by Jana LaPelle
From the shadows of the ruins, I watch as the moon becomes fully eclipsed. Her once beautiful silvery-white surface is now stained a brilliant crimson, an omen of what is to come. I shift my gaze toward my nemesis and watch as they are bathed in the red light of the moon and to my amazement, I watch as a place in the ground has opened, allowing entrance to an underground chamber. I look back at Alaric and put my finger up to my lips, indicating for him to be quiet as I continue to lurk in the shadows.
Through our link, Alaric begins lecturing me, “Ash, you are not to go in alone, you are to wait for me.” He moves so that he too is hidden in the shadows of the crumbling buildings that surround us, “Mo grá, I can’t protect you if you go in without me. Everyone else will be here in a matter of moments. I will have the druids work on bringing the wards down. You just have to give them time to work.” He pleads.
I walk over to the barrier that has been erected between us and place my hand against his but only feel a cold pulsating power between us keeping us apart. “I have to go in alone. You know that. I have no idea how long the opening will remain.” I peer around the rubble that shields me from my enemy’s view and before she descends into the chamber below she glances my way, a knowing smile on her face. I swallow thickly, “I think she knows I’m here. Have Lexie get to work on the wards. I’ll make my way down to Cú Chulainn’s crypt. Join me as soon as you can with…” I’m cut off when I see my companions break free of the woods and race in our direction. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see The Morrígan, and her sisters appear with a number of their Fomorian warriors. She’s creating a distraction for everyone else. I try to trace to the other side of the barrier, but each time I’m thrown backward unable to escape my confines. In a matter of moments, the twisted sisters have assembled a small battalion of warriors all in their berserker form accompanied by several large trolls. Large enough to throw boulders, they are huge misshapen creatures with tree trunks for legs, massive torsos, horns that lay back over the tops of their heads, and grayish, leathery looking skin. Just seeing them strikes fear in my heart. I begin frantically pounding on the barrier, wanting nothing more than to get out from underneath the protective dome, but I’m trapped. A trap of my own making, I put myself here. My frustration is off the charts.
The she-demon that has haunted my life for so long now throws her head back and laughs. Her evil cackle echoes around the confines of my prison. She stands in front of her army and draws her sword and to my horror she commands, “It is time, my warriors! Protect your queen this night! Attack all those who stand in our way!” She glances my way, a wicked gleam in her eye and a twisted smile on her face before she traces away, her cloak billowing in the wind before it blinks out of existence. All the while, I pound on the wards, desperate to get through to help my friends and family.
Alaric calmly smiles back at me as he pulls The Sword of Light from its scabbard and says, “I’ve got this, beautiful.” Green flames light the night around him. He’s thrilled now that I’m on the opposite side of the barrier away from what he perceives as harm’s way. He winks at me before turning his attention to their impending battle, and he yells over the clamoring of swords on shields and breastplates from our enemy, “Dragon shifters, shift! Tonight… we fight our enemy! Battle formations everyone. We must protect the druids as they work their majic! Attack!" The green flames of his sword dance up and down the blade as he raises it above his head, pointing straight up to the star-strewn sky before slicing it in a downward motion signaling our warriors and giving them the green light to advance. The flaming sword in Alaric’s hands giving pause to the enemy as they slow their advance to study the relic. When realization dawns on them, it does not hinder their progress but further incites the masses.
My hands and arms are bathed in flames, and silent tears trace down my cheeks as I watch as Tolin, Torin, Garrik, and Dorlan shift into their berserker warrior form and take the front lines. Fergus as always will not be outdone as he swings his battle axe from side to side his flaming red hair and beard set him apart as he takes his stand beside his brethren. Above me, I see that our allies have taken to the skies and are now in an attack formation and diving toward the enemy. The eclipse has begun to wane, and the eerie red glow of the moon slowly begins to lessen but now the night is lit up as the dragons rain down an inferno upon our enemy, flaming jets of fire scorching everything in its path and I’m helpless but to watch my companions battle on their own, stuck in my very own snow globe, trapped within the protective confines of the barrier between us. Lexie has organized her druids behind enemy lines, and they begin a counterspell to try to unweave the spell that created the wards. I have never felt more helpless in my life as I watch the battle unfurl before my very eyes. The trolls quickly advance on my companions. They stand at least ten feet tall and make to clear a path for our enemies. Suddenly, I see Dray, and a fellow dragon swoop down and latch onto the troll in the lead, their wings beating furiously as they rise upward carrying the menacing giant with them. I hear his muffled roar of anger at being deterred from his mission as they fly away into the night sky and out to sea. No doubt they are going to drop him into the depths of the water away from shore. Even with the dragon’s help we are horribly outnumbered, and fear blossoms within my heart and threatens to bring me to my knees as I watch those I love battle for their lives.
At the moment, I’m torn away from the bloodbath that is beginning to unfold before me. Below us, the ritual has begun. I need to get to the crypt, “Alaric, you had better come find me once this is all said and done. I’m needed below, it has begun.” I shift back to my panther form, needing stealth and her night vision and bound toward the opening in the ground, my tail twitching in agitation.
“Ashlinn, you need to wait for me. We can go together.” He grunts while engaging one of the many warriors on the battlefield behind me.
“I’m sorry Alaric, I have to go. Stay safe, Elf-Man, I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. The first of Nimue’s sisters is about to succumb to death, and I will be there to usher them home. Now kick some ass and come find me once it’s done.”
Behind me, I hear my kindred howl in anger and frustration. I can still make out the muffled sounds of battle behind me, but my focus has shifted to the circular opening in the ground before me. The moon’s silvery white beams shine down into the gaping hole. There is a circular winding passage that leads down at least five stories. The winding passage is enclosed on the edge of the circular opening leaving the center open to the bottom. The underground stone structure looks ancient. The granite-like stones are worn and weathered with moss and green foliage growing on the walls. The passage is more open toward the top with arched openings allowing individuals to look out to the dark depths below, but as it winds further downward the more enclosed, it becomes. Gingerly, I silently pad my way downward toward the chanting that I hear coming from the depths below. Each step takes me further away, leaving Alaric and the others behind to fend for themselves, my heart is about to be torn in two not wanting to leave them to fight this battle without me.
As I approach the bottom of this underground tower, the chanting has changed in tone. Before entering what I know to be Cú Chulainn’s tomb, I quietly shift back from my feline form, the torches from within creating a glow that cast flickering shadows all around. I peek inside to see the chamber within, the one that has haunted my dreams since my vision months ago. Quietly, I slip inside to stand behind one of several pillars within the room. No doubt they are there to keep the ceilings from caving in from the weight above. The chamber is cold, dank, and dimly lit. There is an earthy scent that assaults my senses. My attention is drawn to The Morrígan, the phantom queen in all her dark and sinister glory. She’s beautiful, I grudgingly admit to myself, with her alabaster skin, midnight black hair, and violet eyes. She is tall and slender, and just like in my visions she is wearing skin tight, slick black leather pants and a matching corset with her breast barely containe
d, her black hooded cape is lined in a crimson red and is draped over her shoulders and drags the ground behind her. How she is able to keep her head up under the weight of the monstrosity she calls a crown is beyond me. The crown she wears looks like polished black onyx, and the pointed tips seem to rise impossibly tall above her head. Her sisters seem content to stand by her side as she becomes the center of everyone’s attention in the room. I watch from the shadows as she looks around the room her violet eyes begin to shade to solid black as she announces in a compelling voice, echoing within the chamber to everyone in attendance and no one in particular, “Tonight, we celebrate… Tonight… We gain a lost hero! Tonight, we take back what has been taken from us! Tonight… We raise Cú Chulainn from the dead!”
The necromancers, in their nondescript gray hooded robes, form a circle around an indentation in the stone floor and begin to chant in a language I don’t recognize, and suddenly a brazier ignites casting an unsettling light around the tomb. The chanting starts to crescendo, and the sound is guttural and crude. One by one Nimue’s sisters walk forward in a single file line. One of the sisters looks back toward the children, resigned to her fate and yet sad to leave the little ones behind. The children cry out in fear and back away only after trying to pull their mothers back, but in the end they cower in the corner of the room and watch in horror as their mothers stand over the center of the chamber and willingly slice their wrist, allowing their life force to drain out of their bodies, two or three at a time. Clearly, they are under her thrall. The Morrígan’s curse has left them an empty shell of who they once used to be. As their life force drains from their bodies, they are held upright over the sunken stone by large hulking warriors who are loyal to The Morrígan and her cause, until every last drop of blood has left their pale, ashen bodies and then they are carelessly tossed aside into a heap of tangled lifeless corpses.
Knowing that this would happen and being helpless to keep it from happening doesn’t make the scene before me any easier to stomach. The careless disregard for the lives given toward their endeavor has my stomach churning and threatening to revolt. My attention switches to the lost souls swirling all around me and I’m instantly drawn to their ethereal beauty as they shimmer and dance about. Some lingering near the children not wanting to leave them here and they are clearly torn as their smoky images dematerialize into a puff of swirling vapor before reforming their ghostly appearance to resemble their once physical form again. My entire focus is now on these lost souls, and I allow my connection to The Tree of Life to roar to life within me, engaging my Keeper abilities. I can feel the power thrumming through me at the forefront of my being. I reach out to the lost wandering souls as my own soul disengages from my physical form. I’m able to latch onto each and every one of them. It’s as if a dark fog descends over me when I do this, as if my senses are muted to the physical plane. I go about my task and pull their bright sparkling orbs to me, protecting them, anchoring them, and showering their souls with the light within me, giving them hope. They are my sole focus, and I stand apart from my body immersed in communing with Nimue’s lost sisters. They are mine to protect, mine to bring peace to, and mine to see to and ensure that they are ushered to The Overworld. I will not allow The Morrígan’s influence over the last several months, damn their souls to hell for all eternity.
I tune into the fact that the chanting has now stopped and I hear a muted conversation behind me, turning my metaphysical body, I see that I’m standing in the shadows, but it’s like I’m looking through dark water and I have to concentrate and squint to make out what is happening around me. I watch as every last drop of crimson blood has found a channel in the intricate design of the cobblestone flooring and is draining downward into what I can only guess is the tomb of Cú Chulainn. The moment that happens, the witches begin again, and their descant intensifies to a deafening cry. The Morrígna join in of their own accord, and their chorus somehow empowers the necromancers, and their voices echo around the chamber. Their power mingling with those that strive to raise a long-dead demigod.
Keeping the souls that I have anchored to me I call out to my Keepers, but the wards are blocking me still. How can it be that their wards are so strong that I can’t even communicate with my Keepers? I remain in the shadows cradling precious souls to me. Souls, that need safe passage to The Overworld, so I latch on to my connection with The Tree of Life and ask, “Can you help Lexie and the druids bring down the wards? It must be done. She is connected to us can you reach her?”
“Yes, Ashlinn, it will be done. The wards will come down soon. I will bolster her majic.” Her words echo within my mind, and I’m brought back to my surroundings. The children have all but been forgotten. They huddle close to one another. Their eyes are large and brimming with tears, and their muffled cries echo in my ears. I want nothing more than to give them comfort but my attention is brought back to the back of this tomb, and I watch as a stone encasement rises from it underground resting place, rock scraping against rock. I strain to see clearly through the fog. My metaphysical body is concealed in the shadows as I watch The Morrígan’s henchmen push the stone lid of the tomb off the top of the enclosure. The slab hits the ground with a deafening crack and splits into several pieces, the sound reverberating around the room and a plume of dust rises into the air. The Morrígan claps and her maniacal laughter echoes throughout the chamber. Slowly, the body of Cú Chulainn rises out of the tomb on its own accord, suspended in mid-air. I watch in horrific fascination as flesh begins to knit itself over bone. His head is reattached to his body. The whole process takes just a matter of moments. The Morrígna and their necromancers stand back and watch with glee as their long, lost hero knits himself back together after the blood sacrifice of almost twenty-five souls. An unnatural glow surrounds Cú Chulainn’s body as the last of his tissue knits itself back together, and his enormous form sinks to the ground, limp but not lifeless. He is hauled up into a fireman’s carry by one of her minions. By the gods, even in this form, he is larger than some gods I know.
About that time I sense that the wards are being breached and there is a commotion above us. My attention swings back to the souls that I hold dear to me and I’m helpless but to fulfill my promise. I’m now able to sense my Keepers and Guardians and one by one I begin doling out assignments. I’ve been so absorbed in my task that I have yet to acknowledge the commotion in the chamber. I slam back into my physical body and swing back around as I hear a loud cracking sound and a strangled, guttural grunt behind me. A sword clatters to the ground. The Morrígan begins in on her cackling laughter before saying, “And now, my little queen, the fun begins. I will bend this beloved to my will, and you will rue the day you made an enemy of me.” Her cruel laughter echoes throughout the chamber as I watch her wield her whip with expertise. My eyes lock on Alaric’s, his face is set in grim determination, his hands at his throat as he struggles to pry the slim leather rope from around his neck. I’m rooted to the spot as my panic takes over. Everything happens quickly as my eyes flick up to her wicked gaze, an evil twist to her beautifully elegant mouth as she flicks the cord backward with an unnatural strength. Alaric goes flying backward, his eyes wide as he twists and turns in midair, desperate to be released only to follow her through her trace trail at the end of her whip. Instinct takes over, and I grab a small dagger from my wrist gauntlet and pray for my aim to be true, and in one swift motion, I release the knife. The last thing I see is his boots as the trace trail closes behind them taking my blade with it.
I drop to my knees as a sob escapes me. She has him. My soul is about to shatter, and I’m about to come undone. She has him. My worst fears have become a reality, and I scream my agony aloud for all to hear, and the sound reverberates around the chamber as I fall forward, broken. My hand lands on the still warm hilt of Alaric’s sword and I push upward with it clasped in my hand. I will keep it safe until which time I can get it back to him. The sword flares to life in agreement as I gain my feet, stren
gthening my resolve. She will rue the day that she crossed me in such an egregious manner.
Mere seconds pass as I look toward the children left cowering in the corner, and with the back of my hand I try to wipe the wetness from my tearstained face, the heavy sword still in hand. I can feel the dirt and grime as it’s smeared across my face. I pause and run my fingers over the column next to me gathering more dark grime and run them over my face again leaving their distinctive markings. Slowly, I walk toward the scared children. I put The Sword of Light away secured at my side and kneel before them and say in a soft voice, “My friends and I are here to help you. Please don’t be afraid, I’m going to take you to Nimue.”
A little girl not more than four years old throws herself into my arms and begins to sob, “I want my máthair!” Her tiny voice shatters my already fragile heart. The rest of the little ones gather around, and I open my arms to bring as many into my arms as I can.
Leaning down, I kiss the top of her blond capped head and whisper, “Your máthairs are going to be safe from here on out. That wicked goddess will not be able to lay a hand on them ever again, and I’m going to make sure that your aunt Nimue and you all get back to Avalon safe and sound. I want you all to grow up to be strong, beautiful, warriors for the light, so that we can keep our people safe from wickedness like you and your mothers have endured. Do you understand?”
