by Greg Curtis
He liked that and for a few moments he simply stood there absorbing the atmosphere, letting a feeling of relief fill him. But before he did anything else he walked over to the shrine of Liasa at the entrance to the market and dropped a copper in the little pool at the bottom. It wasn't really that much different he supposed to the shrine of the Great Sage that would be found in every market in Abylon. It was just that instead of a bald-headed man of advancing years with a book and a candle, there was a woman carved in stone, carrying a new born calf.
He didn't know much about Liasa or her faith, or for that matter why she was carrying a calf. Just that she was the Goddess of Life and that she heralded the arrival of spring each year to the land. He remembered hearing from the bards that she was one of the few gods and goddesses that sometimes walked the world. In her case it was said that each new spring she could be seen walking through the gardens and orchards, the forests and the plains, bringing life to the world. And that her priests could carry a little of her gift with them, laying blessings on childless couples. She seemed like a reasonable Goddess to worship he supposed.
As he stood there looking around, the thing that struck him most strongly was how familiar this all was. It was a town he'd never visited in a land he knew nothing about, inhabited by people he'd only heard stories of. And yet it was exactly as he'd seen everywhere else.
People were people. He had heard Master Perrin say that in the Arcanium when he had been sleeping there, and the words had stuck with Briagh. Now here in front of him was the proof of the apothecary's words. Briagh understood markets and stalls. He understood shopping, buying and selling. And most of all he understood the people who could be found in markets. This place might be a very long way away from Abysynth and the people not human, but the market was like a small piece of home to him.
Abruptly Briagh realised he was standing there like a rakefire refusing to pay for his keep. Markets were for people with coin to spend. And if he was just going to stand and stare and not shop, then he was no better than a patron who refused to pay for his lodgings or leave. All he was doing was blocking the traffic as people rushed around him trying to get to the various stalls. He had come to the market with a purpose.
What he needed first he decided was food. Seed cakes, dried fruits, oat blocks and salted meats. Things he could carry with him as he travelled and which didn’t need cooking. Though he'd conserved his supplies as much as he could as he travelled here, he had almost nothing left, and he wasn't a great hunter.
Briagh quickly found what he was looking for at a somewhat run down looking farmer’s wagon with one side lowered down to become a makeshift table. The vendor looked a little like a farmer too, which made him think this was a farm business. Usually he found it was better if you bought from a shop or at least a stall run by a business owner. The prices might be a little higher but you often tended to get better quality and a wider range of wares. Looking at the display, Briagh saw that the man had honeyed oat cakes that smelled delicious. Maybe his wife was a baker.
“Do you take Abylonian coppers?”
The vendor who until then had been sitting in his rickety looking chair looking somewhat bored as customers passed him by, abruptly leapt to his feet, a mercenary smile quickly finding his swarthy face. “Of course Sir.”
The man spoke good Abylonian which surprised Briagh a little. But then he realised the man was a trader and this was a border town. He probably had other human customers occasionally. Maybe he even wandered into Abylon with his wagon to trade from time to time?
“How much for a dozen of the honey oat cakes?” He suddenly found himself feeling hungry. The cakes looked good.
“Two coppers.”
Two coppers was good. Briagh would have expected to pay twice that in Abysynth. But prices in the cities were always higher, and while he could have haggled a little, he simply didn't feel the need. Instead he asked about the man's bread and got an equally good price. Happy, he bought a loaf as well as the cakes and moved on to the next stall. Maybe he should have tarried and asked some questions, but he didn't feel the need. Not when he noticed once again that no one was paying him any great attention. And that was something that was important to him.
Two stalls down he found a woman selling cheeses and bought a small wedge to go with his bread, and then from the one beside it a full pound of fresh tea. He'd been out of tea for weeks and the chance to brew a pot had him almost weak at the knees with wonder. And still no one commented on the fact that he was human! They also all spoke Abylonian and all accepted his coin. It seemed almost too good to be true.
So it continued as he worked his way around the market, making small purchases and restocking his supplies. And along the way he gained a few answers to questions he didn't even have to ask.
The town was called Perna Sil, though he had no idea what that meant, or if it meant anything at all He also learned that there were a few other humans living nearby. Some even lived in the town and others on the various farms and orchards. A few of those he spoke to assumed they might be his kin. There was an inn too, but no alehouses. The fae preferred their nectars and wines and had instead what they called gardens. He guessed they weren't ale gardens.
But that was a minor matter. As he walked around the market buying supplies and looking at what else was available, Briagh knew he could deal with it. He could even find some ale somewhere though he would have to drink it in private. Drunkards were not welcome on the streets or Perna Sil, or in fact the rest of Wynde Par. The only thing that truly mattered to him though was that he seemed to be safe here. No one cared that he was human, as long as he had coin to spend. These people, fae or not, might be too neat, too well-mannered and far too law abiding. They might have unusual skin colour and be shorter than he was used to. Some of them might even have funny looking ears. But if they bought and sold things, haggled to get a bargain, and knew the value of gold, they were much like anyone else.
He could live here he realised – for a while at least. Long enough to find a place to stay, maybe even to settle. Maybe he would learn their tongue – this Language of the Trees. Maybe he could even do the one thing he had never done in his entire life – find a place he could truly call home.
“Child, you seem to have plenty of coin to spend.” A priest unexpectedly came up to Briagh, seeking a donation for his shrine and making him jump.
“Father, you serve Asbeth?” Briagh wasn't completely certain. The priest wore her colours, but he could not see her mark on his neck. But this was a different realm. A different realm with different priests and customs. Still, Asbeth was one of the few goddesses he would consider granting charity to. After all she was the Goddess of Healing, and a man never knew when her favours might be useful.
“I do child. And you I would guess are a follower of Morphia?”
“Morphia? No. Why would you think that?” Briagh was surprised by the idea. He might her child as a morph, but he didn't worship her. And why would he? Her faith was all about freedom. Not just freedom of form, but freedom of any form of stricture. Her followers did not support the law, though they weren't necessarily criminals either. They did not believe in hand-fasting either. Or in property rights. There was a reason why the authorities considered her worship trouble. She did not support any of the rules that supported society.
He on the other hand did. Even as a thief he strongly supported property rights. After all, how could he steal something if nothing was owned? And who could he steal from if there was no society full of rich people to steal from or merchants to sell it to? They needed the law in order to break it. That was the central irony that all followers of Elm Tibesh lived with. Not that he would tell the priest that he followed the six fingered God.
“Because of your gift child. You are her child are you not? The priest said it with an easy manner as if it was nothing. But the instant he said it Briagh froze.
Briagh's heart stopped beating in his chest and he felt cold all over as he realised his
secret had been exposed! So soon! How?! And yet it didn't matter how. Instincts born of a lifetime of hiding his secret told him that. What mattered was his safety, and as he stood there in front of the priest, his feet rooted to the ground and his face a mask of horror, he started desperately studying the rest of the market. The other people there. Who had the priest told? Who had told the priest to begin with? How many of the others knew? Was anyone coming for him? People with weapons? What was the quickest way out of here?
It took him a long time to remember that this was the fae realm. And that apparently people here didn't care that there were morphs in the world. The priest hadn't even noticed his state of shock but had carried on telling him about the wonders of his Goddess and her good works. It took a long time for him to start breathing normally again. To start thinking.
How the priest knew what he was Briagh didn't know – though priests were attuned to their divine forces and it possibly had something to do with that. But how he knew didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was whether he was still safe here given that his secret was exposed. And yet unbelievably it seemed that he was. The priest didn't seem at all frightened of him. No one was rushing his way with weapons at the ready.
“Child?” The priest must have finally realised that Briagh wasn't paying attention to him. And maybe he had become aware of the look of horror in his eyes.
“Father, how do you know my nature? My curse?” Briagh asked, not even completely sure why he cared.
“Curse?” The priest stared at him for a bit, looking somewhat confused. And then he smiled. “Ah humans! I keep forgetting. So primitive. I'm faerun. We know magic. We sense it. Even those who don't have gifts of their own. Probably everyone here knows what your gift is. And it is certainly a gift and not a curse as you seem to refer to it. It is also pretty obvious to all.”
Everyone knew? Briagh was shocked once more. He definitely hadn’t expected that. And yet he realised, no one had said anything. No one had really looked twice at him. In Abylon they would have been staring at him in fear. Some would have run. Others would have called for the guards. Just thinking about it Briagh immediately looked around for the guards who he was sure would be heading his way. Eventually realising that none were coming he asked the question at the top of his mind.
“Everyone knows? And no one cares?”
“Why would anyone care?” The priest managed to look even more confused than before.
“Because I'm a morph? Cursed? Evil? A monster in the night? Because I've been hunted my whole life? My parents were even murdered for the simple crime of being parents to a morph?”
The words fell from Briagh's tongue by themselves. And once they started they wouldn't stop.
“Hunted? Murdered?” It was the priest's turn to look horrified. “I'd heard stories of course. But that? That's barbaric! That's the sort of thing only trolls do!”
Briagh didn't answer him. He couldn't. He certainly wasn't going to argue with him. Not when he knew the priest was right. It was completely wrong to harm people simply because of their magic. Besides, he was suddenly feeling weak, the knowledge that nobody cared about what he was was overwhelming. That was, if it really was true.
Everyone knew! Those words just kept screaming at him. Running around and around in his skull, demanding to be heard. His secret was out. Everyone knew what he was. And at the same time nobody was trying to kill him. Nobody that he could see no matter how hard he looked.
The emotion as it flowed through him like a torrent was simply too much and he felt the need to sit down. Everyone knew – and no one cared! He needed to shout that out to the heavens in thanks! Or in relief. But he also needed to run. Go somewhere private where he could think on what he had seen and been told. And he needed to do it as quickly as possible.
“Are you alright child?” The priest must have noticed the look on his face.
“I'm fine Father. I just need to go.” And with that he abruptly left the priest, simply turning on his heels and marching away. Fast. It might have been rude, but he needed to go. He really needed to run.
The question was where did he go to? Everyone here knew he was a morph. He hadn't expected that. He'd thought or at least hoped that it wouldn't matter that he was a morph, and that he might not have to hide. That eventually a few people might find out, but it wouldn't matter. He hadn’t expected that the people here would automatically know. And he would never have imagined that they might know and still not care. That was a poppy dream! It was something he had hoped for but not truly believed it possible.
As he put one foot in front of the other and walked down the street he couldn't quite seem to make sense of it. Just then he knew he couldn't be here anymore. He couldn't be surrounded by people who knew of his curse – gift! They called it a gift! No one called it a gift. He'd spent a lifetime hiding it. He couldn’t accept being so exposed.
It was so hard to walk normally. To steadily put one foot in front of the other. Because, everything he knew was telling him to run. To run screaming.
Chapter Fifteen
Elan was fuming as she tightened the laces holding the front plate of her white leather armour to the back, fastened her long rapier to her belt and sheathed her pistol. She had been angry all day. She was still angry now. She had been since the morning when Argen had come to her with his ridiculous theory.
But it wasn't just ridiculous. It was unconscionable. He was now claiming that her own family had willingly participated in their own downfall. That they had bade Master Barachalla to bring the globe and the morph to them. That they had forced the morph to give his blood to the globe. And that they had had then all placed their hands on it and activated the device.
Argen had tried to paint a pretty picture over it. He had said that they could never have expected the result. That no one should have been harmed. Not them and not the morph. That it was supposed to have granted them the Divine Right of Kings. That it hadn’t worked and that Barachalla had then headed off to find a cure somewhere in the southern seas. But his pretty words didn't cover the ugliness of the charge he was levelling against her family. He had claimed that they had been trying to gain a power that would have allowed them to compel their people to their will.
The Divine Right of Kings was a myth. An evil nonsense. It supposedly enshrined the right to rule in a king or a royal family. That from the moment a child was born with the gift – the aura of majesty as it was called – people could only see him as their king. They had to obey him. There was no freedom.
They wouldn't do that! What he was describing was a crime. More than a crime, a monstrous evil. No pretty words could hide that. And it was also stupid, since according to the stories, the gift always led to war. To the violent overthrow of the royal family. Because the only way to fight those with the gift was to kill them. Usually by bombarding their cities from afar with great cannon. Levelling them. Destroy the city, sometimes the realm, and destroy the gifted royal family. Who would want such a thing? Either the gift or the inevitable destruction that would follow? Above all others her family would not. She knew them. She loved them. And she would not hear such evil lies spoken about them. Especially when she knew that he was also saying that they had decided to claim this great gift for themselves and forgot about her. That they had abandoned her.
But he said the temptation of power was too great. Didn't he realise that they'd already had power? That they were good people and wise rulers? That they were never stupid? And that they loved her. If they had truly wanted this evil gift, believed that it truly was a gift, they would have wanted it for her too. Anything else would have been unthinkable.
And Father Argen had come to these conclusions all because he had found Barachalla's diary. A volume in which he had apparently admitted the entire crime.
The damned priest! Elan hated him for what he had said. And she had already been angry with him before that. From the moment he had discovered that she had tried to kill the morph and had the temerity to t
ell her off. From that moment on it seemed, her former tutor had become an enemy.
First he had ordered her back to the city. Ordered her! As if she was some child and he her parent. She was a princess! He was only a priest. Even if she had no authority in matters of state she still deserved to be treated with respect. She had a station in life.
But then he had marched her in front of the Court as soon as they'd returned and told them exactly what she had done. He had publicly humiliated her! He had described her to the Court as a child filled with hate. And he had warned them that she was unfit to become queen as she could not control her temper. She would need a husband of strong moral character. Even Gian had done nothing to help her. He had simply nodded when asked if what Argen had said was the truth. Traitor!
That had left her burning with fury. As had the Court when they had asked her to retire to her chambers. She had been dismissed in her own palace! Sent to her chambers like a naughty child! And they hadn't asked for her to attend their meetings since. Didn't they realise that she was all the royal family they had?!
Then things had grown worse. They had caught no other morphs – she rather imagined that they blamed her for that as well – and they'd given up on going after the one that had got away from her. They said he was probably in Wynde Par by now. Beyond their reach. And Argen was becoming ever more insistent in his thoughts that Briagh was innocent. He'd found the morph's house. With just a name and the Docks to go on he'd found it, and started going through his life, looking for anything that could link him to her family's suffering. He'd found nothing and assumed it was because there was nothing to find.
