Morrigan

by Laura DeLuca

  Morrigan

  Laura DeLuca

  _

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2012 Laura DeLuca

  License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Pagan Writers Press

  Houston, Texas

  ISBN: 978-1-938397-36-3

  Edited by Rosa Sophia

  Cover by Paragraphic Designs

  http://paganwriterspress.com

  Dedication

  For my husband and soul mate, Timmie DeLuca,

  my real life werewolf who inspired the character of Filtiarn.

  He was my dream man long before we met in this life.

  AND

  Special thanks to Tara Chevrestt for polishing

  my story and making it shine.

  “The road that is built in hope is more pleasant to the traveler than the road built in despair, even though they both lead to the same destination.”

  —Marion Zimmer Bradley, The Fall of Atlantis

  Table of Contents

  Meaning & Pronunciations of Names

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Meaning & Pronunciations of Names

  Alden: {al-den} An old friend

  Ariarnhod: {ar-ianrh-od} Goddess of the moon, stars, and sky.

  Brigid: {BRI-jid} Power, strength and virtue. Also the Goddess of poetry, smith craft, and child bearing.

  Caedmon: {CAD-mən} Wise warrior

  Ceridwyn: {ka-RID-wen} Goddess of dark prophecy and keeper of the cauldron of inspiration and knowledge.

  Condon: {K ah N Done} Dark-haired wise man

  Connelly: {KON ell ee} Valiant

  Dagda: {Dah dah} Deity of life and death

  Danu: {dä’nu} A mother goddess whose name means knowledge and wisdom.

  Deirdre: {dier-dre} Broken hearted and sorrowful

  Dunham: {dun-ham} A dark man

  Eostre: {EST-truh} Goddess of fertility and new beginnings.

  Filtiarn: {FIL-tyarn} Lord of the Wolves

  Hecate: {Hekatê} Goddess of the Underworld and dark phase of the moon. She is often depicted as a crone.

  Macha: {mak-kha} Goddess of war, life and death.

  Maeve: {MEY-V} Goddess of Earth, Fertility and war.

  Morrigan: {mor-rig-ahn} Goddess of war, fate and death who was able to take the form of a raven.

  Tír na NÓg: {teer-na-nÓg } Mythical land of eternal youth and happiness.

  Willow: {WIL o} Taken from the name of the tree

  Prologue

  “I always had the feeling I just didn’t belong. Some people say they feel like they were born in the wrong time—the wrong decade or the wrong century. I felt like I was born on the wrong planet, maybe even the wrong universe. From my strange ability to move objects with my mind, to the power to control the element of fire, everything about me screamed abnormality. Nothing about the world I lived in felt right to me. There was no group that welcomed me, no niche I fit into. There was no place on earth, let alone the suburbs of Maryland, where I belonged.

  Sure, I might have been paranoid. A typical teenager filled with rebellion while on the road to self-awareness—a young soul who hadn’t found my deeper self, my true self. I might have believed that, except the people around me seemed just as confused and even disturbed by me as I was by them. It was no exaggeration to say I repelled all the other people around me. Even when I was just a baby, deserted on the steps of an old church with nothing but a note that revealed my name, no one could find a warm spot for me in their hearts. I was shuffled from one foster home to another for seventeen years. No one could tolerate me for more than six months.

  The social worker who had been assigned to me wasn’t much better. She was always a little nervous whenever we met. Sure, she tried to be sympathetic to my plight. But it was an act and we both knew it. Realistically, I should have been a lot less intimidating than most of the juvenile delinquents that passed through her office. I had never gotten in any trouble—had never done anything that could even be remotely characterized as “bad”. Yet, still, I had been permanently cast in the roll of the black sheep, for no other reason except for the fact I existed. That seemed to be enough to scare away the normal people.

  I had no friends. Friends were hard for people who changed schools three times a year. Add to that my quirky habit of dressing as a cross between a hippie and a renaissance wench, and it made me an easy target, even without the supernatural abilities. Even the nerds avoided me. But that was okay. I didn’t need human friends. I had my two cats, Danu and Dagda. Luckily, my last set of foster parents were willing to take in all sorts of strays and let the cats stay with us. I tried extra hard to please them, just so I wouldn’t be separated from my pets before I turned eighteen and could take them away with me.

  Danu was a slick black cat, with a lustrous coat and bright green eyes. Dagda was a striped orange cat, fat and fluffy, with a luminous yellow stare. The pair had shown up on my doorstep early in my junior year of high school, complete with silver collars that revealed their names. They had been my faithful sidekicks ever since. I tried to find their rightful owners, but even after contacting every vet and shelter in town and hanging posters with their photos on every telephone poll, no one ever came to claim them. Their situation reminded me of my own abandonment, and I think that made our bond even stronger. Despite their odd names, which an internet search revealed were derived from ancient Celtic deities, they were typical lazy housecats, and I never thought much more about their strange appearance.

  The only other thing I truly loved was my art. When I would paint or sketch, I would forget for a while I didn’t belong. I would forget because I was drawing another world—creating a world where I did belong. A magical place where witches lived in stone castles, where werewolves could be good guys and trees would talk if anyone took the time to listen. My favorite drawings were always of the same dark-haired man with a sword at his waist. I had come to think of him as my dark knight. I was sure he was my soul mate, and if I could just step into one of my drawings, he would carry me away and we would live happily ever after.

  In the world I had created with my art
, everything was less than perfect, but was so right that it was perfect to me just the same. It was a place I saw every night in my dreams and haunted my thoughts in my waking hours. That place of magic was my true home. Those people I drew were the people who might have been my friends, if only they existed.

  I had no idea as I started the first day of my senior year of high school that I was going to find out that those characters did exist. No idea I was about to learn the secrets of my mysterious birth and the truth about my destiny.

  My name is Morrigan. And I’m about to share with you the most amazing story ever told.”

  Chapter One

  “Hey, Morri-Goon! What’s your hurry? Are ya late for a gypsy convention?”

  Morrigan glared at the bulky football-playing, letter-jacket sporting buffoon who was blocking the entrance to her classroom. It was the last class of the afternoon. She had hoped to make it through the day without any incidents. Of course, she couldn’t get that lucky. It was the same no matter where she went. There was always one muscle-bound moron who had to make trouble for her. She didn’t even know what this particular guy’s name was, and it really didn’t matter. They had all melded into one giant annoyance.

  “What’s the matter, freak show? Did they run out of clothes in your size at the thrift store?”

  A few of the other guys behind him laughed. Others knew better and were already scooting inside their classrooms. So far, Morrigan was just annoyed. She hadn’t lost her temper yet, but his unnecessary insults were threatening to crack her thin layer of self-control. Between his wrinkled T-shirt, worn sneakers, and the distinct scent of body odor that wafted in her direction, she had no idea what gave him the right to criticize her sense of style.

  Morrigan tried to shove her way past him, but that only made the football player chuckle—a sound that grated on her nerves. She could feel the power growing inside her. A power she wouldn’t be able to hold at bay if he pushed her much further.

  “Get out of my way,” Morrigan ordered.

  “Or what?” he taunted.

  She had every intention of just walking away—until the jock had the bright idea of yanking on the hem of her ruffled Boho skirt. He thought it was funny, but it wasn’t a smart thing to do. If there was one thing Morrigan absolutely could not tolerate, it was when someone put their hands on her. Her personal space was a sacred thing. Most of her classmates had learned it was best to keep their distance. Apparently, this guy hadn’t heard the gossip about her. It was the first day of school in a new year. What better time to learn a new lesson, specifically not to mess with Morrigan?

  She raised her liquid brown eyes to her nemesis. That alone was enough to make him freeze in his place. Whatever nasty comment he was thinking instantly died on his lips. He felt only a fraction of the intense rush of energy Morrigan sensed flowing through her veins. It was a heat like molten lava—an electric current that coursed through her body, releasing in her icy-cold stare.

  “I said get out of my way . . . !”

  Her voice was only a whisper, yet she knew the words boomed and resonated like cracks of thunder. She could hear the sound of his heart as it began to pump furiously. At the same time the first flicker of fear flashed across his face. The ground under his feet seemed to quake as it gave way beneath him. He fumbled and tried to grab on to the doorframe for support, but it was too late. Before he knew what was happening, he went sprawling backward, knocking over two of his loud-mouth companions before he landed neatly, rump-first, inside a trashcan in the corner.

  Good. That’s exactly where he belongs.

  Morrigan smiled to herself and didn’t wait for his friends to try to help him out of his predicament. She glided through the now obstruction-free entryway and took her normal seat in the back of the classroom. She knew the football player would have no idea what had really happened to him. She also knew there would be at least one less jerk bothering her from that point on.

  Some people called her ability telekinesis, but she had researched it and learned it was known by many names in different places and times. That was only the beginning of what she was capable of. She had some minor control over all the elements, but was especially in tune with fire. She could also call up small flames at will and glimpse the future. They were gifts she rarely used in public. She really needed to be more careful how she did use them. The last thing she wanted was to be carried away to some government facility where they could pick her brain to pieces. All Morrigan wanted was a normal life—at least as normal as possible for someone like her.

  Nevertheless, her stupid temper always got the better of her, as evidenced by the jock who was still struggling to get his rather large derriere out of the trashcan. Sure, it was funny. But was it worth the possibility of having her brain dissected? She knew she needed to be more careful with her powers, before someone caught on. At least she hadn’t accidentally set his clothes on fire or cinged his eyebrows. He should really consider himself quite fortunate.

  The school bell rang suddenly, jarring Morrigan from her thoughts. She started at the sudden, sharp sound. It took her a moment to get her bearings. She always had a way of losing track of what was happening around her. She was too much of a daydreamer.

  Morrigan watched with little interest as the last few students straggled into the classroom, followed by the English teacher, Mr. Waters. He plopped his briefcase down on his desk and grabbed a piece of chalk from the ledge. Morrigan shook her head as she studied him and had to fight the urge to giggle. The man looked like he had gotten stuck in the disco era. He was in full seventies ensemble, complete with puffy black Afro and velour bell-bottom pants.

  “Pride and Prejudice.” He wrote the words and spoke them simultaneously. He had to shout to be heard over the crowd of rambunctious seniors who were nowhere near ready for their summer break to be over. “You were all supposed to read this classic novel over your vacation. Today we’ll discuss the characters and analyze the basic plot, paying special attention to the social ramifications of each character’s actions or lack thereof. Tomorrow, you can expect to have a detailed quiz, so I would suggest you all pay close attention.”

  A multitude of groans erupted around the classroom. Morrigan only rolled her eyes. She had already read and been tested on Pride and Prejudice twice in the past three years. Things like that tended to happen to someone who had attended almost every school in the state.

  It was hard enough for her to concentrate on schoolwork when it was something new. When it was something old and boring, it was literally impossible. Morrigan found herself mindlessly doodling in her notebook. Pencil sketches weren’t as fun as charcoal when it had to be black-and-white, but it was better than nothing. At least it was a way to occupy her time.

  It started out as random lines and a few circles. She had no particular design or pattern in mind. Soon enough, another one of her strange talents took control. She felt her eyes glaze over, and her hand ceased to be under her own control. It took on a life of its own, moving so lightning-quick she was surprised smoke didn’t rise up from the paper. So quickly that in the constant haze of movement, it would have been impossible for her to decipher just what she was drawing, even if she wasn’t in a sort of trance.

  She wasn’t sure how long she sat there with her pencil flying across the page. It was her teacher’s stern voice calling her name, with more than a hint of annoyance, which finally brought her back to reality. She glanced up at him, confused and embarrassed. She hated having undue attention drawn to herself.

  “Morrigan, do you have an answer for me?”

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry, Mr. Waters,” she stuttered. “Would you mind repeating the question?”

  “Perhaps, Morrigan, you should be paying attention in class instead of scribbling.” He stalked to her desk and snatched away her notebook before she even had a chance to look at her drawing. “Maybe then you would know what we were discussing.”

  Morrigan sunk deeper into her seat when she found hersel
f surrounded by soft snorts and giggles. She had to remind herself Mr. Waters was just doing his job. It wouldn’t be right to cause him to spontaneously combust on the spot. It was incredibly tempting, though.

  With one last shake of his head, Mr. Waters moved on to another victim—a nerdy brunette who was more than able to give him an eloquently worded answer to the symbolism behind the behavior of the gallant Mr. Darcy. Morrigan rolled her eyes for the second time. She crossed her arms and waited impatiently for the bell to ring, ending the first of what she expected to be a string of long, miserable days. When it was finally time to leave, she gathered up her books and prepared for the short walk home. Before she could scoot out the door, Mr. Waters called her back.

  “Morrigan, can you wait a minute, please?”

  She stopped and mumbled a curse under her breath, but obeyed. Mr. Waters waited for the classroom to empty completely before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was gentle and a little sympathetic. It made Morrigan even angrier than she already was. She hated to be pitied.

  “Morrigan,” he began, “I’ve read your transcripts, and I know a little about your history. I know things haven’t been easy for you. But you’re an intelligent girl. You could certainly get a scholarship to a great college. And even if you’re an exceptionally talented artist, you need to concentrate on your schoolwork . . . not on drawing self-portraits.”

  Morgan jerked her head up in surprise. She had gone off on a drawing frenzy on more than one occasion. And more than once found she had come up with some very strange and even disturbing images. Never once had she sketched a picture of herself. As Mr. Waters lifted the notebook to hand it back to her, she completely forgot her manners and snatched it greedily from his hands. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice her over-enthusiasm.

  “I’m going to give this back to you. But only if you promise you’ll spend your time in my class studying English literature . . . not drawing. There’s plenty of time after school to indulge your artistic whims.”