The Phantom Queen Awakes (27 page)

Aodhan ran his hand over the silver branch.
The filigree leaves had worn in places. A few had bent. A couple
had broken off. Like autumn to the trees.

“You’ve served me well,” Aodhan whispered. The
branch had kept him safe, preserved his tuath. Simply holding it
filled him with power.

The Morrigan might foresee a death, but with
the branch, Aodhan could cause it. The broken crystal shards cut
deeper and surer than any sword. He could kill his enemy from
afar...although he much preferred to witness his enemy’s end. He’d
garnered little satisfaction from those who had died far
away.

Across the green isle, surely all had heard of
the great Chieftain Aodhan, impervious to treachery and attack. If
his last enemy possessed any wisdom, he would never show his face,
never make his name known.

****

On the night of the summer solstice, before
the bonfire, Erim threw his spear at Aodhan’s feet. The man stood
tall and lean like his weapon, his hair as red as the blood that
stained its tip. Erim set his clan torque beside the
spear.

“I’ll not fight for you anymore,” Erim said.
“Haven’t we spilt enough blood? Haven’t we lost enough lives? All
so you can lay claim to more land than we can hold?”

Aodhan exhaled slowly. “I’d never thought you
a coward.”

Erim didn’t pick up his spear as Aodhan had
hoped.

“If I’m a coward,” said Erim, “you are a
glutton for wealth you can’t possibly control.”

“How can I be greedy when I’m building a
stronger tuath? Would you deny us our rightful place as
lords?”

“I believe, chieftain, that you desire to be
more than a lord, more than a king. You seek to become a
god.”

“Perhaps we are the next gods. Even the gods
were once of the land.”

“And driven under it,” Erim said.

“You speak sacrilege.” At Aodhan’s words, the
gathering of druids nodded. Aodhan grabbed the spear. “Take back
your weapon, take your place among my men.”

“And now we are men...not gods?” Erim laughed
harshly. “Do you not fear the gods will take note of your lust for
power?”

“If they take note, they will bless us. The
gods admire strength, not weakness.” Aodhan felt the first prickles
of a cold shiver. Why didn’t Erim understand this simple principle?
Could Aodhan’s last enemy be within his own clan?

Aodhan recalled Pert, thinking, the first and
last.

“Has some seer bespoke the future to you,
Chieftain Aodhan?” Erim demanded. “How can you know you haven’t
invited the gods’ wrath?”

“I am the Chieftain, I know.”

“Suppose you are mistaken? Suppose their wrath
is so great it befalls not just you, not just our tuath, but the
whole of the isle?”

Muttered agreement arose among the
kinsmen.

The cold prickles became sharper, stabbing
pains, needling Aodhan’s gut. His instincts had never served him
wrong. A strange joy at knowing he would soon deal with his last
enemy and sadness that his enemy had once been a friend and
honorable warrior, swept through Aodhan. But he had no
choice.

He couldn’t let Erim sway his warriors with
cowardly talk.

“Erim, however misguided, speaks from his
heart,” said Aodhan. “Although the gods watch over fools, they
defend the righteous. We shall put his fears to the test, put my
beliefs to the test. Whichever man the gods favor shall no longer
be questioned.”

Aodhan left the clearing.

In solitude, he unwrapped the silver
branch.

“I’d hoped to never need you again.” Even as
he spoke the words he felt the lie on his tongue. To let one enemy
live was unpardonable.

He stared at the two blooms ― one Erim’s; one
his. Indeed, the gods would choose the champion. The Morrigan
would.

Without thinking further, Aodhan wrapped his
hand around a bloom. As his fingers squeezed, he said,
“Erim.”

As before, Aodhan felt no
different.

He stared at the branch. “If the gods are
willing, this man’s life shall be forfeit by my hand. Meaning no
disrespect to the Morrigan, I’d rather exact my own
justice.”

Aodhan grabbed a dagger with an antler handle
and returned to the bonfire. Erim was half Aodhan’s age. To defeat
him before all assembled would squash any doubts. And if Erim was
victorious, at least Aodhan would die fighting.

Aodhan stabbed the dagger into the heart of a
stump. His blood pumped so hard he could taste it on his
tongue.

“One last fight,” said Aodhan. “Defeat me, and
the tuath is yours.”

Erim plucked the knife free. Smoothly, he
spun, slashing at Aodhan.

Aodhan jumped clear then stooped quickly,
grabbing up a branch intended for the bonfire. He shoved the forked
end into Erim’s gut. Erim grunted but held onto the blade. They
circled, the branch between them; Erim slashed while Aodhan
pushed.

Erim shoved down hard on the branch then
climbed atop it, knocking it from Aodhan’s hold. Aodhan reached for
Erim’s legs.

But Erim cut downward, slicing into Aodhan’s
forearm. Blood soaked Aodhan’s sleeve; the pain would hit later, if
he survived. The silver branch and the crushed flower flashed
though Aodhan’s mind.

At least I’ll die fighting. Whether he or the
Morrigan had changed his fate didn’t matter. Not in the
end.

Blood dripped to the floor.

Erim stood hunched, approaching like a wolf
stalking prey. He slashed twice more, once striking Aodhan’s
thigh.

Aodhan jumped back, wincing, feeling the
second, deeper cut.

Rushing forward, Erim slipped in the blood. He
fell onto the dagger, driving the blade into his stomach. Blood
spread across the floor in a thick pool.

“The gods have chosen,” the arch-druid
murmured.

Aodhan knelt beside Erim and took back his
dagger, taking back his tuath.

Erim had sought to end the fighting betwixt
clans. With Aodhan’s last enemy dead, the need to fight was no
more. A bitter irony, one Erim might have appreciated.

Still, Erim’s death saddened Aodhan more than
any other.

As the blood seeped from beneath Erim, it
spread like a raven’s wings. Aodhan grimaced. The Morrigan’s sign.
Even in his last battle, she held sway.

****

As the days passed, Aodhan felt more and more
empty. Life lacked zest; it lost all zeal. It felt complete, at an
end. Except that his death was foretold to come by poison, Aodhan
might have welcomed an end to his lifeless existence.

“The harvest feast will cheer you,” Dagda
said.

Aodhan sighed at his wife. Food lacked taste
anymore.

Samhain. The days slipped by so easily; Aodhan
had forgotten the time of year. Would the Morrigan again roam among
his kindred? Hope that she would stirred life within his
breast.

If nothing else, he wanted to thank
her.

During the feast, he couldn’t concentrate on
conversation. Perhaps the words drifting past his ears wove some
tale or coherent strand. Yet Aodhan only heard random
sounds.

Then Cathaoir, a man half Aodhan’s age, jammed
a knife in the table. “You’ve grown long in the tooth, old man, and
your ways are as long and as crooked. It’s time to step
aside.”

Aodhan stared in disbelief. He had no enemies
left. All but one bloom had been crushed. Yet a new enemy had
arisen.

A gift from the Morrigan?

Or a trick?

Perhaps there had been eighteen enemies all
along and the Morrigan had only said that one bloom was tied to
Aodhan’s own life to temper his use of her gift. She would have
realized that when the last true enemy showed his face, Aodhan
would recognize him.

Or perhaps, having used the branch wisely, the
Morrigan offered Aodhan a chance to die fighting. Even so, to live
was always the preferable choice. But only if he lived as
chieftain.

Aodhan inclined his head, saying sadly, “I
accept your challenge. But I would rather not have your blood on my
fine shirt.”

In his chambers, Aodhan changed his shirt then
sat in the corner cradling the silver branch. He stared at the last
bloom. If he was wrong, and the bloom was his, crushing it ensured
his doom. But if he was right...

He crushed the bloom and felt no
different.

Already tables had been pulled clear. The
dagger lay on the floor.

Aodhan faced the challenger. Cathaoir’s eyes
flashed like iron, cold and even-tempered. Although Aodhan’s gaze
locked on his enemy, a glimpse of red snared his attention for just
a moment. The Morrigan watched, a hood drawn around her delicate
face.

In that distracted instant, Cathaoir lunged
for the knife.

Aodhan, a breath behind him, threw himself
onto Cathaoir. Heavier and stronger, Cathaoir rolled, knocking
Aodhan on his back.

Aodhan latched onto his enemy’s wrists, his
grip tighter than death. The dagger swung, grazing Aodhan’s
forearm. Still, the shallow cut stung deeply.

A good fight lasted, raising a glistening
sheen of sweat. But a good victory was swift. Seeking victory,
Aodhan swung his foot, hooking Cathaoir’s leg. He bent his knee
sharply and twisted, wrenching his opponent’s knee.

Cathaoir cursed.

With a harder twist, Aodhan knocked Cathaoir
onto his side, onto the dagger. The blade punched between ribs and
Cathaoir’s last breath bubbled out with his blood.

Sitting on the floor, Aodhan labored to
breathe. He barely heard the cheers. Though he searched the crowd
for red, his bleary sight couldn’t find the Morrigan.

“Here, father.” Bav handed Aodhan a goblet of
stout, heady korma.

Fiallan hauled Aodhan to his feet. “Most
impressive, Chieftain Aodhan.”

Aodhan drank deeply then nodded to his
son-in-law, though in his heart, he disagreed. Now, truly, his life
was done. The branch was bare. There could be no more glorious
fights.

Though he should feel joy in his heart, Aodhan
only felt tired. Leaving his kinsmen to celebrate the harvest,
Aodhan retired for the evening.

That night, he couldn’t sleep for thinking of
his glimpse of the Morrigan. He thought to steal away to the sidhe,
the dolmen where he had once passed to the Otherworld.

But as he tried to move, cramps knotted his
gut. He curled into a ball, his bowels twisting as sharp pains
sliced through him. Sweat soaked his bed linens. Though his stomach
roiled, nothing came up.

Aodhan shivered and convulsed for what seemed
hours. Sometime during his suffering, Dagda woke and
screamed.

Bav and Fiallan came running.

While Dagda bathed Aodhan’s forehead with cool
water, Aodhan remembered the washerwoman at the ford. He felt the
Morrigan’s fingers and not those of his wife bathing his dying
body. And he felt the Morrigan’s hand reach inside him, pulling out
his soul as if plucking a root free of the soil.

Aodhan stood by the bed, watching his grieving
family.

Dagda wept bitterly. Then Fiallan picked up
Aodhan’s torque and put it around his own neck.

“It is time,” the Morrigan said.

Her words transported them. Aodhan’s spirit
walked the Morrigan’s isle where stood her Crystal Keep.

“Though I would’ve preferred a more noble
death, I am eternally grateful for your gift. Few men can die
knowing they have killed all their enemies.”

“But you only killed seven,” she
said.

He stopped. “I crushed all the
blooms.”

The Morrigan curled a hand, bidding him to
follow. She led him inside the Crystal Keep to a windowless
chamber. A hundred skulls, each glowing from a candle within,
rested on shelves and filled small niches. In the center sat a
cauldron with three legs, no fire beneath it.

The Morrigan stirred its waters with a ladle.
Light of all colors radiated from the liquid. In the radiance,
Aodhan saw verdant hills and stormy seas.

The Morrigan dipped the ladle and drew water
from one verdant hill. “Each bloom claimed a man’s life as I
promised. Yet you only brought about the death of seven of your
true enemies. Ten you killed could have become allies, and with
you, would have united Ireland for all time.”

In the ladle Aodhan saw ten faces, nine of
whom he did not know. But one was his daughter, Bav’s.

****

Afterword

I’ve always been fascinated by stories dealing
with bargains with death or the devil or some such force. The
Morrigan is an interesting, multi-faceted goddess, and so I thought
it would be fun to work a story with a warrior making a deal with
her. I wanted to do a bargain story in which the conditions were
met without trickery.