As the pendulum swung forwards, a huge force pushed back against her, knocking her to the ground.
In a daze, Morrígan raised her head; the troll was nowhere in sight. She jumped to her feet and ran towards the edge of the cliff, just in time to see the stone beast crash into the retreating tide below.
Chapter 14:
The Godslayer
Morrígan didn’t sleep much that night. She shuffled in her bed, painfully aware of the painting of King Móráin the First on the opposite side of the room, his golden wings glimmering silver and grey in the moonlight. The scene depicted the Apotheosis of the Trinity: the moment King Móráin transcended to godhood, sprouted glowing wings behind his back, and blinded the Simian natives with their holy light.
All it took was for him to claim this land for himself to become a god.
The wind howled outside, beating against a wooden gate somewhere across the street. The trees along the High Road crackled and rustled in response.
Again and again, just as she was about to fall asleep, she woke abruptly, remembering what had happened.
We did it. We achieved what mankind has been struggling with for centuries. She balled her hand into a fist. Healers and alchemists strive to prolong life; how are we different from them?
She closed her eyes as her mind recalled the image of Taigdh, sprinting across the fields.
He was just startled. She rolled over again in the bed. If only I just had another chance to explain.
It seemed like an impossible task: using rationality to fight the irrational. She knew the people of Roseán, knew that they were blinded by their faith, and that left little room for reason.
They live their lives in the shadow of the Gods, ignorant of the light of which they are deprived.
Morrígan opened her eyes. Her beadhbh cloak hung on from hook on the wall like a black figure, watching her in the darkness.
“Creation,” she whispered, remembering one of Yarlaith’s lessons from long ago.
Nothing can be truly created or destroyed, he had said, for Creation is an artform reserved for the Gods. Morrígan’s hand reached up to her chest, and her fingers found the silver necklace Darragh had given her.
We both witnessed Creation tonight, but Yarlaith was the only one afraid of usurping the Gods.
Morrígan ran her finger around each of the three rings.
Some of the bravest warriors and the wisest scholars live by the teaching of the Trinity. Would they all be in agreement, if they too had seen Man overcome death? Surely, they’ve lost the ones they’ve loved too….
Her mind dozed off to a shallow sleep as the hours drifted by, despite the arrhythmic beat of the gate outside.
***
Her dreams were formless and intangible, as if her sleeping mind was too exhausted to conjure up anything solid. When she woke to the sounds of voices outside, all Morrígan could remember from her dreams was a bathing blue light, pulsating and penetrating through her soul.
She pushed those visions aside as she focused on her surroundings. It was much later now, and the light of the moon had vanished, replaced by a darkness thicker than before.
Her bedroom door swung open; Yarlaith the White stood in its frame.
“They’ve found us,” he said, his voice low and calm. “Grab what you can and run.”
There was terror in his eyes, like none Morrígan had ever seen. A loud crash came from downstairs, and the sounds of men shouting and roaring filled the room.
She leapt from her bed and threw her beadhbh cloak over her head. Then she shoved her feet into a pair of leather boots on the floor.
Outside her room, at the end of the landing, three men dressed in red cloaks appeared, balls of fire clenched in their fists. They were joined by two Geomancers, standing at the top of the stairs. With a bang, the door shut, leaving Morrígan alone in the room.
“Run!” screamed Yarlaith from the other side.
Morrígan scrambled across the bed and pulled herself onto the window ledge, stealing one last look.
Does this make me a coward? She pushed the window open and looked down. A cobblestone path meandered out from the front door, curving to the High Road below and leaving a soft patch of grass several yards from the window. Across the green, a crowd gathered at the gate: men and women from the village along with battlemages, all huddled under the light of raised torches.
Morrígan dove from the window, rolling as she hit the grass. More villagers appeared down the road, striding from the direction of the chapel and blocking Morrígan’s only means of escape. Luckily, they had yet to see her, and she knew a short cut to the Low Road.
A cheer erupted from the crowd as the two Geomancers kicked open the door to present Yarlaith the White, his hands bound behind his back.
Morrígan spotted a Hydromancer searching around the back of the house. She pulled the hood of her beadhbh cloak up and ran to the end of the High Road. A fence of rotted wood blocked the way, where a twenty-foot drop led down to the Low Road and the Reardon Forge.
A voice called out through the night as she jumped, but Morrígan didn’t look back. She swung herself around the highest branch of a tree and landed below without making a sound. Over her head, a group of men with torches peered down from the ledge. Fortunately, Morrígan found her feet quickly and set off down the Low Road.
The houses along the way were vacant, many with their doors left wide open. Morrígan ran through the silence, thinking about what she should do next.
Do I run? Will I confess? Will I just hide up in the Glenn and live amongst the bears and the beadhbhs ’til the end of my days? From the look of things, it didn’t seem like she had any other options.
As she turned the final corner, past the butcher’s shop into the Square, she skidded to a halt, scratching her heels along the ground. A huge crowd of people had gathered in the centre of the village, and they all looked on as Colonel Eodadh addressed them from atop the stone well. A line of Pyromancers stood behind him; mages dressed in green pulled two large wooden stakes upright with Geomancy.
Morrígan almost let out a cry of shock.
