‘But what aboutus? What about the traumas people in my family have been dealing with?’
She snorts. ‘And how exactly have they dealt with them? By running away?’
I think of Dad’s dark eyes, hands clutching a whiskey as he sits in silence, listening to his demons. I think of Nanny Bet living in constant pain, the price of ignoring her power.
‘They dealt with them like people, because that’s what they are. They’re living with traumas that you’ll never understand.’
She gestures towards the city. ‘Your family are not the only ones who have experienced loss. There is pain out there, whitehot pain. It sits in people’s stomachs and they either forge it into a weapon to attack others or they swallow a poison of their own making that eats them up inside.’
The families on the news flood back into my mind. ‘You know what’s happening out there? The violence, the fighting. You’re causing it.’
She flexes her fingers. ‘It’s not my doing. People are angry, misguided, fearful. They call on me to feed their flames. To fight. That’s my purpose.’ He fingers form a fist.
‘They’re racists attacking innocent people.’
She nods. ‘They are.’
‘And you don’t care about people not from here?’
She growls. ‘My own people arrived on this island on boats. No land belongs to any mortals, no matter how much they kill for it. War is inevitable. It’s in you, all of you. That’s why I exist.’
‘You’re a monster. You murdered my family.’
‘Your family are not the only people who have experienced loss and they aren’t the only people that bury it.’ She points atme. ‘The difference is that you have the power to see the truth. You care so much about the plight of those people out there and yet you ignore the fact that you can do something about it. Tell their stories, file báis.’
The night is cold.
‘Why can’t you do it yourself?’
‘Excuse me?’
An idea is forming. ‘You’re in a human body now. Write your own stories, take your photos, go to the art shop and paint a picture. Meg was good at that, you know.’
The Morrigan’s nostrils flare and a thrum of power radiates from her.
‘You need us, don’t you?’ I say.
Her smile is thin. ‘Yes, I said that. We need our poets.’
‘Because nobody knows who you are.’
She flinches.
Fuck it. What have I got to lose?
I step towards her. ‘The world has pretty much forgotten you and you have no place in it. You don’t belong here any more.’ I point at her. ‘You are nothing without us. Am I right?’
She raises her chin. A crow lands on each shoulder and the Morrigan stands before me. The tripartite goddess of death and war.
And they need me.
The crow on her right shoulder ruffles its feathers and the Morrigan nods. ‘Will you take your place as our poet?’
‘No.’
Their eyes flicker. ‘You know what we can do to you, Micheál. To your family. We can hurt Cormac, your mother, little Fiona, all of them.’
Her words slice deep, but I keep my eyes focused on her. ‘And that would just make me hate you more than I already do. I willneverserve you. I will never do your bidding. I will leave now, the last of my line. Unless…’
