The Reardon brothers tried to fight off their undead father with their own weapons. The elder brother was wearing a chainmail vest. Remembering one of her first lessons on Geomancy, Morrígan reached out to him, focusing on the chains, and twisted her fingers. The armoured brother fell to the ground, gasping for air as the mail tightened, slowly crushing him. The younger brother dropped his weapon and ran, and his undead father gave chase.
She saw Fearghal and Mr. Cathain cornered by a group of undead mages. With a click of her flint-rings and a gesture at the butcher and undertaker, a bolt of flames went hurling over their heads. The building behind the two caught fire, and broken, charred wood collapsed on top of them.
Morrígan grasped at the fire from atop the well and spun her body, covering the entire Square with a twisting inferno as the carnage continued.
In the corner of her eye, she noticed someone skulking towards her. As she turned, the figure of a boy emerged, a dagger clutched tight in a trembling hand.
“Make it stop, Morrígan. Make them stop or I’ll bury this blade in your throat.”
Morrígan laughed. “Oh, Taigdh, you don’t understand. You were the one who brought this upon Roseán. If only you had trusted me. If only you had helped me, when all I wanted to do was make the others understand.”
“Understand?” The boy’s body shook. “I saw Mrs. Mhurichú down there, Morrígan. You left me no choice.” He paused, lowering the dagger. “You… you killed her, didn’t you? You were supposed to look after her, and you killed her. Why? Why did you do it?”
Morrígan pulled on her power and grasped the iron blade, still in the lad’s hand. She tugged at it, raising it slowly up towards his bewildered face.
“You once told me about the ants you and your cousin used to kill. Remember?” Morrígan turned the dagger around, pointing it towards Taigdh’s throat. She could feel a tiny resistance as he tried to pull it away, but he was just one boy, and she had the power of a full mage battalion behind the dagger’s hilt.
“You used to race them, and drown them, and squish them, but you never told me why. When I asked, you shrugged, and said it was just one of those things little boys do.”
A thin line of red trickled from Taigdh’s neck as the steel touched his skin. His eyes rolled back in pain, but she pressed further.
“Like ants to children, you are to me.”
Taigdh’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, twitching. Morrígan pushed on the blade until the tip emerged from the back of his neck.
“I do these things,” she whispered, “because I can.”
She pulled the dagger free and set it flying at a woman trying to escape across the road. She never had a good throwing arm, but guided by the Geomancy of twelve dead mages, it quickly found its way deep between the woman’s shoulder blades.
All those who died had risen again to serve her, growing to far greater numbers than before. Looking around, she saw the body of a lad lying close to the burning butcher’s shop. She strode over and reached for his shoulder, rolling him over to face her.
Darragh’s bloodied face stared back, the whites of his eyes all that she could see under his mop of bloodied red hair. Staring up at Morrígan, he raised his hand slowly.
“Maybe I should have told you instead,” she said. The boy reached for something dangling from her neck. “You wouldn’t have told anyone. You would have been too scared.”
Darragh coughed, sputtering blood across her cloak. In his eyes, she saw a final flash of defiance as he pulled her necklace, snapping his mother’s pendant from the silver chain. He held it tightly to his own chest and went still.
Morrígan stood to admire the butchery. The wights under her command now stood in attention again.
What next? The fire crackled and swayed lazily in the wind.
She touched upon the power flowing through her body.
This is from just one battalion, but there are more, stationed in every settlement across the Clifflands…. She smiled as she tried to imagine becoming even stronger.
Why stop there? She crouched down beside Darragh’s corpse. There are garrisons all over Alabach, in each of the Seachtú. Then there’s the Academy in Dromán, where there’ll be a thousand mages in training….
She knelt and pulled the pendant from Darragh’s fingers. Morrígan rubbed her thumb across the three rings.
And in the capital city of Cruachan, King Diarmuid Móráin, a living God, sits upon the Throne of Man.
She gazed to the south. She knew Cruachan was down near the Sea of Storms, but she had no idea how far away that was.
In a flash, the sun broke over the Glenn, casting morning light over the burning village. She looked up and smiled.
“It’s my birthday,” she whispered. “This was supposed to be the day I become a mage.”
She turned back towards her army of corpses. In the sunlight, she saw every detail of the twisted, broken skeletons and bodies that stood to her attention. The dead villagers still clutched their improvised tool and weapons. Women and children, soldiers and mages, all waiting for her next command.
We’ll build our numbers. We’ll take the Seven Seachtú. We’ll claim the power of the Academy. Then we’ll march on the capital, and I’ll take the king’s power for myself.
Morrígan smiled. They called my father Yarlaith the Black, but soon I shall be known as Morrígan the Godslayer.
Chapter 15:
Morning
Sleep didn’t come easily to Farris that night. Every bone in his body was weary, every muscle fatigued beyond measure, but he would not let them rest. Not now. Not here. Not out on the Scalp of the Glenn, where anything that walked was a predator, and anything still awake was hungry.
But aside from the pain, Farris’s thoughts lingered on Sláine’s words. Whether he liked it or not, fate was guiding him. To freedom? To death? Only the Lady Meadhbh knew. Whatever was in store for Farris, he was heading for it, whether he liked it or not.
No, thought Farris, turning where he lay. I will not let destiny enslave me. I won’t go down without a fight.
Sláine and Sir Bearach returned to the camp, marking the end of their shift. Farris watched with a half-opened eye as Sláine crouched down next to the other sleeping Simian and gently informed him that it was his turn to take watch. From the way he woke, Farris supposed the Simian was having trouble sleeping too.
How much longer must we wait? He rolled over to face the eastern horizon, with dark mountains glowing in the full moon’s light.
