by Laura DeLuca
“Mate?” Morrigan finished when Tiarn had let the sentence trail off. She was amazed at her own brazenness.
Tiarn could only laugh again. “For lack of a better word, yes.”
“You don’t seem the type of man who always follows the rules.” She was teasing him, but he had turned serious and a little sad.
“There are some rules, Morrigan, that even I would not dare to break. No matter how much I may be tempted to.”
The light moment seemed to have passed, and Tiarn was all business again. They cleaned up the campsite as best they could to keep the soldiers off their trail. Tiarn covered up their tracks and rearranged the leaves and branches to make it look natural and undisturbed. When he was done, they started on what seemed like another endless trek through miles of green foliage. Morrigan had always considered herself to be an outdoor girl, but before long she found herself longing for a soft bed and a chance to put her feet up. Her metal tipped boots were sturdy and held up well against the elements, but they were not meant for hiking and were giving her feet painful blisters. The long gypsy skirt kept getting snagged on stray branches. At least the weather was on their side. It was a mild day for the fall, without a single dark cloud marring the beauty of the sky. The sun beat down gently, warming and soothing her like a welcoming blanket.
As they walked along, Morrigan tried to take her mind off her sore feet by thinking about her grandmother. Both she and her mother had been able to communicate through some sort of magic portal, but Morrigan couldn’t figure out how they had managed it. She wondered if it was something any witch could do and if there were any special tools involved.
“Tiarn,” she asked, “how are my mother and grandmother able to talk with us from prison? I saw my mother in a mirror the other day, and now my grandmother was in that stream . . . Do you know how they do it?”
Tiarn looked surprised. “You really know nothing about who you are, do you?”
“Only what you’ve told me,” Morrigan admitted.
“Then maybe there’s hope after all.” His voice took on that strange, faraway tone, and Morrigan was about to ask what he meant, when he continued, “Every witch can control at least one element. Your mother, Ceridwyn, is in tune with the element of air. It was through the mist that she was able to lift the veil between worlds and reach out to you. Your grandmother, sweet old woman that she is, holds sway over the water.” There was no hiding the sarcasm in his voice, and she wondered why the two seemed to dislike each other so much when they were supposed to be allies. “Hecate needs only a small amount of water to work her magic, and Arianrhod would never deny her own mother a glass of water to drink. So with just that small luxury, she was able to contact me. It was just luck I happened to be near water myself. I am certain it took several attempts before she was successful.”
“I guess that means my element is fire.” Morrigan was beginning to understand. “And Arianrhod must be . . . .”
“Earth,” Tiarn finished. “There is usually at least one royal witch for each of the four elements living at any one time. But as you have seen, it is rare for the four to exist in harmony.”
Morrigan nodded, letting it sink in. She had planned on asking more about the ritual her grandmother had mentioned when Danu and Dagda began to make an unexpected commotion. They both stood to attention, with their ears pricked in curiosity, as though they were listening to something. Tiarn noticed as well and drew his sword from its sheath, anticipating a threat. Yet, Morrigan didn’t sense anxiety coming from her pets. It was more like they heard something familiar and were frustrated they were unable to locate it easily. She was just about to give them a reassuring stroke when, out of nowhere, they took off in a sprint. In almost perfect synchronization, they darted past Morrigan, through a patch of low lying bushes, and into the waiting forest. Morrigan didn’t think twice before taking off after them.
“Morrigan!” Tiarn shouted after her. “Damn those felines! Damn all witches and their familiar nonsense! Morrigan, come back!”
Morrigan heard Tiarn’s exasperated shouts, but she had no intention of losing her beloved friends in the forest. She bound off after them with reckless abandon. Her legs and arms and even her face were jabbed and poked with stray branches and thorns. She knew she was bleeding and the cuts stung, but even that didn’t stop her. The cats were moving quickly, and Morrigan couldn’t slow down or she would lose them forever. They leaped over fallen tree limbs and plunged through foliage, scattering leaves and startling birds and small mammals from their resting places. Behind her, Morrigan could hear Tiarn cursing and huffing as he tried to keep up with the mad dash while still juggling all of his supplies. After a while, she wasn’t even sure if he was still following at all, but she barreled forward, despite the throbbing in her sides and the burst blisters on her toes.
Finally, Morrigan saw the cats disappear around a corner that led down into a sharp incline. She pushed past the stitch in her side and strained her tired lungs. When she reached the bend, she stumbled over her long skirts and tumbled down the small hill, landing in a patch of pointy bushes that cut up her skin even more. She was sure those few precious seconds had cost her and she had lost her pets forever. Thankfully, when she looked up, she saw Danu and Dagda were only a few feet away, standing in front of an adorable little country cottage.
It was just the type of house one would expect to find in an enchanted renaissance world like Tír na NÓg. The roof was covered in thick straw, and the little chimney had puffs of smoke shooting from its flue. Unlike Dunham’s home, this one was immaculately kept. There were luscious garden beds ripe with vegetables ready to harvest, a shiny new bucket sat beside the stone well, and there was not a speck of wear on the cobblestone walls. Around the well and the pathway leading to the door were strategically placed flowers, and despite the many trees that were shedding for the fall, there was not a single leaf on the ground. It was definitely the first place Morrigan had seen in Tír na NÓg that felt like a real home.
In front of the beautiful cottage was a sweet-looking old man. He wore a long brown tunic with a golden sash around the waist. He had bent down to pet the cats, who purred and entwined themselves around his legs. When he finally stood up, his back was slightly crooked, and he managed to straighten slightly with the help of a cane.
“So my old friends,” Morrigan heard him say. “You have returned to Tír na NÓg at last. But where is your mistress?”
The man looked up from the cats, and though his colorless eyes were obviously blind, he seemed to stare directly at Morrigan.
Chapter Eleven
“Damn it all!” Tiarn cursed under his breath as he stumbled down the hill and landed with a thump at Morrigan’s side. He watched the exchange between the man and the cats for a moment. Then he shook his head in disapproval. “Those vile felines are going to give us away. We have no choice now. We must leave them behind.”
Morrigan looked toward the blind man again. He was scratching one of the cats behind the ears while the other purred and circled his feet. He didn’t seem very threatening with his bent arthritic back and his shiny bald head. His eyes were blank and impossible to read because they were so glazed by cataracts, but his smile seemed only gentle and wise.
“Are you afraid of a blind old man?” Morrigan asked.
Tiarn snorted. “I fear no man. But things are not always what they seem in this world, and I take nothing for granted.”
Morrigan rolled her eyes. “I think you’re just looking for an excuse to leave Danu and Dagda behind. If that man were a threat, the cats would never have gone to him. Can’t you see? They’re acting like they know him.”
“Indeed they do know me,” the old man replied, though Morrigan had spoken in only a whisper. “Come out, Princess Morrigan, so proper introductions can be made all around. We are none of us strangers here.”
Tiarn was out of the bushes with his sword drawn before the sentence was complete. The old man didn’t seem alarmed, perhaps because he co
uldn’t see the blade. Or maybe he knew he had no reason to fear it.
“There is no need for weapons here,” he said, still with a smile on his face. “I am alone and unarmed. And more importantly, I am a friend to the Princess, as I was a friend to her father.”
Morrigan’s ears pricked at the mention of her father, but Tiarn charged on without giving her a chance to reply.
“There is no princess here, old man,” Tiarn countered, weapon still pointed in his direction. “You must have this lady mistaken with someone else.”
“Tiarn, leave him alone,” Morrigan ordered and stepped between the sword and the blind man.
Tiarn grumbled and shook his head. “You would stroke a dragon even while its flames consumed you,” he complained. He lowered his sword, but didn’t put it away.
“I just want to talk to him for a few minutes,” Morrigan whispered. “He says he knows my father.”
“And so I do,” the man agreed, startling her again with his keen hearing. “Sorry if it unnerves you that I hear your whispers. When you lose one sense, the others often grow stronger. Though that is not how I knew your friend had drawn his weapon. The swish of a sword being freed from its sheath is a sound any soldier would recognize. Otherwise, that soldier would not be long for this life.”
Morrigan smiled and nodded, then wondered why she did so when he obviously couldn’t see her. Beside her, Tiarn was openly fuming, but still making sure to watch the newcomer with wary eyes. For a moment her guide’s words seemed to echo her mother’s warning to trust no one, but the slight twinge of fear was outweighed by her curiosity. Besides, the old man presented no threat to a witch, a werewolf, and two Guardians. So she ignored Tiarn’s warning in favor of her own instincts.
“I’m being rude,” the man continued. “My name is Alden, and of course you are Princess Morrigan. But what is the name of your tightly wound companion? Lycan by the smell of him . . . .”
Morrigan snickered and Tiarn let out the smallest of growls. “This is Filtiarn,” she introduced. “He’s bringing me to the castle.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” he said warmly. “You must be weary from your travels. Why not join me inside for a short spell? I have warm stew still in the kettle, and we have much to discuss.”
“We thank you for your kind offer, Sir Alden, but we really must be on our way to the—oomph.”
Morrigan interrupted Tiarn by elbowing him in the stomach. “We would love to join you.”
Again Tiarn snarled, but as her sworn protector, he was obliged to follow his charge into the small cottage. Alden walked inside without the use of his cane, so sure of the path he must have walked a thousand times before that he needed no assistance. Danu and Dagda followed happily and made themselves at home beside the fire.
Morrigan couldn’t help but admire the quaint interior which was just as welcoming as the yard had been. The cottage was neat and clean with delicately carved furniture that looked handmade. There was a collection of knick knacks in the shapes of realistic animals lining the shelves on the wall. Each one was carved from corresponding colored stones. There were birds, wolves, rabbits, frogs, and too many more to name. Each one was perfect right down the smallest detail. She picked up one in the shape of a black raven. She could count every feather and feel the points of the beak and each taloned claw.
“These are beautiful!” Morrigan exclaimed. “Did you make them?”
“You sound amazed.” Alden laughed. “You do not need eyes to be an artist, Morrigan. My hands recreate the beauty in nature I can no longer see for myself. In this way, I never forget.”
He led them to a table and handed them each a copper mug filled with what smelled like apple cider along with a bowl of piping hot stew. It was chock full of large potatoes, vegetables, and what Alden identified as fresh venison. It smelled so good it made Morrigan’s stomach rumble. She hadn’t had any decent food since she had arrived in Tír na NÓg. Even Tiarn had dispelled his earlier misgivings and tore into the meal with reckless abandon. Though one hand still lingered close to the now sheathed sword, he seemed much less apprehensive.
Morrigan ate the food slowly while Alden sat across the table from them, stroking the two cats, who seemed to adore him. The black-and-orange fur blended together as they snuggled at his feet, graciously accepting every scratch and pat he offered as their human companions ate. Morrigan wanted to enjoy the meal, but her mind was spinning with questions about her father. It made it hard to concentrate on the food. She was going to wait until Alden brought it up again, not wanting to appear rude, but she couldn’t control herself.
“You mentioned you knew my father . . . .”
She let the sentence trail off and took a careful sip of her cider so she would sound casual. Tiarn glanced up briefly from his meal, trying not to appear as curious as he was, and even Danu and Dagda’s ears seemed to prick with interest.
Alden nodded. “So I did. We were fellow men at arms under the banner of the good queen. Our time together in the battlefield brought us as close as any brothers. There was no man I trusted more with my life. It was he who asked with his dying breath that I send you protection. And so I sent you these two.” He gestured to the cats who meowed in agreement. “In the hopes they would keep you safe until your return to Tír na NÓg.”
“So my father . . . he’s . . . gone?” Morrigan felt a lump rise in her throat when she thought of the father she would never know. At least she had learned he cared for her. It was more than she had ever hoped for.
“Yes, my dear. I am afraid he has been gone these fifteen years or more. In fact, you were just a wee bairn when he left this world.”
“What happened to him? Did he die in battle?”
Alden sighed deeply, lost in his own memories. “In a manner of speaking. He was one of the leaders of the revolution to help put the rightful queen on the throne. He was captured by the queen’s rebel sister and put to death when he refused to follow her rule.” His voice had become barely a whisper, and Morrigan knew he was seeing things in his mind that were far worse than the darkness caused by his blindness. “I will never forget the sight. It was the last thing I saw before the witch blinded me.”
Tiarn seemed worried as he listened. Morrigan wasn’t sure why the old man’s story bothered him so much, but he shoveled the last of his food into his mouth and just about burst from his chair.
“Well, thank you for the meal and that wonderful bit of information, Sir Alden. However, the princess and I should really be on our way. The sun will be going down soon, and we will need the cover of the trees.”
“You have nothing to fear from me, Filtiarn,” Alden assured the lycan. “I am just a blind old man, yet I can see enough to know there are some truths that can only be revealed when the time is right. My only task today is to pass a message to Morrigan from her father.”
Tiarn immediately settled back into his chair, visibly calmer. He even helped himself to a second bowl of stew. It was as though an unspoken bargain had just been made, and Morrigan was not a part of it. Or even worse, perhaps she was the thing they were bargaining for. For the first time, she wondered if maybe Alden wasn’t the gentle soul he seemed to be. Before she could ponder it further, he took a worn piece of parchment paper from the pocket of his tunic and handed it to her.
“Your father was able to slip this to me before the dark witch took his life. I have guarded it all these years, knowing one day you would come to claim it. I did not read it. They were words meant for you alone.”
Morrigan took the yellowed paper from his gnarled hands and unfolded it with trembling fingers. She was expecting an explanation of why her parents had abandoned her in a world where she could never fit in. The words she read left her with more questions than answers, though they touched her deeply.
“My Daughter, Morrigan,
Only once, I held you in my arms before you were ripped from my life forever. Yet in that blessed moment, I realized you were the greatest gift the Gods
had ever bestowed on me. Your soul shone with a brilliant radiance and light. Only you can decide whether to let that light flourish. Remember the choice is yours and I have always had faith in you. I love you, dearest one. I will always be with you in spirit.
Eternally Yours,
Your father, Connelly”
Morrigan folded the note and put in in the center of her sketchpad for safe keeping. She felt her eyes brim with tears and wished that spirit were enough to help her through the next few days. Her father’s cryptic message hardly seemed helpful. Witches were supposed to be strong, but Morrigan felt weak and alone. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to free her mother from the evil queen who held her captive when no one else had been able to defeat her. Especially now that she had learned Arianrhod had also killed her father.
“What does this mean?” Morrigan asked. “What choice did my father think I would have to make?”
Alden smiled. “As I told your changeling friend, some things you must discover on your own. So follow your path, Morrigan. Follow all the twists and turns, but remember to always stay true to yourself. No matter what you discover along the way, remember you make your own fate.”
Chapter Twelve
As the hours passed, Morrigan became attached to the old man. He told so many stories of the battles he had fought and the places he had seen in his travels with her father, Connelly, she was beginning to feel like she had known them both for years. As they chatted, she sketched his picture, and around his silhouette, she added images of the animal carvings he had created. She would have been more than happy to spend days in his company.
As time passed, Tiarn became more and more adamant they had to move on. He insisted it wasn’t safe to stay in one place for too long. Morrigan wanted to argue. She had learned more from Alden in a few short hours than she had from Tiarn since their meeting. But when Alden himself agreed and said he was sure he could hear the sound of foot soldiers in the distance, she realized she had no choice. The last thing she wanted was to put the blind man in danger.
