Isis nodded solemnly. “The act that you, the humans, the animals perform—that has never been a part of our relationship. Osiris and I like to create things together, to nurture. That is the root of our bond.”
Morrigan frowned, thinking of Set’s face as he built their new home, remembering the faint glimmer of hope she’d had in that moment. “The reason I am unhappy with him is because he seems only capable of physical love—there is nothing else in his eyes. That is not enough for me.”
Isis gave her a sad smile. “Nothing in this world is enough for you, sister. You are restless by nature.”
Morrigan looked away, knowing she was right.
“Let us rest now,” Isis suggested. “We can figure things out when the sun rises.”
Morrigan nodded. The two burrowed into Isis’s soft, pillowy bed and though her twin drifted off easily to sleep, Morrigan found she could not follow. Instead, she slipped from beneath the covers and paced about the room, trying to gather her thoughts. She found herself rifling through her sister's things, wrapping herself in her bright white dresses and covering herself in her jewels. Then she went to Isis’s mirror and lined her eyes with her stick of kohl, standing back to admire her reflection. She smiled, wondering if anyone would be able to tell the difference if she ran out to greet the humans or Osiris.
Then a terrible feeling seized her. It hit her that, although they were identical and there was once a time where they couldn’t tell where one of them began and the other ended, she would never be Isis. She was never going to be adored by the humans, never freed of the incessant longing for something she could not place, never delivered from her state of perpetual restlessness. She would never be loved like Isis was loved, never be happy like she was.
She frantically ripped the jewels off her body, peeling off Isis’s tunic. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the jade encrusted knife she used to sharpen her makeup and grabbed it, taking her long hair in one hand, the knife in the other. She hacked into her locks with fervor, chunks of raven waves falling to the polished stone floors. What was left behind immediately sprang up, light and wild, joyous to finally be free. She stared at her new reflection and smiled.
Then she bolted, naked, out into the night, the cool breeze and moonbeams on her skin as she raced back to her beloved river and dove in. She was delirious with the joy of it, so lost in the moment, that she didn’t realize that Osiris had joined her until she collided with him. He smiled as he waded in front of her, his eyes sweeping over her face.
“Your hair,” he said in surprise.
She blushed as she ran her fingers through her damp, shortened locks. “I know you thought I was beautiful because I mirrored my sister, but I needed it gone.”
He frowned. “Oh no, I mean—well, your physical self is quite beautiful, but I am in love with your soul. The way it pours out of your eyes. The way you are so feral. That has not changed. In fact, I think your hair suits your spirit.”
He didn’t have much time to finish his last word before she was kissing him, pressing her naked skin up against his. He was surprised at first, but took her lead, synchronizing his lips to hers as his hands began to shamelessly explore her body. He pulled away with a shiver. “Forgive me, I have never felt like this before.”
“I will show you,” she whispered, pulling him back to her as the wind rifled the leaves around them. THE ATLANTIC OCEAN, 1858
Morrigan bolted upright out of her bed, cursing when she realized she’d been caught by yet another dream. This one felt real, as if David had just left the space beside her. She could even smell him, his telltale aroma of burnt tobacco and fresh hawthorn teasing the air. She threw off her blankets in frustration. She’d assumed her conversation with Libraean would sate the nagging feeling that had settled in her stomach since they boarded, perhaps putting a halt to her dreams. But no sooner had she left him to his writing and settled herself into a potentially satisfying slumber, did they return.
She dressed, deciding to stretch her legs. If the dreams would not stop, then she would not slumber. Her supernatural body didn’t need it anyway; she only hoped to use sleep to pass the time until they reached their destination. It was becoming clear she needed to find something else to occupy her, something that didn’t involve either brother, strategically situated on opposite ends of the ship.
The night air that raked through her hair was warmer than it had been for weeks, a telltale sign they had reached the southern waters. The skies were completely clear, revealing layers of stars often obscured near the smoggy cities. She walked through the covered patio that bordered the ship until she reached the open deck, leaning forward to rest her arms on the edge so she could feel the spray of the ocean. Water never ceased to revive her, soothing her now with its gentle waves. She lingered for a moment before looking up to the stars, just in time to catch one shooting across the speckled expanse.
She closed her eyes against another wave of memories that came forward: the day Daghda had tattooed Morrigan. She ran her fingers over her skin, remembering the conflicting sensation of pain and pleasure as he tapped his inked needle against her flesh. They were both quiet as he worked and once he’d finished, she asked him to lay with her in the dewy grass, the moisture cool against her sore skin. The two of them splayed out under the sky, watching her crows make trails in the fluffy clouds above them.
“I think that is where I came from,” he told her, folding his hands on his chest. “The sky.”
“I cannot remember where I came from.” She tried to think back.
“You came from the mud,” he teased.
She stretched her arms out, admiring the settling ink that crossed them. “Do you think I am mad for wanting these?”
“Not at all,” he assured her. “Everything about you makes sense to me. If you tell me to carve up your skin like the human warriors, then so be it. I do as you command.”
Morrigan laughed as she sat upright. “Then perhaps I should be your mate so I can command you forever.”
David sat up to face her, suddenly serious behind his thick auburn beard. “Say the word and I would dedicate myself to you for the rest of our lives.”
Morrigan was taken aback, not expecting her playfulness would be taken to heart. “Do you mean it?”
He took her hand in his. “I cannot put it into words, but just as it feels I came from the skies, it feels I have known you before this life. As if we are connected somehow.”
Morrigan frowned, finding herself at a loss for words. Since she arrived on earth and was inducted into their clan, she felt drawn to him, a bond developing between them that transcended the camaraderie with the others. There was a flirtatiousness to their interactions that no one could deny, but she’d never stopped to imagine it as something more. She looked up at her crows, suddenly unsure if she wanted to commit herself to another being, to be like the domesticated women around her who she could not relate to.
“I do not say this to try to trap you,” he said as if he heard her thoughts, drawing her eyes down to rest in his gaze. “I know you are a bird that needs to fly freely over the hills, who desires her independence above all else. I only want to be yours, demanding nothing in return.”
She studied him. “Sometimes I feel as if I have known you before this life, as well,” she admitted.
“Then perhaps we were both born of the skies,” he said with a grin, bringing a sparkle to the forest that was his eyes.
She couldn’t help but smile back. He grabbed her face to kiss her, sending her crows into an uproar. He broke away to laugh. “Even your crows know we are meant to be. Say yes, Morrigan. You can command me for the rest of our lives.”
Morrigan melted under his warm hands around her face, suddenly wanting to crawl into his lap and kiss him again. “I can command you for the rest of your life without marrying you,” she teased.
David studied her face. “I do know better than to try to get a decision out of you so quickly. Take your time, but if you still cannot decide by the evening of Samhain—the night when I first met you in the mud—then I will let it go and never speak of it again. I will adore you just the same.”
She beamed. “Agreed.”
The memory of the brilliant daylight sky darkened into starry night, with Morrigan alone beneath it. David of the skies, Lucius of the stars, she of the Earth, and Isis of the creatures of it, she thought to herself. Perhaps they were all destined to be entangled in each other’s lives. Or they were meant to be apart.
She hugged her arms, trying to distract herself from long-dead memories by focusing on the present. She shifted her thoughts to Anubis, looking forward to seeing him again. She had been enjoying getting to know Libraean and was grateful Cahira was softening towards her, but she missed Anubis. None of her experiences as a mother were conventional, but of all the children that had come in and out of her life, Anubis was the one tied to her heart. He had been the one who sought her out in the ancient times, a distant but steady presence, no matter the lifetime. She wanted to know him in this one, to learn about his lives both human and immortal, though she’d learned the current state of Africa was far from pleasant. The trading of humans was nothing new for the human race, so quick to force others into servitude and set themselves higher than the rest. But it had taken on devastating proportions. She was glad to learn many had opened their eyes to the cruelty, yet men were not quick to let the things that made them powerful slip out of their hands so easily. They kept their women suppressed and punished those who deviated from their sexual absolutes. It made her proud to know Anubis spent his life fighting against them, for the betterment of humanity, but she felt a twinge of guilt that her own focus had long shifted from the living to the dead. Perhaps the living needed them more than she thought.
When the scent of burning cloves joined her thoughts, it seemed completely natural, until her mind broke free from its stream and she realized what it implied.
She saw only the thick, winding smoke from a cigar and the silhouette of crossed legs a few meters down from where she stood, their owner keeping respectful distance as he quietly rocked in one of the wooden deck chairs.
“How long have you been observing me?” she called to him.
