FIC: Gathering Gloom 8/16
Title: Gathering Gloom
Author: houses
Email: houses7177@gmail.com
Universes: Tir Alainn and Merry Gentry
Characters: Morag
Pairings: Morag/Sholto, Meredith/everyone else. No, I’m not kidding.
Narration: Morag, Merry, Taranis, Usna, Sholto
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Post Tir Alainn trilogy, Post book 4 MG. Disclaimers: Tir Alainn belongs to Anne Bishop, Merry Gentry belongs to Laurel K Hamilton
Summary: Taranis uses forbidden magic to call an assassin he believes will finally settle his Maeve Reed problem. Only thing is, said assassin has a mind of her own and isn’t particularly pleased to be back from the dead.
Act One: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Act Two: Part 7
All in all, Usna was feeling pretty good. Los Angeles was every bit as shiny and sunny as he had been led to believe, no one had tried to kill the princess or himself, no funky divine magic had struck at inopportune moments, and he was being happily chauffeured to his new home through what the driver informed him was considerably less than the usual L.A. traffic. The metal of the car made the hairs on his arm stand on end, but Rhys had assured his passengers that Maeve had done everything in her power to neutralize the human effects of metal and industry on her lands. Usna had to admit he was grateful and couldn’t imagine living here for years as Merry had done.
He gave a leisurely stretch and curled his feet up under him, leaning to look out the window at the passing hill dotted with mansions. Next to him, he felt Morag rustle, opening her cloak further. She poked at the buttons on the door until the window rolled down and gave a soulful sigh as the wind rippled through her hair.
“Automobiles are definitely better than carriages,” she said with a small smile. “Though, I would prefer never to have to fly in another airplane.”
“Not your cup of tea, then?” Usna asked.
The slender woman thought about the analogy for a moment before she shrugged. “I like to taste the wind when I fly, not be stuffed inside a metal tube with sick-smelling air.” She turned away to face the window on her side of the car. She raised a hand to press her fingers against the glass, leaving small smudges of fingerprints that caught the afternoon light.
Usna watched her silently. While her demeanor had improved since their walk from the sithen, there was something about the way she held herself that gave him pause. She had definitely been surprised at hearing that Maeve was pregnant, but he could think of no possible reason it would matter to the young stranger. In fact, until he had mentioned Maeve and her future child, Morag had been decidedly disinterested in his world. She seemed to coast in a bubble of her own isolation, disengaged from her future. Usna knew that dying would be rather traumatic, but he couldn’t help but wonder why only Maeve struck Morag’s interest. She was but a child from another time, and could not possibly have known that Maeve was the former goddess Conchenn, much less about the controversy surrounding her pregnancy.
But cats survived on intuition, and Usna wasn’t one to ignore instincts. He drew up the winter coat on his lap and folded it, smoothing the creases. Rhys was still sending occasional glances into the rear-view mirror at Morag, his brow lightly furrowed. Apparently Usna wasn’t the only one who found their new addition unnerving, if not ominous.
While Rhys was busy glancing backwards in the mirror, a car swerved into their lane. Adair gave a shout, and Rhys’ attention snapped back to the road.
“Lord and Lady, that was close!” Adair said, running a hand through his short hair. “How do you drive around here? Death traps at every turn.”
Rhys laughed darkly and shot one more considering look into his rearview mirror. “Yeah, I know. You wouldn’t believe the ghosts that line these highways, permanently pissed off that they’re late to that very important lunch with that very important producer.” Usna saw Rhys grip the steering wheel tighter, much has he would have touched his sword when they served together under Queen Andais-a touchstone under stress.
“But there are so many children,” Morag said softly. When everyone turned to look at her, her eyes widened and she stammered, “There have to be children, doesn’t there? Children ride in these ‘cars’ too, do they not?”
Rhys shook his head, “Yeah, and not everyone takes the care they should. Those ghosts, though, they aren’t angry. Just sad.”
Morag still had a frightened look on her face, the trappings of an old haunting, and Usna wondered if her reaction to Maeve’s pregnancy was more related to children than Maeve. Morag certainly seemed interested in the fate of the world’s children, human or fae.
“It’s only a few miles up on the hill over there. Maeve’s compound is pretty well warded, and we put in new wards after the Nameless attacked. Doyle added his own wards and Meredith is confident that they’ll keep out any new danger. Of course, it’s our job to make sure that’s the case.” Rhys signaled a right turn and darted the car through a narrow opening between large trucks. Adair gave a small gasp from the front seat, but Rhys only smiled.
Morag was watching Rhys carefully as she pulled her hair back into the same leather thong she had been wearing when Usna found her. Otherwise, she was wearing completely modern clothes under her traveling cloak. A strange incongruity, but no stranger than some of the getups the guards donned for this trip to California. The sunlight flickered, casting shadows across the back seat. Usna blinked, startled by the unwelcome vision of a crossbow bolt sticking from Morag’s pink cashmere-covered chest, a pool of blood formed from shifting shadows.
He shivered, and the image was gone, a memory he should never have seen. No one’s death should be on display, carved from air, he thought uneasily, and glanced at her once again. Morag had stopped watching Rhys and looked at Usna with sympathy, as if she knew very well what he had seen. The corner of her mouth twisted up, almost smiling, and she said, “Death comes to us all, in the end.”
From the front seat, Rhys quipped, “And sometimes Death drives you home!” With a macabre chuckle, the white-haired sidhe turned the car into a long drive behind the car containing Galen, Nicca, Biddy and Hafwyn.
The gates were impressive, but what Usna could only describe as a human-scale palace behind it was even more so. He gave an involuntary shudder as they crossed the ward line, but Morag was more affected; she gave a little cry and rubbed fiercely at her arms. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and swirling with shadows.
“That hurt,” she said.
“Hrm, they shouldn’t react to people-fae or human-that offer no harm. It’s curious that they would react to you,” Rhys said, steering the car around the house and past a large pool complex with elaborate tropical plants. He parked then turned to look at her with open curiosity, and Usna thought not a little suspicion. “But your reaction might be a bit…different from the rest of us.”
“You are an unusual case,” Usna said, “And we don’t know exactly what brought you here.”
Morag turned away, gripping the door handle tightly. “Unusual,” she muttered, “Well, that’s a good enough description as any. Unusual.” With a harsh laugh, she pushed open the door and stood watching the rest of the sidhe unpack the trunks.
Usna grabbed two bags and followed Rhys and Adair down a garden path to a two story guest-house he could see in the distance. Everything was immaculately groomed, each plant a stunning specimen that had Galen’s mark of life in each leaf and petal. Even the Bermuda grass looked to be thriving, lushly green in what should have been a desert.
The guards gathered around in a large entry room on the first floor of the guest house, waiting for Frost to hand out their rooming arrangements. Since there were so many new guards, Maeve had opened up the main house guest rooms in addition to the separate house where Meredith and her original guard resided. Some of the new guards would be barracked there, but others, including Usna and Adair, as well as Nicca and Biddy, would be moved to the main house. Frost handed them each papers that detailed the security arrangements and schedule with the statement that Maeve was having a banquet in their honor at six that evening and if they valued their hides they’d be on their best behavior.
As if anyone needed reminding, Usna grumbled silently to himself. Sometimes Frost took himself entirely too seriously.
“Where is Morag?” Frost asked with little interest.
Usna looked around, surprised not to see her slender shadow trailing behind him. “She was by the cars when we were unpacking. I’ll go look for her.”
Frost frowned and handed the patchwork sidhe another set of papers. “She’ll be sharing a room with Hafwyn with the rest of you in the main house until we figure out what do with her.”
Merry lightly swatted his arm. “Be nice, Frost. She probably wants to be here as much as we want her here. It must be difficult to be in her position. I’ll keep an eye out for her when Doyle and I go to talk to Maeve about tonight.”
Frost shrugged then nodded to Usna. “See what you can do.”
With a nod of his own, Usna dragged his bags back outside and wandered off in search of Morag. He found her kneeling by the pool, watching her reflection in the rippling water with detached fascination. One hand dragged back and forth in the clear blue water, distorting her face with tiny waves.
When he touched her shoulder, she jumped and very nearly fell into the pool. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Whoa, there, you don’t want to get all wet.”
“No,” she said shakily, “I don’t.”
He helped her stand. “You’ll be staying in the main house with a few of us, sharing a room with Hafwyn. Maeve’s throwing us a party later, but we should probably get you settled before then. Do you have your bag?”
Morag lifted the small overnight bag from the ground with a grimace and slinging it over her shoulder. “Yes, as much as I have to bring with me.”
Usna nodded in the direction of the main house, “Shall we, Lady Morag?”
She tried to smile, wiping the water from her fingers on her pants and leaving streaks on the dark fabric. “It’s inevitable, isn’t it?”
Usna puzzled over that strange sentiment as they passed the cabana and moved up the steps to the golden-hued mansion. The walk took longer than it should have because Morag stopped to touch several of the tropical flowers on their way, as if to fill her fingers with beauty. When they finally arrived at the house, he held the door for the black-haired sidhe, wondering what was on her mind as she almost floated through the door, her face now as stormy as the snow-laden sky on the day he had found her in the woods. He felt the same chill once again, deep in his bones, like the call of crows after battle.
Warily, he followed her inside and had to call her name twice to get her attention. He directed her up the stairs to the rooms dedicated to Meredith’s entourage. They made it to the landing but Morag stopped by an open door to a brightly lit room. Something seemed to pull at her, dragging her away from him and she was breathing hard.
“Are you feeling well? You look a bit…” Usna trailed off. Her face was even paler than usual, and the shadows in her eyes covered not only the iris but spilled over onto the whites of her eyes. “Morag, what--?”
“I am sorry,” she said, her voice strained. “Please…not now. I can’t.”
Usna heard voices from the sunlight drenched room, a lyrical female voice and those of Doyle, Meredith and Rhys. He followed after a stumbling Morag, catching her elbow as she half-fell to the ground at Meredith’s feet. She looked up at the princess in obvious agony. A puzzled Merry reached a hand down to help Morag up. She froze when the other sidhe spoke, the words chilling the whole room with agonized simplicity.
“I am sorry. I am so very sorry.”
Before anyone could ask why she was in such agony, Morag shoved herself to her feet, flinging a hand out in Maeve’s direction. The golden goddess had risen when Morag had stumbled into the room, a look of surprise on her perfect features. When Morag turned in her direction, Maeve gave a small cry and crumpled to the floor.
Everything happened at once. Merry, Doyle, Frost and Usna lurched toward Conchenn only to find themselves held by a force that felt like their souls were being ripped from under their skin. Innumerable needles plucked and pricked at his consciousness, each one full of screaming fire. Usna could barely focus through the pain and he was shocked to realize that he was on his knees, shaking. He raised his head with difficulty to see Morag standing effortlessly in front of Maeve’s fallen form, staring at a spot on the wall. He could hear a groan from his right; all of the other sidhe were in his situation, a breath away from insanity from the pain.
“It was not my idea, this travesty against nature.” Morag’s voice sounded strained, but she still gave a choking laugh, “How should I know? This world is insane, but the payment must be met to win my freedom.” She paused. “They will come to no harm.”
Usna would have begged to differ if he wasn’t convinced that his life was slowly unraveling. He was too disoriented to wonder why Morag was having a conversation with nothing, and why that nothing seemed to be talking back to her. Maeve lay on the soft shag carpet like a broken doll, her eyes open and unseeing.
Morag flinched, a look of absolute revulsion on her face. “Never. I would never harm a child. Do not ask questions I cannot answer. I have already paid my price, and your death is a minor stain on my soul…Stop it, it won’t help. She’s fine, I promise. Very healthy.”
She shuddered, her whole body convulsing as if near the breaking point. “I cannot keep her alive without you much longer…” she said, softly. “The geas are almost broken. Just a moment more.”
With that, Morag stumbled, and grabbed her head in obvious pain. “Enough!” She began backing away from the group on the floor and the pain in Usna’s soul began to lessen, little frizzles of electricity licking the edges of his sanity. He could hear voices from below, sidhe running up the stairs. Morag was at the open window then, leaning heavily on the frame.
“I am truly sorry,” she said, and fell backwards out of the window.
The world came rushing in with a flurry of color. Galen was somehow kneeling in front of him, cradling Merry to his chest, his face terrified. Frost swept into the room with a palpable chill, ice crackling at the edges of his coat.
“What is happening here!” he snapped, pulling a disoriented Doyle to his feet. “Is she safe?”
“I’m fine,” murmured Merry, pushing out of Galen’s arms. “But Maeve isn’t.”
All eyes turned to the crumpled goddess, lying motionless on the floor. Rhys said, “She was dead.”
Maeve’s fingers twitched, curling around a clump of shag carpeting.
Doyle shuffled forward as if every nerve ending burned, brushing Maeve’s hair from her face. “No longer. She is weak, but she is undeniably alive.”
The crowd of guards in the doorway muttered amongst themselves, but Meredith cut in, her voice sharp. “Everybody out except Frost and Galen. I can’t think with all of you crowding in here. I promise I’ll fill you all in-later.”
While the other guards reluctantly filed out, Frost looked around, his eyes meeting Usna’s. “Did you ever find Morag?”
“Yes,” Usna said in a voice that felt like shattering glass.
“And then Morag killed Maeve,” Rhys said, undeniably impressed.
“And very nearly killed all of us,” Doyle said heavily, his speech still rough. He picked Maeve and carried her to a chaise lounge. Maeve was breathing, but silent tears streamed down her face. The dark sidhe tried to wake her, but the former goddess lay limply.
Frost crackled with all the energy Doyle didn’t seem to be able to summon. “Where is she now?” he growled, his gaze searching the room.
Usna managed to get his voice under control enough to say, “She fell out of the window. She said she was sorry and fell out the window.”
Frost strode to the open window and looked down. “Nothing. She is not there, though mere two-story fall wouldn’t hurt a sidhe.”
“What did she say her animal form was?” Galen asked.
“She never did,” Usna responded while pushing himself to his feet. “And no one thought to ask. She did say something about flying in the car today, so I presume that it is something that flies.”
“That, and the fact that she’s not splattered on the paving stones,” Rhys said, rubbing his good eye. “I can’t figure out how she did it.”
“Did what?” Merry said.
“Did you feel it, the way she held our very life in her hands, pulled our souls from our bodies until we were held together only by the finest threads?”
“Is that what it was?” Merry said, rubbing her fingers lightly down her arms as if burned. “What did she do to Maeve?”
“I already told you. She killed Maeve, ripped her soul from its moorings completely.” He didn’t seem particularly upset, as if he were discussing some academic point with like-minded scholars.
Doyle turned to Rhys in cold fury, saying, “How can you just sit there and be interested? She could have killed the princess and then all would be lost! Without Meredith we have nothing, or have you forgotten your place in this world?”
Rhys crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, not far from where Morag talked to the air. “You are forgetting something, Darkness. I am a god of Death, and like calls to like. If Morag wanted us dead I have no idea that she could have swept this room clear of life without flinching. What is truly remarkable is that she did not; she kept us alive but out of her way and Maeve’s spirit anchored nearby. Do you have any idea what kind of power that would take?”
“Is that what she was talking to?” Usna asked, looking over to Maeve’s prone form. “It looked like she was just babbling to the air.”
“Most definitely not. You all heard her speak to nothing, but I saw Maeve’s ghost, heard her pleading for our lives, and the life of her child. Morag needed to be released from some sort of geas and Maeve’s death was the mechanism. I think the rest of us were unintended casualties.”
“Meredith could have been killed and you call it an unintended casualty?” Doyle snarled, wheeling on Rhys.
Rhys raised his hand in warning, “Again, I say none of us were the target-and it seems to me the target is very much alive. I, personally, find that very interesting.”
Frost stalked back over to where Meredith was sitting on the floor, one arm entwined with Doyle’s leg, her other hand on Galen’s knee, her expression full of foreboding. “So the princess was not the target?”
“It seems not. Maeve asked who sent Morag to kill her, but Morag wouldn’t answer. If nothing else, she did seem genuinely sorry, if we can believe her words over her actions.” Rhys glanced out the window and shook his head. “Did anyone have any idea she was capable of this? I mean, I can kill with a touch, but Morag…She’s unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.”
“Unusual,” Usna whispered. He snapped his mouth shut when Frost wheeled on him again. He squared his shoulders. “She said she was unusual, and I knew there was something about coming here that engaged her in a way that nothing else in our world could. I think she has some sort of complex about children in general, and has been acting strange since we left the sithen.”
“And you think it appropriate to mention this only now? I should have you-“ Doyle shook himself like dog shedding water and when he spoke again, it was softer and infinitely more deadly. “Morag cannot be allowed to escape. I will arrange a hunting party.”
“No,” Merry said, moving to stand uncertainly on weak legs. “Not you. If she can truly kill even sidhe with a thought, I don’t want to lose you. Lose any of you.” Her eyes met Doyle’s, sad and determined green to firefly-kissed black. “Send for Sholto. It’s time the Sluagh had a real hunt once more.”
TBC…
Author: houses
Email: houses7177@gmail.com
Universes: Tir Alainn and Merry Gentry
Characters: Morag
Pairings: Morag/Sholto, Meredith/everyone else. No, I’m not kidding.
Narration: Morag, Merry, Taranis, Usna, Sholto
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Post Tir Alainn trilogy, Post book 4 MG. Disclaimers: Tir Alainn belongs to Anne Bishop, Merry Gentry belongs to Laurel K Hamilton
Summary: Taranis uses forbidden magic to call an assassin he believes will finally settle his Maeve Reed problem. Only thing is, said assassin has a mind of her own and isn’t particularly pleased to be back from the dead.
Act One: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Act Two: Part 7
All in all, Usna was feeling pretty good. Los Angeles was every bit as shiny and sunny as he had been led to believe, no one had tried to kill the princess or himself, no funky divine magic had struck at inopportune moments, and he was being happily chauffeured to his new home through what the driver informed him was considerably less than the usual L.A. traffic. The metal of the car made the hairs on his arm stand on end, but Rhys had assured his passengers that Maeve had done everything in her power to neutralize the human effects of metal and industry on her lands. Usna had to admit he was grateful and couldn’t imagine living here for years as Merry had done.
He gave a leisurely stretch and curled his feet up under him, leaning to look out the window at the passing hill dotted with mansions. Next to him, he felt Morag rustle, opening her cloak further. She poked at the buttons on the door until the window rolled down and gave a soulful sigh as the wind rippled through her hair.
“Automobiles are definitely better than carriages,” she said with a small smile. “Though, I would prefer never to have to fly in another airplane.”
“Not your cup of tea, then?” Usna asked.
The slender woman thought about the analogy for a moment before she shrugged. “I like to taste the wind when I fly, not be stuffed inside a metal tube with sick-smelling air.” She turned away to face the window on her side of the car. She raised a hand to press her fingers against the glass, leaving small smudges of fingerprints that caught the afternoon light.
Usna watched her silently. While her demeanor had improved since their walk from the sithen, there was something about the way she held herself that gave him pause. She had definitely been surprised at hearing that Maeve was pregnant, but he could think of no possible reason it would matter to the young stranger. In fact, until he had mentioned Maeve and her future child, Morag had been decidedly disinterested in his world. She seemed to coast in a bubble of her own isolation, disengaged from her future. Usna knew that dying would be rather traumatic, but he couldn’t help but wonder why only Maeve struck Morag’s interest. She was but a child from another time, and could not possibly have known that Maeve was the former goddess Conchenn, much less about the controversy surrounding her pregnancy.
But cats survived on intuition, and Usna wasn’t one to ignore instincts. He drew up the winter coat on his lap and folded it, smoothing the creases. Rhys was still sending occasional glances into the rear-view mirror at Morag, his brow lightly furrowed. Apparently Usna wasn’t the only one who found their new addition unnerving, if not ominous.
While Rhys was busy glancing backwards in the mirror, a car swerved into their lane. Adair gave a shout, and Rhys’ attention snapped back to the road.
“Lord and Lady, that was close!” Adair said, running a hand through his short hair. “How do you drive around here? Death traps at every turn.”
Rhys laughed darkly and shot one more considering look into his rearview mirror. “Yeah, I know. You wouldn’t believe the ghosts that line these highways, permanently pissed off that they’re late to that very important lunch with that very important producer.” Usna saw Rhys grip the steering wheel tighter, much has he would have touched his sword when they served together under Queen Andais-a touchstone under stress.
“But there are so many children,” Morag said softly. When everyone turned to look at her, her eyes widened and she stammered, “There have to be children, doesn’t there? Children ride in these ‘cars’ too, do they not?”
Rhys shook his head, “Yeah, and not everyone takes the care they should. Those ghosts, though, they aren’t angry. Just sad.”
Morag still had a frightened look on her face, the trappings of an old haunting, and Usna wondered if her reaction to Maeve’s pregnancy was more related to children than Maeve. Morag certainly seemed interested in the fate of the world’s children, human or fae.
“It’s only a few miles up on the hill over there. Maeve’s compound is pretty well warded, and we put in new wards after the Nameless attacked. Doyle added his own wards and Meredith is confident that they’ll keep out any new danger. Of course, it’s our job to make sure that’s the case.” Rhys signaled a right turn and darted the car through a narrow opening between large trucks. Adair gave a small gasp from the front seat, but Rhys only smiled.
Morag was watching Rhys carefully as she pulled her hair back into the same leather thong she had been wearing when Usna found her. Otherwise, she was wearing completely modern clothes under her traveling cloak. A strange incongruity, but no stranger than some of the getups the guards donned for this trip to California. The sunlight flickered, casting shadows across the back seat. Usna blinked, startled by the unwelcome vision of a crossbow bolt sticking from Morag’s pink cashmere-covered chest, a pool of blood formed from shifting shadows.
He shivered, and the image was gone, a memory he should never have seen. No one’s death should be on display, carved from air, he thought uneasily, and glanced at her once again. Morag had stopped watching Rhys and looked at Usna with sympathy, as if she knew very well what he had seen. The corner of her mouth twisted up, almost smiling, and she said, “Death comes to us all, in the end.”
From the front seat, Rhys quipped, “And sometimes Death drives you home!” With a macabre chuckle, the white-haired sidhe turned the car into a long drive behind the car containing Galen, Nicca, Biddy and Hafwyn.
The gates were impressive, but what Usna could only describe as a human-scale palace behind it was even more so. He gave an involuntary shudder as they crossed the ward line, but Morag was more affected; she gave a little cry and rubbed fiercely at her arms. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and swirling with shadows.
“That hurt,” she said.
“Hrm, they shouldn’t react to people-fae or human-that offer no harm. It’s curious that they would react to you,” Rhys said, steering the car around the house and past a large pool complex with elaborate tropical plants. He parked then turned to look at her with open curiosity, and Usna thought not a little suspicion. “But your reaction might be a bit…different from the rest of us.”
“You are an unusual case,” Usna said, “And we don’t know exactly what brought you here.”
Morag turned away, gripping the door handle tightly. “Unusual,” she muttered, “Well, that’s a good enough description as any. Unusual.” With a harsh laugh, she pushed open the door and stood watching the rest of the sidhe unpack the trunks.
Usna grabbed two bags and followed Rhys and Adair down a garden path to a two story guest-house he could see in the distance. Everything was immaculately groomed, each plant a stunning specimen that had Galen’s mark of life in each leaf and petal. Even the Bermuda grass looked to be thriving, lushly green in what should have been a desert.
The guards gathered around in a large entry room on the first floor of the guest house, waiting for Frost to hand out their rooming arrangements. Since there were so many new guards, Maeve had opened up the main house guest rooms in addition to the separate house where Meredith and her original guard resided. Some of the new guards would be barracked there, but others, including Usna and Adair, as well as Nicca and Biddy, would be moved to the main house. Frost handed them each papers that detailed the security arrangements and schedule with the statement that Maeve was having a banquet in their honor at six that evening and if they valued their hides they’d be on their best behavior.
As if anyone needed reminding, Usna grumbled silently to himself. Sometimes Frost took himself entirely too seriously.
“Where is Morag?” Frost asked with little interest.
Usna looked around, surprised not to see her slender shadow trailing behind him. “She was by the cars when we were unpacking. I’ll go look for her.”
Frost frowned and handed the patchwork sidhe another set of papers. “She’ll be sharing a room with Hafwyn with the rest of you in the main house until we figure out what do with her.”
Merry lightly swatted his arm. “Be nice, Frost. She probably wants to be here as much as we want her here. It must be difficult to be in her position. I’ll keep an eye out for her when Doyle and I go to talk to Maeve about tonight.”
Frost shrugged then nodded to Usna. “See what you can do.”
With a nod of his own, Usna dragged his bags back outside and wandered off in search of Morag. He found her kneeling by the pool, watching her reflection in the rippling water with detached fascination. One hand dragged back and forth in the clear blue water, distorting her face with tiny waves.
When he touched her shoulder, she jumped and very nearly fell into the pool. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Whoa, there, you don’t want to get all wet.”
“No,” she said shakily, “I don’t.”
He helped her stand. “You’ll be staying in the main house with a few of us, sharing a room with Hafwyn. Maeve’s throwing us a party later, but we should probably get you settled before then. Do you have your bag?”
Morag lifted the small overnight bag from the ground with a grimace and slinging it over her shoulder. “Yes, as much as I have to bring with me.”
Usna nodded in the direction of the main house, “Shall we, Lady Morag?”
She tried to smile, wiping the water from her fingers on her pants and leaving streaks on the dark fabric. “It’s inevitable, isn’t it?”
Usna puzzled over that strange sentiment as they passed the cabana and moved up the steps to the golden-hued mansion. The walk took longer than it should have because Morag stopped to touch several of the tropical flowers on their way, as if to fill her fingers with beauty. When they finally arrived at the house, he held the door for the black-haired sidhe, wondering what was on her mind as she almost floated through the door, her face now as stormy as the snow-laden sky on the day he had found her in the woods. He felt the same chill once again, deep in his bones, like the call of crows after battle.
Warily, he followed her inside and had to call her name twice to get her attention. He directed her up the stairs to the rooms dedicated to Meredith’s entourage. They made it to the landing but Morag stopped by an open door to a brightly lit room. Something seemed to pull at her, dragging her away from him and she was breathing hard.
“Are you feeling well? You look a bit…” Usna trailed off. Her face was even paler than usual, and the shadows in her eyes covered not only the iris but spilled over onto the whites of her eyes. “Morag, what--?”
“I am sorry,” she said, her voice strained. “Please…not now. I can’t.”
Usna heard voices from the sunlight drenched room, a lyrical female voice and those of Doyle, Meredith and Rhys. He followed after a stumbling Morag, catching her elbow as she half-fell to the ground at Meredith’s feet. She looked up at the princess in obvious agony. A puzzled Merry reached a hand down to help Morag up. She froze when the other sidhe spoke, the words chilling the whole room with agonized simplicity.
“I am sorry. I am so very sorry.”
Before anyone could ask why she was in such agony, Morag shoved herself to her feet, flinging a hand out in Maeve’s direction. The golden goddess had risen when Morag had stumbled into the room, a look of surprise on her perfect features. When Morag turned in her direction, Maeve gave a small cry and crumpled to the floor.
Everything happened at once. Merry, Doyle, Frost and Usna lurched toward Conchenn only to find themselves held by a force that felt like their souls were being ripped from under their skin. Innumerable needles plucked and pricked at his consciousness, each one full of screaming fire. Usna could barely focus through the pain and he was shocked to realize that he was on his knees, shaking. He raised his head with difficulty to see Morag standing effortlessly in front of Maeve’s fallen form, staring at a spot on the wall. He could hear a groan from his right; all of the other sidhe were in his situation, a breath away from insanity from the pain.
“It was not my idea, this travesty against nature.” Morag’s voice sounded strained, but she still gave a choking laugh, “How should I know? This world is insane, but the payment must be met to win my freedom.” She paused. “They will come to no harm.”
Usna would have begged to differ if he wasn’t convinced that his life was slowly unraveling. He was too disoriented to wonder why Morag was having a conversation with nothing, and why that nothing seemed to be talking back to her. Maeve lay on the soft shag carpet like a broken doll, her eyes open and unseeing.
Morag flinched, a look of absolute revulsion on her face. “Never. I would never harm a child. Do not ask questions I cannot answer. I have already paid my price, and your death is a minor stain on my soul…Stop it, it won’t help. She’s fine, I promise. Very healthy.”
She shuddered, her whole body convulsing as if near the breaking point. “I cannot keep her alive without you much longer…” she said, softly. “The geas are almost broken. Just a moment more.”
With that, Morag stumbled, and grabbed her head in obvious pain. “Enough!” She began backing away from the group on the floor and the pain in Usna’s soul began to lessen, little frizzles of electricity licking the edges of his sanity. He could hear voices from below, sidhe running up the stairs. Morag was at the open window then, leaning heavily on the frame.
“I am truly sorry,” she said, and fell backwards out of the window.
The world came rushing in with a flurry of color. Galen was somehow kneeling in front of him, cradling Merry to his chest, his face terrified. Frost swept into the room with a palpable chill, ice crackling at the edges of his coat.
“What is happening here!” he snapped, pulling a disoriented Doyle to his feet. “Is she safe?”
“I’m fine,” murmured Merry, pushing out of Galen’s arms. “But Maeve isn’t.”
All eyes turned to the crumpled goddess, lying motionless on the floor. Rhys said, “She was dead.”
Maeve’s fingers twitched, curling around a clump of shag carpeting.
Doyle shuffled forward as if every nerve ending burned, brushing Maeve’s hair from her face. “No longer. She is weak, but she is undeniably alive.”
The crowd of guards in the doorway muttered amongst themselves, but Meredith cut in, her voice sharp. “Everybody out except Frost and Galen. I can’t think with all of you crowding in here. I promise I’ll fill you all in-later.”
While the other guards reluctantly filed out, Frost looked around, his eyes meeting Usna’s. “Did you ever find Morag?”
“Yes,” Usna said in a voice that felt like shattering glass.
“And then Morag killed Maeve,” Rhys said, undeniably impressed.
“And very nearly killed all of us,” Doyle said heavily, his speech still rough. He picked Maeve and carried her to a chaise lounge. Maeve was breathing, but silent tears streamed down her face. The dark sidhe tried to wake her, but the former goddess lay limply.
Frost crackled with all the energy Doyle didn’t seem to be able to summon. “Where is she now?” he growled, his gaze searching the room.
Usna managed to get his voice under control enough to say, “She fell out of the window. She said she was sorry and fell out the window.”
Frost strode to the open window and looked down. “Nothing. She is not there, though mere two-story fall wouldn’t hurt a sidhe.”
“What did she say her animal form was?” Galen asked.
“She never did,” Usna responded while pushing himself to his feet. “And no one thought to ask. She did say something about flying in the car today, so I presume that it is something that flies.”
“That, and the fact that she’s not splattered on the paving stones,” Rhys said, rubbing his good eye. “I can’t figure out how she did it.”
“Did what?” Merry said.
“Did you feel it, the way she held our very life in her hands, pulled our souls from our bodies until we were held together only by the finest threads?”
“Is that what it was?” Merry said, rubbing her fingers lightly down her arms as if burned. “What did she do to Maeve?”
“I already told you. She killed Maeve, ripped her soul from its moorings completely.” He didn’t seem particularly upset, as if he were discussing some academic point with like-minded scholars.
Doyle turned to Rhys in cold fury, saying, “How can you just sit there and be interested? She could have killed the princess and then all would be lost! Without Meredith we have nothing, or have you forgotten your place in this world?”
Rhys crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, not far from where Morag talked to the air. “You are forgetting something, Darkness. I am a god of Death, and like calls to like. If Morag wanted us dead I have no idea that she could have swept this room clear of life without flinching. What is truly remarkable is that she did not; she kept us alive but out of her way and Maeve’s spirit anchored nearby. Do you have any idea what kind of power that would take?”
“Is that what she was talking to?” Usna asked, looking over to Maeve’s prone form. “It looked like she was just babbling to the air.”
“Most definitely not. You all heard her speak to nothing, but I saw Maeve’s ghost, heard her pleading for our lives, and the life of her child. Morag needed to be released from some sort of geas and Maeve’s death was the mechanism. I think the rest of us were unintended casualties.”
“Meredith could have been killed and you call it an unintended casualty?” Doyle snarled, wheeling on Rhys.
Rhys raised his hand in warning, “Again, I say none of us were the target-and it seems to me the target is very much alive. I, personally, find that very interesting.”
Frost stalked back over to where Meredith was sitting on the floor, one arm entwined with Doyle’s leg, her other hand on Galen’s knee, her expression full of foreboding. “So the princess was not the target?”
“It seems not. Maeve asked who sent Morag to kill her, but Morag wouldn’t answer. If nothing else, she did seem genuinely sorry, if we can believe her words over her actions.” Rhys glanced out the window and shook his head. “Did anyone have any idea she was capable of this? I mean, I can kill with a touch, but Morag…She’s unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.”
“Unusual,” Usna whispered. He snapped his mouth shut when Frost wheeled on him again. He squared his shoulders. “She said she was unusual, and I knew there was something about coming here that engaged her in a way that nothing else in our world could. I think she has some sort of complex about children in general, and has been acting strange since we left the sithen.”
“And you think it appropriate to mention this only now? I should have you-“ Doyle shook himself like dog shedding water and when he spoke again, it was softer and infinitely more deadly. “Morag cannot be allowed to escape. I will arrange a hunting party.”
“No,” Merry said, moving to stand uncertainly on weak legs. “Not you. If she can truly kill even sidhe with a thought, I don’t want to lose you. Lose any of you.” Her eyes met Doyle’s, sad and determined green to firefly-kissed black. “Send for Sholto. It’s time the Sluagh had a real hunt once more.”
TBC…