Morrighan (The Remnant Chronicles, #0.5)

by Mary E. Pearson

“There are two kinds who survive—those who persevere and those who prey.”

Pata said she was sick with storm dust. Oni said she was curious, making the word sound like an illness. Ama said she was stolen, and the other miadres agreed.

Possibility became a winged creature that could take me anywhere I asked. I was wanton and reckless with my imagined wanderings.

Ama wasn’t sure exactly how many gods there were. Sometimes she said one, sometimes three or four—her parents hadn’t had time to school her in such things—but however many there were, I knew it was best not to test them. They controlled the stars of heaven, guided the winds of earth, and numbered our days here in the wilderness, and somewhere in Ama’s recollection, she knew calling someone a fool was something the gods frowned upon. Wishing them dead was another matter.

“Why do you question everything I say?

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.

I thought this was all my life would ever be, but then one day, I saw him—” “Was he handsome?” “Oh, yes.” “Was he strong?” “Very.” “Was he—” “Stop interrupting,” I told the children. “Let her finish!”

“But the most important thing I noticed about him was that he was kind.” She paused, silently lingering on the word, her eyes growing misty. “Desperation ruled the world, and kindness was as rare as a clear blue sky.

But even in my anger, I ached for him. I ached for all our yesterdays.

A door had been opened that couldn’t be closed again, no matter how angry he made me. He was in my thoughts, my hair, my fingers, my eyes, his memory in places where no one else had been, in a hundred ways that made no sense.

Just as she had since the first time I saw her, she fascinated me, except that now I needed her like a raven needs the sky.

It was a dangerous game we played, and from the beginning, we had known it couldn’t last, but now I wondered. She wondered. We talked about it. Love. Was that what this was?

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.

Stories are power, she told me. Hold them close.

Stories were the one thing she gave me that couldn’t be stolen, not even by a scavenger.

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.

“Stories must begin somewhere, Jafir,” I said gently. “Maybe they can begin with you?”

“Morrighan,” he whispered against them, “I would cut out my own heart before I would let any harm come to you.”

“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, even 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.

I felt the magic of it, the fragile beauty of a moment that would soon be gone, and I wanted it to last forever. I turned in the circle of Jafir’s arms and looked at the prism of light coloring his hair, the ridge of his lip, my hands on his shoulders, and I kissed him, thinking that perhaps one kind of magic might make another last forever.

Ama had used many different ways to explain it to me. When the few who were left had nothing else, they had to return to the way of knowing. It is how they survived. But this knowing that crouched in my gut felt nothing like wings. Instead, it was something dark and heavy, squeezing each knot of my spine one at a time, like steps getting closer. Those few days would come and go, and Jafir would not be there. I felt it in the emptiest part of my soul.

“I hate you, Jafir de Aldrid,” I whispered. “And I vow I’ll curse your name and hate you with my last dying breath.”

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.

He knew what I knew. His father would give me nothing. “Shh,” I whispered. My vision blurred with tears, and I leaned closer so I was certain no one would hear. “This is the only way. A way for us. I love you, Jafir de Aldrid. I will always love you.”

“Your craftiness and cunning are all that will save you now.”

Trust the strength within you, my child. You are strong, Stronger than your pain, Stronger than your grief, Stronger than them.

If I could turn back the days, I never would have returned to the meadow, never would have kissed her, never— I shook my head, knowing I was lying to myself, because with my last breath, I knew I would always be trying to find a way for us.

It just had to be the right person.

You were right, Ama

Jafir pulled me close, watching too, and he pressed his hand to the small mound growing in my belly and smiled. Our hope.

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.