Morrigan

Chapter 1 | The Ritual

The Julian year, 1542.

Central Africa, on the banks of the Zaire River.

Her name was feared by all who lived and breathed. She was an enchantress, the witch of the Zaire. 

Fog thickly swirled around her ankles where she stood on the bank of the Zaire, right where it crossed the equator for the first time. The majestic river snaked through the untamed jungle, carving its way through the lush greenery. Its dark surface was undisturbed but below, concealed in the cold murky depths, she knew there lurked monstrous creatures. 

The night air was humid. Perspiration beaded her ebony skin with no chance of evaporation. The heat was oppressive. The atmosphere and all suspended in it clung to her sticky skin. Still, despite the suffocating heat, there was something peculiar that sent shivers down her spine.

Her anticipation rose with each heartbeat, drumming against her ribcage. She was defying the Guardians with this forbidden ritual, but it was a necessary step to ensure the survival of mankind. Life's complexity demands more than six reigning powers.

She took a step out from under the thick leafy canopy. Her movements were slow and careful. The slush from the soaked riverbank under her bare feet was barely audible.

She glanced up towards the open heavens above. It was almost midnight. The blood moon neared its peak, casting a dull red glow over the sleeping world below. She inhaled deeply, the smell of rain-soaked earth and humus lingered in the air.

The night was eerie. Silence cloaked the surroundings, but her thoughts were loud. The wind did not dare to rustle a single leaf, even the animals and insects were unusually quiet. But she could sense their energy. The fauna was present and they watched her warily.

Centuries ago, she swallowed her pride and pleaded with the heavens above. Six angels fell to earth as a result. She was wrong to hope they would be mankind's salvation, instead their fall corrupted and demonized them. She banished them to the netherworld but not before they consorted with mortals.

She searched the furthest reaches of the world for the Nephilim. Perhaps, diluted with mortal blood, the Nephilim would prove—stable—worthy of the task she sought to entrust them with. Six individuals of angelic descent—representing each of the six original fallen lineages—were chosen.

They were shown to her in visions by the dark forces she called upon. Through the eyes of animals, she watched them, biding her time. She would often send them whispers on the wings of eagles, testing their minds and challenging their hearts.

A sinister smile graced her lips. The night is perfect.

She closed her black eyes to better feel the pulsing vibrations of the earth. Her body shook while she absorbed the energy around her. She chanted in a low murmur—calling upon the chosen bloodlines and awakening the angelic powers in their blood.

The hum of her chants reverberated down her body, sending tremors across the water's surface. The air spiked with energy each time she located the Nephilim, one by one, scattered across the world. She could feel the power imprisoned in their blood, pulsing and ready to be unleashed.

Although the distance between her and the chosen ones was vast, they could hear her chants ringing in their minds. Bewildered, they dropped to their knees—three women and three men. She searched each of their minds for any sign of doubt. She found none. They were shown their fate, and they accepted it. Their resolve was strong, and she knew she had chosen wisely. They made their peace and embraced the dawn of a new awakening.

"Enchantress," they acknowledged her in unison.

Lightning struck the earth simultaneously in six different locations—forever marking that area with dark magic—around the world. The lightning strikes illuminated their features when it hit the ground they knelt on.

She opened her eyes, her body stilled, and the small bones and charms around her neck and wrists ceased their rattling, leaving the night silent once again.

The moment had arrived. She looked up at the blood moon, her spine arching back at an unnatural angle. Her ritual was for the greater good, but her magic was dark. Black tendrils of smoke snaked up her legs as she drew from the earth's energy once again.

"Duo conjuncta, duo nascantur." The everlasting incantation left her lips with dark tendrils of smoke as she tied one man and one woman together—from their union, three sets of Keepers will be born.

At the sound of her words, thunder rumbled in the distance and the ground beneath her feet shook—cracks erupted and ripped the earth apart. She felt weak and drained. Her legs were shaking under her weight. Something new and strange was set in motion. The river rippled with the aftermath. The ritual was complete.

Each of the three men would set out to find their other half. They would be naturally drawn by an unknown compulsion to their new mate. Instinct would guide them.

As midnight passed the air cleared, the fog retracted, and the animals filled the night once again with their usual sounds. The ominous feeling of doom that hung over the world shattered and the seed of hope bloomed all around.

The Zaire Witch turned away from the majestic river and disappeared back into the depths of the jungle.

She would not witness the rise and metamorphoses of the Keepers. The Guardians would not remain oblivious to the disturbance.

She could only hope the six confused half-mortals would not fail humanity. The supernatural would ensure their journeys were perilous.

She felt at peace regardless. Her ritual could save humanity. For too long she had played along in the sinister game, and guilt had torn her soul. Now, she had found redemption.