Morrigan (26 page)

“Please! Please don’t kill her! She is your
sister! Show mercy!” The other girls were trying to keep her from
throwing herself at Ceridwyn. “The same mercy she showed to
you!”

Ceridwyn allowed her attention to be
diverted, and the chain of power was broken. Furious, she let go of
Morrigan’s hand, and instantly the rage she had felt was
extinguished. She realized Deirdre had probably just saved
Arianrhod’s life. The now former queen fell to the ground,
breathless and weak, but still alive. Everyone knew the battle was
over, and Ceridwyn turned her fury onto the young girl who had
nearly collapsed into the arms of the other handmaidens as grief
overcame her.

“Mercy!” she spat. “You call months in that
prison cell mercy? It would be more of a mercy to let her die!”

Ceridwyn approached her fallen sister, who
still sputtered and choked. She bent down to look at her and was
almost gentle as she brushed the hair from her eyes. Morrigan even
thought she might kiss her, but instead, she ripped the jeweled
crown from Arianrhod’s head.

“Now you have taken your crown.” Arianrhod
was barely able to whisper. “Will you take my life and make your
victory complete?”

“Do not fear, Sister. It is not your fate to
die on this day. Oh, no, I have other plans in store for you.”
Ceridwyn pushed her sister away in disgust and turned to the
guards, who leapt to attention though they still wore the crest of
the owl. “Take her to the dungeon.”

A deadly silence descended upon the great
hall, though many wept, as the people watched their former queen
being taken away in chains. She was too weak to walk, so they
dragged her through the crowd. Long after she was gone, everyone
still stood, stunned by how quickly their lives had changed. It was
the Hecate who finally broke the silence.

“Would anyone else dare to challenge us? Will
the council or the elders deny their true queen? The Goddess has
taken the side of Ceridwyn! She is victorious! She is your
leader!”

“Ceridwyn!” They people cried. “All hail
Queen Ceridwyn! All hail the Queen Mother, Hecate! All hail
Princess Morrigan!”

The room had erupted in cheers, but Morrigan
noticed many people in the crowd were unhappy. Though they remained
silent, more than one of the council members were frowning.
Arianrhod’s handmaiden lay weeping on the floor beside the other
ladies in waiting. Most of the town elders, including Brigid, whose
face was as flame red as her hair, couldn’t hide their agitation.
Despite the divided court, it seemed no else dared to stand against
the triad. Morrigan thought it was finally over, when a strong
voice rang through the crowd, so loud that he was heard over all
the whistles and cheers.

“I will challenge you!” The lone voice rose
above all, powerful in its conviction. Caedmon, the soldier from
the woods, stepped forward. As it turned out, he was even more
important than Morrigan had imagined. “I am the commander of the
queen’s army. My loyalty lies with Queen Arianrhod. I will die
before I serve any other.”

Morrigan saw her mother glare at him with
barely contained fury, but it was Hecate who approached him. Her
face was still hidden behind her veils and when she spoke, her
voice dripped with disgust.

“You would rather die than serve your
rightful queen?” she hissed.

“I would rather die than serve a false
queen,” Caedmon contested.

The Queen Mother nodded. “Then so you
shall.”

From somewhere within her robes, Hecate
produced a jewel tipped dagger, with hounds carved into the ebony
handle. Without a second thought, she lifted the knife to the
soldier’s neck and sliced his throat.

“You . . . you killed him!” Tiarn barely
managed to catch Morrigan as her legs crumbled beneath her. “How
could you just . . . just kill him like that?”

Around her, the great hall fell into stunned
silence. While Hecate stood with the dripping dagger clutched in
her hand, no one dared to move or speak, lest her vengeance be
turned onto them. The only sounds were Caedmon’s last feeble
gurgles and sputters as his dying body slipped to the ground, and
Morrigan realized that despite her desperate cries, he wasn’t quite
dead yet.

As the man fell forward, his hand reached up
in one last attempt at self-defense. He only managed to grasp
Hecate’s veil and pull it free. As it fluttered to the ground,
Morrigan’s eyes fell upon her grandmother’s face for the very first
time. It held none of the regal beauty of either of her daughters.
With some older women, it was possible to see a glimmer of the
beauty of their youth. With Hecate, it seemed she had always been
ancient.

Her face was a crater of wrinkles. Her eyes
were so sunken that it was impossible to tell their color, and she
was emancipated to the point of looking half-starved. Her nose was
large and hooked, and her hair just thin gray wisps clinging
desperately to her withered skull. Though she walked with the
demeanor of a queen, she had to hide the face of a hag beneath a
cover of lace. Lace that was now drenched in the blood of her
victim. Morrigan watched, numb with horror, while Hecate stood
grinning, as she watched Caedmon take his final breath.

“He’s dead!” Morrigan cried, her voice
bordering on hysterical. “Oh Goddess . . . he’s dead!”

“Morrigan, my love, do not look at him,”
Tiarn said in a soothing tone. “Turn your eyes away.”

Even when Morrigan shut her eyes, she still
saw the look of horror on Caedmon’s face. She still saw the blood
dripping into a puddle on the floor. Even the combined forces of
Tiarn and her Guardians standing protectively on either side of her
didn’t make her feel safe. The shock and horror of what she had
seen left her physically ill. Around them, a few onlookers began to
quietly weep, but most remained silent as they bore witness to the
gory scene.

“Mother, what have you done?” Ceridwyn
grabbed the dagger and threw it angrily to the floor. The clatter
of metal against tile resonated through the eerily quiet hall.
“That was not necessary. Imprisonment would have been sufficient
for his crimes.”

Hecate glared at her daughter. “This is the
thanks I get for halting a revolution in its tracks?” she whispered
loud enough for Morrigan to hear. “Those who question our authority
must pay the ultimate price!”

Ceridwyn shook her head. “Sometimes, Mother,
you are an old fool. You forget your place. Your time as mistress
of this castle has passed. I am the reigning queen now, and all
decisions, including the punishments of traitors, fall on my
shoulders!” She turned to the crowd of terrified onlookers. “Enough
for one day! We will take care of matters of state tomorrow. For
now, court is adjourned. Leave us! Today I must tend to more
personal matters.”

The court members, for the most part, looked
relieved to be set free. They filed out of the room in droves while
Ceridwyn knelt down beside Morrigan who was still huddled on the
ground, clinging desperately to Tiarn. She hadn’t even realized it,
but her tears had soaked the sleeve of his servant’s uniform. She
couldn’t stop looking at the body—at the blood. Caedmon’s eyes
stared lifelessly up at the sky. Morrigan had never witnessed death
before, and it left her paralyzed.

“Oh, my poor Morrigan!” As soon as the court
and council members had left them, Ceridwyn flew to Morrigan’s
side, pushing Tiarn out of the way with a careless shove. With the
large hall empty, even her whispered voice seemed to bounce off the
high ceilings. “Morrigan, do not blame your grandmother for her
cold exterior. She has seen many horrors in her long life, and she
fought long and hard to maintain her place on the throne. If she
seems harsh, it is only because she has faced great hardships, and
she has learned to act accordingly.”

That hardly seemed an excuse for what Hecate
had done. “But she . . . she killed him,” Morrigan argued. “He
didn’t even do anything to her, and she just killed him. Like his
life meant nothing! What if he had a wife and a family? People who
loved him?”

Hecate huffed, “The land you sent her to has
made her soft, Ceridwyn. Are you sure she is up to the task?”

“Hush, Mother!” Ceridwyn snapped. “She is
stronger than you think or she would not have survived the
journey.”

Ceridwyn gently stroked her cheek, and
instantly Morrigan felt her heartbeat slow. Her breathing became
less ragged. She felt a little calmer, almost relaxed. And suddenly
she was extremely exhausted.

“I’m so . . . so tired,” she whispered.

“Come, Morrigan.” Ceridwyn helped her to her
feet. “Let us find you a room. You have been through so much, too
much for one so young, but the worst is over now. You have earned a
decent rest in a soft, warm bed. But first, I will have the maids
bring you water to bathe and a gown worthy of your status.”

Morrigan wanted to argue that new clothes and
a bath weren’t going to wash away the horror she felt. Her mother’s
voice was calming, reassuring, and she was so tired that her head
was starting to feel a little fuzzy. She allowed her mother to coax
her up from the ground. Morrigan leaned heavily against Ceridwyn as
she led her away from the court room and into the vast castle
walkways. She heard Hecate and Tiarn arguing behind them.

“Your job is done, dog. You should leave the
castle, before I regret my decision to save your wretched
hide.”

“You are correct, Hecate,” Tiarn agreed. “My
pledge to you is fulfilled, but I have made a new promise. I will
not leave this castle unless the Princess Morrigan commands
it.”

Hecate sounded smug. “Suit yourself, but do
not except a warm reception. You are an outcast on both sides. Good
or evil, no one has use for a werewolf for long.”

If they spoke more, Morrigan didn’t hear it,
and while a part of her wanted to come to Tiarn’s defense, she
simply didn’t have the strength to fight her mother as she guided
her down a maze of twisting corridors. As they walked, Ceridwyn
whispered and cooed, as though Morrigan might still be that infant
she had deserted in another world so many years ago. Morrigan
didn’t mind. It was soothing to hear her voice and feel a motherly
embrace for the first time in her life.

Morrigan’s legs were dragging. She didn’t
think she would be able to climb another step when they finally
reached a row of fabulous bed chambers. Beyond the large wooden
doors was a stunning bedroom complete with a king-size canopy bed
blanketed with layers of silky down covers and soft pillows. There
were also dressers, armoires, and a desk that appeared to be
straight out of a Shakespearean novel. It was strange how the
furnishings of Tír na NÓg seemed to span so many centuries, from
renaissance to early Victorian. On the dressers, sweet smelling
smoke rose from several censors of burning incense. There was only
a single oil lamp lit in addition to the roaring fire, which cast
strange shadows.

In one corner, there was a huge claw foot
bathtub. Maids with downcast eyes were filling the tub with
steaming water, one bucket at a time. As they worked, her mother
helped to undress her, again making her feel as though she were a
child. She unfastened the servant’s gown and removed her damp
undergarments. If Ceridwyn noticed the lingering smell from her
earlier swim, she didn’t mention it. She did raise a questioning
eyebrow when she came across the little raven tucked inside her
bustier.

“And what is this talisman you hold so near
to your heart?” Ceridwyn asked and placed the statue on the dresser
behind them.

Morrigan had to blink a few times in order to
see what she was referring to, and even then it was difficult to
clear her head enough to answer. “Oh, it’s a . . . a gift,” she
stuttered. “From Alden.”

Her mother seemed surprised. “Alden? The
blind old man? What business had you with him?”

As she spoke, Ceridwyn had her step into the
water. It was sweetened with fragrant oils and fresh flower petals,
making it smell divine. A magic brew had turned the water light
green. It seemed to sparkle like diamonds in the dim lighting.
Morrigan had never experienced anything so luxurious. As she sunk
into the warm water, many of her fears and doubts seemed to be
washed away along with the filth and grime of her travels. Morrigan
closed her eyes and sunk deeper into the cleansing water.

“Alden?” her mother prodded.

“Oh, he sent me the cats . . . I mean, the .
. . ummmm Guardians.” Morrigan fought back a yawn. “He promised my
father before he died he would do what he could to protect me.”

Ceridwyn had begun to wash her hair. She
gently kneaded the sudsy concoction into her scalp in gentle
circling motions. The relaxing touch of her hands was almost
lulling her to sleep. It was getting harder and harder to keep her
eyes open.

“And what did Alden tell you of your
father?”

“That Arianrhod killed him.” Even in her
current state, it made her flinch to say the words out loud. “I’m
sorry, Mother. It must be hard for you to talk about him.”

Ceridwyn took a deep breath before speaking
again. “Yes, your father’s death was . . . very tragic. I prefer
not to dwell on such troublesome memories. Did Alden tell you
anything else? Did he speak of me?”

Morrigan yawned. She couldn’t stop herself.
“No. He told me there were some things I needed to learn about for
myself.”

Ceridwyn nodded. “That sounds like his
wisdom.”

Her mother finished rinsing her hair with
fresh, warm water and began to gently brush out the tangles with a
silver handled comb. Just as the water was beginning to cool, she
helped Morrigan step out of the tub. One of the servants appeared
with a large, soft towel which they used to dry her off. Normally
she would have felt awkward about the maids seeing her naked, but
she was just too tired to care. They presented her with a lovely
cream-colored gown embroidered with golden threads and laced up the
bodice for her. When she was dressed, Ceridwyn led her over to the
bed.