Page 88 of Broken Veil
She opened her eyes, and the Morrígan was still kneeling in the rubble.
Carys walked closer, and as she approached, she could see the dark robes that the goddess wore were dripping with blood.
“Macha?” Carys stepped closer with care. “Where are we?”
A whisper came to her mind.You know. You have always known.
Carys shook her head. “I don’t know, because if movies are even a little bit accurate, we’re in Blitz-era London, and I’ve never traveled to the past before.”
Holy shit, had the Morrígan pulled her into the past? Was she stuck in a time loop? How did she get out of this one?
There was a low, grating laugh, then the Morrígan—still kneeling—turned her moon-pale face to Carys. “You’re dreaming, you fool.”
But it wasn’t the Morrígan’s voice, it was her own.
“Not yours,mine.”
Carys turned to her left, and she was looking at an image of herself, only this version had braids hanging to her waist and an ethereal blue glow to her skin.
“Oh my god, it’s you.”
“Which god are you talking about?” Seren asked.
“I’m pale.” Carys stared at her near mirror image. “But I’m notthatpale.”
“You’re also not dead,” Seren said. “That helps.”
What was happening? How was Seren here? Where was here?
Carys asked, “How are you here?”
“How are either of us here? Better yet, where are we?” Seren walked over and crouched next to the Morrígan. “What are you playing at, you saucy bitch? I always liked you, but this is a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
When the Morrígan blinked, tears of blood dripped down her cheeks. “If they had not trapped me, I would have prevented all this.”
“Oh no, you wouldn’t have,” Seren said. “You would have probably made this entire war ten times worse.”
“They attacked my people!” The goddess screamed long and piercing wails again.
“Is that the fairy tale you tell yourself?” Seren asked. “That you would have protected Briton if Epona had let you roam free?”
The Morrígan stood and spun around. “I would have protected my land!”
Since the wailing and weeping had died down, Carys stepped closer. “Her aspect is sovereignty too. Not just war, but war with a purpose. War with… an end.”
Seren stood and turned to Carys. “Do tell, Professor.” She scoffed. “We’re not living in your books.”
“Or are we?” Carys asked. “According to you, this is a dream. My dream.”
“You dream about books?”
“Regularly, but that’s not what’s happening here.” Carys walked away from them both and looked around her.
On closer inspection, the structure of the dream was sloppy. Far more like a film set than a real place. “Did she conjure this? Why? I’ve never dreamed about the war.” Though her father’s parents would have lived through the war, she’d never met any of them.
“Maybe this is better.” The Morrígan brushed her hand over the burning scene of London, and it wasn’t London anymore—it was a burning forest fire with a small cabin in the distance, smoke coming from embers on the roof.
“Nowthisis a nightmare.” Carys turned back to the Morrígan. “What are you doing, Macha? Why did you pull Seren into my dream? Is she actually here or am I imagining it?”
