by Greg Curtis
“If you refuse they may be upset.”
“And you should know that Princess Elan has tried to murder me twice, just because I'm a morph. For some reason she thinks I had something to do with her family's suffering. She will try to kill you too. Especially when she knows who you are and where you can be found. At the moment she's locked away, and she'll hopefully stay that way until the fae send her away. But that won't stop her. Not forever. You'll need the rangers to protect you.”
“Still, you've managed to live here for ten years now and no one's come after you. In Abylon you would have been hunted down and killed long ago. That’s what happened to my family. It’s why I have always looked to run and hide. You I think, can't hide. And there are less places you can run to. You can't afford to upset the people here.”
“Sorry.” Briagh added the last because he was actually sorry. What he was saying wasn't either nice or fair and in fact it sounded like a threat even though it wasn't. But it was the truth. Neither of them had much choice.
“At least you're honest.” Long managed something that might have been a sigh. It might also have been a growl. “Bring your priest and I'll speak with him. I promise no more.”
“Thank you.” Briagh managed a nod. “I should warn you though, he is a bit of a muckspout. The priest talks. He asks endless questions. Then he talks some more and then lectures you endlessly about what's right and wrong – and of course why you're wrong. And then he keeps on talking. He's like that perpetual motion machine the technologists are always blathering on about building. There will be absolutely no peace and quiet with him around.”
“He's a priest.” Endorian did his best to shrug. “What else can you expect?”
Chapter Twenty Three
It felt good to return to Perna Sil, even if Briagh was only going as far as the town gaol. But maybe it was only really good for Briagh because he hoped that in coming here his threatened prison sentence would end and he could leave. He had done what Lord Daelyn had wanted. He had spoken with Long. Even more than that, he had somehow convinced the man to help the priest. Briagh wasn't completely sure how that had happened, and he felt somewhat dubious about the whole thing. It wasn't that he particularly doubted the priest's worthy intentions. Perhaps not even that he knew what he was talking about. It was just that he doubted that the priest could do what he claimed he could.
Restore what remained of the royal family to sanity? Maybe. He didn't know. He didn't have any idea how badly the princes had been afflicted by this madness of theirs. Find out what had happened to Endorian's family? Probably. All the priest need do was make a few enquiries. But restore Endorian to his normal form? That Briagh very much doubted. He didn't really understand how the man had become what he had become. That an ancient artefact was involved didn't surprise him. They were often dangerous. But when he looked at the man and saw just how terribly he'd been affected by the device, the thought that he could simply be healed somehow struck him as fanciful. The damage was simply too great. To his body, to his magic and to his very soul.
More than that though, the priest's plan involved riding back into Abylon with Endorian. He was sure of it. That struck Briagh as beyond dangerous. Abylon was perilous for morphs. But they could at least hide their nature from people. Endorian couldn't. People would take one look at him and run screaming. Worse they might immediately attack. Father Argen couldn't protect him from the unreasoning fear and hatred of people. And Briagh knew only too well what the outcome would be.
“You seem troubled,” Careyn commented as she rode beside him.
She'd stuck close to him all the way back for some reason. But surely she realised he had no reason to try to flee now? The time for that would have been on the journey to find Long, not on the journey back, having succeeded in his task and with at least some hope of escaping his sentence.
“I am troubled. I have the terrible feeling I've just helped deliver a fellow morph to his doom.”
“That's not your doing. If this plan of the priest's goes well or ill, it's not your fault. Long makes his own decisions. And I don't think he makes them because of either you or Father Argen's words.”
There was truth in that Briagh knew. Endorian kept his own counsel. He chose to speak only occasionally, and the rest of the time either ignored everyone else or snapped at them. But more than that there was something that Endorian was keeping private. Some reason he had agreed to help the priest in his quest that he hadn't shared. And if he did share it Briagh was sure that it wouldn't be with him or any of the others.
On the journey back Endorian had been quiet. Sullen in truth. But more than that; non-committal. He'd listened to what Father Argen had had to say, and told him little in return. No more than what he had told Briagh. Maybe he'd share his truth with his gods? Maybe not even with them.
“It would still be better if Endorian did not return to Abylon. Safer. The princes and this globe should instead come here.”
It seemed like the best option to Briagh. But he knew that no one would care what he thought. That had been made abundantly clear to him. He might not be feared as a monster here, but he wasn't respected either.
“You worry for him?”
“Of course! I … understand him. He is like me. And he has suffered too much. He should not have to suffer anymore.”
It was the suffering that was the shared bond. Not the fact that they were both morphs. Nor that they were both from Abylon. It was that they both understood what it was to have to spend a lifetime running and hiding. Of living in fear, unable to trust. They both understood that the cost of discovery would be paid by not just them but their families.
“Yet he speaks to you as poorly as everyone else.” She put it tactfully.
“He has had no conversation with anyone but his shadow for ten years. And he has been hurt. Badly hurt. He is a morph, raised from birth to trust no one. It is a wonder that he even agreed to come with us. To expect him to also speak easily with others would be a wonder too many.”
Briagh saw that clearly in the broken morph. He saw the suspicion in his eyes. Watched it in his gestures as he waved people away. Heard it in the few angry words he spoke. He understood it too. It was a form of protection. The man would never trust others, let alone be at ease with them. He saw a world around him filled with threats. For that reason he would not tell them of his past. Nothing save the merest outline. Of his family he said only what they needed to know to find them and that only to the priest who had received it in confidence. He did not trust others with that knowledge. Not even another morph.
He tended to veer between terse responses and yelling at the guards to leave him alone. It was rude. Yet Briagh had to wonder whether his reaction would have been the same had he been in Endorian's position. He suspected it would have been. A lifetime of fear, paranoia and pain, had taken their toll on the man's soul. Endorian was pushing himself to his very limit just to have come with them. And Briagh was sure he had only done so because they offered him some hope that he was now desperately clinging to. Not the hope that he could be cured Briagh suspected. The morph had never had much hope of that. Only the hope that he would learn what happened to his family. That he might even be reunited with them.
“Yes. It is a wonder. I did not think the Father's words so compelling.” Careyn pointed out the truth gently. Briagh concurred.
“Father Argen offered him the chance to learn the fate of his family. That more than anything else moves him. It is the only reason he came.”
“Still, Father Argen might cure him. Surely that must be a consideration?”
“No.” Briagh stared sadly at her. “Look at him. That is beyond cure. Surely. What has been done, cannot be undone. He knows that. And he knows that if he returns to Abylon he will die. Endorian will probably consider that a mercy. A release from his pain. This is only about his family. A chance to find out their fate before he dies.”
“Do you speak for Long or for yourself?”
Briagh
didn't answer her. It was a good question, but he saw no reason in adding to her doubts. Or pointing out yet again that he had no family. Instead, he concentrated on staying upright in his saddle as he neared the gaol. He was still no natural horseman. In fact, some days he had thought strongly about asking if he could sit with Endorian in the wagon. But even if he hadn't risked being laughed at once more, he knew the morph would not have allowed it. Endorian valued his space. Perhaps he even feared that someone too close could put a knife in his back? Again, Briagh could empathise, as even now after so many years of successfully hiding his nature, he still felt that fear.
His thoughts were drawn away from such matters as they finally rode into the stockade where a lot of people appeared to be awaiting their arrival. The gaol was actually in an old wooden fort, with big wooden palisade walls surrounding it from which guards could stand and look out over the surrounding lands and town. Clearly they'd been seen coming as the courtyard was filled with people waiting for them.
That wasn't a surprise. What was, was that the group included Lord Daelyn, a couple of his advisers, a soothsayer and a personal guard. Briagh hadn't expected that. Lord Daelyn lived in Egoli, a city to the north. It was a long ride – twenty plus leagues – and he couldn't imagine that the Lord had remained in Perna Sill for all the time that they'd been gone. Nor had he expected that standing beside the magistrate would be the Princess. Secured, disarmed and guarded closely by four soldiers, but nonetheless there. Still it was good to see she was guarded.
Why would they have the Princess there, waiting for them? It made no sense. She was a prisoner, not the lord of the town.
“Careyn?”
“I have no more thought than you.” She answered him quickly but not easily, though she clearly suspected something.
They rode on in. It was expected. And at least he noticed, the damned Princess wasn't wearing any gloves. He was also pleased to see that the whistle hadn’t been retrieved for her and there was no longbow lying across her shoulder. On the other hand, she did look angry. More than angry – her face was white with fury – but not for him. Briagh doubted she even noticed him. Instead her eyes went straight to the wagon and Endorian.
“You!” The Princess screamed at him, spittle flying out of her mouth as she did so. “You murderous. monster! A pox on you! A thousand plagues!” She struggled against her bonds and her guards, murder in her hear. Fortunately the bonds held tight. Meanwhile Endorian sat on the bench of the wagon looking nothing but sad.
“I'm sorry for your pain Princess Elan.” He bowed to her. Perhaps he shouldn't have said that. He probably shouldn't have spoken at all.
“Sorry!” The Princess' face screwed up even further with fury. “Sorry is for accidents! You destroyed my entire family and you're sorry?!” She really started struggling against the soldiers holding her, knocking one of them back despite the fact that she was bound hand and foot.
“With respect Princess, I did not. I did not even see your family. And we were all brought down by another.”
“Lies!” She screamed so loud that the entire town could have heard her. “Filthy lies!”
“No lies. It was the technologist who did this. Barachalla.” Endorian remained calm as he sat on the wagon. But rivers of pain flowed through his words.
But at least he wasn't running Briagh thought. In his shoes Briagh was sure he would be. Especially when she had already tried to kill him. Twice! He suspected that what the Princess would do to Endorian given the chance would be a thousand times worse. She was completely under the spell of The Bloody God, and it didn't matter who she took her vengeance out on.
“You'd better make sure she doesn't get free,” he whispered to Careyn.
“She's not getting free.” Careyn turned to him and smiled oddly at him. “And neither are you!”
Briagh could have responded. Maybe he should have. But his attention was mostly fixed on the two enemies. If they truly were enemies. Endorian had mentioned Barachalla's involvement at the cave, and Briagh tended to believe him. If nothing else the man didn't have a lot of reason to lie. But he did have a lot of reason to be worried now that he'd revealed himself to her. It didn't take the Great Sage to know that her hunger for vengeance would not be sated.
“Princess Elan –.” Father Argen tried to reason with her. But she wasn't in the mood for reason. She yelled over him before he could say another word, and again each time he tried to speak.
“Maybe you –?” Briagh turned back to Careyn.
“No.” She shook her head. “The Princess has a right to speak her mind.”
“Her mind is unhinged!”
Briagh shook his head in disbelief. As she screamed and yelled at Endorian, her madness just seemed to grow and when the guards tried to restrain her she struggled against them. The guards in turn clearly didn't know what to do with her. She was a princess after all. Just to lay hands on her was an offence. Meanwhile more guards and rangers were gathering around them. Hands moved to weapons and no one seemed certain about what was happening. Others surrounded Endorian, even though he was saying very little by then. But he presented a frightening figure and the Princess kept screaming at them to kill him. That he was a morph. That he was dangerous and about to attack. Things could be about to go very badly, and Briagh worried that he would see a fellow morph killed shortly. If so it would be because of his actions.
Then another thought crossed his mind as the Princess continued her tirade. Endorian was weak. Both physically and emotionally. He couldn't defend himself no matter how frightening his appearance. And he didn't even want to try. He had the look of a man who just wanted to give up and let it all be over with. A man who wanted to die. But Briagh couldn't allow that. He had seen too much suffering in his life. He had felt it himself. And he would not allow another morph to suffer at her hands.
Swiftly Briagh took off his jacket and vest and dismounted. It was always good to dismount. And no one paid him the slightest bit of attention save for Careyn who watched him closely. She probably even guessed his plan when she saw him undressing. But she didn't try to stop him. A heartbeat later he shifted, and a dappled panther leapt out of his trousers and shoes and padded slowly out into the middle of the courtyard. It was then that people started paying him some attention. Even the Princess finally fell quiet as she stared at him. She even stopped struggling against the guards. No one ignored a huge jungle cat walking towards them. But most important of all she'd stopped screaming at everyone to kill Endorian.
When he was midway between her and Endorian he shifted again, standing there naked in front of her. Maybe he should have been embarrassed by that, but he had long since passed that stage. She'd just have to deal with the sight.
“Princess Elan, perhaps you should listen to Endorian's tale before you scream and shout anymore.” Briagh shifted back to his panther and waited, hoping his words had been heard. They hadn't been. Not by her anyway. She promptly started screaming and yelling at everyone again.
But she stopped hurriedly when Briagh roared at her and her face, already white with anger, whitened some more with fear. Even the rangers trained in combat were looking a little pale as their hands went to their weapons. From fifteen feet or so his roar was a powerful weapon.
After that things fell quiet. Nearly everyone's eyes were on him. But that was good. While everyone was concentrating on him it gave Endorian a chance to speak. To tell her his truth. Though it took him a few moments to gather his wits together. He really was a broken man Briagh thought; Endorian’s anger was just a bandage to cover the injury done to him.
“Princess Elan, does this look like something anyone, morph or not, would willingly do to themselves?” Endorian indicated himself, and the obvious deformities of his form. His voice was filled with pain and bitterness. But there was no anger in it.
“I had a life. A family that I loved. A good position as a master at the Windgarth Academy. By the Great Sage I taught both your brothers their history. And the curse
of my blood was completely hidden. I would never have done anything to jeopardise that.”
That was the truth Briagh knew. But he knew others wouldn't understand. Least of all the Princess. She had no idea at all what it was like to have to live a life of fear.
“But then that demon blooded technologist found out somehow. He had me arrested – without a single charge being laid – and thrown in the royal dungeon. He had me tortured. He had my family arrested too, despite the fact that none of them carry the curse of my blood.”
“Liar! Barachalla wouldn't do that!” The Princess yelled at him, losing a little control. “He was a good man. A kind man.”
Before she lost herself in her fury though Briagh roared once more, reminding her that he was there. It seemed to quieten her down quickly.
