Morrigan

by Laura DeLuca

  Since Tiarn was familiar with the castle layout, he took the lead. Morrigan could only assume he knew where he was going. Along the way, they passed a few finely dressed nobles and someone who looked like the stereotype of an Arthurian wizard. Their disguises must have worked, because the aristocrats scarcely raised an eyebrow, except for one or two of them who crinkled their noses in distaste at the lingering odor that clung to them from the sewers. They even passed a few servants, but they were too caught up in their work to notice them.

  As they traveled, Morrigan kept expecting to hear screams from those being tortured in the dungeons, but the hall remained eerily quiet. Finally, they came to a large stairway that led down to the deepest depths of the castle, and for the first time she thought she heard the wailing of the prisoners. She knew she was right when Tiarn spoke for the first time since leaving the supply closet. His voice was barely a whisper.

  “This stairway leads to the prison in which your mother and grandmother are being held,” he explained. “There will be guards, and they will know we do not belong no matter what garb we adorn. Prepare for battle, Morrigan, for there is no way to escape it. And pray we do not need to kill these men who but serve their queen’s will.”

  Morrigan nodded and swallowed hard. The last thing she wanted was to hurt anyone. They began the long descent down the winding stairway. She counted each footstep as she went, hoping the mindlessness would calm her nerves. They had gone down more than fifty paces when she was able to discern muffled voices speaking to one another in addition to the occasional scream. Another fifty feet went by before they were finally noticed, first by the prisoners who began to whistle and hoot when they saw Morrigan, and then by the guards.

  “What are you two doing here?” a gruff voice demanded. “The prisoners have no need of your services. Get back to your chores or there will be a whipping for you both!”

  Tiarn ignored him and descended the final steps. He bowed before the frowning member of the royal guard. “We mean no harm, sir.” He did not make eye contact, which Morrigan assumed was part of staying in character as the lowly servant. “We were sent by Queen Arianrhod herself to cleanse the chamber of her mother and sister.”

  It was a valiant effort, but the guard was not so easily fooled. He narrowed his eyes. “The queen allows no one in the prisoners’ cell. She tends to their needs herself.”

  “My mistake. Forgive us, sir. We meant no harm. We were only following orders.”

  Tiarn turned as though he intended to leave the way he had come, but at the last second, he tossed the crumbled sheets into the face of the soldier, blinding him long enough for Tiarn to raise his sword strategically against the man’s throat. The dirt encrusted prisoners behind the locked cells began to cheer, even as the rest of the armed guards attempted to rush them.

  From that point on, everything seemed to move in slow motion. There was a flash of swords and a blur of movement. Morrigan pressed against the cold stone wall, waiting for the attack. In a panic, she threw her buckets to the ground, setting free her lethal Guardians. The metal landed with a loud clatter, but the cats were out of them before they ever hit the ground. They soared through the air, transforming in mid-leap, their bodies lengthening and expanding right in front of the startled guards, who never expected to be facing two large cats. Fangs extended and a low, guttural growl erupted, silencing even the rowdy prisoners. The Guardians were so large, there was barely room for them in the narrow walkway, but the silky black panther and the glorious striped tiger managed to pin a pair of soldiers to the ground.

  Morrigan only barely saw the cats attack, because as soon as her hands were free, she was using them. They were lucky the corridor between the two rows of cells was small. Even though there were twenty or so guards on duty, the narrow passageway nullified their numbers. They could only come at them two or three at a time, and thankfully guns had not been invented or just weren’t used in Tír na NÓg. As two of the guards tried to lunge toward Morrigan, she grabbed them up with the power of her mind. Using her hands as focal points, she guided them into the nearest vacant cell. They could only stare in dumbfounded shock as the bars slammed shut behind them and the lock magically clicked into place.

  Tiarn had dispatched two guards, including the initial one who had questioned them, by slamming their heads together. The last of the soldiers took one look at the foursome and sprinted in the opposite direction. Tiarn and Morrigan didn’t give chase, but there was no doubt the soldier would raise the alarm. It wouldn’t be long until the men came back with magical reinforcements, which meant they had to move quickly. The prisoners were hooting again and cheering them for their success, but Tiarn and Morrigan knew their victory was temporary and time was limited.

  “We must find Ceridwyn and Hecate,” Tiarn told her. “Before the guards return with Arianrhod and the witch’s council. We cannot fight them all alone.”

  Morrigan nodded, but it was difficult to hear over the screaming prisoners. Some were still cheering; some were begging and pleading to be set free. Morrigan had no way of knowing why they were there or if they deserved it. She did her best to ignore them while she looked for her mother. As she searched, Tiarn threw the rest of their captives into the empty prison chambers.

  Morrigan peeked into each cell, finding only vile looking criminals or poor souls who were not in their right minds. No one had the demeanor of a would-be queen. Finally, at the very end of the room, she saw a thin delicate hand reaching through the bars of her cell—a hand free from prison filth and garbed in what appeared to be red silk. Even as she started to make her way toward it, she heard her name echo through the corridor like a sweet and gentle lullaby.

  “Morrrriiigaaaannnnn.”

  The voice came dimly at first, drowned out by the other voices, but became clearer as the prisoners hushed in respect for the imprisoned queen. Everyone, man and beast alike, sensed a growing power among them, and the captives knew enough to be still when witchcraft was brewing.

  Morrigan inched her way toward the beckoning hand, feeling almost dizzy with anticipation. She moved in a sort of half trance. Her heart pounded in excited anticipation and terror. Would her mother be disappointed? She swallowed hard as she faced the cell. There stood a woman, beautiful and elegant, garbed in a stunning ruby red dress. Her hair was a blanket of soft mahogany. She pressed her face to the bars and smiled as Morrigan approached.

  “Morrigan!” she whispered. “My baby, Morrigan.”

  Morrigan felt tears slide down her cheeks as she came face-to-face with her mother for the very first time.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “M . . . mother?”

  Morrigan had dreamt of this very moment a million times. Always she had envisioned eloquent speeches and joyful embraces. She never imagined bars between them, making it impossible to fling herself into her mother’s arms. Nor did she think she would be so overcome with emotion that she would be unable to speak. Her mouth had gone dry, and her head felt completely empty.

  As awkward as the moment felt, it was also the single most perfect moment of her life. Everything she had ever wanted was suddenly a reality. She had found her mother. It seemed almost too good to be true. She wanted to take the outstretched hand, but as much as she longed to reach out and touch her, she was afraid. Maybe the whole journey had been one long, beautiful dream, and if she actually completed her task and set her mother free, she would awaken, and it would all be over.

  “Morrigan,” Ceridwyn called. “Daughter, come to me.”

  Despite her current situation, Ceridwyn was the picture of royal decorum. Her red gown was immaculate and clean pressed. Her hair was piled high on her head with curled circlets dangling around her neck. Though Morrigan doubted she wore makeup, her face seemed flawless. Her lips were red and her cheeks a rosy pink. There was not so much as a wrinkle or a frown line.

  While she still clung to the vestiges of youth, her eyes were filled with a wisdom that revealed her true age. The queen smiled
at her daughter, and those eyes glowed with happiness, though she remained calm and collected. No one would have guessed she was the one on the wrong end of the prison cell. Morrigan was as nervous as a caged animal.

  “The girl stands as though she were a deaf mute!”

  The raspy voice came from the corner of the cell. A moment later, a second woman stepped from the shadows, with a large black dog as her companion. It sat by her side in what should have been an unthreatening manner, yet just the sight of so large a beast was intimidating. Morrigan immediately recognized Hecate from the magic portal. The woman was clad in black, her face hidden behind a veil of black lace. Though she walked with her back erect and with all the vigor of youth, beneath her garments, Morrigan could see the telltale signs of age. There were dark spots on her hands, and wisps of gray hair had escaped from beneath her veil.

  Morrigan could see why Tiarn had found her gruff attitude less than charming, but she believed the ancients were entitled to their eccentricities. Besides, her sour mood was easily explained considering she had been caged by her own daughter.

  “She is just a child, Mother,” Ceridwyn chastised gently. “Give her a moment to collect herself. She has overcome many trials to find her way to us. You should show her some gratitude.”

  Hecate huffed. “So tell the child to set us free from this sty before I lose what little is left of my composure.”

  Morrigan had always hated when people talked about her like she wasn’t there. Her annoyance was enough to clear her thoughts and she finally found the strength to speak. “How . . . how do I get you out? Do I use my powers? Look for the key?”

  Ceridwyn turned back to her daughter, looking surprised but pleased to see her take the initiative. “The room is enchanted,” she explained. “No mortal locks could restrain us. And even your exceptional gifts would not be enough to break the powerful spell which Arianrhod has cast upon these doors. No, there is only one way to set us free. Only the three of us together can break these chains of magic. Come Morrigan, take my hand. Complete the triad.”

  Morrigan was suddenly afraid. She had never practiced magic with anyone else. She sometimes had trouble controlling her own powers. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of merging them with someone else’s. What if things got out of hand? She might set the whole palace on fire or cause the castle to crumble to the ground. Morrigan looked toward Tiarn for guidance, but though there were no soldiers left to fight, he refused to meet her gaze. He had warned her there were some things she would have to discover on her own. Apparently this was one of them.

  “Come, child,” Hecate chimed in, her voice much more docile this time. “Do not fear us. We will not harm you. We are your family.”

  Morrigan wanted to believe she was sincere, but something in her grandmother’s voice sounded indifferent. Her mother continued to smile and beckon, with real tears misting her dark eyes. It was that tender, motherly glance that gave Morrigan the courage to take a few more steps forward.

  As she got closer to the cell, she could clearly see the interior. It was hardly the sty Hecate had complained of. The other cells had beds of dirty straw and blankets that looked like Swiss cheese. The witches had something that was more like a palace chamber than a prison block. There were two beds covered in silk sheets and topped with velvet canapés and drapes. There were large armoires, most likely filled with more beautiful clothing of the highest caliber. Even the chamber pots were fine china etched with gold, and the pitchers beside them were probably filled regularly with clean bathing water. Beside them were vials of performed oils, brushes, and other toiletries. Imprisoned or not, Arianrhod was treating her captives like royalty.

  “Come, Morrigan,” Ceridwyn encouraged. “You have nothing to fear.”

  Her mother’s voice woke her from her reverie, and Morrigan took the final steps toward the bars. She took a deep breath, raised her hand, and before she could talk herself out of it, she closed her eyes and reached for her mother’s hand. It wasn’t easy to do. It felt as though there was an invisible force field between them. She struggled to push her way through it, but it was like trudging through slow-drying cement. Nevertheless, the spell was not strong enough to hold her back for long. With one last push, she made it to her mother’s side and grabbed hold of her hand.

  As soon as they made contact, Morrigan immediately felt a surge of energy unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It jolted through her body like an electric current, as forceful as any lightning bolt. She harnessed its power. She no longer felt any remnants of fear. She was invigorated and recharged. It was exhilarating, and she could see from the way her mother’s eyes rolled with pleasure, that she felt the same intense flow of magic.

  “What now?” Morrigan asked, a little breathless. “How do I get you out of there?”

  Ceridwyn seemed to need time to recover from the unexpected power surge. Her words came in hard pants. “We must complete the triad—Maiden, Mother, and Crone.”

  Ceridwyn gestured for Hecate to join them, and the old woman inched her way closer with the hound at her heels. Though the animal did little to acknowledge her, its abnormal size and matted fur made Morrigan feel tense. Once she was at Ceridwyn’s side, Hecate reached out a thin, gnarled hand; her fingernails were so long they curled at the tips. Morrigan was just about to reach for her, but she panicked and jerked her hand back at the last second. Ceridwyn had already taken her mother’s other hand, so it was only Hecate and Morrigan who needed to complete the circle.

  “Do not be afraid, child. Take my hand. Take my hand and set us free.”

  It was meant to be soothing, but Hecate’s voice sounded more like an angry screech. Still, it was too late to turn back now. Morrigan closed her eyes, swallowed back her doubts, and grabbed hold of the ancient claw. In that instant, the whole world changed.

  Morrigan had thought the energy before had been intense, but it was dwarfed in comparison to the torrent of power that flowed between the three witches. The air crackled around them. The ground at her feet began to tremble. Some of the prisoners in the dungeon began to scream and beg for mercy, while others fell on their knees and wept. Even Tiarn, who was now waiting at the entrance, steadied himself by grabbing hold of the nearest cell bars. The cats stood in a predatory stance, ready to pounce if need be.

  Again Morrigan felt the presence of the magical barrier around them. It was much stronger on the other side of the bars, where Hecate and Ceridwyn were struggling to escape. Morrigan felt the sensation of pushing against a brick wall, even though she couldn’t see it. The combined force of the three witches was like a magical wrecking ball. The invisible wall could not stand against them. It fought, but they fought harder. The room erupted in a spray of sparks. The force field shuddered one last time and imploded with such intensity that it sent them all sprawling backward. As Morrigan lay on the hard, cold ground of the dungeon, the bars simply swung open of their own accord.

  “Mother! Grandmother!” Morrigan scrambled to her feet and rushed inside the cell to her mother’s side. “Are you all right?”

  Ceridwyn smiled. “We are fine, my dear. Thanks to you!”

  Her mother was already helping Hecate to her feet. Morrigan was worried the old woman might have been hurt, but she practically cackled with glee. “We’re free! Free!” she exclaimed. “Our time has come, Ceridwyn! We will take the kingdom, and your ungrateful sister will pay the price for her treachery.”

  “Yes, yes, Mother, of course.” Ceridwyn patted the old lady’s back, seeming to humor her. “But first, give me just a moment to lay eyes on my child. I have not yet been able to give her a proper greeting.”

  Ceridwyn, now free from her prison, glided to Morrigan. She again reached out a pale white hand, but this time it was with a gentle touch. She stroked her cheek, her hair, her face. Morrigan closed her eyes and savored the moment. All her life, as she was being shuffled from one foster home to another, she told herself she didn’t care about her real mother, but it had always
been a lie. She had been incomplete without knowing the woman who had given her life. Now at last she felt like a whole person.

  Morrigan memorized every inch of her mother’s face, looking for any small similarities between them. They had the same nose, the same arch to their eyebrows, and even the same smile. Her features were delicate, but Ceridwyn’s eyes seemed hungry—for love? For answers? It didn’t really matter. Ceridwyn wrapped her arms around her daughter. As they embraced, they both wept tears of joy.

  “My daughter. My Morrigan!” Ceridwyn dabbed at her eyes. “Let me look at you. You have grown into such a beautiful young lady. When last I held you to my breast, you were but a babe in my arms.”

  “Far be it from me to interrupt such a tender moment,” Tiarn said, sneaking up behind them. “But there will be time for reunions later. The soldiers will be alerting Arianrhod of your escape, if they have not done so already. Whatever your plans are, Queen Ceridwyn, you should act now.”

  “The dog is right.” Hecate shuffled over, and Tiarn glared at her. “We must confront Arianrhod now. She cannot stand against the complete triad.”

  “Yes,” Ceridwyn agreed and grudgingly let her daughter go. “We must move quickly, while the element of surprise is still ours. Forgive me, Morrigan, but we will have the rest of our lives to get to know one another. First, we have one last obstacle to overcome.”

  Ceridwyn led her small army, including a strange ensemble of witches, Guardians, a hound dog, and a werewolf out of the dungeon. They passed through a maze of glorious halls, lined with suits of armor, generations of portraits, and statues of Goddesses. The corridors were much more crowded than the servants’ quarters had been. They came upon many nobles and servants and even a few guards. Some of them instantly fell to their knees in a pathetic grovel as the queen marched past, and some couldn’t stop staring at her entourage with dumbfounded expressions. No one tried to stop them, and Hecate and Ceridwyn acted as though they didn’t even see any of them.