Morrigan (32 page)

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.”

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.

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.