"Only where life is, there is also will: Not will to life, but—so I teach you—will to power!”

FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

Karacus fell to his knees on the smoky battlefield and slid a tad. The intestines of the gutted Roman legionnaire on the ground did not give the Celtic warrior a firm place to plant his thick legs as he beheld his fallen comrade. The dead Celt in the long grass before Karacus was not just a fellow barbarian tribesman, but also his eldest son, Balor. Ignoring the dead Roman, along with all of the other dead foreigners on the battlefield, Karacus armed up his massive son and howled. A torque with fine spirals slipped off Balor's arm, but Karacus made no attempt to save this decoration. He cared not if his brethren saw his tears or thought the smoke of the smoldering city of Camulodunum caused such a reaction in the eyes. Manly or not, Karacus picked up his dead son and mourned.

As the forces of Queen Boudicca mercilessly attacked the flanks of the Roman army attached to the absent General Suetonius Paulinus, Karacus could only stagger toward one of the stone slabs in the nearby country. Through twisted bodies and a sea of ruined, lamenting humanity that did not realize it was as good as dead, Karacus staggered toward his target, bearing his son. Though not its original purpose to be a reclining couch, Karacus used it as such and lay down his son on the massive stone slab. He looked across the meadow, trying to shut out the cries of the dying. Kneeling before the block, the stench of guts in his nostrils and beat his fists on the rock surface. Since the stone was often used for supplications to the Celtic gods, Karacus roared, "Lugh of the Shining Spear, grant my son passage into Tir Na N'Og!"

None of the other warriors joined Karacus as he prayed in the morning light. They united with the red headed Queen Boudicca as her war chariot moved on to another target…Londinium. She hoped to seize more Roman blood before Suetonius had time to stop burning the Druid strongholds on Anglesey. Karacus did not want their company and wept alone, only wanting his son to return. He glared into the small grove near the burning city and wished he possessed the powers of those in the Oak. Could they make his son return? The filthy Romans on Anglesey put the sacred groves of the Druids to the fire so would their power be gone?

"You will be with him again," a deep, female voice cooed in his ear.

Karacus brushed back his blonde, sweaty hair and there was no one near. His blue eyes darted about the empty grassland and saw three glowing images appear before him. One was a spiraling vortex of water that formed a halo around a small dark haired girl…holding a Raven. Suddenly, these three combined into one entity. A gorgeous, nude, dark haired being that the Celt recognized could only be the triune Goddess Morrigu of the fabled Tuatha De Danann. The legends of her were many, sang by Bards over honey ale, laughed about over stronger drink as well. Her catty eyes and purring voice made his skin prickle. "What are you?" he asked anyway, thinking his mind bent by the warfare of the morning.

"I see in your warrior's soul you know who I am! Badb, Macha and Neman, the three in one of Morrigu!" the goddess said flippantly, hands on her supple hips. "Yes, your boy is on the way to the eternal land of youth to fight and fornicate for eternity."

Karacus nodded and he wiped blood from his hand onto his beard. "Then what more can I wish? He has died fighting these bastard Roman invaders. He will supp this evening with Lugh of the Shining Spear…"

Morrigu snapped, "But that isn't what you really want, is it? You really wish to be with Balor? That is where you wish to be, strong man, beside him there in that great hall of the dead?"

Karacus shrugged in his chain mail armor, imparting her a doubtful look and his heart raced. "I didn't die on the field of battle, thus, I must go on. Fate turned her head from me, so I must strive on."

Morrigu swung her bare arms out and her nipples hardened. "What else is this? A battlefield. Throw yourself on your sword and go with him to Tir Na N'Og!"

Karacus blinked and looked around. He gripped the handle of his long broadsword and shook his head. "That is madness. I must fight on with my kindred."

"But if you go with him," she offered seductively. "You can join your folk beyond and fight with them against the Roman gods forever! You can tip the scales!"

Overcome by the recent losses of his wife, daughter, and now, his son to the Romans, Karacus groaned, then spat, "Bah, begone. You are sent to bedevil me."

Leaving his son, he turned to the field of battle. As Karacus walked, he skewered a few moaning Romans who pleaded for mercy. Ending their hopes for life with the reality of death, Karacus pondered the future. There was little peace to be had in the world without his fallen loved ones. Oh, he could have more children, but never the son he lost. Having lived very long, over forty winters, Karacus decided to seek after the embrace of fate again. Having felt the weakening of years on him before the arrival of the latest Roman invasion, the Celt desired a better destiny than dying ill.

Picking up a fallen Celt battle-axe, he gripped his broadsword and glared into the barbarian horde as it bent from Roman resurgence. The large man bellowed a single word, "FEY!" and tramped into the mix of bodies and steel.

Slicing, slashing, drawing blood with every stroke, the war mad Celt tore his way through the Roman forces that were attempting to fight their way out. Putting out of his mind the words of the goddess, he fought on. The Celts crushed back their forces due to the power, blood and force of such men as Karacus. Inevitably, men on the point will suffer for their folk. A Roman short sword found its way into Karacus as the fighting died down. The steel, cast true by a fine smith, pierced the Celt through his already broken heart.

His ears popping and blood filling his vision from wounds to his scalp, Karacus fell into the scarlet grass of Briton. The world bent in at the edges and the circle of life closed. Suddenly, the sensation of falling stopped.

Balor reached down and lifted up his father in the mists. The giant young man was nude. Karacus found himself in this stark manner too as he stood on the sandy shore of eternity. It only took a moment to realize there was something wrong. The cackling, echoing laughter of Morrigu and the blinding flares behind his son brought a feeling of despair to Karacus. Balor looked at his father in resignation and said, "We were fooled, father. There is no land of peace for us."

Behind his son seethed an endless ocean of churning fire. In the flames were faces, millions of them, searing, screaming in a tone not unlike stone scraping metal. Above this quagmire hung a cackling female shape, hovering on feathery white wings, waving. "What is that bitch playing at?"

The beautiful Morrigu levitated over the flames, laughing, sprouting bat-like wings from her back and a billion boils on her pristine skin. Both men blinked, but never made haste to try and flee the shores of the flames. She hissed, "Welcome to your reward for a warriors life, fools!" Her laughter resounded loud, soon drowned by the din of shrieks beneath her. The words from Morrigu's long, serpentine tongue soon became indistinguishable from the shouts.

"We are condemned forever?" Karacus asked his son as he felt the tug of the lake of fire and reality settle in. "I think that bitch isn't on our side after all, aye?"

Balor nodded and put a meaty hand on his father's shoulder. "I think I see Romans in the chaos, father."

Karacus looked into the livid mass of yellowed orange hues and grinned. "You think Lugh is submerged in that morass with the rest of our kin?"

Balor laughed. "Could be, father. We have plenty of time to look for them. Dare I say, I will not sit this out and weep! If not, let us fight the filthy Romans forever!"

Hand in hand, the two fighters hollered the name of the goddess of war "FEY" and leapt into the fire, into the land where they would never grow old, and fight forever.

Home