Blood Horn: Chapter 33
The Wrath of Man Made Monstrous
Welcome Back to Bloodthirsty Thursday!
CHAPTER 33
“Aon,” the Morrigan whispered, tugging his leash. “It’s time.”
Aon followed. He always would, because the curse gave him the power to protect as he never could before. That had always been his greatest wish, no matter the blood, no matter the gore.
He cantered through the portal. Darkness devoured him. He welcomed the burn. The Morrigan rested her hand on his flank. Talons punctured his skin.
His skin?
The portal belched them out on fallow ground.
Dirt crusted his bleeding form.
But his skin…
His skin…
“Curious,” the Morrigan said. She squinted at him, sage eyes sharp as swords. Her gaze raked over him, then she grinned, wicked. “Well, well, Mr. Sverd, it appears your curse is more complicated than we initially thought.”
Aon tapped his skin. Pale patches covered his forelegs, like islands in an ocean of blood. He had changed, he knew this, but he thought it was because the curse had changed, too. Now, grasping at his short, squat form, his scar-hatched hooves, the moon-white hair dusting his blotches of skin, he was uncertain.
And uncertainty terrified him.
“You don’t see,” the Morrigan said, but she wasn’t angry, only interested. Aon suspected this was worse. “In serving me, you have served yourself, too.”
“I didn’t think…I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, I know. You’re grown ridiculously sacrificial. It was an accident, as most dangers are. You’re too self-loathing to have anticipated this turn.” The goddess stalked across the dirt, guiding him toward grassy hills. Clouds churned overhead, threatening rain, but for the moment, it was dry.
Aon crested the nearest hill. “Please don’t break the curse. I need it for them.” He gestured south with a foreleg, a foreleg mottled with fresh skin.
“I won’t,” the Morrigan said. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.” She watched him again, violently intrigued. “Some things are stronger than magic, and those I can’t control.”
“Like what?”
She smirked and rolled her eyes. “Really, Aon, an ant would understand. It’s the oldest question with the truest answer.”
“Please,” he begged again, and he hated to beg, but he’d always beg for Eamon, Oscar, Orsa, and the rest. “Please don’t punish them. Please let me stay. I’ll do whatever you want, just—”
“Aon.” The Morrigan pressed his muzzle. A muzzle that had shrunk over the decades he’d served her. A muzzle that more and more resembled a nose. “I will not change our terms, even if you unknowingly have.”
“I swear I didn’t—”
“I know, I know.” She smiled, and it was neither kind nor unkind. “It’s not what you did. It’s who you are. Specifically, who you are to someone else.”
She walked down the hill, skating over dewy grass. Clouds thickened, and the first raindrops fell. In the distance, chimneys plumed with smoke from a village. She led him there, to whatever horrors hid inside.
“I still don’t understand,” Aon said. His voice came easy now, gruff, human. Rain showered his back, his eyes, but it didn’t steam. His eyes had dimmed with time.
“You must serve me forever, yes?” the Morrigan asked, and Aon grunted, following as she sped up. “That was the first part of the curse. But the cost was that Orsa’s kin must live and die in peace, without unnecessary hardship, with minimal struggle.” She faced him then, tree-bark lips quirked in humor and frustration. “She named you her kin. Right before her end. Then this started.” She gestured at his gradual transformation.
Aon froze. He dug his hooves into the slick ground and blinked rain from his eyes. “What?”
“She named you her kin,” the Morrigan said again. “It’s in her will. And as her kin, you are protected by the same curse that plagues you, blessed and damned by the same spell. You must serve me forever, must suffer to sustain me and Scotland, yet I can never hurt you more than you can handle, can never inflict unnecessary hardship and maximum struggle. It’s a balance of pain and peace. With Orsa’s last act, she saved you.”
Aon blinked again. Stunned. In shock. He cared for Orsa—deeply, devastatingly—but he never knew she cared the same. That she would name him her kin. That she would make him hers. ’Tis no way to live, and no way to die, so live with me, if just for tonight. And he couldn’t repay her. She was dead. Gone. He couldn’t tell her I’m sorry, and I made a mistake, and I should have stayed.
The Morrigan laughed. It startled Aon. He tripped backward and landed on his rump. The goddess clapped him on his shoulder. “So we’re still stuck together forever, but you’re no longer stuck like this.” She winked. “Skin suits you, Aon.”
“I’m becoming a man,” Aon realized.
The Morrigan nodded. “Be a better man this time than you were before.”
For Orsa, he would try.
For Orsa, he would live.
If just for tonight.
This was an absolute rollercoaster, I had no idea where you were taking us. Brilliant twisting and turning all the way. There was a point where I was livid with you because I thought I knew what you were going to do - and I was completely wrong! This is fantastic!!!! An almost happy ending, almost, ish...'skin suits you...' is so twisted and reads so mildly said, like 'oh, love your hair,' bravo!
Oh-Em-GEEEEE!!!!! Orsa, you queen!!!!!HALO, YOU BRILLIANT, GENIUS, LITERARY GODDESS!!!! What an absolute chill-worthy, heartwarming, gorgeous ending to such a dark and heartbreaking tale. I bow to your genius yet again, and I AM SAD IT’S OVER!!!! Ugh. But thank you for sharing this phenomenal story with us. You—and it—are treasures. ♥️🌹❤️🔥♥️🌹❤️🔥♥️🌹❤️🔥