by Laura DeLuca
Next Morrigan was led over to the large claw-foot bath tub. While one of the maidens had been busy with the smudge wand, the other two had filled the bath with steaming hot water. They added a sprinkling of pure sea salts and an abundance of different dried herbs, which turned the water the color of simmering black tea. They also added a few drops of scented essential oils from perfume bottles etched in gold and decorated with elaborate beads and stones. She smelled hints of lavender, chamomile, and rosemary, but the other scents were indistinguishable. The watery brew gave her that same strange, heady feeling, but this time she didn’t fight it. She just sat back and enjoyed it. The cleansing was revitalizing and was giving her the strength she needed after a long, sleepless night.
The girls offered her a hand and guided Morrigan into the bath. She sunk gratefully into the warm water, feeling it loosen up muscles tight from stress and travel. The girls each held a soft sponge and took turns gently wiping down every inch of her body. It was such a luxurious feeling that she could almost imagine she was at some expensive European spa instead of a medieval castle. She wasn’t even self-conscious about her nakedness anymore. Still, she quickly remembered the peril she was in when one of the girls reached for the hand that guarded The Morrigan’s raven. She swiftly slid it safely under her legs until they were done with her hands. As they continued with the bathing, they brought her a chalice filled with sparkling, fresh water, and she drank deeply, hardly realizing how thirsty she had been.
When they were certain every spot of her body was scrubbed clean, they allowed her to release her water to cleanse her inner body. Then they took her toward the fire, stoking it until the flames grew so large and warm, that even her naked flesh felt none of the crisp autumn air blowing in through the open balcony doors. When she was dry, they gathered the clothes her mother had brought in, and started to dress her. It made her feel silly, but she knew better than to complain. As soon as they had her girdle laced and fastened, Morrigan faked a coughing fit. The girl’s backed off just long enough for her to put the raven back in its place between her breasts. Something about its presence there was reassuring. It made her feel closer to the Goddess who shared her name. The girls were so busy making sure there were no creases in her gown, they never even noticed Morrigan tucking the token securely away.
Once the handmaidens were satisfied her gown was perfect, they carried it over to Morrigan. She obliged by lifting her arms so they could slide it over her head. She watched from the mirror reflection and couldn’t help but admire its beauty. It was made from the finest spun silk, dyed a shade of white that was as bright as a patch of freshly fallen snow. The bell sleeves came down in an angle just over her hands, and the back extended in a flowing train. Along the hemline and sleeves someone had painstakingly embroidered a variety of Celtic symbols in a delicate silver thread that shimmered in the firelight. The center of the bodice was emblazoned with the celestial likeness of the triple moon in all its lunar glory. The girls embellished the elegance with sterling silver bracelets and rings, baring the same mysterious insignia. They completed her attire by plaiting fresh flowers into her long, dark hair and adding a silver crown around her forehead, brandished with the lone figure of the waxing moon. It was made entirely from silver and what she was sure were very large diamonds forming the shape of the crescent moon.
Morrigan studied the face in the mirror and couldn’t believe the beautiful creature that gazed back at her was her own reflection. She looked stunning, yet still so innocent and pure. She was the embodiment of the Maiden Goddess.
“Yes, my darling,” Ceridwyn whispered. Morrigan hadn’t even realized her mother had entered the room, but she seemed to have read her mind. “You look lovely. Everything is perfect. Now at last it is time for the ritual to begin. It is time that we become immortal.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Morrigan swallowed hard and watched her mother’s reflection glide past her in the mirror. Ceridwyn would have been beautiful in her ritual attire, if not for the heartless glaze to her eyes. Her mahogany hair was bundled up on her head in an elegant up-do, with just a few curled ringlets dangling down beside her ears. Her gown was an exact duplicate of Morrigan’s except it was blood-red instead of white, and the silver crown that graced her forehead bore the full, round moon, symbol of the Mother aspect of the Goddess, instead of the waxing crescent of the Maiden.
Hecate stood behind her, without the company of her slobbering hound. She was dressed in a black gown, with the waning moon fastened over veils of black lace, keeping her haggard crone’s face covered from view.
“Did you just say immortal?” Morrigan wasn’t sure she had heard her mother correctly.
“Of course, dear. What did you think this was all about?” Ceridwyn tucked a few loose strands of hair back into place nonchalantly as she explained. “Everyone knows the maiden from another land will sway the tide of good and evil permanently in one direction. But the possibility of the triad achieving immortality was always a carefully guarded secret, known only to the royal family. Why struggle and fight for the throne, only to sacrifice it to death after only a few meager decades? Once the ritual is complete, once Maiden, Mother and Crone stand united under the light of the moons and make an offering of royal blood, we shall be granted eternal life by the Gods. Our reign in Tír na NÓg will never end!”
Ceridwyn looked at her expectantly, as though she were waiting for Morrigan to erupt into applause or shout her unwavering support. All Morrigan could muster was a small nod as she stared dumbly at her mother’s crazed face. She didn’t know if immortality were really possible outside of Willow’s faery realm. It wasn’t something she was willing to trade her soul for, any more than she had been willing to trade her humanity to become one of the eternal children of the fey. Ceridwyn twisted her face into a scowl at her lack of enthusiasm, but didn’t say any more about it.
“Come,” she said coldly. “It is time to begin.”
Morrigan stood on trembling legs and followed her mother from the room for what she was afraid would be the last time. The corridor was lined from one end to the other with soldiers and white-robed mages. Ceridwyn was taking no chances at interruptions. No one would dare to come to Morrigan’s rescue against such a large force, even if there were anyone around who cared. Once the three royal witches had passed, the militia followed them as though they were in some sort of parade. Or maybe a funeral procession was more accurate, judging by the serious and sometimes desperate looking expressions of their entourage.
It was not long before they reached a section of the castle Morrigan had never visited before. The hallway was empty of paintings, furniture, and other embellishments. There were bare mortared walls on either side of the narrow passage. However plain the rest of the interior design, they still walked upon a black rug embroidered with beautiful moons and elaborate magical symbols. It was so beautiful it seemed almost sacrilegious to tread upon it.
All at once, before anyone other than the witches had set foot onto the embroidered runner, the band of angry soldiers stopped following them and once again backed up against the walls in formation. Ceridwyn and Hecate continued to move forward, but Morrigan, unsure of what was expected, stopped and waited for instructions. Sensing her confusion at the sudden halt, her mother was nice enough to explain, though that explanation made Morrigan shiver.
“No one outside of the royal line would dare to enter the sacred cavern. It is rumored the few who have tried were incinerated on the spot. Only those of the royal bloodline may pass beyond this point. Now, stop dilly dallying and come along!”
Morrigan jogged to catch up, not wanting to annoy her mother before she thought of a good plan. They had come to the end of the hallway and were facing a gigantic wooden door. Again it was carved with sacred Celtic markings, but it also bore the faces of a whole pantheon of Goddesses, each one more lovely than the next. It was trimmed with silver and adorned with an abundance of sparkling jewels. Morrigan was not taken in by its beauty.
Anything sacred to Ceridwyn had to be marked by evil. Even as she thought it, the faces of the door seemed to mock her with their provocative and devilish grins. Morrigan shuddered inwardly as her mother and grandmother strained to push open the heavy doors
“Sacred caverns?” she asked. “What does that mean? Are we going into some sort of cave?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Ceridwyn admitted. “The castle was built on this hill centuries ago, so we could harness the power of the crystal cavern that lies below its foundation. It is reserved for only the most sacred of rites. You should feel honored, Morrigan, that you shall have this experience. Even in the royal line, few have been allowed to enter the cavern, let alone work magic there.” She huffed from the strain of trying to budge the thick wood. “Come here and help us get these blasted doors open before the night is over!” she ordered. “I would use my powers, but I do not wish to exhaust them before the ritual is complete.”
Morrigan inched her way over and almost jumped when she touched the door. The wood felt cold as ice beneath her fingertips. After one hard stare from Ceridwyn, she overcame her fear and began to help. After a few good shoves from their combined forces, the rusty hinges gave way with a loud creak. The door swung open, and a freezing cold gust of wind slapped Morrigan in the face. She blinked, closing her eyes to escape its lashing.
When the wind finally died down, Morrigan opened her eyes and peered into the opening. She didn’t know what she was expecting to find, but the entrance hardly seemed grand. By the light of the magically powered torches that lined the walls, this new passageway looked very much like the entrance to the dungeon. Once she followed her family through the doors, she realized the walls were made from dirt and rock and not the manmade blocks of the castle.
They were travelling down a narrow incline that led deep into the bowels of the earth. In some spots, she could see the sparkle of precious stones jutting from the walls. As they went farther and farther, there were stalactites hanging high above and giant stalagmites bursting forth from the ground. As she stared up at their majesty in wonder, a few drops of water tickled her forehead, and she knew they had gone below the moat that surrounded the castle.
None of that prepared her for the grandeur she found in the darkest abyss of the cavern. The narrow passageway led into a huge, naturally carved altar room, and its dazzling beauty brought tears to her eyes. The cave was larger than any ballroom, and it was filled with crystal clear quartz points, some as large as trees, which dwarfed the insignificant witches who hoped to capture their essence. Some seemed to reach as high as the seemingly endless ceiling above them. Others were smaller, but still just as magnificent.
They didn’t even need the magical torches any longer, though a few of them were scattered about. High above them, Morrigan could see the last vestiges of the setting sun through a circular opening in the earth. The reflection of light bounced from one crystal to the next, making it as bright as midday in the deep cave, while causing hundreds of little rainbows to dance in the open space like twinkling pixies. A small creek with fresh running water trickled along one corner, and the sound of the water pattering over the rocks made the atmosphere that much more serene.
“It’s so beautiful,” Morrigan whispered.
Ceridwyn and Hecate were still involved in their preparations and either didn’t hear her or ignored her wonderment. Since the sunlight would be gone soon, the witches had already set to work lighting what seemed like hundreds of black, red, and white candles, all in the same pattern to coordinate with the triple Goddess aspects they were calling on for the ritual. As they worked, Morrigan took a few steps deeper into the cavern, admiring its fragile beauty despite her racing heart. Beneath her feet, the earth crunched as she realized the floor was made of tiny pieces of shattered quartz. She laid her hand against a crystal as tall as she was and felt it vibrate with a life force all its own.
The most incredible part of the cave was a patch of crystals in the very center. They formed a sparkling circle of stones very similar to Stonehenge, just on a slightly smaller scale. There were six sets of crystals in the circle, each one several feet taller than Morrigan. Every arrangement had two large stones supporting a third double terminated crystal. She was amazed and a little overwhelmed by the power the giant crystals radiated.
Ceridwyn and Hecate completed the task of lighting the candles, stepped into the circle of crystals, and motioned for Morrigan to join them. Morrigan complied, trying to act like the obedient and docile daughter they expected her to be, though she knew it meant the dreaded rites were about to begin. She took a step into the center and saw the one thing that could mar its perfection. The layout of the room had blocked it from her view before, but now it was impossible to miss. In the very center of the stone circle, tied and bound to a large crystal altar just the length of her body, lay Queen Arianrhod, her eyes closed in what looked like peaceful slumber. A smaller crystal beside it was used as a supply table. It was covered in an embroidered cloth and bore the tools of ritual, including the sheathed dagger that would bring about her aunt’s demise.
Ceridwyn sighed with contentment as she admired her handy work. She didn’t even notice Morrigan’s horror. She looked up at the night sky and the crescent moon.
“It’s a beautiful night for a sacrifice,” she declared.
Morrigan had to cover her mouth to stifle a scream.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Morrigan took a deep breath and tried to collect herself. If she looked too horrified, her mother would realize what she was up to. Luckily, Ceridwyn was too busy laying out cakes and wine in jeweled chalices and sterling silver trays to take any notice of her daughter’s reaction. She placed the plates next to the ritual dagger, as though she planned to sit down and have a snack right after she killed her sister. While she was occupied, Morrigan desperately searched the cave for an alternate exit. Aside from the impossibly high opening at the top of the cavern, the only way out seemed to be the passageway they had come through, and that was guarded by a whole army loyal to Ceridwyn.
Another quick glance at Arianrhod revealed she was in no condition to offer any assistance. The queen was bound at her arms and legs by a thick hemp rope, and she appeared to be unconscious. She was dressed in only a plain white sheath that covered the length of her slim frame. Her long hair was loose and so long that it dangled down over the edge of the altar and swept across the floor. Even stripped of her royal finery, Arianrhod resembled a sleeping angel.
Morrigan watched her for a long time, but she didn’t stir. She was worried her aunt had been drugged or that she might already be dead. Thankfully, while Hecate and Ceridwyn were busy going over last minute preparations, one blue eye opened, and Morrigan knew she was just biding her time. Arianrhod gave her a wary but desperate stare before closing her eyes again in feigned sleep. Morrigan understood her doubts. Neither of them knew for certain if they could trust the other, but they both knew they had no other choice if they wanted to survive.
Around them, the room had begun to get darker. The sun had vanished. Only the flickering light of the torches and candles illuminated the cave. The flames’ reflection danced like diamonds on the surface of the large crystals. The same lighting failed to compliment her mother. The dim glow cast an eerie shadow over Ceridwyn’s normally lovely face, bringing to the forefront the true nature of the monster that hid beneath the charming exterior.
“We must tarry no longer,” Hecate instructed briskly. “We need to reach the peak of the ritual just as the mother moon reaches its highest point. It must shine down upon us and bear witness to our magic through the cavern window.”
Ceridwyn nodded. “So mote it be. The ritual has begun. We must now remain within the confines of the circle for the duration of the rites.”
With a solemn face, Ceridwyn lifted a bundle of herbs much like the one the maidens had used during Morrigan’s cleansing. She placed the tip into one of the candles to light it. When she pulled the herbs away from
the flame, there was only a tiny glowing ember. As soon as Ceridwyn added a whisper of her own breath to fan the flame, the whole bundle began to crackle and smoke. The top burst into flames that blazed for only a second before settling into a more controllable radiance. It was a magic that could only be possible due to Ceridwyn’s control over the element of air.
Once the smudge stick was smoldering, Ceridwyn walked the perimeter of the stone monuments, mumbling something that sounded like Gaelic. Hecate stood in the center of the circle, with her arms outstretched, breathing deeply to inhale the intoxicating smoke which filled them all with an almost euphoric headiness. Morrigan tried to hold her breath to avoid the thick fog. Despite her efforts, it curled around her like a warm blanket, making her feel disorientated. She could barely feel the ground beneath her feet as her witch’s spirit struggled to embrace the growing magic around her. Her heavy eyes should have been glazed, but instead she saw with even greater clarity the glorious beauty of the majestic crystals. For just a moment, she forgot the horrors her mother had planned.
Eventually the smoke began to dissipate, and Morrigan felt more like herself. Ceridwyn seemed even more entranced. Her mother began the next steps of the ritual by walking three times around the circle, sprinkling salt and water along the way to cleanse and purify the space they intended to defile. As she moved on, her strange words sounded more and more like desperate, possessed chanting. Hecate had taken up the mantra, and she started to sway to the natural rhythmic tone of their voices.
