The Morrigan Pt. 2

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The Celtic regions have changed, but not much. If you look closely, the only real differences are the cities and roads, perhaps new farms in the rural areas... but the same rivers I crossed years ago still wind through the dense forests, the same waterfalls tumble into their crystalline pools. Though the humans may not recognize me, the land does. It grows warmer in my presence, only a few degrees, but enough for me to know that's my welcome.

I am disliked on Mirage for a multitude of reasons, but one of them is that I frequently choose to take on a distinctly human form, not only when I travel to the planet. Walking amongst the humans is somewhat dangerous, yes, but nothing short of exhilarating. Besides, they are far less insightful in this day and age, and they hardly notice me at all, much less that my energy is different than theirs. That, I cannot change to fit their earthly standards.

Not all humans are decent; there are times when my job is quite satisfying, when I am less a guide and more a server of justice... However, over the past few centuries, I've begun to understand exactly what my presence does to the families of those I meet. The suffering, the tears... I've stayed behind a few minutes before to watch it unfold when the deed is done, and it can be so undeserved.

Why should I have to be the one to cause such despair?

I materialize at the edge of the woods near my destination, upon a grassy hill overlooking a quaint, sleepy town. The tallest buildings are no more than four floors, each made of sturdy brick and beams of oak, their chipped windows gleaming in the midday sun. A balmy breeze wafts through the basin, smelling of seawater and pine. In the distance, a church bell rings.

Someone here is ready to meet me.

I meander through the closed-in streets, passing shops and pubs and bakeries, listening to guitarists on the corner and the laughter of children in the park. My feet carry me to the outskirts of town, toward a familiar river with a new bridge and an aged watermill. A cottage sits near the bank, squat against the newer developments and cracking in some parts of the foundation. Despite its tired appearance, vibrant flowers sprout in the front lawn and smoke rises from the chimney. It is well lived in, but lived in nonetheless. This is where I'm meant to be.

I shroud myself at first, in case there is more than my personal company present, but the home is empty save for a young man brewing a pot of tea on the stove. He hums a slow tune, one I don't quite recognize, and pulls a jar of honey from the cabinet.

His energy pulses throughout the room in a way that baffles me... something about this child screams not ready, but I only arrive where I am needed. In my eons of service, no mistake has occurred.

Death does not make mistakes.

I de-shroud in the threshold, but the boy does not notice me until he turns toward the kitchen table. He seizes, throws a hand across his chest, and lets out a strangled cry.

"You scared me half to death!" he exclaims.

How ironic.

"I'm here for a cup of tea," I respond, keeping my tone cool and flat. He gives me a funny look, like he's not quite sure what I mean, and then an expression wavering between dread and woeful understanding shadows his face.

"You are the Morrigan," he murmurs.

"So, they still pass the legends down."

The boy, with his trembling hands, pours me a cup of tea and takes a seat at the table. I sit across from him and inspect his energy, plucking at his aura for any sign of disorder. To my dismay, I find one.

"What is your name?" I ask, and he meets my gaze. A brave one, this child.

"I'm Cormac. Cormac Hughes... are you here for me?"

Of all the times I wished I could lie, in this moment I wonder if I should... but in my heart I know this boy deserves the truth.

"Yes, Cormac, I am here for you. But you need not be afraid; I will guide you to where you need to be, and I will release you to true freedom."

What I didn't know then was that I'd be freeing more than him, today.

A single tear streaks across his skin, leaving a pitiful trail behind.

"Can I ask you a favor... uh..."

"Call me Morrigan," I murmur.

His energy calms slightly at my voice. Sometimes, thankfully, my presence has that sleepy effect on the humans.

"What favor do you ask?"

"Can you stay with me until it happens?" Cormac pleads. "And can you please not tell me how it happens? I don't want to worry."

I recall my agreement with Levi, ready to assure the boy that will not be an issue, but instead I calm his nerves and nod my head. He needs this comfort more than most.

"I will be here until you are ready," I reply. "And I shall not say how it ends, though I will tell you it will be rather peaceful."

The truth is, the boy has a silent tumor rooted in his skull. It's a miracle, with its size, that it has gone unnoticed for so long, though I doubt it would have ever been able to be removed. In a way, he has been spared of a lifetime of anguish – however long that lifetime may have been meant to last. A pang of sorrow bites at the base of my throat, threatening to choke. How could he be meant for this? And how could I be meant to tell him?

I ask Cormac about his flower garden. He explains that his mother used to tend to it when she was alive, and his grandmother had tended to it before her. The flowers are ancient, he says, which I consider a laughable term, but then – in his eyes – they are. He teaches me the difference between them, which have softer petals and which might survive through a harsher winter, which have medicinal properties and which he likes in his tea.

Lavender, he says, is his favorite, and holds a stem out for me to sniff. It does smell beautiful, and I say so, but beauty is difficult to cherish while heartache looms.

I wonder when Cormac's time will pass, when he will grasp the air and find my patient hand waiting. It has never taken long. Usually, I know my company for a few hours at most before they slip... but his aura shines: so healthy, so vibrant... too vibrant to be on the brink of Death.

"Cormac, where is your father?" I ask. He had mentioned his mother, the woman of the garden, yet made no reference to his other parent.

"I live alone," he replies – not the answer I was looking for, though it's enough. Eyes downcast, the boy picks at his fingernails beneath the table.

"I live alone, too."

He meets my gaze, hands now at rest.

"Where I am from, I live like you do. Outside of the Life, quiet and isolated with almost no one to speak with. I understand you, Cormac, and your grievances."

My tea stopped steaming minutes ago, now a puddle of lukewarm, muddy brown mess. Perhaps I stole the heat, or perhaps it ran away.

"Where do you live?" he wonders aloud, leaning over his placemat eagerly. "And who else is there?"

I remember the oath I made centuries ago, an oath to never reveal our whereabouts or even the truth of the deities' existence to the humans. But I see so much of myself, of my loneliness and my longing for anyone to love me as the humans love each other... it is hard to deny him knowledge in his last moments.

I've adhered to Mirage's rules for so long, even when its inhabitants deemed me an outcast and threw hate on my name... if any of us is justified in being selfish, it is me.

"You cannot see our world," I answer at last. "With your mortal eyes. We are attached to Earth, but not in the way you might expect. My home is Mirage, the realm of the deities, of Life and Death, of Forgiveness and of Wrath. We have always been here, watching."

Cormac inhales deeply, holding his breath for a split second before relaxing and reaching for his teacup again. His thin fingers tremble in the slightest, though it is no doubt his natural human anxiety.

Panic is not like me – he does not control every moment of fear, for fear exists in the body of every animal. It is an instinct, a genetic disposition that cannot be given or taken away.

"So how old are you, then?" he asks. "And how do you get to everyone in time?"

I smile at him; such typical curiosity. The humans do not change.

"Old. A few billion years, perhaps longer; it grows more difficult to remember with each passing decade. But time is not the same on Mirage as it is here. In spending this time with you, I am missing significantly more minutes in my realm. It is slower for me, so that I may release souls precisely when they are ready."

The corners of Cormac's mouth turn downward and he clasps his hands together. His body is tense, as if he might spring from the table and escape, but he stays.

"Release," he echoes, his gaze darting from one of my indigo eyes to the other. "Like you take the soul out of bodies?"

At this inquiry, I cannot help but to chuckle.

"No," I say. "I grasp flailing hands in the void. I do not 'take' souls, I free them. I guide them to where they are meant to be, or wherever their deeper conscious desires."

Deep down, those words are lies... In a way, I do take. I do steal. I steal from families and from lovers and friends...

But the words soften the edge in his eyes. A great silence falls over the room, and I leave the boy to his thoughts for minutes until he is ready to emerge.

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