Morrigan
Authors: Laura DeLuca
Laura DeLuca
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Laura DeLuca
License Notes: This ebook is licensed for
your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or
given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not
purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you
should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank
you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Pagan Writers Press
Houston, Texas
ISBN: 978-1-938397-36-3
Edited by Rosa Sophia
Cover by Paragraphic Designs
For my husband and soul mate, Timmie DeLuca,
my real life werewolf who inspired the character of
Filtiarn.
He was my dream man long before we met in this
life.
AND
Special thanks to Tara Chevrestt for polishing
my story and making it shine.
“The road that is built in hope is more pleasant to
the traveler than the road built in despair, even though they both
lead to the same destination.”
—Marion Zimmer Bradley,
The Fall of
Atlantis
Contents
Meaning & Pronunciations of Names
& Pronunciations of Names
Alden: {al-den} An old friend
Ariarnhod: {ar-ianrh-od} Goddess of the moon,
stars, and sky.
Brigid: {BRI-jid} Power, strength and virtue.
Also the Goddess of poetry, smith craft, and child bearing.
Caedmon: {CAD-mən} Wise warrior
Ceridwyn: {ka-RID-wen} Goddess of dark
prophecy and keeper of the cauldron of inspiration and
knowledge.
Condon: {K ah N Done} Dark-haired wise
man
Connelly: {KON ell ee} Valiant
Dagda: {Dah dah} Deity of life and death
Danu: {dä’nu} A mother goddess whose name
means knowledge and wisdom.
Deirdre: {dier-dre} Broken hearted and
sorrowful
Dunham: {dun-ham} A dark man
Eostre: {EST-truh} Goddess of fertility and
new beginnings.
Filtiarn: {FIL-tyarn} Lord of the Wolves
Hecate: {Hekatê} Goddess of the Underworld
and dark phase of the moon. She is often depicted as a crone.
Macha: {mak-kha} Goddess of war, life and
death.
Maeve: {MEY-V} Goddess of Earth, Fertility
and war.
Morrigan: {mor-rig-ahn} Goddess of war, fate
and death who was able to take the form of a raven.
Tír na NÓg: {teer-na-nÓg } Mythical land of
eternal youth and happiness.
Willow: {WIL o} Taken from the name of the
tree
“I always had the feeling I just didn’t
belong. Some people say they feel like they were born in the wrong
time—the wrong decade or the wrong century. I felt like I was born
on the wrong planet, maybe even the wrong universe. From my strange
ability to move objects with my mind, to the power to control the
element of fire, everything about me screamed abnormality. Nothing
about the world I lived in felt right to me. There was no group
that welcomed me, no niche I fit into. There was no place on earth,
let alone the suburbs of Maryland, where I belonged.
Sure, I might have been paranoid. A typical
teenager filled with rebellion while on the road to
self-awareness—a young soul who hadn’t found my deeper self, my
true self. I might have believed that, except the people around me
seemed just as confused and even disturbed by me as I was by them.
It was no exaggeration to say I repelled all the other people
around me. Even when I was just a baby, deserted on the steps of an
old church with nothing but a note that revealed my name, no one
could find a warm spot for me in their hearts. I was shuffled from
one foster home to another for seventeen years. No one could
tolerate me for more than six months.
The social worker who had been assigned to me
wasn’t much better. She was always a little nervous whenever we
met. Sure, she tried to be sympathetic to my plight. But it was an
act and we both knew it. Realistically, I should have been a lot
less intimidating than most of the juvenile delinquents that passed
through her office. I had never gotten in any trouble—had never
done anything that could even be remotely characterized as “bad”.
Yet, still, I had been permanently cast in the roll of the black
sheep, for no other reason except for the fact I existed. That
seemed to be enough to scare away the normal people.
I had no friends. Friends were hard for
people who changed schools three times a year. Add to that my
quirky habit of dressing as a cross between a hippie and a
renaissance wench, and it made me an easy target, even without the
supernatural abilities. Even the nerds avoided me. But that was
okay. I didn’t need human friends. I had my two cats, Danu and
Dagda. Luckily, my last set of foster parents were willing to take
in all sorts of strays and let the cats stay with us. I tried extra
hard to please them, just so I wouldn’t be separated from my pets
before I turned eighteen and could take them away with me.
Danu was a slick black cat, with a lustrous
coat and bright green eyes. Dagda was a striped orange cat, fat and
fluffy, with a luminous yellow stare. The pair had shown up on my
doorstep early in my junior year of high school, complete with
silver collars that revealed their names. They had been my faithful
sidekicks ever since. I tried to find their rightful owners, but
even after contacting every vet and shelter in town and hanging
posters with their photos on every telephone poll, no one ever came
to claim them. Their situation reminded me of my own abandonment,
and I think that made our bond even stronger. Despite their odd
names, which an internet search revealed were derived from ancient
Celtic deities, they were typical lazy housecats, and I never
thought much more about their strange appearance.
The only other thing I truly loved was my
art. When I would paint or sketch, I would forget for a while I
didn’t belong. I would forget because I was drawing another
world—creating a world where I did belong. A magical place where
witches lived in stone castles, where werewolves could be good guys
and trees would talk if anyone took the time to listen. My favorite
drawings were always of the same dark-haired man with a sword at
his waist. I had come to think of him as my dark knight. I was sure
he was my soul mate, and if I could just step into one of my
drawings, he would carry me away and we would live happily ever
after.
In the world I had created with my art,
everything was less than perfect, but was so right that it was
perfect to me just the same. It was a place I saw every night in my
dreams and haunted my thoughts in my waking hours. That place of
magic was my true home. Those people I drew were the people who
might have been my friends, if only they existed.
I had no idea as I started the first day of
my senior year of high school that I was going to find out that
those characters did exist. No idea I was about to learn the
secrets of my mysterious birth and the truth about my destiny.
My name is Morrigan. And I’m about to share
with you the most amazing story ever told.”
“Hey, Morri-Goon! What’s your hurry? Are ya
late for a gypsy convention?”
Morrigan glared at the bulky
football-playing, letter-jacket sporting buffoon who was blocking
the entrance to her classroom. It was the last class of the
afternoon. She had hoped to make it through the day without any
incidents. Of course, she couldn’t get that lucky. It was the same
no matter where she went. There was always one muscle-bound moron
who had to make trouble for her. She didn’t even know what this
particular guy’s name was, and it really didn’t matter. They had
all melded into one giant annoyance.
“What’s the matter, freak show? Did they run
out of clothes in your size at the thrift store?”
A few of the other guys behind him laughed.
Others knew better and were already scooting inside their
classrooms. So far, Morrigan was just annoyed. She hadn’t lost her
temper yet, but his unnecessary insults were threatening to crack
her thin layer of self-control. Between his wrinkled T-shirt, worn
sneakers, and the distinct scent of body odor that wafted in her
direction, she had no idea what gave him the right to criticize her
sense of style.
Morrigan tried to shove her way past him, but
that only made the football player chuckle—a sound that grated on
her nerves. She could feel the power growing inside her. A power
she wouldn’t be able to hold at bay if he pushed her much
further.
“Get out of my way,” Morrigan ordered.
“Or what?” he taunted.
She had every intention of just walking
away—until the jock had the bright idea of yanking on the hem of
her ruffled Boho skirt. He thought it was funny, but it wasn’t a
smart thing to do. If there was one thing Morrigan absolutely could
not tolerate, it was when someone put their hands on her. Her
personal space was a sacred thing. Most of her classmates had
learned it was best to keep their distance. Apparently, this guy
hadn’t heard the gossip about her. It was the first day of school
in a new year. What better time to learn a new lesson, specifically
not to mess with Morrigan?
She raised her liquid brown eyes to her
nemesis. That alone was enough to make him freeze in his place.
Whatever nasty comment he was thinking instantly died on his lips.
He felt only a fraction of the intense rush of energy Morrigan
sensed flowing through her veins. It was a heat like molten lava—an
electric current that coursed through her body, releasing in her
icy-cold stare.
“I said get out of my way . . . !”
Her voice was only a whisper, yet she knew
the words boomed and resonated like cracks of thunder. She could
hear the sound of his heart as it began to pump furiously. At the
same time the first flicker of fear flashed across his face. The
ground under his feet seemed to quake as it gave way beneath him.
He fumbled and tried to grab on to the doorframe for support, but
it was too late. Before he knew what was happening, he went
sprawling backward, knocking over two of his loud-mouth companions
before he landed neatly, rump-first, inside a trashcan in the
corner.
Good. That’s exactly where he belongs.
Morrigan smiled to herself and didn’t wait
for his friends to try to help him out of his predicament. She
glided through the now obstruction-free entryway and took her
normal seat in the back of the classroom. She knew the football
player would have no idea what had really happened to him. She also
knew there would be at least one less jerk bothering her from that
point on.
Some people called her ability telekinesis,
but she had researched it and learned it was known by many names in
different places and times. That was only the beginning of what she
was capable of. She had some minor control over all the elements,
but was especially in tune with fire. She could also call up small
flames at will and glimpse the future. They were gifts she rarely
used in public. She really needed to be more careful how she did
use them. The last thing she wanted was to be carried away to some
government facility where they could pick her brain to pieces. All
Morrigan wanted was a normal life—at least as normal as possible
for someone like her.
