9.
"The Witching Hour"
They would not be expecting her. They would not be suspicious of her. In all likelihood, they would rejoice to see the return of their high priestess. That would make it all the easier to slaughter them.
The three cultists guarding the door of the manor were overjoyed she was still alive. "The others are asleep. We must wake them and tell them the senior high priestess is back! And we must tell Urthemiel. The blood of the Dragon runs in us. We are one with the Dragon, we are the Dragon. The Dragon is our God," one of the men said in a chanting tone.
On cue, the other two cultists murmured the chant over and over, "The blood of the Dragon runs in us. We are one with the Dragon, we are the Dragon. The Dragon is our God."
"Yes…yes..." she said, irritated. If she never had to hear that mindless drivel ever again… "But we must not wake the others. And we must not disturb Urthemiel. They need their rest for the morrow's work. This grand news will keep till then. But now, there is an urgent matter you must attend to. Let us step into the storeroom so we may discuss it at length where unwanted ears may not hear," Flemeth entreated, luring them into the room and closing the door. They would not be attending to any matters hereafter.
She made her way silently to Morrigan's room, entered and sat down at her bedside. Moonlight seeped into the room through the cracks in the boards that sealed the windows from prying eyes. Flemeth studied the sleeping sorceress for a few moments. She seemed in a good physical state. Excellent. She did not want Morrigan's body damaged by what was to come, and she did not want the young mage to be able to fight back, so she whispered an incantation that would paralyze the girl. It was a very powerful spell and until she broke it, Morrigan would be unable to move…and unable to defend the Old God.
Flemeth began to envision her future in this body. Morrigan was truly a stunningly beautiful woman. With her knowledge and Morrigan's magic, there was no end to the things Flemeth could accomplish with a face and body such as hers. She need not bewitch any man. She could simply manipulate. Much more fun! Even this Warden…this strong-willed Cousland was putty in Morrigan's hands...to a point. But men like him were rare, she knew. Most men were fools for a pretty face. And Flemeth's would be very beautiful, indeed. Her lips curled into a cruel smile.
"Moooorrrrriiigggggannnnnn….." she sang softly. "Wake up, Morrigan. The night is young and we have much to talk about," Flemeth said.
Morrigan's eyes fluttered open. She was disoriented and confused at first, still half asleep. But the voice…that gravelly sing-song voice…Her vision cleared and the face that hovered over her was the one she feared most. Flemeth! Her eyes widened. Instinctively she tried to leap out of the bed to defend herself, but nothing happened. Her body did not respond. And then she understood. Paralysis.
"Hello, Morrigan. I'm so pleased to see you again. Tsk…tsk. You should be ashamed sending that nice young man to hurt your poor old mother like that. I really should be angry with you…but I'm not. I'm proud of you. It's what I would have done. It does a mother's heart good to know her daughter listens to the lessons she's taught," Flemeth said sinisterly. Then she laughed harshly. "But we have unfinished business, you and I. Shall we conclude it this evening, then?" she finished, her tone subtly menacing.
It was here. The moment Morrigan had dreaded. Her Warden had not returned in time. It had been seven months and she had not heard from him. She knew he would have done what he could, but he had not returned to her. She had made him swear he would not unless he had found an answer. She wondered if he still lived. She prayed he still lived. But she was on her own now. She must fend for herself, and hope the spirit charge worked. It was her only hope. But she could not speak. If she could not say the words while Flemeth was in her trance, she could not transfer her spirit before Flemeth took her body and her soul was destroyed. "Hmmmmm….mmmm…!" she struggled to speak.
"Ah, but you have questions, I see. I am willing to answer. We do after all have a history together, though 'tis not the one you think," she said, smiling derisively. Flemeth mumbled a chant and Morrigan felt her jaw come free, her neck muscles come back under her control. But she still could not move her arms and legs.
"The Old God will punish you for this, your blood will burn. He needs me still," Morrigan said desperately.
Flemeth laughed dismissively, "Urthemiel poses no threat to me. He is but a child, even in his Godhood. I will take what he knows and destroy him."
Morrigan gasped. Was it possible? Did she really have the power to do away with the Old God? Truly, he was not yet fully developed. But how? With the burning, Flemeth would not be able to sustain her attack before it crippled her.
The old witch continued, "As to my blood, I need not fear the burning. I addressed that long ago."
Morrigan was confused. "But I thought…you worshipped the Old Gods. You joined with the Dragon of your own free will many years before me," she said.
"Foolish girl, do you think I would willingly give up my freedom…my power? I joined to learn the high dragon form, to gain Naursul's secrets. The Blight was but good fortune. When the Old God called, I began to formulate a plan, to gain immense and incalculable power. Once I have the knowledge of the Old God, there will be none who can stand in my way," she gloated, her eyes gleaming with hunger.
"But…the burning…how can you defy Him?" Morrigan asked.
Flemeth shook her head as if talking to a child. "Do you not yet understand? I would never allow myself to submit to the will of another, be it God or Dragon. I never intended to subvert my will. I found an ancient tome, 'Discovering Dragon's Blood: Potions, Tinctures, and Spicy Sauces'. I altered a potion recipe to avoid the blood binding effects altogether. 'Twas a simple matter to fool these simpletons into thinking me enthralled as they were. The Dragon's blood runs in me, so I could form the link, but I was able to avoid the repercussions of disobedience, so that when the time was right, I was free to enact my plan," she explained.
"But…you made me…drink! If you did not believe all these years…if you were not a true follower…why did you bind me to them? You are…my mother," Morrigan said plaintively, her voice shaking with emotion.
The Witch of the Wilds allowed a wicked smile to curl her lips. "You are not my child. Flemeth knows no children. I would not taint my body bearing a child. 'Tis far better to take what I need. I sensed great power in you even as a small child, too young to know her parents. 'Twas an easy thing to snatch you away and silence them forever. I knew even then you would make an excellent host if properly trained. But I did not imagine you would grow into such a beautiful young woman. Almost as beautiful as Flemeth was in her first incarnation. I was the talk of Highever, did you know this? All men desired me. Conobar killed for want of me. I will know that again, now, and I will command your powerful magic. You will be my finest host yet," she said, absent-mindedly stroking Morrigan's hair. Ah, to be rid of my brittle, coarse gray hair and…
Morrigan jerked her head away, startling Flemeth out of her reverie. The young sorceress lifted her chin bravely, but she could not keep her voice from wavering, "So…I suspected as much. You are not my real mother. You stole me, murdered my real parents, and raised me…more as your servant…your unwanted apprentice. The Warden was right. You were cruel and harsh. That is not how it should be. He was not raised thus. It did not have to be so. And why did you make me drink? Why did you force me to suffer the burning?" she asked, only because she suspected there was more than Flemeth's cruelty behind it. Flemeth always had a reason.
"Ah, my dear, you were always so rebellious, so defiant…whether you were stealing baubles or wasting time helping some fool animal. You were very stubborn and willful. I feared you would run off before I could take your body, so I bound you to the cult, to the Dragon. I knew it would only make you more powerful and it would make you easy to find when I was ready for you," she explained coldly.
Morrigan felt a chill run up her spine. So I was tethered to Naursul to feel immeasurable pain until such time as my mo…Flemeth could steal my body, she thought. "But I am still bound. If you steal my body, you will feel the burning," she countered.
"Fool girl, I did not come unprepared! I brought the potion for you to drink. It is the cure for the Binding. It will release your blood cells from the dragon's blood cells that bind to them. If you drink no more blood, the dragon cells will eventually disintegrate harmlessly in your veins. Drink," she said, thrusting the potion bottle to Morrigan's lips.
Morrigan recoiled, shutting her mouth. She certainly did not trust Flemeth. And she did not wish to facilitate the theft of her body if Flemeth was lying.
"Damn you, girl! You almost made me spill it! I will take possession of you, but at this moment I must go deal with the God. He will certainly call upon the brood and His high priestess to protect him. Since you are in no position to help Him in your present state, you will feel the burning and you will suffer painfully until I can return and you are unable to fight the potion. Either way, I will have your body. 'Tis only a matter of how much pain you wish to experience while you wait for me to end matters here. 'Tis charity I offer you, Morrigan. I suggest you take it," Flemeth said in a distinctly uncharitable tone.
"Ha! Flemeth knows no charity. You are no benevolent old woman here to ease my pain. Do not pretend 'tis so. I am no imbecile!" Morrigan said defiantly.
"And so your rebellious nature emerges," Flemeth growled. "I am tempted to let you be tortured by the burning, but I do not wish any unexpected long-term effects on my new body, so I will tell you now…drink or I will force it down your throat!" the old witch ordered menacingly.
Morrigan eyed her for a long moment. She had resisted enough. As much as she loathed giving in to Flemeth, she could not risk the burning clouding her thoughts when it was time for her to use the spirit charge. The timing must be precise. When Flemeth began her incantation, she would go into a trance-like state, unaware of her surroundings for a few moments, and Morrigan would have a chance to cast her own soul into the ring she wore. If she was too early, Flemeth would be suspicious and might discover her plan. She could destroy the ring and Morrigan with it. And if Morrigan cast her spell too late…she would be gone forever.
"Very well…Flemeth," Morrigan said venomously. She drank the potion the old witch gave her. She felt strange then…as though her body were cooling. Morrigan had, in fact, been running a low-grade fever since she had undergone the Binding as a child, though she was unaware of it. But as the dragon's blood cells broke free from her own, their heating effect was lost, and Morrigan began to shiver, as her body chemistry began to return to normal.
"Your body responds, yes? You will feel cold for awhile, but your body will never know the burning again. Of course, that will be of no concern to you soon enough. I will return in short order and we will finish this," she said devoid of emotion. Then Flemeth turned on her heel and left Morrigan's room.
Never know the burning again. 'Twas too much to hope for. Morrigan shivered again. She could not remember ever feeling cold, really. At least not since she was a child. Yet, this was a welcome sensation, if only for its significance. Since the Binding she had always been warm in the coldest of climates, in spite of the thin, revealing garments she had always worn. Her Warden was always trying to cover her with a cloak or blanket thinking she must be freezing in her attire, but she had never needed one, save in the bitterest of winters. It seems the heat of the dragon's cells had kept her warm, for now that the effect was lost, she felt the cool dampness of the winter coast. She shivered again. To be free of the burning only now and lose my body…'tis a bitter pill to swallow. But I must not lose hope, I must believe in my Warden, she thought. He will help me.
She believed in that now…that he would do anything for her, whatever the risk. It was still hard for her to comprehend such a thing…that a man such as he would sacrifice all for her. Flemeth would call him a fool…weak. And there was a time she would have said the same. But now she found it exhilarating…her heart beat faster thinking of it. Dekker was not a fool. He was not weak. And he loved her. And for all the times she denied it, to him and to herself. For all the times she told herself 'twas foolish…that she could not feel it…that she would not feel it…she loved him. 'Twas not the terrible thing Flemeth had painted it. In truth there was a pain involved…a bittersweet feeling…a sense of aching, of loss when he was not near. But when it did not hurt, it was intoxicating. She did not pretend to understand it, but she no longer feared it. And she trusted him to save her.
