Page 15 of Beasts of Shadows #1

The War Goddess

(On survival, sisterhood, and what cannot be undone).

Born of the Father God and his daughter-wife, Calea, Morrigu entered the world in isolation—her earliest years spent near the Irish Sea, raised not by hands but by instinct.

Hunger and cold were her first companions, broken only by the warmth of a she-wolf who fed and sheltered her. That bond became legend.

In time, Morrigu fractured herself into three distinct aspects, a form of self-preservation as much as power. Nowen embodied joy and mischief. Macha, wisdom and foresight. And Bea—the heart of the triad—became the guardian, solemn and strong. Together, they survived what one could not.

It was King Matholwch who first recognized them for what they were.

This was long before he married their younger sister, before war carried him to battlefields against his would-be father-in-law.

On a voyage to the Mortal Realm, he found the sisters living in harsh conditions—weather-worn and wary.

He invited them to the Shadow Realm under the pretense of hospitality.

What he offered was comfort: private rooms, silken bedding, delicacies they’d never tasted.

His words were honeyed, promises whispered at night of their bright futures, should they remain obedient.

It was under his roof, and within his carefully constructed world, that the Triad was named and shaped into the war goddesses of Celtic lore.

But his kindness came at a cost.

While Macha and Nowen slept beneath fine blankets, Matholwch visited Bea. The protective one. The one who would endure so her sisters would not. He treated her not as goddess, but as possession.

Eventually, he orchestrated marriages for her sisters.

Macha was paired with Dagda, the Celtic god of men.

Nowen became the second wife of Neit, the god of war.

With the sisters spoken for, Matholwch focused on Bea—believing their many couplings might produce a child powerful enough to challenge Calea herself.

It never came to pass.

Whether by design or curse, the Morrígan could not bear children. And Bea—having bought her sisters’ safety with her own body—escaped. She fled to the Scottish isles and took a vow of celibacy, swearing never to be touched again.

—Reema

P.S. People often ask how goddesses of war are made. But the better question is: what do they survive that makes them choose it?

#

“Give me that,” Nikolai snaps, tearing the envelope out of my hand and ripping the outside covering to shreds.

Inside is our OPORD—Operations Order, though everyone just calls it that like we’re already soldiers. Nikolai and I skip past the Situation block and skim Mission and Execution instead.

We need to rescue a civilian from the Mary Celeste , a ship, and return her to camp.

“That doesn’t sound too hard,” I say.

Nikolai steps off, clutching the papers in his fist.

“Of course you’d say that,” he mutters, scanning the page. “You’ve got me to drag your sorry ass across the finish line.”

I grimace, scurrying to maintain his pace. Other groups set off in different directions, and it’s clear everyone has a different task. That’s good. At least we won’t be competing for the same thing.

“What is your problem with me?” I demand, half-jogging to keep up as Nikolai pushes through the fog. “You’ve been an ass since the second you met me.”

“You’re dead last in the rankings. That’s not an opinion—it’s a fact.” He doesn’t bother to look back.

“Sure, but your problem with me started before the rankings even came out. Do I smell?”

“Delicious, to be honest,” he quips. “It’s disgusting. Mortals shouldn’t smell that tantalizing.”

I blink through the confession. Is that meant to be a joke? “Okay, seriously—are you going to kill me out here?”

He stops so fast I nearly slam into him. His seafoam eyes cut through the haze, colder than the mountain air.

“If I was going to kill you, I would’ve done it the moment we were free of Percy,” he says flatly. “But unfortunately for both of us, I lose points if I come back alone.”

My stomach knots.

“It’s still a competition, mortal. Even when it’s life-or-death. Especially then.” He tilts his head, studying me. “If I come back alone, it counts as a failure. Kilronan gets bumped into my slot. And he might be my best friend, but I’m not handing over my rank on a silver platter.”

There’s no warmth in his voice. Just calculation.

My feet crunch over wet gravel as I follow, slower now, the cold settling deeper in my bones.

“You really think that lowly of us?”

The fog curls tighter around us, swallowing the trees in ghostly silence. All I can hear is the crunch of our boots and the quick, annoyed beat of my pulse.

He finally glances at me, just a flick of those sea-glass eyes over his shoulder—but it’s enough to trip my breath.

“I know what ends in disaster,” he says. “And you, Nari Harper, scream disaster.”

The words hit somewhere between a warning and a dare, and I don’t know why that makes my chest tighten.

I stalk closer until we’re walking side by side, even if I have to lengthen my stride to match his stupidly long legs.

“So, does that mean…you’re afraid of me?”

His jaw flexes. For a second, he says nothing. Then—.

“Afraid?” he echoes, voice low. “No. You’re not dangerous. You’re disposable. You’re meant to die. That’s your fate. Don’t think you’re something worthy of my fear.”

The words hit like sleet. Cold and cutting.

“You don’t know me.”

He smirks. “And I don’t plan on wasting the next three hours trying to.”

The wreck looms ahead, half-sunken and broken, but still somehow watching us.

The Mary Celeste.

We stand in silence, the chill creeping down my spine like fingers.

Nikolai doesn’t look at me when he says, low and clipped, “Stay close.”

I force a mocking smile. “Aw. That sounded like concern. I almost believed you were human.”

“Good thing we both know better.”

We reach the edge of the water where the Mary Celeste groans softly in the mist, as if she knows we’re coming. A rope bridge stretches across the shallow inlet like a trap strung tight.

Nikolai eyes it, then gestures toward the boards.

“You first,” he says dryly. “There are mermaids in these waters. If it snaps, I’d rather they get you.”

“Wow.” I shoot him a look as I step up. I can’t let him see me hesitate. It’ll just give him something else to complain about.

The bridge sways under my weight, and I try not to look down. The water below isn’t really water—it moves too slow, too thick, like something dreaming with its eyes open.

Behind me, Nikolai lets out a thoughtful hum. “Too bad your hot priestess friend isn’t around.”

“Why?” I ask, more annoyed than I should be.

“She’d be something to do when we finish early. Assuming she’s not one of the weirdos saving herself for marriage.”

I make a face.

“You realize she’s dating Genier?”

“Sure. But relationships aren’t an end-all be-all around here. People like to wander.” He hops onto the plank in front of me, the boards creaking under his weight.

“And Ta?sse’s okay with you wandering?”

“Ta?sse and I aren’t—.” He glances back, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Did I strike a nerve? “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“Ah, so she’s not interested because she already knows how much of an ass you are.”

I push around him, a little surprised when he lets me.

“On the contrary. She enjoys that. Makes the sex so much better.” I flinch. Even after a month, I’m still not used to how open shades are about sexuality. “We’re just…not right…together.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a closet romantic.”

We step onto the deck of the Celeste, and the world goes still. The fog thickens, swallowing the sounds of the others behind us.

I can feel him watching me—but for once, he doesn’t say a thing. It’s almost unnerving.

I shift my weight. “The OPORD didn’t give an exact location for our civilian. Do you want to take the right, and I’ll take the left?”

Nikolai gives a bitter shake of his head.

“You really are clueless, aren’t you?”

I bristle, but he’s already walking toward the shadow-drenched corridor.

“The Celeste is a ghost ship. She doesn’t obey natural geometry. We split up in here, and we might never find each other again. You might not even find yourself.”

He glances at me then, gaze sharp. “Stick close. Unless you want to wind up wandering the same hallway for a hundred years while she peels you apart, memory by memory.”

“You shades are so dramatic,” I grumble, to hide my sudden nerves.

#

The corridor narrows until we’re practically shoulder to shoulder. I don’t slow down. Neither does he.

Of course he doesn’t—Nikolai walks like he owns whatever space he’s in, like the world should step out of his way.

“Left,” he says coolly, just before we reach a split.

I veer right. Out of spite. I don’t care if it’s petty. I’m tired of being ordered around like I’m some glorified sidekick.

Two steps in, the hallway lurches. My vision swims.

I stop short.

What should be a hallway ends in a warped bulkhead—no seams, no edges. Just blank wall. I turn, but Nikolai is already there, like he didn’t walk but was placed behind me.

“Well.” His voice is dry. “Do you want to pretend you meant to do that, or shall I offer directions you’ll ignore again?”

I glare, the tension in my spine flaring. “Do you ever not sound like an asshole?”

He gives a short laugh and turns away, boots silent against the groaning floorboards.

I follow. Not because I want to. Because this place is shifting around us like it’s aware we don’t belong.

Doors hang crooked on rusted hinges. A few have numbers. But when I glance back at one we just passed—17—I swear it now says 12. Same door. Same peeling paint. Different number.

Is it me? Or is it this place?

The lights flicker above us. Lanterns burn with a faint green tinge. One buzzes as we pass, then flares—and for half a second, I see our shadows walking the other direction.

Not mirrors.

Not reflections.

Just… us.

Walking the wrong way.