by P. C. Cast
Perhaps the appearance of this other Myrna, this young woman who had been touched by a goddess and gifted with unusual power, would be a second chance for them. Epona’s ways were often as mysterious as they were difficult.
And he certainly wouldn’t mind the additional power gaining such a mate would accord him.
Deep in thought, Kegan returned to his chamber and, with a sigh, made himself comfortable on the thick pallet of furs that had been made up for him on the floor. He closed his eyes, trying to will himself asleep even though against his lids he saw Morrigan’s face—the face that looked so much like Myrna. When he finally did sleep, his dreams were filled with the echo of a woman’s weeping.
* * *
“I must look as much like Myrna as Kegan looks like Kyle,” Morrigan said as Birkita helped her change into her sleeping gown. After sending the other priestesses off to braid ropes of sacred herbs for the special prayer ritual the next day, they were finally alone.
“Kyle?” Birkita said, motioning for Morrigan to sit so she could comb out her hair.
“He’s the man I knew in Oklahoma who looks just like Kegan. Uh, except he’s definitely not half horse.”
Birkita stopped combing Morrigan’s hair and studied her face. “There was something between this Kyle and you.”
Morrigan sighed. “You’re just like Grandma. She always knew stuff about me I wish she didn’t know.”
“Tell me.”
“The day I came here was the first day I’d ever been in a cave.”
Birkita’s eyes widened in shock. “You said the Keep of Oklahoma had caves.”
“It does, but people don’t live in them.”
“How can that be?”
“It’s not like it is here. Caves in Oklahoma, well, actually, caves all over my old world are a lot rougher than the Sidetha’s caves. People visit caves, but they don’t live in them—at least not anymore. So that day was the first day I’d ever visited a cave. It was the first day I’d ever heard the spirits in the crystals greet me as Light Bringer. It was also the first time I’d met Kyle.”
“Kyle had something to do with the cave?”
Morrigan nodded. “Yeah, his job was to guide people through it. He also lived on the grounds of the cave, but I didn’t know that until I went back late that night.” She stopped and swallowed hard, hating the memory of what she’d caused. “I fought with my grandparents. It was a stupid argument. I was stupid. I guess you could say I ran away, and I ran to the cave.”
“Of course you did, child. You belong in the womb of the Goddess, and you would find comfort there.”
“I didn’t really understand that then. I just kinda ended up there. It was late and I thought the place was deserted. I went into the cave and called the lights of the crystals to me. It—it was amazing. Birkita, I was filled with such incredible power, and I felt right.”
Birkita nodded in silent but complete understanding.
“Well, Kyle saw the light and followed me into the cave. We, uh… He and I, we had a connection earlier that day, and when he saw me calling the crystals to light he…uh…”
Birkita smoothed back Morrigan’s hair and smiled. “It is often an awe-inspiring experience to be touched by a goddess.”
“Well, it was more than just awe-inspiring.” Morrigan felt her cheeks getting hot. “It was, uh…” She paused, discarding words like hot and sexy. Finally she finished in an embarrassed rush, “It was really passionate.”
Birkita’s smile was knowing. “I never married, child, but that does not mean I am a stranger to passion.”
Morrigan’s cheeks were blazing. She really did not want to go into what had been happening between Kyle and her. “Anyway, my grandparents found me in the cave with Kyle, and we were in the middle of that really embarrassing scene when a cave-in happened. My grandparents got out, I’m sure they did, but Kyle wouldn’t leave me. He—he was killed, and that’s when I went into the crystal boulder and came here.”
“And that is why Kegan’s presence has affected you so.”
Morrigan nodded and silently added, And that’s why Shayla’s flirty crap is so damn annoying, too. “This is all so messed up, especially because Kegan and the Stonemaster definitely recognize me,” she said miserably.
“Perhaps it is not such a bad thing.” Birkita spoke slowly, as if she was thinking through the situation aloud. “Partholon’s Master Sculptor and Stonemaster are not going to rush back to Epona’s Temple to tell the grieving Beloved of Epona that a mirror image of her newly dead daughter lives with the Sidetha. What good would that accomplish?”
“I don’t know,” Morrigan said, even though the thought of Shannon Parker, the woman she had believed up until a few days ago was her mother, knowing she was in Partholon made an intense thrill skitter through her body.
“It would accomplish nothing. It would only cause Lady Rhiannon pain. They will say nothing, or at least they will say nothing until more time has passed. And it seems to me that there is a reason Partholon’s Master Sculptor is the mirror image of the man with whom you were connected in your old world.”
Morrigan started to correct Birkita. To tell her that she really hadn’t had enough time to be connected to Kyle, but then she thought about the way he had looked at her, and how his hands and lips had felt on her body, and had to suppress a shiver of remembered desire.
“Perhaps Adsagsona has brought Kegan to you. And, child, gifts from a goddess should never be ignored.”
* * *
In Morrigan’s dreams that night a man came to her. He had Kyle’s body. His hands were Kyle’s and his lips were Kyle’s, but she could not see his face. While he made love to her with a passion that bordered on violence, circling around and around in her head she heard a man’s mocking laughter.
CHAPTER 11
In the morning Morrigan was awake long before Birkita came to her chamber. She’d gotten up and dressed carefully in a flowing, butter-colored dress that was made of a material that felt like a mixture of expensive linen and heavy silk. It hung beautifully around her body and was trimmed in yellow faceted stones. Then she’d curled up on her pallet, resting her back against the living stone of the cave wall, and as she petted Brina, Morrigan thought about Myrna.
Her grandparents had said that Rhiannon and Shannon looked like mirror images of one another. She’d seen Rhiannon in the selenite crystal, and so she knew that what they had said was true. Except for the sadness in her smile, Rhiannon and Shannon could have been clones. Kyle and Kegan definitely looked alike. Even with the small changes in Kegan—like the length of his hair—and the major changes—like the fact that the back half of him was a horse—the two could easily be mistaken for each other. Grandpa had said that her father had been the mirror image of Shannon’s husband in Partholon, and, according to Birkita he was a centaur, too. It was no less true because it was bizarre. So, logically, she and Myrna must look almost exactly alike, too. Only, Myrna had died the same day Morrigan had entered Partholon.
What was it her mother’s spirit had said? Something about the blood sacrifice being made so she could pass through the Divide into Partholon. Morrigan had assumed Rhiannon had meant Kyle, but now she wasn’t so sure.
It was disconcerting enough that Shannon’s daughter had looked exactly like her, and it gave her a dull, queasy feeling to think that Myrna was now dead. And maybe because of me. No. Morrigan’s stomach rolled, and for a second she thought that she might actually throw up. No, she repeated firmly to herself. She couldn’t have had anything to do with Myrna’s death—she’d been in Oklahoma. Until the day of that terrible cave-in Morrigan hadn’t even known Partholon existed, let alone Myrna.
But the dark god Pryderi knew Partholon existed, and she would bet he also knew Myrna existed—he definitely knew Morrigan existed. According to her grandpa, Pryderi had been present at her birth.
“No!” Brina yowled a complaint as Morrigan pushed to her feet and began pacing the chamber. “Pryderi doesn’t h
ave anything to do with me. I belong to Adsagsona. I’m not like my mother. I’m not going to listen to the whispers of a dark god.” Of course, her grandpa had said that Rhiannon hadn’t realized she had been listening to darkness until it was too late. “It’s not the same thing. Plus, I’ve been warned, so I know what to watch out for.” She stopped pacing and stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. “I had nothing to do with Myrna’s death, but it’s not a surprise that finding out about her, and the fact that she’s dead, has freaked me out. Prayers for her soul—at least that’s something positive I can do.”
“Morrigan?” Birkita called from the other side of the leather curtain. “May I come in?”
“Yeah, yes, of course,” Morrigan called quickly.
Birkita looked around as she entered the chamber. “Are you alone? I thought I heard voices within.”
Morrigan pointed at her reflection and smiled sheepishly. “Just me talking to myself.”
Birkita’s smile looked only a little worried. “Shall we break our fast?”
“I—I think I want to say prayers for Myrna first.” Morrigan stopped and drew a deep breath. “No, I don’t think. I know I want to say prayers for Myrna before I eat. It makes sense to me. Yesterday I had to fast before the Dark Moon Ritual. This isn’t any less important,” she finished with a calm sense of surety that she was right to follow this intuition.
“Yes, my Lady,” Birkita said with approval in her voice. “If you wait here, I will call together the priestesses.”
“Let Kegan and Kai know, too.”
“I will, my Lady.”
After Birkita left, Morrigan continued to stare at her reflection in the mirror. “Do you have a clue what you’re doing?”
You are embracing your destiny…
The words seemed to float around her in the cool, earthy air of the cave. Morrigan tried to hear the Goddess’s voice in them, but all she could really be sure of was the sound of her own doubts.
* * *
Morrigan decided that she liked the solemn fuss when all of her priestesses (they called themselves her priestesses!) came to escort her to the Usgaran for the special prayer ritual. She also liked the sweet scent of the lavender and sage braids each of them carried. It clung to them, reminding Morrigan suddenly of fragrant Oklahoma springtime, sitting on her grandparents’ patio watching hummingbirds feed from the blossoms of mimosa trees.
There were twelve priestesses, and they made a column of twos—six and six—in front of Morrigan. Brina padded beside her when they slowly moved off down the tunnel in a wave of scent and complete silence, which gave her plenty of time to wonder where Birkita was and to get an even sicker nervous stomach as they approached the Usgaran.
The large chamber was deserted except for Kegan, Kai and (thankfully) Birkita. The three of them stood in front of the selenite boulder. As the priestesses entered the chamber, Birkita met Morrigan and curtsied respectfully to her. The priestesses took their places, six on either side of the boulder. Then, as one, they turned to the burning braziers around the circumference of the room and lit the thick ropes of lavender and sage they carried. Allowing the braids of dried herbs to burn for just a moment or two, the priestesses blew them out and then repositioned themselves about the great central boulder as the incenselike smoke from the smoldering ropes wafted in gray, foggy swirls around them.
Morrigan was shocked anew at the terrible beauty of the centaur, and she had a hard time keeping her eyes from him. Kegan looked young and handsome and completely exotic, though his expression was properly sober and sad, and she wondered just how friendly he’d been with Myrna…Birkita had called him a “rake.” Morrigan clamped down on that thought right away, and then told herself Myrna’s relationship with Kegan was none of her damn business. She needed to focus on prayers for the dead girl’s soul, not the soap-opera stuff that might have been going on with her.
Morrigan stopped looking at Kegan and walked forward until she stood directly in front of the massive selenite boulder, as she had the night before during the Dark Moon Ritual. This morning the boulder remained dark, as she had left it. She closed her eyes and concentrated. What should she say to help the soul of Myrna, and to help those she left behind? Like her mom. Shannon. The woman Morrigan had dreamed as her own mom and longed for and missed her entire life. A sudden burst of anger fueled by despair shot through her and Morrigan lifted her arms over her head and began the ritual in a voice that rang against the crystal walls of the chamber.
“Adsagsona, I call upon you above!” She paused and drew her arms down to form the open-palmed reverse V. “And below.” Keeping her eyes closed, she continued while trying to wade through the complex emotions Myrna’s life and death caused within her. “Visitors here, Master Sculptor Kegan and Stonemaster Kai, have brought us sad news. Myrna, the daughter of Epona’s Chosen, has died. So your priestesses and I ask that you help her soul find the Realm of her goddess, and that you also help those she left behind. That somehow you ease their pain and their grief.” Eyes still closed, Morrigan paused, struggling with a wave of jealousy that threatened to drown her. Right now Shannon was probably crying about the death of her daughter—the same way Morrigan had soaked her pillow endless nights during her childhood while she cried herself to sleep staring at Shannon’s picture, aching for a mother she could never have. But all that time—all those nights—Shannon had been alive and happy and living in Partholon, loving her real daughter.
With an intensity that made her body begin to tremble, Morrigan wished that her grandparents hadn’t kept the truth from her. It wasn’t fair. If they had told her, maybe she could have found the way to Partholon sooner—she definitely would have looked for it—and then she could have had a mother, even if it was a mother she had to share with her mirror image. After all, Myrna was dead. Morrigan was alive. Shannon would still have her. But that choice had been taken away from her. Like a fire fueled by the old, dry deadwood of a painful past, Morrigan’s frustration and anger ignited.
Birkita’s voice suddenly filled in the silence that had begun to gather uncomfortably in the Usgaran. “O gracious goddess who gives rest, O Lady of the twilight realms and womb of the earth, we do thank you for helping to guide Myrna’s spirit to the golden portals of the beauteous meadows of Epona. It is said that arrayed in a new flesh someday another mother will give birth, so that with sturdier body and brighter mind the old spirit will take the earthly road again. We wish that journey to be joyous for Myrna, daughter of Rhiannon MacCallan, Epona’s Chosen and most Beloved of her Goddess.”
At first Morrigan was relieved that Birkita had taken up the ritual, but as she listened to her, other emotions engulfed the relief. Birkita knew Rhiannon was Morrigan’s mother, not Myrna’s, yet she had named her specifically! Couldn’t she just have called her Epona’s Chosen? And why did she have to remind everyone that she was “most Beloved of her Goddess”? Her mother, the real Rhiannon MacCallan, had served that role for a good part of her life. Grandpa had even said that Epona had forgiven her for her mistakes right before she died. Birkita should show more respect for Rhiannon than that. Before the old High Priestess could say anything else, Morrigan spoke, and as she did she felt anger burn brightly within her.
Yes…your anger is good…righteous…whispered seductively through her mind.
“It’s not just for Myrna or her mother that I pray today. It’s for everyone who has been hurt by this death. Everyone who is saddened by the injustice of the situation.” Morrigan kept her eyes squeezed shut and spoke passionately. To her the words had more than a double meaning. They had depth and layers—different levels of sadness and grief, pain and loss. “Help us to find happiness in the sadness, meaning in the unjust, light in the darkness. And maybe, just maybe, I can be a part of that light in the darkness.” The anger that had been smoldering inside her for years continued to flame. She opened flashing eyes and hurled her hands out before her as if she was throwing all of the emotions inside her at the crystal boulder
. “Hear me, spirits of the crystals! Let there be light!” It wasn’t just the boulder that responded to her. Every piece of selenite crystal in the entire Usgaran blazed into glorious, furious light.
Morrigan lifted her arms, reveling in the passion and the power that pulsed around and through her.
Yes! Claim your power. Claim your destiny.
“I do claim what is mine. I am High Priestess and it is my light that blazes here for everyone who has been hurt or wronged.” I’m not an outsider and an orphan anymore, she added silently to the voice in her mind.
* * *
The moment Morrigan entered the Usgaran, Kegan felt the anticipatory thrum of the crystals. It passed through him as if he was standing there naked and a lover had just blown teasing air across his sweat-dampened skin. He’d watched her approach the sacred boulder and had been surprised, as well as taken aback, by the way she had scrutinized him. When she finally began the ritual her voice was impassioned, as if Morrigan had been deeply saddened by Myrna’s death. She had been so emotional that for a time she had not been able to go on, and it had appeared that Birkita was going to have to complete the prayers for her.
Then Morrigan had begun speaking again and her tone had completely changed. Her voice was filled with an anger and intensity that had more to do with battle than funerals, and when she opened her eyes and commanded the crystals to light, it was with a ferocity that blazed passion and anger and need—not lamentation and loss. But the crystals were not the only things that lit. Morrigan, too, flamed. The room was hazy with smoke from the sweet ritual herbs, and the light from the crystals caught the wispy, curling vapor, giving everything an eerie, underwater cast. Morrigan stood in the center of the sea kingdom, a magnificent goddess robed in light. Power pulsed around her, lifting her hair with its elemental strength. Kegan’s breath whooshed out of his chest as, mesmerized, he watched her claim her destiny. The shaman in his spirit automatically responded to her. Morrigan was definitely not Myrna. Rhiannon’s daughter had been beautiful and intelligent, sweet, even, beloved by her parents and content that her destiny was not to serve the Goddess.
