The Alpha and the Omega: Act II | Chapter 3
27 Aug 2018User1355
ACT II - WHEELCHAPTER 3
Cadfael Morgana was born amid grief and pain, his name chosen as a tribute to his late father. It was an occasion that ought to have been one of joy and renewal, but wasn’t. Instead it was a somber affair, as were the months leading up to it. Sola was reminded of her lost love every moment of every day, her growing belly impossible to conceal nor its meaning forgettable. Finally the day arrived, and after hours of excruciating labor the child arrived into the world.
Sola was exhausted from the birth, and couldn’t bring herself to even glance at the child. Nor did she offer it her breast, as she had with Arcturus. To even look at the newborn only brought fresh grief to the surface, even its delicate pink face reminding her of Cassian. A wet nurse was brought in and the Matriarch fell into a bitter slumber.
After only a month the dam that had held back the flood of political chicanery burst, and the same subtle inquiries as to her future plans began to filter in from various ambassadors. Though her heart was in tatters, her womb was not- and the fact remained that Sola Morgana was one of the more appealing matches among eligible clan nobility. The Matriarch listened dispassionately as various dignitaries presented heirs and lords, the words from their mouths conveying the appropriate sympathy but their meaning clear nevertheless.
Then there was the issue of what to do about Clan Ortega. The union between her clan and Cassian’s had rested entirely on their warrior mating, and though the first steps toward real unification had been taken, Sola harbored no delusions as to the wisdom of asserting herself as their sole leader. Rather, she arrived at an alternative.
In her grief and her loneliness Sola journeyed to Kamorin, where she was received with all the affection that she had stirred from within the Clan Ortega. On a system-wide broadcast she spoke, from the heart and from cunning intellect alike, paying homage to their departed Patriarch and the glorious future that had been stolen from them. She even held up the infant Cassian for the masses to view, a life whose purpose had been to seal the union between her clan and theirs.
It was during this broadcast that Sola made her move: though the bond between her and Cassian had been real, she explained, the gods had seen fit to end it within a year. Though technically the reigning Matriarch of both clans, she selflessly renounced any claim to lordship over the Ortegas. The first tears fell from her eyes as she declared that since her union with Cassian was one of love between kindred spirits, her union with his clan could never be anything less. She was no tyrant, she declared, and would no sooner impose her claim over the Ortegas than she would sell young Cadfael into slavery.
For months the Ortegas had speculated among themselves as to what fate had in store for them, if a foreign ruler would awkwardly attempt to assert the authority that was technically her right but by no means a solid thing. Now they only felt shame, shame that they had thought so little of the woman they held dear but until now not truly loved. The renunciation of her claim triggered a paradoxical wave of submission within the clan; had she attempted to assert her right by virtue of a handful of months of marriage to Cassian, civil war would have been in the air. Yet since she humbled herself before her warrior-mate’s kin, droves of them were only too happy to don their own chains. Many even adopted the surname “Morgana” in honor of the Matriarch whom they now felt was their own.
That night Sola conferred with her closest advisors in the Patriarchal estate that was formerly Cassian’s. There they received one secret guest after another, the heads of the Ortega’s most powerful families, all coming to either swear their allegiance or negotiate the terms under which they would do so. A handful were moved by genuine af ection for the new mother. Others saw the advantage of vassalhood and access to Pegasi’s only source of Quirium. One enterprising soul had even proposed courtship with the intent to marry, a gleam in his eye as the Matriarch wryly promised to take his offer into consideration.
Yet he had touched it with a needle. Though Sola was not as young as she once was, she was still a vision to behold and an icon of clan power. There was still every advantage to be gained by securing her hand. Not months but mere weeks passed before suitors were again at her door, every manner of flattery on their lips and posturing in their presentation. The timing and open intent was undeniably tacky; yet if such boldness paid of the faux-pas would be well worth it.
Sola received these men with every ounce of her acquired grace and wit. She smiled, she jested, and she played the matriarch or the maiden as she saw fit. Yet beneath her polished veneer and flawless statesmanship, something was dying within her spirit. The part of her soul that had been rejuvenated and nourished in Cassian’s arms withered, replaced by a cynical version of her old attitude. She would find another warrior mate, she knew, one who was a fitting match in both the personal and political senses. Their blood would mix and she would bear his child, and she would continue to rule. Yet there would be no joy in their union, none of the passion that had driven her nearly mad with bliss like before. It would be business, she knew, the opportunity of which the Crone had spoken. Not one but two prominent clans would fall within her grasp, an impossibility had Cassian lived.
Sola Morgana would continue to build her empire, but her manner would be one of cold opportunism, with none of the fire that had driven her like before. That night, Sola looked into the mirror, studying her reflection with an unsmiling gaze.
Yes, she thought. It’s still me. Skin not as smooth without a little makeup, and perhaps a few more lines beneath my eyes. But it’s me.
The first chills of a woman’s bitterness seeped into her soul as she contemplated the road ahead. The long decline from the prime of youth had begun. Though beautiful, Sola knew that she would never again reach the carnal peaks that she had with Cassian. Though fertile, the act of creating new life was now only one obligation among many. Though powerful, she derived little satisfaction from the wielding of such power. It was all duty, a life into which she was trapped.
Sola squeezed shut her eyes, her fiery spirit resisting the cold path before her. Yet colder still was the familiar tendril that caressed her cheek, and the breath from the blackened lips that formed not far from her ear.
That which you feel is the Void itself, it hissed. Its wisdom extinguishes the burning passions of youth, and sets to rights the foolishness of man.
Sola consciously forced herself to relax, to allow the Crone’s essence to flow through her. This is the hardship you spoke of, she said. Not politics. Not war. Not even heartbreak, but the task of leaving all that makes me feel alive behind. Of learning to disdain the world of flesh for something more cerebral.
The tendril moved lower, circling around a breast, engorged with life-sustaining milk.
Not yet, it hissed. The Maiden has been put to bed. Now is the time to embrace the power of the Mother. This you will do until you cannot; only then will further wisdom be yours.
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