Morrighan (The Remnant Chronicles, #0.5)

by Mary E. Pearson

One day he gave me a handful of sky when he saw me gazing up at the clouds, just to see me smile. I put it in my pocket. Other

But all I heard was a different kind of knowing, one that even Morrighan couldn’t hear, a knowing that felt as sure and old as the earth itself. It whispered deep within my gut, I am yours, Morrighan, forever yours … and when the last star of the universe blinks silent, I will still be yours.

These became stories too, and Ama charged us to tell them, saying, We have already lost too much. We must never forget from where we came, lest we repeat history. Our stories must be passed to our sons and daughters, for with but one generation, history and truth are lost forever.

“Shh,” he said, his finger resting on my lips. His hand spread out to gently cradle my face. “Morrighan, the girl of ponds, and books, and knowing.” He stared at me like I was the air he breathed, the sun that warmed his back, and the stars that lit his way—a gaze that said, I need you. Or maybe those were all the things I wanted him to see in my eyes.

We were leaving. She’d be grateful for that. She would never have to see me again. But I would always see her. Until I drew my last breath, it would always be her face I saw when I closed my eyes at night, and her face again when I woke each morning. I would force myself to forget the last words I heard from her lips. I would remember others. I love you, Jafir de Aldrid. Words that, now, I was sure I had never deserved.

Desperation grew teeth. Claws. It became an animal inside me that knew no bounds, unspeakable, just as Jafir had tried to explain to me so long ago. It tore open my darkest thoughts, letting them unfurl like black wings.

From the loins of Morrighan, Hope will be born. On its heels came a whispered name that was always just beyond my reach, not yet mine to hear, but I knew that one day my children’s children or the ones who came after would hear it. One day hope would have a name.