by J. L. Doty
Morgin muttered the words of power AnnaRail had taught him. She said that if he concentrated hard enough, they would help him learn control. So he muttered and concentrated, fearful that, as before, it wouldn’t help, and Roland would spank him.
The footsteps approached from across the room. Morgin squeezed his eyes shut and whispered the words over and over, thinking about each in its turn, knowing that he would fail. The footsteps stopped only inches away. “Very good, Morgin. You’re learning. Now try to relax when you concentrate and you’ll find it easier.”
Morgin squeezed his eyes open. Roland stood over him, smiling. “Avis tells me you weren’t at dinner with the rest of the children. Are you still sulking over that spanking I gave you?”
Morgin dare not answer.
“Are you hungry?”
Morgin nodded.
“Good. So am I.” Roland extended his hand. “Come. Let’s get something to eat. I’m sure we can find some leftovers to munch on. And we can talk, you and me. What do you say?”
Morgin said nothing, though his stomach growled an answer instead. He stood and cautiously accepted Roland’s outstretched hand.
~~~
“How is JohnEngine?” Olivia demanded, storming into AnnaRail’s chambers. “I hear Morgin hurt him rather badly. I swear I’ll personally tear that little guttersnipe apart with my bare hands.”
“Calm down, mother,” AnnaRail said. “JohnEngine has some bruises and minor cuts that will heal quickly, and he will hopefully learn something about picking fights. Besides, how much damage can two eight year old boys do to one another?”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed angrily. “You say JohnEngine picked the fight?”
AnnaRail nodded. “And Morgin gave him a sound thrashing. Unfortunately, he used his shadows to do it and he’s been punished for that, as JohnEngine has been punished for picking the fight in the first place.”
Olivia frowned, perplexed. “I don’t understand you. You sound pleased.”
AnnaRail shrugged. “In a way, I am. It seems JohnEngine has been picking on Morgin regularly, has been acting the bully, inciting the other boys against him; a very cowardly thing, but I suppose a very boyish thing.
“Well now, it seems that JohnEngine was up to his usual tricks this afternoon. And Morgin, as he has been known to do before when faced with a difficult situation, vanished into a shadow. But instead of going someplace to hide as usual, he turned on JohnEngine and beat him mercilessly. I’m afraid JohnEngine was utterly helpless against an opponent that was virtually invisible.” AnnaRail smiled and chuckled.
“But I don’t understand you,” Olivia said. “You seem to be happy about that.”
“Oh I am, mother. What better way for JohnEngine to learn the rightful reward for cowardly violence than to be punished by his intended victim? I hope JohnEngine learned something today.
“And look at Morgin. He finally faced up to someone he was afraid of. I’ve been waiting for two years to see that. It’s the first time he hasn’t run, the first time he’s stood up to his fears.”
Olivia nodded. Her frown slowly changed to a look of comprehension. “I begin to understand,” she said. “But this Morgin child is an odd one, what with his shadows. I would like to speak with him. Where is he?”
AnnaRail shrugged. “Actually, I don’t know.”
Olivia’s frown returned. “You don’t know?”
“No,” AnnaRail said. “He seems to have found a hiding place with a certain enchantment to it, for I can detect him neither here nor in the netherworld.”
“That is serious, daughter.”
AnnaRail shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “He’s used it before, but never for more than an hour or two, and only when he felt badly hurt. We all need a place to be alone at times, and he has his. I’ll only begin to worry if he’s gone over long.”
Olivia considered AnnaRail’s words for a moment, then shrugged. “Very well. We’ll allow the brat his private hole, as long as he doesn’t abuse the privilege.”
And with that, Olivia turned and left, and was gone as quickly as she’d come.
~~~
Morgin sat smugly within his alcove and watched the witches pass by. They were looking for him, but they would not find him, not as long as he stayed within the alcove. Even Roland could not find him here.
He had decided that this time he would never leave the alcove. He would stay here forever, and the witches could search for him until they were blue. If only he’d thought to bring along some food.
DaNoel and MichaelOff stopped in the hallway just outside the alcove.
“Any sign of him?” MichaelOff asked.
“No,” said DaNoel. He leaned against what to him was solid stone wall, but to Morgin it was the entrance to the alcove, a space through which he could easily pass. From within he could see the flesh of DaNoel’s hand flatten as it pressed against a wall that Morgin did not perceive as even being there.
“Why do we have to waste our time looking for him?” DaNoel asked angrily.
“Because grandmother wants to find him,” MichaelOff said, “and is angry that she can’t. Your mother says to look for a short while then don’t bother any longer. She said she’ll take care of grandmother.”
DaNoel shook his head, pulled his hand away from the wall, and he and MichaelOff walked away down the hall.
Morgin had been standing with his nose only inches from DaNoel’s hand, marveling at how the older boy could lean against nothing. He had always known the alcove was a magical place, for no one could find him when he hid there. He’d gone looking for it a hundred times and it was never where it should be, nor anywhere else for that matter. But when he desperately needed a place where the wizards and witches could not find him, then it would appear in the oddest of places; an alcove, several feet deep, sometimes set in a wall only inches thick. He’d always known it was enchanted, and now DaNoel’s hand had confirmed that.
His stomach growled. He was hungry, and getting hungrier. Perhaps he could sneak into the kitchen, steal some food, and return before he was caught. With that thought in mind he stepped out into the hall, then suddenly realized the mistake he’d made. He spun about to confront a featureless stone wall. The alcove was gone, and he knew from experience that he would not see it again until it was ready.
Chapter 3: To Glimpse the Wizard
Morgin stood motionless as the other boys closed in upon him. There was no escape, no rescue, so he made a run for it, charging into their midst with all the speed and force he could muster. Badly outnumbered, he ended up face down in the dirt with several of them on top of him, then was lifted back to his feet by their combined strength. He struggled uselessly, then, as both of his arms were twisted painfully behind his back, tried to cry out, but his screams were muffled by an old rag that someone crammed into his mouth. Finally, defeated, he lay still.
JohnEngine swaggered forward. He looked Morgin over carefully, scornfully, then spoke loudly, addressing the other boys. “It seems we have captured some vermin here,” he said, his fists resting arrogantly on his hips. “Now what is to be done with vermin? Any ideas?”
“Throw him in the river,” someone shouted.
JohnEngine shook his head. “No. The river’s too far, too much trouble.”
“The pig wallow,” someone else suggested.
Again JohnEngine shook his head. “No. The pig wallow will only make him homesick.”
They all laughed.
“No,” JohnEngine said. “We have to teach this vermin a lesson.” He thought for a moment, then his eyes lit up with an idea. He reached into his tunic and pulled out a short, stubby candle.
The other boys snickered, seeing in the candle some significance that was not evident to Morgin.
“Let’s go,” JohnEngine hollered, and they dragged him away to some unknown purpose.
He was half carried, half pushed, to a dank, musty, subterranean storage room deep within the bowels of the castle. It was an old room
filled with abandoned casks and pots and chests, the contents of which held no interest for Morgin’s captors. While three of them held him, the rest dismantled a considerable pile of refuse that had been stacked in one corner, finally exposing a large and jagged hole in the wall, beyond which resided complete darkness.
“What’s that?” Morgin asked.
JohnEngine smiled. “Elhiyne goes far deeper into the earth than most people know. The old castle was built almost entirely underground, though most of it has since been walled off. But here, we have access, and you, vermin, are going to join us while we do some exploring.”
Morgin resisted, but his efforts were futile against so many. They pulled him through the jagged hole, laughing at him. Inside they paused only to light a candle, then they dragged him off into the darkness.
Morgin realized instantly that these were not crude caves but smooth, stone walls with ceilings and floors. And while he could see little in the flickering shadows of the candle’s light, he found that in the ways of Rat the thief he knew the darkness as his captors never would. A sudden calm descended upon him as he realized that he need only bide his time.
At each intersection of the ancient corridors the boys paused to examine chalk marks on the walls. They had placed some code there during earlier explorations, a code that appeared to inform them of their location, and was obviously the means by which they intended to return. Morgin began to understand that the corridors of the old castle were labyrinthine.
Eventually they pulled him into a narrow side passage, with walls and ceiling so close that they held the flickering shadows of the candle almost at hand. They stopped at a small wooden door, pulled it open and hurled him into the room beyond. He tumbled across the dusty floor of what he guessed to be a rather small cell of unknown purpose. JohnEngine and his followers entered behind him.
“We’re going to leave you now, vermin,” JohnEngine said. “I would advise you not to strike out on your own. Without a candle you stand no chance, and even with one you’d not understand our guide markings. And if you’re foolish enough to become hopelessly lost, not even we can find you then, and you’ll rot here for the rest of your days.”
“Will you come back for me?” Morgin asked.
JohnEngine thought about that for a moment. “I suppose so,” he said, “in a day or two, when we have time.” Then without another word he spun about and left. The rest followed, closing the small door with a loud chunk.
Morgin jumped up immediately and pressed his ear against it. He heard their voices receding slowly into the distance, laughing loudly at his expense. He waited until certain they’d not hear him, then he lifted the latch on the old door and leaned against it. It creaked slowly open, and he sighed with relief that it had no lock. The fools had expected the darkness to hold him.
He stepped through the door, closed it and moved silently in the wake of his captors. There was never a question in his mind about the direction he should choose, for he was in darkness, and darkness was like shadow, and in shadow he always knew his way, even more so than in the blinding light of day.
He caught up with them quickly, then held back, following just beyond the limit of the candle’s light, dancing among the shadows that seemed so much a part of his solitary existence.
“Are you really going to leave him there for two days?” one of the boys asked.
“No,” JohnEngine said, laughing loudly. “If he’s missing through the night mother’ll find out and have my hide. We’ll just let him stew in the dark for a couple of hours. By that time he should be a whimpering mess.”
The other boys laughed at JohnEngine’s clever plan, and Morgin chose that instant to act. He picked a shadow he knew would pass close to JohnEngine and melted into it, and as JohnEngine’s candle came within reach he gave a light puff of breath and blew it out. Darkness descended, utter and complete.
“What happened?” someone gasped.
“Stay calm,” JohnEngine said. “The candle went out. It’ll only take a second or two to light it.”
Morgin, just one more body jostling against the rest in the darkness, stood calmly in the midst of them and watched JohnEngine fumble in his tunic for a striker and flint. He knew he wasn’t really watching him, for the image that filled his mind remained unchanged even when he closed his eyes, but he nevertheless thought of it that way.
He waited until JohnEngine had retrieved his striker, then reached out quickly and snatched the candle from his hand.
“Oh damn!” JohnEngine swore.
“What’s wrong?” someone asked.
“I dropped the candle. Does anyone have a spare?”
“I do,” a boy named Dannasul said, reaching into his own tunic. He fumbled for a moment, then held his candle blindly out in JohnEngine’s direction. “Here,” he said.
Morgin reached out and took the candle, and Dannasul relaxed, assuming JohnEngine had taken it.
JohnEngine groped forward in the darkness, pushing Morgin unknowingly aside to grasp Dannasul by the shoulders. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” Dannasul asked.
“The damn candle.”
“I just gave it to you.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes I did.”
“You must have dropped it.”
“Well it can’t have rolled far. Both candles must be here at our feet.”
“All right,” JohnEngine said angrily. “Everyone down on their hands and knees. Let’s find those candles.”
Morgin stepped back several paces to watch. He was enjoying this thoroughly, watching them grope about blindly, grabbing at one another, pouncing upon the slightest bit of debris in the hope that it was one of the missing candles, both of which he now held in his own hands. Slowly their groping became more frantic; their voices rose in pitch as they realized the candles were nowhere to be found. Their futile efforts raised a cloud of dust from the long undisturbed floor, and several of them began to cough, some to cry.
Morgin chuckled. He considered leaving them there in the darkness. He would have no trouble finding his way back, and they could, as JohnEngine had put it, rot here for the rest of their days. But no, that was unfair. JohnEngine had intended, no matter how cruelly, that Morgin’s capture should last no more than a few hours, though they wanted him to think he was going to rot forever in the dark.
Morgin decided to return same for same, and as JohnEngine had said, he would “. . . let them stew in the dark for a couple of hours.”
“Everyone calm down,” JohnEngine shouted. “We have to stay together. We mustn’t get separated. Let’s grasp hands, and no one let go.”
“But how do we find our way?”
“I think I can remember it,” JohnEngine said. “I’ve been over it often enough. We take a left at the next corridor, then skip three, and right after that it should be a straight walk from there.”
Morgin stifled a laugh as they started out, for JohnEngine’s first mistake was to start in the wrong direction. Their course was taking them deeper into the old castle, not out of it. Morgin followed.
It took them almost an hour to realize they were lost, then another for it to sink into their very bones, and a third for them to finally decide their predicament was all JohnEngine’s fault. They collapsed in the middle of a corridor, berating him, some crying, some swearing, all of them radiating a fear that Morgin could readily sense. He understood fear, and it was that which brought out his compassion.
He sat down next to JohnEngine, who sat strangely quiet, his face buried between his knees, which he had tucked up close to his chest.
“Here,” Morgin said, holding out a candle. But then he realized that unlike him, JohnEngine could not see in the blackness that surrounded them. Morgin pressed the candled into JohnEngine’s hand.
JohnEngine started, groping at the familiar feel of the wax, pressing the candle close to his face as if he could see it in the dark. “I’ve found a candle,” he shouted, leaping to his feet.
Suddenly they were all on their feet, listening anxiously while JohnEngine brought out his striker and flint and a small bit of tinder. He failed through several tries, then the tinder caught, he lit the candle and light flared in the hallway where light had not shown for a thousand years.
They shouted and cheered, hugging each other and slapping JohnEngine on the back. And then slowly their joy died, for they realized they were in a place they had never explored before, with no chalk marks to guide them. They sat down silently, once again lost.
Morgin, standing at the edge of the candle’s light, stepped calmly in among them. They looked up at him uncaringly.
“Where did you come from?” JohnEngine asked.
Morgin drew no satisfaction from the fear in JohnEngine’s eyes. “I followed you.”
“Then you’re lost too.”
“No,” Morgin said. “I know the way.”
JohnEngine was on his feet in an instant. “Have you been marking or back-trail?”
Morgin shook his head. “No. I just know the way.”
JohnEngine sat down. “You’re lying. Or else you’re a fool.”
“Or maybe you’re a fool,” Morgin said angrily. He held out the other candle.
“Where did you get that?” JohnEngine asked.
“I took it from Dannasul, as I took yours from you.”
JohnEngine accepted that without emotion. “Then it was you?”
Morgin nodded.
“Do you really know the way?”
Morgin nodded again.
JohnEngine stood slowly, unexcitedly. “Lead the way,” he said, but his voice held no conviction, no belief.
“I can’t,” Morgin said. “Not until you blow out your candle. I don’t know the way in the light. I know it only in the dark.”
They looked at him oddly, though strangely enough, only in JohnEngine’s eyes could he see no revulsion, merely indecision, and perhaps some understanding. He stared at Morgin for a long, silent moment.
