Morrigan (24 page)

“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.

“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.