Morrigan by Jonathan King (cat reading book txt) 📕

Dullahan. Not fight him—it wasn’t interested in either of them, or, it seemed, in Abel—they were trying to hold him back from going somewhere. Abel followed the Dullahan’s line of sight, or where he imagined its line of sight would be if its eyes were in their proper place and not in a box.

And there was that very box, sitting in the roots of a bare oak tree.

He ran to the box and snatched it up. It was surprisingly heavy, even for a box made of such thick wood; it felt like it held a bowling ball. And it seemed to be breathing.

Everything in Abel wanted to throw it away, but he kept it close. Mac and Brigid were fighting the Dullahan with a wall of fire and heavy rain from a single dark cloud, but it was still pushing its way free. It wanted its head, which meant Abel had to keep the box far away from it.

He took off, sheltering behind a crypt. I really hope this thing doesn’t have a way of sensing where his head is, or I’m in trouble.

Something heavy hit the ground beside him, and Abel swung his sword blindly with a shriek.

Morrigan knocked it aside with her own blade. “Watch it, will you?”

“Sorry,” said Abel. “I thought you were something else. Are you okay?”

“You didn’t hurt me any, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Morrigan peered up at the sky. “But Cora’s tough. None of my attacks are causing her any real damage. I need to try something different.” Her eyes fell to the box in Abel’s hands, and they widened. “You’ve got the Dullahan’s head?”

“Yep. He seems to want it.”

“No wonder,” said Morrigan. “If that thing gets a chance to open its mouth and say one of our names, we’re dead, just like at the church.”

“But Cora killed me, not the Dullahan,” said Abel.

“That thing marks you for death,” said Morrigan. “It’s even more certain than one of my dream visions. So you make sure it stays in there, or else—”

There was a rush of wind, and massive green jaws snatched Morrigan back up into the air. Abel threw himself to the ground as the Caorthannach’s bulk passed overhead and back into the sky. For a moment, dragon and prey were silhouetted against the orange moon. Then Cora threw back her head, mouth open wide, and Morrigan sailed upward, floated for a second, and dropped back into the gaping, hungry chasm below.

“No!” Abel screamed, but she was gone.

Or was she? Cora stayed in the air, twisting and screeching as though Morrigan had given her indigestion. Maybe she has. Cora swallowed her whole, sword and all. If she’s still fighting in there…

She’ll need help.

Abel looked down at his sword and the Dullahan’s box. Nothing there that could defeat a dragon, and he certainly didn’t have the skills to do it without some really powerful weapon.

He closed his eyes. Hey, God. It’s me, Abel. I could really use one of those miracles right about now.

The Dullahan’s box rattled. Abel opened his eyes and stared at it … and smiled.

That was quick. Thanks, God. Abel out.

He started to unlatch the box, but stopped. Once it was out, it was way more likely to say his name than the one he wanted. He could threaten it with the necklace, but that was a gamble he wasn’t ready to take, not so soon after coming back from the dead. There had to be a way to make it say exactly and only what he wanted it to say.

Abel glanced back at where the gods were fighting the Dullahan’s body. They’d given up on their elemental attacks; now they each had an arm and were anchoring it back as best they could, but the Dullahan was dragging itself forward. Brigid’s torch lay to the side, bent and twisted, and Mac’s sword stuck out of the ground behind them.

Fragarach.

In an instant, Abel had a plan. And it was only once he started running directly for the Dullahan with the box in tow that he realized the first part of that plan was a suicide run.

The necklace. He tossed Shamgar aside, grabbed the cross from around his neck, and lobbed it into the air like a basketball. It went down the Dullahan’s collar, right into the hole where his throat should have been. The box let out a shriek as the Dullahan staggered free of the gods and clawed at its shoulders, but it was too late for the creature. Yellow smoke drifted up from its neck-hole in acrid puffs. Abel slammed his shoulder into the Dullahan’s chest, and it dropped to the ground, withering away to dust beneath its leather sheath.

“He shoots, he scores,” Abel muttered.

He grabbed Fragarach, unlatched the box, and threw back the lid. The head inside shook from side to side as though it were having a seizure. Its skin sloughed off in moldy strips. Soon it would be nothing but dust, just like its body. Only seconds for this to work.

Abel pointed the sword at the head, heard it buzzing in his brain, felt the energy of truth tingling against his fingertips. “Who told you to kill me?”

The thing clamped its mouth shut in one last act of defiance.

“It’s no use,” said Mac, leaning over the box. “This is Fragarach, the Answerer, and no one beneath its blade can speak a lie or fail to speak. Not even you.”

The decaying lips trembled, giving off small clouds of yellow silt. The cheeks bellowed in and out, coming apart along sinewy seams. The eyes bulged with the effort of keeping silent. But at last, the mouth snapped wide, and a name echoed out on the dying wind of the Dullahan’s last breath.

“Caorthannach!” it screeched, and collapsed into a formless pile of foul-smelling ash.

Above them, an ear-splitting scream split the night. Abel looked up to see the dragon that had been Cora arched backwards in the air, wings splayed out, head thrown back, as a silver flash and a