Page 43 of Rise of the Morrigan

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Cú Chulainn andAife exchanged glances as they stood at the gates of Forgall's personal fortress. That's the thing about being a hero—should you survive the war you generally aren't wanting for much thereafter. One thing King Conchobar, and kings of Ulster before him, did well was that they honored the kingdom's retired warriors. A hero like Forgall probably wouldn't inspire bardic tales by his legend—such tales generally ended in a warrior's death. But the consolation prize was a full life lived in relative luxury.

Storming Forgall's fortress would normally be a difficult task for two people. But this wasn't a castle. Its fortifications were built mostly for the sake of keeping roving bandits or wild animals away.

Wild animals...Cú Chulainn chuckled at the irony. Hewassomething of a wild animal. Aife was right—he needed to deal with his resentment—but was this really the way? His stomach turned in trepidation. This justfeltwrong.

A bird cawed from behind where he and Aife stood. Cú Chulainn turned, glad for some kind of distraction, and saw a raven perched upon a tree branch. Its beady eyes fixed on him. The raven made something of a croaking sound.

"Ouch!" Cú Chulainn said as Aife jabbed him in the ribs with her knuckle.

"Focus... don't forget. We're doing this for the sake of our son."

Aife placed her hand on her womb—just a small bump at this stage, less than a lunar cycle since she'd first announced to him she was with child. Cú Chulainn took a deep breath and nodded. "Alright..."

Aife nodded, grabbed Cú Chulainn by the tuft of his shirt, and pulled him in for a kiss. "More of this is waiting for you after this is over."

Cú Chulainn nodded. "I was thinking... maybe we should just destroy the place. Don't kill the man. Let him live in poverty, knowing what he did. If we kill him, he'll only suffer a little while."

Aife rolled her eyes. "But if we strike him down, in that single moment he'll feel all the pain he might otherwise feel in a lifetime of regret. Besides, if we allow him to live, a warrior like him, like anyrealwarrior would, will be looking for his chance at revenge."

Cú Chulainn bit his lip. What she said was a slight againsthim.She was implying that if he didn't go through with this he didn't have the heart of arealwarrior. Of course, a warrior isn't what Cú Chulainn ever wanted to be. He didn't care.

"Still, this ismychance at revenge, Aife. I'd prefer we leave him breathing. Perhaps injured, but he must survive."

Aife rolled her eyes. "You realize that leaving a man maimed but not dead is far more difficult than killing him outright?"

"I'm not saying we have to maim him," Cú Chulainn said. "But if it comes to that... he did not kill me. He deceived me. An injury to the flesh to repay the injury he waged to my heart. But to kill him would not be just."

"We aren't here for justice, lover..."

"Speak for yourself."

Aife huffed. "So long as we achieve an end today that will allow our son to become the warrior his father has yet to become, I will be content with the outcome."

"Then it's decided. I do not intend to kill him."

Aife nodded. "I understand."

Cú Chulainn nodded as he looked at Aife again, her red hair blowing in the breeze. "You know, you really are beautiful."

"I know," Aife said, smirking. "You're a lucky bastard to share your bed with me."

Cú Chulainn laughed. He wasn't in love with Aife—but he did appreciate her companionship, and he appreciated her body... and the ways she moved her body... She might not have been the object of his heart's desire, but it was undeniable that she'd effectively dominated the attention of every other part of his flesh. He'd never known someone socomfortablein her flesh, so seductively confident in who she was and what she wanted. A part of him envied her. What she wanted, one way or another, she always got. She wasn't so subject to the winds of destiny that, at least in Cú Chulainn's case, seemed to carry him along like a fallen leaf blowing in the breeze. He had resisted his destiny at nearly every turn and at every turn, it overpowered his desires. But Aife... she was the mistress of the wind itself.

Cú Chulainn reached and took Aife by the hand. "Alright, I'm ready."

Aife squeezed his hand back and smiled. Aife derived a sort of carnal pleasure from transforming. The ríastrad was not for her like it was for Cú Chulainn, a curse. She never felt more herself than when she unleashed the ríastrad. Another thing Cú Chulainn envied of his lover. He wished he could embrace what he was in such a way... to embrace the power, the horror of what he was capable of under the ríastrad. Life would be easier if he not only accepted it but looked forward to becoming the wolf...

Cú Chulainn and Aife shifted in unison. For Cú Chulainn, it was much easier to maintain control when he shiftedon purpose.This way, he felt a sort of kinship with young Gwion, the boy who would later become Taliesin in his favorite tale. That's what he believed the faerie, Fand, had given him... the gift of Awen. The same power Gwion had sucked from his burnt thumb when tending Ceridwen's cauldron. This wasdifferentthan when his rage compelled a shift. Drawing on Awen, rather than rage, he was not subject to the wolf's bestial rage. He controlled the wolf...

As for Aife, perhaps it was because she and the wolf within her were kindred spirits that there was no such antagonism, no difficulty maintaining herself after transforming. The ríastrad didn't overtake her will because her will and its were one and the same. She didn't need the faerie's gift. Even if she drew on Awen, she'd probably not have much use for it. For Aife, the ríastrad was anextensionof herself... not some kind of beast clawing at her soul to get free.

Yes, Cú Chulainn and Aife had something in common. But they were not the same.

Fully transformed, Aife made her way to the fortress and scaled its walls. Cú Chulainn hadn't ever done that—at least not that he recollected—but he followed suit. He wasn't sure how his claws managed to cling tenaciously to the stone walls of the fortress. His claws naturally found the crevices between the stones, and when they didn't, they broke through making holes of their own by which he pulled himself up the wall.

Aife, in all her glory—beastly, furry, and red—bounded over the wall and howled as she perched herself on top.

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