Page 33 of Rise of the Morrigan

14

How does agoddess know when to open her heart to a mortal? It was my opportunity to choose my beloved for myself, the only time in my life—in any of our lives—that we'd had the freedom to make any such choice. If I resented the Dagda for everything else I was at least grateful that he'd afforded me this chance. But I had to wonder if this was all but some kind of trick. He'd almost admitted it when he'd revealed his design that I might, by having my freedom to love whomever I would, eventually return to him.

I couldn't allow that to happen. I'd rather wander, unloved, but a goddess nonetheless—even if only the queen of the realm of the dead—only engaging the earth in matters of death and war—than spend eternity married to the Dagda.

The strange power that coursed through my divine body...

What was it?

As Macha, I was clueless but appreciated the beauty of the mysteries that had melded to my tripartite soul. As Anand, it was something I could use. I needed to explore it, figure it out, subdue my power. But as Babd, it was just magic. Powerful, mysterious, and useful. I couldn't master it. I had to honor it, revere it, allow it to grow within me as a part of me. It was not some kind of mysterious, otherworldly, power. I was an otherworldly goddess. It was as natural to me as it was for an infant to seek her mother's breast, to explore the world and come to know what works and what doesn't. Yes, the power, the magic, whatever it was. It was a part of me.

I just had to grow into it. I had to learn and explore.

A black raven soared overhead. I heard its thoughts. It was hungry and on the hunt. It eyed the ground hoping to see a field mouse scurry through the clovers. It scanned the trees looking for a nest and unguarded eggs it might claim as a meal.

Did the raven hear me, too?

"Come here!" I commanded.

The raven started to circle, spiraling its way toward me as it perched itself on my shoulder.

I grinned widely. Yes, it was my magic. Was such power called magic when wielded by a goddess? No, this wasn't some kind of power I had to master, it wasn't an ability acquired by appealing to a deity or offering a sacrifice. I didn't need a trinket or an enchanted object to wield this power. It was simplyme...Yes, that was it. It was as natural to speak to the bird as it was to move an arm or leg, to inhale a breath of air, to scratch and itch.

Just as natural as it was for me to spread my arms, which quickly turned to wings, as I shifted into a form that matched my raven friend. Together, we expanded our wings and returned to the skies.

The thrill of the breeze fluttering through my feathers...

Could I change into any form I desired? It took no effort at all. I didn't even know I'd done it. But here I was, now a raven myself, soaring through the skies.

I released a loud caw.

Yes, I was still a goddess. But I was a raven, too. And I could be a maid. I could be a hag. I could even become a man—not that I had any desire to. Maybe I could become a bear or, perhaps, a dragon. My flesh was like clay, subject only to my will. I could do anything... I couldbeanything...

Why did the Dagda think, with such power, I wouldn't secure the affections of a man should I find one upon whom to cast my heart? From what I've experienced—or at least what I observed as Babd during our divided human lives—was that the affections of men were achieved first through the eyes, then the flesh, and only later by the heart.

It's why our father had believed that Macha would one day be wedded to a king or some noble who would see her as a prize. It was purely on account of her beauty. No betrothal was ever exacted by a suitor who spent time conversing with a potential bride. Rather, as was usually the case, the supposed suitor would examine a female from afar, seeing nothing but the appearance of her body, and decide on such scant a basis whether she was desirable.

As Macha, I'd been oblivious to that. I'd thought that the men who gawked over me were interested inme.But as Babd, even as Anand, I always knew better.

As I soared next to my raven companion I observed the world below. It was a beautiful place from this perspective. I dared imagine if humans saw the world from this point of view they'd imagine they'd become gods themselves, fashion a fantasy that they could rule this place. But nature could not be ruled. Not even by me. Not by the Dagda. The bird's-eye-view was as deceptive as it was thrilling.

A voice cried out to me in agony.

I turned to see a single man fallen, his blood soaking into the earth... it was his voice that cried to me, still. It was like his soul, now soaked into the blood-stained ground, was pleading for my aid.

Then I saw why. A group of bandits circled his carriage—the fallen man's wife and children inside. The thieves... there wasn't much more to take from this family. But I heard the bandits' thoughts... their vile thoughts... I had to do something.

I dive-bombed to their position. I sensed the fear of the mother and her children as one of the bandits approached, loosening his trousers.

I settled on the mother—was I still a raven? It didn't feel like it. It felt like I'd merged with the mother's spirit, with her soul.

The woman stood up and with a fury charged the man. Her anger, her rage. It was mine, too.

But with my aid she was more than furious, she was courageous.

She quickly grabbed a small knife and dove at the thief, gouging him between his thighs.

The bandit released an ear-piercing cry as blood soaked through his trousers. I was certain that whatever it was he'd planned on doing to this woman or, I shuddered, her children... would no longer be possible.

---