The Morrigan ran her fingers along the ice that coated Merlin’s arm. He was still in a deep state of hibernation but she could see that he was healing himself. The prodigious well of magic that he stored in his very soul was slowly conquering the vampire virus that caused the human physiognomy to change into that of the undead.
But it would be many moons until one would actually be able to class the master magician as truly ‘alive’.
However, the goddess of battle was concerned. She could feel in her bones that war was coming. A great war.
Not like many of the ones that she remembered from recent years, more like the wars of old. During the times of King Arthur and his Shadowhunters. A battle of light against dark. And she knew that this battle would be epic. Perhaps beyond the limited recourses of the humans that would be arrayed against it. She needed Merlin to be whole once again. His knowledge and power would be an absolute necessity in the upcoming months and years.
Using her magiks she cast a scrying spell, searching out any and all that had come in contact with Merlin over the few weeks before he had transported himself to her domain. And what she saw shocked her even further.
She saw that the Olympus Foundation had all but been destroyed. From what she could reveal, only a young girl and two men remained of what was once mankind’s main defense against the darkness. She also saw Sir William Wolfman and Duc Sylvian Bloodborn. This lifted her spirits slightly as both of these creatures were well known to her and their presence bode well.
Then the Morrigan delved deeper, sending her essence out to follow the vampires that had almost killed the magician. Although she could not pin down where exactly they were, she could see a misty simulacrum of their existence.
There were many of them. She concentrated further. Hundreds of Masters, many hundred more Adepts and literally thousands of Grinders. Never before had she sensed such a gathering of the Nosferatu.
Then she allowed her senses to wander, seeking out more knowledge. And, like metal to a lodestone she saw him. And despite his wizened and horrific appearance, Morgan knew him instantly.
Janus Augusta.
He was sitting alone in a chair, his eyes closed. As still as the grave. Then his eyes opened and he looked up and chuckled.
‘Morgan la Fay,’ he whispered. ‘How long has it been? Five hundred years? More?’
‘Janus,’ gasped the Morrigan. ‘I thought that you died after the Battle of Camllan.’
‘Oh no,’ he denied. ‘It is not that easy to kill me. Quite the contrary. I have prospered and am now the head of the Italian house of the Nosferatu and also the Capo di tutt'i capi of the Federation.’
‘You were always evil incarnate,’ sneered Morgan. ‘But the next time that we meet in person I shall make sure that there is no mistake. You will suffer the true death.’
Janus laughed. ‘I do not think so. In fact, it will not be long now and I will finally have the corona potestatem in my possession.
Quake with fear, little godling, for your time grows close to the end. It is our time now. So run along, crow. There is nothing for you here.’
Knowing that she would garner no more information, Morgan retreated back to her own body, her heart hammering in her chest from the shock of what she had just heard.
And so it was with great deliberation that she cast aside all current mores and traditions and decided to approach The Council herself. This was unusual in many ways, mainly because Merlin was the only accepted point of liaison between the gods and humanity and that had been the way for many hundreds of years. Also, as a minor god herself, it would be considered most crass for her to show overt support for humanity. So much so that it might even lead to a shunning or brief ostracization. And that would be brief in immortal terms. Perhaps centuries, if not eons.
But she had no choice.
Once again, the woman known as both the Morrigan and Morgan la Fey, stepped outside where she assumed the form of a large crow and took off, beating her wings hard as she headed for the Castro of Altamira, the enormous underground realm ruled over by the Sidhe, or the fey-folk as they were sometimes known. The gods and goddesses of the humans and the keepers of all things magik.
As she flew, the magic began to ripple along her wings.
Blue pulses of pure power, driving her faster and faster until the air was sundered aside. Then with the sound of thunder, the crow that was the Morrigan shattered the sound barrier.
And then she was there. Flying high in the azure skies above the emerald green rolling lands of the Castro of Altamira.
Below her, various different abodes were scattered about the land. Everything from small mud huts to massive looming edifices of marble and bronze. Each dwelling was fashioned after the god or godling that lived in it.
The Formaorian gods of water lived in rude mud huts, whereas king Finvarra and his queen, Aine, lived in a palace of granite and gold. But the Morrigan knew that the exteriors of the dwellings meant naught as they were merely the projection of the general legend that surrounded the dweller. The interiors of the abode had nothing to do with the exterior. Not even their size correlated to the exterior footprint. Every dwelling was palatial when one went inside it. Gods were far too truculent and self absorbed to live in anything else but total luxury.
The Morrigan, as one of the gods of battle, was unusual in that she had chosen a self-impose exile on earth, surviving on peasant fare and living in a humble hovel. She had decided to eke out her existence in poverty, fading from human memory and avoiding the capriciousness of the gods.
But now Merlin was back and her ire had been peaked. Once again humanity needed the gods and the Morrigan was damned if she would stand by and let darkness overtake all. She had fought the good fight before and she would again.
She headed straight for the palace of granite and gold, knowing that where the king and queen were, there were oft many other gods, playing games of court, carousing and generally amusing themselves.
She landed in the main throne room, flaring her wings and changing back into human form as her feet touched the floor. But not the haggard old lady that she was on earth. That simply wouldn’t do in the land of the sidhe, who valued beauty and power above all else. In this land she assumed the form of Morgan la Fay, the siren who was possessed of such beauty that she was able to tempt the celibate magician, Merlin Ambros Caledonensis Aurelius Ambrosius, to her bed chamber. The same Morgan la Fay who seduced Lancelot, driving him wild with desire for her. The seductress, enchantress, sorceress and temptress.
And so she stood in the center of the royal court. Her knee-length lustrous black hair swirling about her naked body like it had a life of its own. Hiding, revealing and tempting, as it exposed and then covered her naked flesh. The ultimate dance of the veils.
‘Morgan!’ The king’s voice thundered across the room. ‘You come uninvited, yet when I call you avoid me.’
Morgan bowed deeply, allowing her hair to part and expose her full breasts, knowing well that they would distract the king. ‘My liege,’ she said. ‘I apologize, I was unavoidably detained.’
‘For three hundred years?’ He questioned. ‘Has it been that long, my king?’
‘Yes it has, Morgan la Fay,’ he responded. ‘And well you know it.’
‘Clothe yourself, battle goddess,’ snapped queen Aine, her jealousy etched into her face.
‘I am sorry,’ returned Morgan. ‘It has been a while since I was last at court and had no idea that we now adhered to the same proletarian morals as the humans.’ Morgan clicked her fingers and she was instantly clothed in a silk dress that clung so tightly to her womanly curves that it seemed that she was now even more naked than before.
‘What do you want, Morgan?’ Asked the king.
‘Might I not be here simply to visit?’ Responded Morgan.
Finvarra shook his head. ‘No, you want something Morgan la Fay,’ he said. ‘You use, you interfere, you take. That is your way. So, out with it.’
Morgan went down on one
knee. ‘I ask only for a moment of your time, my king.’
‘Fine. Talk, I shall give you a moment.’
‘The Dearg Due are on the rise once more, my liege. And the Shadowhunters are no longer strong enough to resist them. Of late, the Vampires have all but destroyed the Olympus Foundation. Not only that, I have discovered that Janus Augusta is still alive and is now the grand master of the Nosferatu Federation.’
The king raised an eyebrow. ‘That is disturbing news,’ he admitted. ‘But I fail to see why you consider it so disastrous.’
‘I have communicated with the foul creature,’ continued Morgan. ‘And he informed me that he is on the very brink of possessing the corona potestatem. If he became a Daywalker there will be no containing his power. It will be the end of humanity as we know it. Please, my liege, I beg you. Rally the gods so that we may visit destruction on these foul creatures. Let us once and for all bring an end to them. Scour them from the face of the earth that humanity may live in peace.’
Finvarra threw his head back and laughed out loud. ‘Listen to yourself, goddess of battle. So that the humans may live in peace.’ He stood up and pointed at Morgan. ‘Tell me, Morgan la Fay, when have the humans ever lived in peace?’
‘There was a time,’ answered Morgan. ‘However brief it was, it did exist.’
A shadow of pain flickered over king Finvarra’s face and he cast his eyes down.
‘Don't let it be forgot,’ he whispered, almost to himself. ‘That once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment, that was known as Camelot.’
‘So you do remember,’ said Morgan.
‘Of course I remember, Morrigan, goddess of battle,’ answered Finvarra. ‘I also remember that you were not blameless in the downfall of Camelot. In the death of Arthur. Mankind’s last hope for everlasting peace.’
‘I was not blameless,’ admitted Morgan. ‘But neither was I fully to blame. We all gave up. At least I have contrived to live amongst them, to try, in my small way to make up for what I did. But if we let the vampires win then humanity is surely doomed.’
‘Humanity dooms itself, Morgan,’ stated the king. ‘They do not need the dark ones to help them. They destroy their own habitat. Their oceans are choked with the trash of a throwaway society. They war upon each other with weapons that even the most rabid animal would not use. The poor starve at the expense of the rich. With or without the rise of the Nosferatu, they are damned.’
‘But we can help them,’ insisted Morgan.
King Finvarra shook his head sadly. ‘No, Morgan la Fay, we cannot. We no longer have the power. Our time has passed. When the humans stopped worshiping us and, instead lay themselves at the feet of the Christian god. Or the Prophet Mohamed. Or even the new gods of technology and greed. Let it go, goddess. Let it go. Now leave, you are not welcome in my home.’
The Morrigan stood tall and looked about the room, trying to catch one of the gods’ eyes but they all turned away.
‘Not one of you?’ She asked. ‘You will forsake humanity now, after all these thousands of years?’ A single tear slipped down her cheek. ‘Not one?’
And so, in the silence of rejection, the Morrigan assumed the guise of the crow once more and transported herself back to the world of the humans.
Chapter 34