I turn to go again and Meg speaks. ‘Please, Micheál. I need you.’
I turn back. ‘What do you mean?’
Her voice is little more than a thread. ‘I didn’t want things to happen this way, you know. Your nan ignored them and theirpower for so long. We…they tried everything to make her accept who she was and what she was born to do.’
‘What was my nan meant to do?’
‘She was meant to tell Brigid’s story. She was meant to train her son. He was meant to train you.’
My neck heats up. ‘You can’t be serious. She lost everything.’
The Morrigan stands tall. ‘She still had a son. Yes, she lost a loved one, but death is a part of life, Micheál.’
‘That’s easy for you to say. It’s what you are.’
‘It is true. Every death is the end of someone’s story. It hurts. I know it hurts. I’ve had husbands, lovers, children, friends, all gone. It broke my heart. And I’ve watched your ancestors die. You remember the baby in the graveyard?’
I nod as the image of that little white hand floods back.
‘A file báis like you. She didn’t even live long enough to fulfil her purpose. I mourned her when nobody else would, like she was my own. Which she was, just as you are. I am a mother. I know what pain is. I live death, all of it. Every loss.’
A crow calls out from the tree and she turns towards it like she’s greeting a friend.
‘Are you expecting me to feel sorry for you? Because I don’t.’ I force myself to meet her eyes. ‘You’re a murderer.’
She stares at me, unblinking. ‘You know nothing of what I am.’
‘And you know nothing of me.’
She sighs. ‘Of course I know you. You’re my poet. I made you what you are through your bloodline.’ She smiles lightly. ‘And the part of me that is still your naive friend cares for you. For now.’
A chill runs through me. ‘What do you mean,for now?’
The Morrigan stretches her unbroken fingers. ‘Meg has served her purpose.’
‘Meg, what’s going to happen to you?’
For a moment I see Meg, my Meg, grimacing in pain, her broken hand trembling. ‘I’ll be taken by death, Micheál.’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘It’s my duty.’ she says shakily.
‘Did you know?’
‘What?’
‘When you did the stupid ritual, did you know that you’d have to sacrifice yourself in order for her to come back? Because that’s what it means, right? Meg, you’ll die.’
‘I…’ Meg lets out a whimper as her face convulses. Her eyes turn black. The Morrigan’s voice returns. ‘Enough. What say you?’
I gather myself and face her full on. ‘Why us? Why do you need us to tell stories of death?’
‘So that people can know who they are, what they are and where they are from. For thousands of years I have walked this land. Seeing people fight, start wars and seek to destroy all that is around them. I have seen people invade and overthrow, murder men, women and children, and do you know what they wanted to kill more than anything else?’ I shake my head. ‘The past, Micheál. History. Us. People barely know what we are any more.’
Nanny Bet’s warning comes back to me. ‘So this is all about your vanity?’
She shoots me a look and I flinch as a whip of ice burns my chest. Then she relaxes her features, reining her powers in. ‘Do you know how you destroy a people? Yes, you kill them, of course, rip out their throats, tear down their homes andstarve them, but you can’t destroy them until you erase their stories. So much has been lost and forgotten over the years, but Ireland, and everyone who calls it home, survives because the tales are passed on. That’s what you do, Micheál. That’s what your family has always done. There is always one in eachgeneration, and you keep the old ways alive by telling the truth in ways people will understand. Stories, art.’ She smiles. ‘You help people know who they are.’
