Morrigan Jonathan King (e reading malayalam books TXT) 📖

back to the blank screen. “There’s so few of us left, it’s important not to lose sight of each other.”

“So few gods left?” Abel asked.

Mac nodded. “King Nuada Argetlam, Errimas, Miach, Fethnaid, Diangalach, and so many more all dead and gone. Eriu abandoned us, the Dagda Mor disappeared—”

“I saw his club when we packed up,” said Abel.

“Quite a powerful artifact,” said Mac. “One end dealt death, the other life. But it’s so badly broken we don’t dare risk using it again. And so our last link to Dagda is a useless chunk of wood, as good as lost.”

“What about the picture in Brigid’s bedroom? Who’s the man?”

“Ruadan, Brigid’s son. Tragic story, but the short of it is he was on the wrong side of a war and got killed by our chief blacksmith. Breej locked herself away for a month after that. Emerged later with a smile on her face saying she’d crossed wailing and singing and inventing keening, and that was that.”

“She seems so happy,” Abel said. “I’d never have guessed she lost a son.”

“Takes one to know one, I guess,” said Mac.

Abel remembered their conversation at the bar. “Lugh? Was he your son?”

Mac nodded and took a deep breath. “Not by birth, but by everything that mattered. Quick as light he was, strong of arm and of mind, and a master of all trades. He took to the poem and the plow as easily as the spear and sling. I gave him some of my best inventions and all the love I could, and he saved us from many a peril. Nothing made me prouder than seeing him slay Balor of the Baleful Eye and stop the entire Fomorian Army in its tracks.”

Abel could see the pride in the glow of Mac’s eyes and every crease on his face, and it warmed something inside him he’d never felt before. Sure, the Reverend was always praising him to other people, but it always felt like a condition on his love, like if Abel ever stopped being the uber-preacher’s kid, the praise and affection would dry up. This, he knew, was Love, the real, unconditional thing.

Mac harrumphed. “And then he died. Drowned in Loch Lugborta by four brothers out for revenge.” He tried to smile, but his twitching face and the tears welling in his eyes made it almost impossible. “Drowned. And me the king of the sea. I should have been there. I should have saved him.”

Drowned. Mac had shouted the word when he woke after the Dullahan’s attack. Now Abel knew what he’d been dreaming of. He opened his mouth to say it wasn’t Mac’s fault, that there was nothing he could have done, but it was too easy an answer. Mac was a god with immense power; maybe he could have saved his son after all.

“So that’s why I’m keeping you and Morrigan so close,” said Mac. “And maybe that’s why Breej and I were the ones who went looking for Morrigan. We’ve both lost one too many people we care about.”

The room fell into silence. Abel didn’t know what to say, but the quiet was so thick and heavy he could feel it smothering his lungs. Finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he said the first thing that came to him. “I had an aunt who died. I mean, I didn’t know her that well. She was on my dad’s side of the family, and she didn’t take the whole church rules thing well. She only showed up around Christmas, always smelling of cigarettes. Everyone said she was the black sheep of the family, when they talked about her, which was usually the day after Christmas and then never again until the next year. But she did give me my first potted plant, a little Phalaenopsis orchid with tiny purple flowers. So it did hurt to see her lying in that coffin.” He shook his head. “It’s not the same, I know.”

Thick arms wrapped around him, crushing the air out of him in a massive embrace as whiskers scratched his face. He could feel Mac’s chest shaking, whether from laughter or tears he couldn’t tell.

“You humans,” the sea god managed, letting go at last. “You always know just what to say.”

Abel definitely hadn’t known what to say, but he was getting used to things randomly going right. “It’s a gift.”

Outside, they heard the creak of wood and then rapid footsteps on the stairs. “We’re home!” Brigid called.

Abel went outside to see Brigid awkwardly toting a case of beer and several sacks of groceries into the kitchen. Morrigan, back in her teenage body, bore a plastic bag and a twinkle in her emerald eyes. She dropped the bag on the couch and started emptying the contents.

“Rap CD,” she said, holding it up for Abel to see before tossing it aside. “DVD of Slasher 4: Slashes in Space—rated R. Pack of cards for playing poker. Temporary tattoo.” She shrugged. “You had a question mark by that one, so since we can’t go out and get you a tattoo or piercing anyway, I thought this would make a good compromise.”

“You risked Cora finding you for a few trinkets?” Mac asked, rubbing his face. “Have you lost your wits, girl?”

“They’re not trinkets, Mac,” Brigid said from the kitchen. “Or have you forgotten already?”

Abel didn’t need a reminder. He knew what they were for. Every item on the Freedom List had its corresponding item on that couch. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

“It was the least I could do,” said Morrigan. “I’m the reason you’re trapped here. I owe it to you to make it bearable.”

“I thought you thought all this stuff was stupid,” said Abel.

“But you don’t,” Morrigan said with a smile.

Realization dawned on Mac’s face. “Oh, was all this from that list of yours? I suppose I ought to do my part in making your stay here a little more like freedom.” He cracked his knuckles. “Well, I could be cajoled into a game of poker. I know a