Morrigan

by Laura DeLuca

  “We will camp here for the night,” he announced. “It is late, and I am sure you must be weary.”

  “Not at all,” Morrigan lied and tried to hold back a yawn. “I can keep going if we need to.”

  “It seems your feline friends disagree.” Tiarn gestured to the cats who had already curled themselves up into one big snoring ball of fur.

  Morrigan shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I guess it won’t hurt to take a little breather.”

  Tiarn was already unrolling a pair of animal skins he had taken out from his pack. He tossed one at Morrigan, who caught it easily. Luckily, she had good reflexes. Tiarn seemed surprised, though he tried hard to hide it. His seeming respect for her was short lived. Morrigan couldn’t help but crinkle her nose in distaste as dust poured off the ratty bedding.

  “I can’t sleep on this,” she complained. “It’s filthy.”

  “Humph.” Tiarn grunted and curled his lip. “You call that filthy! You obviously do not know the meaning of the word. That place we just came from—what do you call it? Baltimore? Cement covering the Goddess’ green earth. Wires blocking the view of Father Skye. Pollution making it difficult to breathe, and litter everywhere you look. That was filth. The dust on those blankets is just good old-fashioned dirt. Honest to goodness, deliciously clean dirt! You should revel in it, Princess! The bed where you shall lay your head this night is the cleanest and purest you have rested on in many moons.”

  Morrigan listened to his tirade in stunned silence. She wanted to be annoyed, indignant. Who did he think he was lecturing to? But he was right. Even more importantly than that, she had actually enjoyed his speech. It made him that much more irresistible. She couldn’t help but smile.

  “I stand corrected.”

  She rolled out her sleeping mat and snuggled underneath the animals’ furs. They were surprisingly warm and cozy. She had slept in worse beds in some of the foster homes she had been in. What could be better than a night under the stars, surrounded by the beauty of nature? As she lay there, she realized she no longer felt tired. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, she gave up on sleep and pulled out her sketchbook. Apparently Tiarn wasn’t sleepy either. He had built a fire and was fiddling absently with a stick as he basked in the glow of the warm flames. He grew curious when he saw her rubbing her pencil over the thick paper and peeked over her shoulder.

  “What is it you are scribbling?” he asked.

  “Just drawing a few pictures,” Morrigan explained. “It helps to tire me out when I can’t sleep.”

  He leaned in closer to critique her work. She had divided the page into two diagonal sections. One half of the page was reserved for Dunham, and the other bore the likeness of the Condon. Their tattooed hands were frozen in the air as they prepared to open the magical portal. Even Morrigan was surprised at how well it was turning out. The resemblance between the twins was undeniable, but she had also managed to capture their diverse personalities. Condon’s eyes were filled with gentle wisdom, and Dunham’s lips were twisted into a greedy smile.

  “That is quite good,” Tiarn admitted, a little reluctantly.

  Morrigan blushed and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not a big deal. I just like to draw. Don’t you have any hobbies?”

  He cocked his head, confused. “What would I do with a hobbit? They are really quite obnoxious.”

  Morrigan giggled. “Not a hobbit. A hobby. It’s something you enjoy doing in your free time.”

  “Ahh! I enjoy hunting.”

  Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Is there anything you can do that’s a little more artistic? You know, like singing, painting, writing poetry . . . .”

  “Lycans are not often characterized as artistic,” he told her. “Though I have been known to carry a decent tune on the pan flute.” He cleared his throat as if he were embarrassed to admit it. “If you enjoy that sort of thing.”

  “I’d love to hear you play. Do you carry it with you?”

  “Well, yes, but I do not think it would be wise. The noise might attract the soldiers.”

  “Pleeeassse,” Morrigan begged. “Just for a few minutes? I’m sure there aren’t any soldiers nearby or the cats wouldn’t be sleeping so soundly.”

  Tiarn glanced down cats, who hadn’t stirred since they stopped moving. “I suppose it would be all right,” he relented. “But just for a few moments.”

  Tiarn reached into his bag and pulled out a wooden instrument with twelve hallowed out tubes of bamboo, each stopped off at one end, and held together by worn twine. The pipes gradually increased in length and girth so the notes climbed the scale as his lips moved from side to side. It looked like little more than a bunch of sticks strung together, but as soon as Tiarn began to play, it was magically transformed. He somehow made the simple instrument sound as lovely as a full classical orchestra. Though there were no words to his song, the notes he played weaved a sad tune of love lost or unrequited. Morrigan closed her eyes and allowed the beauty of the music to embrace her soul as it resonated through the quiet forest. She would have listened to him play forever and was more than a little disappointed when the sonata came to an end and Tiarn packed his pan flute away.

  “You can do a lot better than just carry a tune.” Morrigan was so deeply moved by the beauty of the music, she had to clear her throat to speak clearly. “That was amazing. Thank you for playing for me.”

  The werewolf definitely blushed. “Yes, well, I think that is enough art for one evening. We should both try to get some rest, as we have a hard road to travel on the morrow.”

  Morrigan nodded her head. Her eyelids were already heavy, and she knew she would have no trouble falling asleep anymore, despite all that had happened that day.

  “Good night, Tiarn.”

  He didn’t respond, and she figured he wasn’t even paying attention. She hated to admit it, but it kind of hurt her feelings he didn’t acknowledge her after they had shared such a pleasant evening. She was too exhausted to let it bother her for long. In fact, she was just on the verge of sleep when she felt him stir. Tiarn must have thought she had drifted off because he rose beside her, and with fingers that were softer and gentler than she could have imagined, he brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ears.

  “Goodnight and sweet dreams, my Morrigan. May the Goddess grant us both her protection on this night.”

  With the ghost of his touch still lingering against her skin, Morrigan drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  When Morrigan opened her eyes, she couldn’t help but admire the beauty of her surroundings. She breathed in the fresh, clean air and could smell the dew that still clung to the grass. The early morning light filtered lazily through the giant trees. Some were familiar, like the red oaks and pines, many of which stood at least a few hundred feet high. Nearby, one of the largest trees had a thick trunk that had been hollowed out through time, with a hiding place big enough for full grown man to squeeze into. She watched as a small squirrel climbed inside with a mouthful of some unknown treasure and disappeared from view. Yet, its roots still thrived, and its canopy towered above her, providing shade that blocked the bright sun.

  There were many other species of trees she didn’t recognize at all and some she had seen only in photos of faraway lands, all mingled in with hundreds of varieties of late blooming wild flowers. It was strange how such a vast array of greenery were able to live in harmony in this one enchanted forest. The branches of the trees swayed in the crisp morning air, as if welcoming her home. All of the trees, the grass, the flowers, and even the blue sky and puffy white clouds seemed much more vibrant in the light of day. She sensed their presence around her, thrumming with life and even awareness. The earthy scents whirling around her were rich and intoxicating. It was the most glorious morning Morrigan had ever awoken to, despite the fact her muscles were stiff from spending the night on the hard ground.

  As she stretched out on her sleeping roll, Morrigan never felt more alive. She rolled on her back, h
appy to drink in the beauty of the new land that felt so much more like a home than any of the dozens of foster homes she had stayed in. She hated to get up, but nature was calling, and some calls had to be answered. The cats apparently felt just as at home, because they didn’t even stir as she pulled herself lazily to her feet.

  It wasn’t until she was up and about that Morrigan realized someone was missing. She looked about the campsite for Filtiarn. She had been so overwhelmed with the beauty of her surroundings; she hadn’t even noticed he was no longer lying beside her. She knew he couldn’t have gone far. The smell of fresh cooked meat was still lingering the air, and his sleeping roll was packed up and perched against a tree not far from a small crackling fire. She must have been even more exhausted than she thought to have slept through so much activity. She briefly wondered where he had gone, but figured he had to take care of business the same way that she did. With that thought in mind, she went in search of a secluded bush.

  Morrigan was just finishing up when she heard Tiarn’s voice shouting in the distance. It sounded like he was calling someone’s name. She assumed he had gone back to the campsite only to find her missing and had been out searching for her. She followed the sound of his voice, wanting to assure him she was okay and she could take care of herself. Although, if she was going to be honest with herself, she had to admit she really just wanted to see him. Her heart fluttered at just the thought of his sarcastic smile. Somehow his constant leering only made him that much more endearing to her. If he hadn’t already won her heart, he certainly had her swooning with his amazing performance on the pan flute. She had never realized the simple instrument could produce such a sweet, soulful sound.

  Lost in her own fantasies, Morrigan had travelled further into the forest than she realized. As she stumbled over a fallen tree limb, she started to worry that she might be heading too deep into unfamiliar territory and wouldn’t be able to find her way back to camp. When Tiarn’s voice was louder, she knew she was heading in the right direction. She quickened her pace, wanting to find him before she got too lost.

  As she drew closer and closer, she started to realize something wasn’t quite right. Tiarn wasn’t looking for her. It wasn’t her name she had heard him calling. In fact, he was talking to someone else altogether. And he was getting louder and more agitated with every word he spoke.

  “I got her safely through the gateway and we are on our way to the castle. What more do you want from me, witch?”

  While Morrigan was glad to see his disdain wasn’t reserved for conversations with her, she had to wonder who he was talking to. Especially since it was obvious they were talking about her. She inched a little closer to get a better view; cursing under her breath as she snagged her hair on some stray branches. She could see the back of Tiarn’s head bobbing as he talked. His dark dreadlocks were unmistakable, but she still couldn’t make out who he was talking to. He appeared to be alone in the small clearing, though almost instantly a harsh voice lashed back at him, its accent raspy with age.

  “Her maidenhead must be intact in order for the ritual to be a success.” It was a woman’s voice—a very old and sour woman by the sounds of it. “If you deflower her, if you tarnish her purity in any way, we shall have your manhood, you flea invested mongrel!”

  Tiarn snorted. “Do not worry, Hecate. I can find much sweeter dishes to fill my bed. A witch does not suite my palate.”

  “Indeed! Your palate is not worthy to lick the plate of my hound!”

  Morrigan knew she couldn’t hide in the shadows any longer. Pride and hurt moved her feet forward even though common sense told her she should probably stay hidden and listen. The warnings of deception from the Moon card in her Tarot reading were still fresh in her mind as she stumbled into the clearing and glared at Tiarn, while still searching for the mysterious woman who was overly concerned with her virginity.

  “Someone better tell me what’s going on,” she demanded. “I don’t like when people talk about me behind my back!”

  Tiarn looked up at her, startled at the interruption. Morrigan! What are you doing here? I thought you—”

  “No,” Morrigan interrupted. “You answer my question first! Where is she? Who were you just talking . . . ?”

  The words died on Morrigan’s lips when she saw the image of an old woman reflected in the waters of a tiny pond. She was dressed in black robes, with wispy gray hair hanging like frayed yarn around her silhouette. Morrigan strained to see her face, but her features were covered by a long black veil. As old as she seemed, she still had a regal countenance and a somewhat threatening one. She didn’t speak, but through the thin veil of lace, Morrigan could almost make out a pair of sunken eyes hidden deep within her haggard face. The old woman seemed to glare at her and appraise her all at once as Morrigan reached her hand toward the image.

  “No!” The woman cried. “Stay away from the water!”

  Morrigan couldn’t help herself. The image looked so real she just had to reach out her hand and touch it, just to convince herself the woman was really there. Yet, as soon as she made contact with the water, the visage shuddered once and then faded from her view. All that was left was the sparkling blue spring that rippled in protest from having been disturbed.

  “What . . . who was that?” Morrigan couldn’t hide the tremble in her voice.

  “That delightful creature was your grandmother.”

  Before she could question him further, Tiarn stomped grudgingly back to the campsite.

  Chapter Ten

  Tiarn was pouting, right down to the lower lip jutting out and the crestfallen frown. He resembled a spoiled toddler, instead of an incredibly sexy and somewhat dangerous werewolf who played a mean pan flute. Morrigan wasn’t quite sure what he was so upset about. Was he angry at her for interrupting what was obviously meant to be a private conversation? Or had her grandmother offended him?

  “Was that woman really my grandmother?” she asked, trying to break the strained silence.

  Morrigan nibbled at the edges of the stale bread that surrounded the strange tasting, overcooked meat Tiarn had tossed at her when they got back to the campsite. She had already pulled out most of the meat from the sandwich and given it to Danu and Dagda. They didn’t seem to mind the chewy, dry meal. They tore into it greedily as Morrigan waited for Tiarn’s response.

  “Of course it was your grandmother,” he finally huffed and strummed his fingers along a hollow log. Morrigan noticed even his knuckles had a thin layer of hair. “Why would I tell you she was if it were not true? Why were you spying on me anyway? Do they not teach manners in that barbaric place from which I rescued you?”

  Morrigan was indigent and a little hurt by his belligerent tone. She was the only one who had the right to be upset. After all, they were having a casual conversation about her virginity. “I wasn’t spying. I was just looking for you.”

  “You should have stayed here!” he told her.

  “What’s the big deal? Are you afraid I heard you saying something you didn’t want me to know?”

  Tiarn snorted. “I fear nothing! Except the wrath of your mother when I try to explain to her how a wild animal was able to tear you to pieces. Which is bound to happen if you insist on tramping off into the woods alone!”

  That shut Morrigan up for a while. She had never even considered what creatures might be lurking in the forest. It seemed so quiet and peaceful with its rustling leaves and gentle breezes. She had to remember she wasn’t in a state park or on a nature trail. Anything could happen here.

  Of course, she wasn’t completely defenseless. She could start fires at will and move objects with her mind. She had always relied on those powers to keep her safe back in Maryland. In this world, though, the wild animals might be immune to her magic abilities. Besides, her powers were often unpredictable. Sometimes they burst forth against her will when she didn’t want them to. And sometimes, like when the soldiers had attacked, she was frozen with fear and couldn’t call up her magic any more
than she could will her legs to move so she could run away.

  Morrigan stayed quiet and solemn the rest of the morning. She finished her breakfast with a shaky hand, while Tiarn continued to sulk. He poked at the fire with a stick for a while, pushing the smoldering logs to the side before he finally covered them with dirt to extinguish the flames. Morrigan assumed that meant it was time to start moving again. She grabbed her backpack and motioned for the cats to follow. They obliged in their usual lazy manner.

  As Tiarn was packing up the last of his gear, Morrigan couldn’t stop herself from admiring the subtle outline of muscles that jutted through his animal skin tunic. She studied the strong tanned arms that effortlessly hefted the heavy bags onto his shoulder with unabashed longing and desire. He must have felt her staring, because he turned to smile at her for the first time that morning.

  “See something you like, do you, Princess?”

  Morrigan felt her cheeks flush, but she recovered quickly. “Do you? Or was it true when you told my grandmother I wasn’t your type?”

  Tiarn let out a loud belly laugh as he tied his dreadlocks into a ponytail behind his head. “Oh, Your Majesty, I see much I like. Yet, even if you were not royalty and I only a commoner, it would still be forbidden for a witch and lycan to . . . .”