by CA Morgan
“I see,” Eris said, but really he didn't. He felt like he was missing a great deal of information. “And you know exactly who he is?”
“Of course,” Morengoth answered and handed Eris a cup of deep-red wine. “I also know of the travesty that has befallen you. My best for your…recovery.”
A deep blush suddenly colored Eris' face. Morengoth held up his hand for Raga's silence, when he saw the sorcerer about to speak.
“There will be no recovery without the red stone,” Eris said, unaware that his cheeks were still pink.
“I realize that, but you will have to earn its return.”
Eris cringed on the inside and the blush on his face deepened yet again. This time he noticed the heat in his cheeks and rubbed his palms across his face to try to dispel it. Damn the curse that brought Erisa closer to him.
“Why should I earn back what should never have been taken in the first place?” Eris asked.
“Call it the spoils of war. Payment for crossing my land. Come now, do not look so disgusted. I have no intention of forcing you into a similar situation as in Reshan,” Morengoth answered. “Though you do make a very lovely woman.”
Eris frowned at him and the cavern became uncomfortably silent.
“Somehow, I felt I had to say that,” Morengoth apologized after a moment.
“I suppose you did.” Eris swallowed down the last of his wine. “It's part of the curse. It just annoys me to hear it.”
“Then you will take no offense at my most undignified remark?”
“None taken,” Eris answered with unexpected good humor. Raga marveled at the change, temporary though it was.
“Now, I believe it is time for us to discuss these various problems that have us all uneasy. Raga, you have a question?” Morengoth asked, reading the sorcerer's face.
“I’m curious to know how you were able to recognize the red gem so easily being, as you say, trapped within the confines of your forest. And, whether or not you have any information on another gem similar to it,” Raga said. “After all, you are the first person that either of us has come across able to recognize it for what it is.”
“One does not live a life spanning more than three centuries without learning anything. Let me tell you my story. Then, I believe you will have your answers,” Morengoth said.
The Dragon King leaned back against the stone bench and stretched his long legs out in front of him. As he spoke and gestured, the iridescent green scales on his body shimmered with green-gold light, a mesmerizing effect.
“In all these long centuries, I have never quite understood why the men of Skeales decided to annihilate mine. The dragon people, as you call us, were peaceful for the most part. Of course, we fought amongst ourselves from time to time, or had scrapes with tribes of men from the Land of the Night Vales over rights to the forest, but nothing like what was to come. Knowing how different we were kept us from venturing too far, or for very long. We were at home in this rocky mountain and the wide forest around it. What need did we have to conquer the tribes of the steppes?” Morengoth said and took a drink. “We needed no cities, no fields to till, no extensive trade to give us the things we could not make or grow for ourselves. Then the attacks began. Just skirmishes at first, but the fighting escalated. We captured men for interrogation, but they told us nothing worth knowing.”
Eris understood and pitied the captives that last part as he rubbed a hand across his ribs. There was still tenderness in places.
“Some thought we had jewels or precious minerals deep inside the mountain. Some thought we had magic and wanted it—for what purpose, I do not know. Others just hated us for being different, or because they believed we were amassing an army to destroy them. They believed us to be horrible monsters, which was far from the truth. I am sure you are both familiar with the end of this story in some form or another.”
Eris nodded that this was so, but Raga remained silent in his ignorance. He knew only the little bit Eris had told him.
“Here is what you do not know.” Morengoth sat for a moment as if gathering his thoughts before he continued. It was obvious that the most difficult part of the tale was about to be told and relived.
“Near the end of the war, I knew there was no chance for victory. Like a lone elk defending himself against a pack of wolves was how we fought. The sheer number of wolves is what overpowers the elk. Not his inability to defend himself, or a lack of courage in his heart.
“The womenfolk and the children were gone. Either killed or starved to death during the previous winter so the warriors could fight on. My soldiers fell, one by one. I went to the shrine of our god, Tas-Moren, and begged once more that at least one of us should be spared in the hope of finding other tribes of our race. I did not know if he heard, or wanted to hear.
“The fighting eventually ceased. The men, not finding the treasure they thought we had, left the forest and I was utterly alone. The task of living was mine to my never-ending despair.
“For many years I roamed the mountain ranges of many lands looking for more of my kind. It was then that I grew to understand the ways and wiles of men. Sometimes I found truth and kindness, but more often injustice and cruelty. Finally, I returned to these caverns and again begged at the feet of Tas-Moren. This time I asked to die and know no more a life of loneliness and despair. What purpose did I serve? I saw no reason in any thought or idea.”
Raga’s face mirrored the Dragon King’s desolate tale. Eris remained stoic, like the warrior he was, but in his heart he knew that the stories of Moren heard as a youth were mostly just that—stories with very little truth in them.
Taking a deep breath, Morengoth continued.
“Tas-Moren would not grant me death. My rage against him was great. In my anger, I drew out my dagger and plunged it into my heart. But, I did not die. Tas-Moren's anger with me was greater still. He hurled the suffering of my people against me and yet I lived. How long I lay in bleeding anguish, I know not. I learned that hell cannot be worse than a god scorned.
“In time, he took pity on me and healed my wounds, but I was not completely forgiven. Thus began these many years of my imprisonment. Yet, he did promise that one day a woman would come who would be my mate and I would no longer be the sole survivor of my long-dead race. There was a condition, however. I had to give something of great value to the avatar of Tas-Moren with the promise that something greater than the value of life would also be given to him.”
“Then you seek to give my red gem as that gift of value?” Raga interrupted more than concerned.
“No. The gift has already been given. The yellow gem you still seek,” Morengoth answered.
Raga and Eris froze. They stared at him stunned by disbelief into total silence. It was so great a shock that tears suddenly, unexpectedly, welled up in Raga's eyes. Eris felt it was his turn to plunge a dagger into his own heart. How did one get back a gift accepted by the avatar of a god?
“I am truly sorry for both of you, but I had no idea that either of you would ever come looking for it. Eris, I could never have known about you. And you, Raga, are supposed to be dreaming in an enchanted sleep. How could I know that you live as shadowed a life as I do, shrouded in mystery and half-truths?” Morengoth implored spreading his arms to them.
Rage whispered nearly incoherent words. “At least tell me how you came by my yellow gem.” He wiped a trembling hand across his face.
“Sometimes people come into the forest and manage to get as far as the boundaries of my enchantment. Sometimes I go close to their camps and listen to their conversations. I let them pass and they never know I was near. One day, not long ago, four men came. Thieves and murderers all, they sat around bragging about their misdeeds while dividing the spoils of their last attack. Your gem was mixed in the pile of jewels and trinkets. To them it was just another gem. Large, yes, but nothing special. But to me, that gem flashed like a shooting star in a black night. I knew a great power was contained within its shimmering facets. What better gift for a god t
han that? What else have I to give? I could have plumbed the secrets of that gem for my own purposes. I could have raised an army of magic. I could have found a way to destroy those who destroyed mine. Fortunately, before it was too late and I brought further calamity on my head, I realized the temptation. It was accepted,” Morengoth explained.
Eris shook his head and muttered, “And what of the other gift? What has a value greater than the value of life? Although mine certainly isn't worth much at the moment.”
“I know not,” Morengoth answered with a shrug. “For many years I have pondered that question, but I still have no answer.”
“Without that part of your obligation fulfilled, why did you think I was your mate?”
“Eris, though we are different, you understand that we are both men of a certain—vitality. For three hundred years I have lived alone. Can you even begin to comprehend that—alone? I have never even seen a woman pass through this forest in all that time. Can you even begin to understand what joy I felt at seeing you swimming in the pond? Those long, raven tresses clinging to your glistening body. And no less a body of supple strength equal to my own. I was ecstatic,” Morengoth explained as passion and despair poured from his heart.
For the first time in many years, Eris felt a knot of compassion tighten in his throat. He stared helplessly at Morengoth's desolate face. At the face of a kindred spirit, at the mirror of his own, very short-lived, despair.
“Though I have not lived three hundred years, I have a small understanding of what you feel. I’m having trouble surviving this one year, god or no, and I can see no way to help you. Without that yellow gem, I’m cursed to stay this way until my life is finished. You, at least, have a promise to cling to though that must seem very empty now,” Eris said. His voice was full of honest concern instead of bitterness.
Raga was nearly in tears again as much for himself and Eris as for the dragon man. What did he have left to be king over; a small patch of forest and a cavernous, empty mountain? What hope had he clung to that sustained his centuries-long solitude?
In spite of his turbulent emotions, Raga had to appreciate again the healing spring’s potency. He never expected to hear such words from Eris, and certainly not said with conviction.
“Eris, it's almost time for the new moon,” Raga ventured to say. “Maybe, just for a while, you could—”
Morengoth held up his hand to silence Raga when he saw Eris stiffen.
“You are a wily one, sorcerer.” He smiled sadly. “I know, as does Eris, what you are suggesting. But, you said it yourself; we are both men of a certain pride. Just having the appearance of his female form gracing my table would be more than I could bear. If, perhaps, we find some consolation in each other as we are, then it is good. Nothing more. Come. Let us go up to my living quarters. From there you can see far out into the forest. It is very beautiful with the snow. Then I will show you to rooms where you may rest. We will speak more tomorrow.”
Raga and Eris followed Morengoth through long, rough-hewn halls and up foot-worn flights of stone steps. The higher they went the more the rock of the mountain had been smoothed and polished. In niches hollowed out along the walls, Raga noticed plain and elegant urns. Meticulously carved and elegant, the designs of flowers and mystical symbols bordered many of the recesses. Here and there gold and sparkling gems brought the flowers to life. Beneath the urns and attached to the walls were crystal tablets carved with more symbols and what appeared to be an alphabet.
“What is written on these plaques?” Raga asked curiously.
“Names.”
“Names?”
“Of course,” Morengoth said and paused at one of the niches a few paces ahead of them. He laid a hand against the fat curve of a red and white urn sitting there. “Were you familiar with our customs, you would understand. These urns contain the ashes of some of our people. In a hall not far from here, is the Hall of Kings, and not far from there, the Hall of Warriors. In this particular urn, are the ashes of my ‘pata’. I believe your word is nursemaid, nanny, or something like that.”
“I can’t believe a nursemaid worthy of receiving such an honor,” Eris commented. “But, she was nursemaid to a king.”
Morengoth laughed.
“I am afraid we did not put such emphasis on kings and nobility as your people do. Naturally, the king and his court are given honor and respect, as there has to be someone to make and uphold the laws. But a pata also had a great responsibility in making sure all the children were cared for. Mine raised several hundred in her lifetime.”
“Several hundred? Must not have been very competent having to change families all the time,” Raga said.
“No, no.” Morengoth smiled. He continued up the passage. “A pata was a woman who, for a variety of reasons, did not bear children. She took care of orphans and helped the other mothers with their children. You see, our women bore two or three children at a time. Four was usually the exception.”
“That makes sense then,” Eris said. “Most of our people are hard pressed to deal with one or two at a time. I would hate to think of three or four all at once. But if you had so many, why aren't the walls covered top to bottom with urns?”
“Not everyone chose to remain within the caverns. The place for ashes was a very personal and meaningful decision. Some wanted their ashes spread near a favorite tree, cast into the stream flowing away from the pond, or taken to the highest peak and cast into the wind. Of course, there were also many who deserved only to have their ashes tossed in the cavern pits,” Morengoth explained.
“As I am king, good or bad, I will one day take my place in the Hall of Kings. Were you of my kind, Eris, you might earn a place in the Hall of Warriors. Seeing the types of weapons I gathered from your camp, I assume you are no stranger to the life of the sword.”
“No doubt of that,” Raga cut in quickly. “I’ve lost count the number of times he's threatened me with one thing or another. His ashes would best be thrown into the pits. Then, we would all be safe from him.”
“For shame, Raga,” Morengoth chided, but with a smile. He stepped aside to let them pass into a large room with a fire pit in the middle.
Eris, brows knit together, scowled at Raga as he walked by. Raga felt relieved. The real, unpredictable Eris was on the way back.
Eris walked to the balcony’s doorway and looked out. It was late afternoon near as he could tell. The sun shone weakly through heavy, gray layers of clouds, which promised another dusting of snow.
Raga accepted another cup of wine from Morengoth, who drank as well. Eris declined. He was having a difficult time as it was keeping ‘Erisa’ under control without having help in that direction. Feeling a deep stirring of uncharacteristic melancholy, he stepped out onto the snow-covered balcony. The lingering wetness of his clothing made him chill quickly, but he didn't care. Somehow the cold, cloying dampness seemed a companion to the cloudiness of his spirit.
What use was there in going on now? One just didn't demand a gift back from a god. Where did one even begin looking for a god, much less asking questions of such a being?
Though Eris wasn't one to give much credence to any god, he had an instinctive feeling that Tas-Moren was a little more than a statue adorning some dusty shrine. Or, with his luck, it was another elemental that had attained godhood in the primitive days of these long-dead people.
Resting his elbows on the stone guardrail, he looked down into the glistening, pristine forest. Traveling onward from the Moren Forest this time of year would be difficult at best, but travel where?
He wasn't sure and he knew, like Raga, he was running out of time. Even if they did earn the return of the red gem, their quest was likely at an end. There was no knowing where the yellow gem was now. Whether it remained in the realm of mortal men, or if it had somehow passed into the realm of the gods, Eris could only guess. Maybe Raga could find it using what was left of his elemental magic, but a mortal man just didn’t go demanding anything of a god. They rarely listened
to a man’s begging prayer for a loaf of bread and would certainly not listen to something like this.
Hearing Morengoth laugh, his thoughts turned to their unlikely captor turned host. How could a man exist as Morengoth had? How could he have survived the loneliness within these gloomy cavern walls? Those thoughts frightened him, or rather, Erisa. Preferring his solitude most of the time, it didn’t bother Eris, but to Erisa, it meant the loss of her validation for living. She found no purpose, no family to care for, no one…to love. Eris pulled away from those thoughts.
It was almost three-quarters of a year that he had been under Charra-Tir's foul curse. Of late he felt that every day was a fight to find the anger driving him to his revenge. If not revenge, then at least to the annulment of the magic destroying his life.
Lost in the deep shade of melancholy it seemed that the ground below wasn't so far away. The snow offered a soft, sheltering blanket on which he might lie while waiting for the dancing flurries to cover him and meld him into the cycle of the forest.
From somewhere in the frosty valley came the echoing sound of a crystalline voice; a voice of such haunting, ethereal beauty that it made him shiver just listening. He had never heard anything like it before. He couldn’t hear the words, but the sound was at once happy but tinged with longing.
Eris turned his face in the direction of the sound. He saw nothing but the darkening shadows of the trees. He listened, captivated, until he could no longer bear the emotion it made him feel, the inexplicable sadness, the longing for companionship; perhaps for a lover to hold on a cold night. He struggled to drive those emotions away. They belonged to the woman he became. The woman who became more equal to the man he was as the days went by. He struggled to concentrate on the code that ruled his life. A warrior was disciplined to be a hard man of blood and steel. He didn’t want to feel his heart broken by an echoing song in a haunted forest.
“I am sorry to interrupt you, Raga, but you will have to excuse me,” Morengoth said, when he saw Eris clamp his hands over his ears.
