The Phantom Queen Awakes Read Online Free Page B

caring that he had
hurt her.
    His ear was next to her lips. “Doom and triple
doom, upon you and your clan,” she whispered.
    She vanished from beneath him.
     
    ****
     
    Mother
    Pwyll clambered to his feet, suddenly afraid.
He had ignored her warnings, and now he knew it was no mortal he
had taken. He scrambled to where he had first seen the washerwoman,
hoping to see her back at her task. He knew there was little chance
of asking for forgiveness, but maybe he could offer restitution,
for he had inherited a wealth of weapons and jewels. The clothes
were still beside the stream and seeping water; a pink-tinged
trickle that dripped steadily.
    He picked up one of the items and stared at
it. It was a cape, twin to the one around his own shoulders. It
even had the same brooch; a gift from his father, except the stone
was black instead of blue. With growing horror, he held the other
clothing up and saw his shirt, his tunic, his trews, all sodden and
stained.
    The girl had been the Bean-nighe , the
little washerwoman who would foretell your death. Sometimes, you
could escape your fate and it was even possible to ask the
washerwoman for a blessing. Pwyll had ruined any hope of a reprieve
from his death. However, there was still a chance he could avert
the doom he had placed on his clan and retain his honor. He
fell to his knees. He called up to the sky, “Oh great Morrigan, I
beseech thee. I will make restitution.”
    Three crows started to circle overhead, a
wreath of dark feathers, their harsh cries a litany of accusation.
One flew down to land at his feet. The bird seemed to shimmer for a
moment, before it formed into a naked woman with hair as black as a
crow’s feathers, her belly swollen with a ten month child. Tattoos
covered every square of her skin in a complex pattern of dark blue
plaits, triquetra, knots, spirals, triskeles and wyrms; most of her
skin was a puzzle beyond the knowing of any man. However, Pwyll did
recognize the pattern on her stomach, a highly detailed tree of
life, its fruit and leaves twisting into runes. The tattoos made it
hard to read her expression, but her voice was hard and cold.
“There is no way you can avoid your doom, lad.”
    “I know that. I accept my fate. But please, my
Queen, I would beg that you set no doom upon my kin.”
    “It’s a little too late to be asking any
favors from me, isn’t it?” For one instant, she was again the
little Bean-nighe , and her hands gestured to the bite marks
on her neck, and the bruises on her breasts and thighs. There was a
trickle of dark blood on the inside of her legs, snaking its slow
way to the ground. Then, the goddess was back.
    Pwyll groveled, holding his hands palm up
towards the goddess. “It was only I who committed the
crime.”
    “Your clan raised you. They taught you the
manners of a man. They taught you poorly, and deserve part of the
punishment.” The woman was grim. “They must share your
fate.”
    Pwyll pulled out his knife. “I’ll kill myself
right now, if you will forgive them. Will you accept a blood price
as payment for my great wrong against you?”
    The goddess’ severe expression softened a
little. “You are prepared to make that sacrifice, and restore my
honor with your life?”
    Pwyll shuddered, but he whispered, “Yes. If I
must.”
    “So be it. I will accept your sacrifice, and
if you die like a warrior, I will bring no doom down upon your clan
or kin.”
     
    ****
     
    Crone
    Giving himself no time to dwell and despair,
he drove the knife deep into his chest. A gout of blood spurted
forth, painting a red crescent across the throat of the pregnant
woman. As though the blood were magic, she changed form.
    The woman became a gray-haired crone, with a
battered green shawl enveloping her bony chest and shoulders. Rusty
blood dripped from the hem of her black dress, and the bright
crimson stain around her thin throat was now a copper torc. Her
face was both savage and sad as she watched the man bleed away