by Laura DeLuca
Nothing so wonderful could last forever. She felt the warmth suddenly withdraw, and the air around her grew cold. When she opened her eyes again, the soft violet petals were gone. In their place there was an endless maze of life-size tarot cards—the same five cards from her reading. Wheel of Fortune, The Empress, Six of Cups, The Knight of Wands, The Moon, and Death duplicated again and again, closing in on her like the walls of a mystical prison. Death multiplied in endless repetition. The skull-faced man on the Death card was coming toward her with his scythe—coming for her, ready to drag her down into his dark realm.
It seemed hours had passed. The cards were moving and spinning, the reaper was coming toward her. Morrigan tried to fight it, but she felt like her body was being pulled by the most overpowering undertow. The constant swift movements made her feel queasy and desperate. She had trouble breathing as panic took hold of her. She wondered if the terrible ride would ever end. Then, just when she thought she could no longer stand it—when she was sure she had already found the path that led to death or maybe even oblivion—the dizzying movement came to a sudden and abrupt halt.
Morrigan eyes snapped open, and she was surprised to find her feet were planted firmly on solid ground. There was no grinning death mask looming over her, just the smirking face of Tiarn watching her with amusement from just a few steps away.
“A little lightheaded, are you? Nothing to worry about, Princess. It is quite normal. Especially for your first time.”
“You could have warned me to take some Dramamine,” Morrigan complained as she tried to steady herself on the edge of a rough, splintery table.
“Would you like to sit down, Princess Morrigan? Would you like some water? Something to eat? I only have some thin gruel, but I would be more than happy to share my meager meal with you, Your Majesty.”
Before Morrigan could reply or figure out who was speaking to her, an elderly man who could only be Condon’s twin brother grabbed her arm and ushered her to a small creaky chair by the fireplace. He had the same ragged appearance, the same dull eyes, even the same missing teeth. And, she noticed as he thrust a wooden cup into her hand, the same spiral tattoo on his hand.
She accepted the drink gratefully. She was too shaky to do much else. She dropped her bag on the floor and settled in, happy to take the weight off her wobbly legs. She had to admit the fire warmed her trembling body, but she took one sip from the water and had to fight the urge to spit it out across the room. It was stale and stagnant, and she was pretty sure it had a thin film of slime across the top. Tiarn watched her from his corner with an undeniable smirk, while Danu and Dagda made themselves at home on the ratty carpet by the fire. They were taking the time warp thing a lot better than Morrigan—maybe because they had been through it before.
Morrigan turned away from Tiarn and the cats to find Condon’s brother kneeling at her feet. He didn’t look like he had any intention of moving. She assumed he was waiting for her permission, which made her feel very uncomfortable. This whole royalty thing was going to take some getting used to. She realized if she didn’t say something, the old man was going to stay in a crouched position permanently, and she didn’t want to be responsible for him developing sciatica pain.
“Thank you, Ummm . . . .” She paused, unsure how to address him.
“Dunham,” the Gatekeeper announced. He stood up, but then bowed so low it was more like a grovel. “Welcome to my humble home, Princess Morrigan.”
He was right about it being humble—it was more of a shack than a home. There were holes in the straw roof and a few in the walls. Candles, practically burned down to their bottoms, were the only light other than the flicker from the fireplace. Hanging in the flue was a large kettle, simmering and bubbling over the edges. She could only guess it contained the previously offered gruel. It smelled terrible, like a combination of week old garbage and the boy’s locker room, making Morrigan glad she hadn’t taken Dunham up on his offer to share it.
“Thank you again, Dunham, for such a warm welcome,” Morrigan told him. “But please, just call me Morrigan. And you don’t need to keep bowing like that. I’m hardly a princess.”
“Yes, Your Majesty! Whatever you say, Your Majesty!” Despite his verbal agreement, he continued to grovel at her knees, and Morrigan knew she was fighting a losing battle.
Tiarn actually laughed out loud. “Come along, Your Majesty . . . we have a long way to travel. We should be on our way.”
Morrigan nodded and placed her water mug down on a wobbly-legged table. As she flung her backpack over her shoulder, she watched Tiarn out of the corner of her eye. He too was gathering up his bags. He must have left his traveling equipment with Dunham while he was in her world. It was understandable. They were hardly the average accessories for a modern American teen. For his own world, he was well prepared if not stylish. His carry bag and sleeping rolls were fashioned from worn animal hides. There were a few well-used cooking utensils tied the bag, as well as a water canteen which was also made from skins. And, she noted with slight apprehension, he secured a long, sheathed sword against his waist.
“Who are you planning to use that on?” Morrigan asked.
She had meant it as a joke, but Tiarn’s answer was deadly serious. “On anyone who means us harm. I expect it will get its fair share of use before we reach the castle.”
Morrigan swallowed hard and tried to focus on the less terrifying aspect of the sentence. “What castle?”
“The castle where your mother is imprisoned.” He sounded a little exasperated. “The grounds will be surrounded by guards, of course. It will be next to impossible to gain entrance, and that is assuming we survive the journey . . . .”
Why was it so hard to steer him away from the scary stuff? “How long will it take to get there?”
“Without interruptions it should take only two, maybe three days,” Tiarn told her as he pulled his sword from the sheath to check the point.
“But you expect delays?”
“Are you afraid, Princess?”
“Of course not,” she huffed. “I told you. My name is Morrigan. Just Morrigan.”
“Well, Just Morrigan, yes I expect delays and plenty of them. The castle guards are only the beginning of the problems we are about to face.”
Morrigan was going to ask just what else he expected when, or if, they ever reached this elusive castle, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for an answer. So instead, she called her cats, her Guardians, to her side, took a deep breath, and prepared to follow Tiarn out into the new world of Tír na NÓg.
“You will tell Queen Ceridwyn how helpful I have been, yes?” Dunham asked as she followed Tiarn toward the door. “You shall tell her she has my undying loyalty?”
Tiarn rolled his eyes, but Morrigan gave the old man a small smile. “Of course we will, Dunham. I’m sure my mother will be very grateful. And thank you again for all your help.”
“Anytime, Your Highness. I live only to serve you and Queen Ceridwyn. Anything you need, anything I can do for the cause . . . .”
Tiarn shook his head, grabbed a lantern from the corner of the room, and pulled open the rusty-hinged door. He slammed it shut before Dunham could finish his monologue. He stepped out into the crisp autumn night with Morrigan close at his heels. She only had a moment to take in the vast beauty of the land. Trees and mountains, untouched by the pollution of so-called technology, spread out for endless miles. Leaves in miraculous hues of gold, red, and orange were somehow so much brighter, so much more alive, than any she had seen in her world. The branches almost seemed to reach for her, to breathe and whisper nature’s secrets.
And the sky! It was beyond magnificent. Not one, not two, but three moons captivated the night. Each was in a different phase—crescent, full, and waning. They stood side-by-side in the heavens like three magical sisters. The stars around those moons were so close, she wanted to reach out her hand and touch them. Before she had time to try—before she had time to admire the unfathomable beauty of the lan
d of Tír na NÓg—two angry looking soldiers stepped out of the shadows and into their paths. They sneered and looked her over with pure malice.
“Well, well, look here. The witch’s bastard daughter has returned.”
Morrigan gasped and took an inadvertent step closer to Tiarn. The men must have had Dunham’s cottage staked out. Luckily, it didn’t take Tiarn long to react. Within seconds he had pulled his sword from the sheath, but Morrigan still felt her heart pound with fear as the guards inched their way closer.
“Damn it all! Looks like we have encountered the first of those interruptions,” Tiarn whispered as he placed himself strategically between Morrigan and their assailants. “Stay close behind me, Princess, and be prepared to run if things do not go well.”
Morrigan nodded and tried to swallow past the lump in her throat as the two barbaric looking soldiers approached them. They had the look of savages, despite their shining suits of armor and gold-bordered shields that bore the crest of a white owl. Maybe it was the bloodlust of many battles or maybe all the men in this new world were mangy and unkempt. Whatever the reason, the two threatening men were as grotesque as they were dangerous with their scarred faces, oil-slicked hair, and war-beaten swords.
Morrigan was trembling with terror, but Tiarn hardly seemed phased. He wore his cocky smirk openly as he looked at his two approaching adversaries and goaded them forward with reckless casualty. “Two against one,” he muttered. “Well, boys, those odds hardly seem fair. Why not wait until a few more of your comrades arrive, so you have at least a sporting chance at victory.”
“Silence, dog! Hand over the girl and perhaps we shall let you live.”
The gruff voice of the soldier froze Morrigan on the spot. It was no less intimidating than the appraising stare of his fellow man at arms. She backed up against a tree and prayed Tiarn would live up to his boasting. She knew these men meant her harm in more ways than one. They would have their way with her before they killed her if the opportunity presented itself. Morrigan was relieved to see Tiarn wasn’t willing to let that happen. He stayed close to her side, doing his best to block her from their view. She knew she should have been helping him, and she tried to focus and call her powers to the surface, but in the time of her greatest need, her magic seemed to have deserted her.
“You will take this girl only when you step over my cold, dead body,” Tiarn informed them with a growl. “I have sworn an oath to protect her. I shall guard that oath with my very life if that is what it takes.”
The second soldier tore his gaze away from Morrigan just long enough to let loose a dry chuckle. “The oath of a lycan holds even less value than its worthless hide. Now move aside before we take that hide and skin it!”
“I dare you to make good on that threat,” Tiarn challenged.
The soldiers moved in closer. Morrigan’s heart hammered with fear—the first true fear she had ever known. It was more real than the fear of her unkind peers or even her sometimes abusive foster parents—more real because that fear was for Tiarn, whom she loved so desperately. The thought of a world without him was too terrible to imagine. It seemed a definite possibility as she watched the tips of the swords rise up, almost in slow motion, and flicker threateningly in the bright moonlight. Both the soldiers and Tiarn took a step closer to each other, ready to begin the duel.
Morrigan squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the harsh clash of metal against metal. The sound never came. Instead, she heard the most unexpected and unimaginable thing. It was the loud, audible rumble of a very large and angry animal. At first she thought perhaps Tiarn had forgotten his vow to forsake his wolf self and had transformed. The growl was followed by the distinguishable hiss of a territorial cat, quickly multiplied by two.
Morrigan opened her eyes just in time to see Danu and Dagda flying through the air. In mid-leap, they began a shocking but miraculous transformation. Their small furry paws grew in mass and volume, their bodies lengthened, becoming large and muscled. Their fangs extended, and their sharpened claws grew as pointed as swords. Their brief flight ended with them landing directly in front of Morrigan and Tiarn, snarling and hissing at the amazed soldiers whose faces instantly drained of color as the animals approached.
The little cats Morrigan loved had vanished, replaced by a sleek black-coated panther and a glorious striped tiger. Both were more massive than any of the large cats she had ever seen on field trips to the zoo, and both appeared more dangerous than any beast in the wilds of nature. With fangs barred and loud, guttural snarls, they each took down one of the soldiers before they had a moment to react. As horrified as she was relieved that she was safe, Morrigan had to turn away from the bloody carnage as the cats tore into the men’s arms and legs.
She couldn’t say how long she stood there, still as a statue, desperately trying to block out the painful screams. She was certain the cats were going to tear the men to pieces without remorse. As soon as the soldiers surrendered the fight and dropped their weapons, the large cats backed away, allowing the injured men to crawl back into the safety of the forest from which they had emerged. The battle was over quickly, and they were out of danger for the moment. Nevertheless, Morrigan felt sick and faint.
“Guardians!” The whistle of the air as Tiarn sheathed his unused sword caught her attention. He mumbled a curse under this breath. “I should have known they would ruin all my fun. They just could not leave well enough alone. They always have to show off.”
“You knew . . . .” Morrigan stuttered, still shocked. “You knew they could . . . they could do . . . that?”
“I knew they could annoy me and get in my way, if that is what you mean.”
“You knew they could transform into . . . into.”
The whole episode seemed almost dreamlike. She had to wonder if at any moment she would wake up in her bed to find everything had been a dream—or maybe a nightmare.
Tiarn rolled his eyes at her inability to articulate. “Of course I knew. They are Guardians. They would hardly be much use at guarding you if they were nothing but mere house cats. Of course, it was not necessary. I had the situation well under control. I could have handled those two soldiers without any interference from your pets.” He practically spat the last word. Morrigan couldn’t believe it, but it sounded like he was disappointed he hadn’t been able to shed the blood himself. “You two must learn your place.”
He was addressing the cats now, and they were only cats again. Small, regular cats that looked up at him with pure disgust as they licked their paws clean. Licked them clean of blood, Morrigan noted with horror.
That was just too much for her to take. She finally lost the thin layer of composure she had been clinging to. She felt her eyes close, and her shaking legs gave way as she fell unconscious to the ground.
Chapter Eight
“Wake up, Morrigan!”
The voice sounded dim and far away. It must have been one of her foster brothers yelling at her to get up for school. Morrigan was actually grateful for a change. They were waking her from a terrible nightmare about big cats, werewolves, and dirt soaked with blood. The voice didn’t sound like her all-American foster brothers. It was deeper, more appealing, and it had a strange, indistinguishable accent.
“Get up, Princess!”
Morrigan’s eyes snapped open. She was staring into the beguiling face of the lycan, Filtiarn. He stood over her, watching with a look of mingled concern and annoyance. Apparently the annoyance won out because before she knew what was happening, he had lifted up his canteen and poured a stream of ice cold water directly into her face.
Shocked and gasping for breath, Morrigan leaped to her feet. She coughed, sputtered, and glared at Tiarn and his still dripping lambskin. “What did you do that for? I was getting up!”
“I am dreadfully sorry, Your Majesty,” Tiarn lamented, even though both his tone and his wicked smirk told her he was anything but sorry. “I only wanted to be certain you were no longer feeling faint. It is important that we be on
our way. We need to reach the cover of the deep woods before more soldiers are summoned.”
“More soldiers?” She swallowed hard as she dried her soggy face on the sleeve of her sweater. “How many more are around, do you think?”
“As many as Queen Arianrhod can spare, I dare say, which is probably hundreds. It was her banner which the men bore on their shields. With your mother and grandmother captured, they have little else to occupy their time. You are the only threat left.”
“I’m hardly a threat,” Morrigan argued. “I only came here to find my mother.”
“Regardless of how you see yourself, you are still a witch of the royal line, and in Arianrhod’s eyes that makes you dangerous,” Tiarn explained. “That’s why we should get as far away from Dunham’s cottage as possible. Obviously Arianrhod knew we would have to come through the portal eventually, since that is the only way to enter Tír na NÓg. There will be more soldiers nearby. The ones who found us were probably just the scouts. When they alert their comrades to our arrival, more soldiers will come. This is why we need to get into the woods where we will have at least a small chance of eluding them.”
Tiarn didn’t wait for her to agree or disagree, and Morrigan was too tired and still a little too queasy to argue with him. She pulled her backpack onto her shoulders and followed him off the stoned pathway and into the darkness of the woods. The high trees blocked much of the light the three moons had afforded. Tiarn had to use his lantern to guide their way through the thick underbrush. Morrigan stayed close behind him. She jumped every time a branch snapped or a cricket chirped for fear that legions of armed warriors would emerge from the shadows and ambush them. Thankfully, they made it deep into the forest with no interruptions.
For a while, Morrigan enjoyed the music of the night. Nocturnal birds and chirping insects serenaded them as they traveled, and the gentle breeze seemed to hum in harmony. But it was a long road, and it didn’t take long for her to grow tired. Morrigan had no idea what time it was in this world, but back in Maryland, the sun had to be coming up. She had gone the entire night without sleep, unless she counted the few minutes she was unconscious when she had fainted. She wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to make it without some rest, but she didn’t want to give Tiarn the satisfaction of hearing her whine. Yet, she started to lose that resolve when her legs began to drag from the weight of her backpack, which felt like it was filled with boulders. She was just about to beg for a break, when Tiarn finally dropped his equipment on the ground.
