hunt. That whole trinity thing was giving me a bad feeling, especially after I had killed a triple goddess.
Anyway, we traced into Annwn for the second time that day (at least for some of us), and stood on the cliff overlooking the stretch of paradise, wondering if they were going to send a carriage for us or if we'd have to walk the entire way. Should we just stand there and wait? Maybe shout, “We're here!” as Morrigan suggested, or maybe even “Parlay!” I just couldn't decide, though honestly, I was leaning toward the “Parlay!” route. At least I could pretend to be a pirate for a bit, and pretending to be a pirate was nearly as fun as pretending to be a ninja.
Initially, Lugh wasn't going to go with us. Not only did he not want to see the Tuatha dé Danann, he didn't trust himself to competently forge a truce between them and the Fomorians (or at least a cease-fire), and his father didn't trust the Tuatha dé Danann not to hold his son hostage. But when the High King found out that I would be going into Annwn with my men, he suggested that Lugh escort me and be a silent witness to the proceedings. King Cian had realized that it made Lugh look a little wimpy to send me in without him when Lugh had been the one to start this whole shebang. Lugh wasn't a coward, he went along willingly, but he wasn't happy to be there. He stared at the glass fortress in grim determination.
We were all staring at the fortress, in fact. Mainly because we were sizing up the distance between us and attempting to come up with the best way to navigate it. But we were also admiring it. At least, I was. Night had fallen in Annwn, and the fortress was lit from within. The glass magnified and fractured the light out into the surrounding gardens, bathing the sleeping plants in a sparkling glow. The fortress was magical in the manner of fairy tales and unicorns; a pure, innocent kind of magic that made me smile and sigh. It was during all of this smiling and pondering that the King of Annwn snuck up behind us.
“Welcome back, Godhunter.”
“Holy hamburger hand-grenades!” I shouted as I twirled about to face the sneaky bastard who had somehow gotten behind all of us. “What the hell, man? You trying to give me a heart attack?”
The “man” was actually a god, and a hottie to boot. Of course, he was. The Celts liked their gods hot. Well, mostly. Poor Morvran. But this guy was seriously good-looking. He had the build of a blacksmith, with thick biceps (currently made thicker by the crossing of his arms) and wide shoulders. Silky, white hair streamed over those shoulders, ending in crimson tips. That was another thing the Celts seemed to like: white hair. This Celt's hair was pulled back at his temples, to show off his sharply masculine features and the perfection of his fair, golden skin. A pair of icy-blue eyes stared me down, but then crinkled at the corners as he laughed.
“I can't,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides. “I was going to try for grim and gruff, but standing here looking at you, listening to your infamous snarky wit, I find that it's impossible to keep a straight face. I'm very excited to meet you, Godhunter. I am King Arawn, and I welcome you to Annwn. You and your paramours that is.”
“Husbands,” Trevor corrected, then looked at Lugh and Re. “Well, mostly. He's a boy-toy”–he pointed to Re, and then to Lugh–“and he's just a friend.”
Arawn burst into laughter. “You, too, I have heard tales of, Prince Trevor.” Arawn strode forward, hand outstretched, and a pack of dogs slid out of the bushes behind him, to trail in his wake.
Trevor shook Arawn's hand as he eyed the pack. The dogs were sleek but long-haired and looked a lot like Nuada's hounds; with white coats and red-tipped ears. Nuada's dogs had been fey... interesting. I looked from the canines to Arawn and back again.
“Lugh,” Arawn nodded to Lugh before he came over to greet me. “Godhunter.” He held out his hand.
“Call me Vervain,” I said as I shook it. “Nice to meet you, King Arawn.”
“And you as well,” he said politely. “You are just as I envisioned you.”
“Well, that's a first,” I huffed. “Normally, people expect me to be taller.”
“The gods are learning the truth,” Arawn noted, “that the Godhunter may be little, but her reach is long.”
“Well said.” Re nodded.
“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” I asked Arawn.
Odin groaned.
“Please do.” Arawn's lips spread in a wide smile.
“Do you dye your hair to match your dogs, or did you magically alter the dogs to match your hair?”
Arawn's eyes went wide, and then he started laughing again.
“Carus.” Azrael sighed and shook his head.
“Come on,” I said to the other men, “like you all weren't thinking it.”
“She's absolutely right,” Arawn admitted as one of his hands drifted down to stroke a hound's head. “My parents were friends with the Fey. They were particularly close to the Fire Royals, and when my mother conceived, the Dragon Queen, who was also pregnant at the time, blessed me inside my mother's belly and helped my parents construct Annwn for me. This blessing formed a link between me and your husband, Godhunter. As King Arach grew inside his mother, a bond was established between him and the Wild Hunt of Faerie. While I grew, my own need to mirror Arach called the cŵn annwn to me. Because I was a god, not a faerie, the fey connection manifested physically, linking me to my Hunt in looks as well as magic.”
“Your parents were friends with Arach's parents?” I asked. “That's kind of amazing.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “Unfortunately, they were murdered when I was still a child.”
“Yes, I know,” I whispered. Then something occurred to me “Wait, are you saying that these dogs came out of Faerie for you; all by themselves?”
“The cŵn annwn are fey hounds,” he said. “They are much more intelligent than the average dog, and they can navigate the Aether on their own.”
“Coon ah-noon?” I sounded out the name and then chuckled. “You have coon dogs.”
“Hunting dogs,” Arawn corrected me with twitching lips.
“Honey, that's what coon dogs are.” I smirked.
“I believe they hunt a different type of game.” Arawn winked at
me.
“Indeed,” Odin said as he inserted himself between Arawn and me. The dogs, who were sitting behind Arawn, perked up at Odin's presence. “Hello, Arawn.”
“Odin.” Arawn held his arm out, and the men clasped forearms like warriors do in action films. “It's good to see you, Allfather.”
“You know each other?” Azrael asked as his ebony wings closed behind him and shivered into invisibility.
“Of course.” Odin chuckled. “I'm friends with several Tuatha dé Danann, why wouldn't I be friends with my counterpart in the Wild Hunt?”
“You could have mentioned that,” Re noted dryly. “Like perhaps before we traced over here, wondering how we were going to be received. That would have been a good time to mention that we weren't walking into a trap.”
“I know.” Odin smirked. “But it was far more fun to watch you all sweat.”
“You have more of a sense of humor than I remember, Odin,” Arawn observed.
“I have my wife back, and so, I have happiness in my life again,” Odin said.
“You weren't here with her earlier,” Arawn noted. “Why is that?”
“I wasn't told of the trip.” Odin narrowed his eyes at me in irritation.
“We've already been over this,” I huffed. “It was a spur of the moment thing.”
“You know, I would have liked to have been a part of the ...” Odin trailed off as he realized that he was about to divulge the fact that we'd murdered Morrigan.
“Assassination?” Arawn asked. “Oh, please. I knew the minute you stepped foot into Annwn, Vervain.”
“Right, of course.” I wanted to smack myself. I could be so obtuse sometimes. “Thus the whole 'welcome back' thing and the 'your wife wasn't with you earlier' bit. How the hell did we miss that?”
“We were distracted by dogs and Odin's deception,” Re said with annoyance.
“I didn't deceive anyone.” Odin rolled his eyes. Then he looked at Arawn. “Hold on now, how much of that last visit did you witness?”
“I watched the whole thing,” Arawn said smugly.
