Emerald- Good and Evil

by M. D. Grimm

  “You don’t have the balls,” he seethed.

  I smiled slowly, nothing to contain my wrath. “You wanna bet?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Aishe

  I forced myself to watch. I had to. My stomach twisted and my heart clenched, but I watched as Morgorth punished his father for the torments of his childhood. But I knew it wasn’t only his crimes against Morgorth my mate punished. Lazur had broken a great many people along his journey toward power. And now Morgorth broke him.

  There were a lot of bones in a body, and Morgorth seemed intent on breaking them all. I flinched when I heard the cracks and the snaps. Lazur’s howls echoed all around us. His curses, his pleas, nearly shattered my ability to stay. I wondered if I’d now heard all the words of magick Morgorth ever created; some he shouted, others he murmured, still others I never heard, so drowned were they by Lazur’s screams of agony. It amazed me to hear the melody of them, the beauty of their rhythm even when were connected to such ugly acts.

  This was a side of Morgorth I only had glimpses of. This was who he’d been before I met him. He had told me about that time and those years in unflinching detail. But to see it, hear it, even smell it, was something far beyond my original understanding. I became queasy when he mutilated his father’s genitals. But unlike his dark years, he wasn’t taking his anger out on the innocent. He was finally taking his anger out on the one who deserved it most. He felt every single break, stab, cut. I couldn’t say what he felt, but I suspected it was mixture of emotions, ranging from pleasure to remorse. I didn’t know, because I couldn’t understand the horror he’d faced at the hands of one who should have protected him.

  Some might question whether this was vengeance or justice. But who had the right to judge? Until someone was subjected to the torments Morgorth suffered, until they walked in his shoes since his birth, who were they to judge? I couldn’t judge him. I’d stopped him from using the emerald, the rest was his choice. And whatever choice he made, I would be there, waiting for him. I would never leave him.

  Lazur’s words still echoed in my mind. He’d called Morgorth his creation and a mistake. I would never forget the look on Morgorth’s face. It had been...devastation. But also a strange sense of resignation, as if he wasn’t completely surprised by the answer, but it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. I could only guess what had gone through my love’s mind at those words. Those questions he shouted at his father, the agony he must have felt... His grief and desolation were far more than I could ever fathom.

  As I reluctantly watched Morgorth torture his father, I heard a faint voice, a whisper caressing my ears. I frowned and looked down. The emerald glowed faintly, pulsing with a strange intelligence. I tried to ignore it but it seemed to grow more insistent. I stared down harder at it, and its voice rushed up, becoming stronger. I suddenly saw what I could be to Morgorth: an equal. If I had Ellegrech in my possession, I could fight side-by-side with him, no matter what the enemy. I wouldn’t be a burden to him any longer. I wouldn’t need to be protected in battle. I could protect him.

  A rather sharp howl pierced my ears and brought me back to the present. I realized I was kneeling, my hand outstretched toward the emerald. I gasped and jerked my hand away as if burned. Devious stone. It knew the weaknesses of those around it, and it was a puppet master pulling strings.

  It began to rain, hard. So thick, the sheet of it partly obscured my vision, and I was soaked in seconds. I looked over at Morgorth to see him stagger slightly. His chest heaved, his skin distressingly pale and shiny. His eyes hard rocks of amber, glowing with rage unsated. His father lay, a broken figure, like a doll torn apart by an angry child.

  I swallowed hard. I looked at the emerald. No. No, Morgorth didn’t need me that way. I might not be his equal on the magickal battlefield, but I served a more important role in his life. I protected him from himself. I protected his heart. He needed me to be a healer, to be one who never sought power, but who sought love—a home, with him. He needed me to be there when he fell, as he would fall after he killed his father. I looked at Morgorth again. He would kill Lazur, of that I was certain. Then he would collapse and he would break. I had to be there to soothe and to love. I had to be there for him just as I was. I needed to be that one person in his life who didn’t seek him for power, who didn’t see him as a tool or a villain. I saw him for who he was: Morgorth, a mage with a wounded heart.

  I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. Then I took a pouch off my belt before slowly and carefully scooping the emerald into it. I made sure it never touched my skin. The call lessened, but I still felt its caress. I tied the pouch shut before knotting the cinches to my belt.

  Never. Never will I use a stone.

  I stood up in time to see Morgorth leaning over his father. Lazur’s lips were moving. Morgorth snarled and said something back. I couldn’t hear but I didn’t dare get any closer. Then Lazur said something again. I didn’t know what it was but it seemed to snap something inside my mate. Morgorth’s fingers closed around Lazur’s throat, and he proceeded to choke the life out of him. There were many ways Morgorth could have killed his father. It would seem Morgorth preferred a hands-on, intimate way. I watched, my gut gradually growing tighter and tighter.

  Suddenly, Morgorth let go. He stood stiffly, his movements jerky. He flicked his hand, and I heard the distinctive sound of Lazur’s neck bones snapping. We stood there for a moment in silence except for the hard patter of rain. Then Morgorth snarled a word and the ground cracked open at his feet. With a decisive and rather insulting kick, Morgorth shoved his father’s body into the crack. Then, with a flick of his wrists, the ground closed again.

  I blinked in shock as I realized what he’d done. Mages believed when creatures died their bodies needed to be set to the fire, and only then could their essence return to the Mother, the source of all life. My tribe had had similar beliefs. According to his own beliefs, Morgorth was denying his father a proper burial. He was denying him a reunion with the Mother.

  I cautiously walked over to him, careful on the slippery mud. The old farm looked like a battlefield. This land would never be the same; the ground was broken, shattered, the grass and weeds no more as mud covered the entirety of the property. The house had long since smoldered to ruins and ash, the rain dousing the lingering flames. Blood mixed with the mud around Morgorth. As I came closer, I noticed other bodily fluids. I cleared my throat.

  Morgorth stood, trembling, his fists clenched, staring at the ground. The rain plastered his hair to his head, his clothes to his body, as it did mine. His magick still high, his eyes still hard amber. I couldn’t imagine what he felt.

  “Morgorth?” I said softly. I took another step toward him, my arms outstretched. He shook his head once, sharply, and I lowered my arms. He needed to break. He needed to let it out.

  Turning on his heel, Morgorth strode purposefully toward the forest that bordered one side of the property. I quickly followed him. We entered the forest and as he seemed to know where he was going, I silently followed, confused, but determined not to leave him alone.

  His ferocity and knowledge of how to inflict pain shook me deeply. He’d warned me about that other, darker side of himself, but it was easy to forget, to overlook it, when I didn’t see it with my own eyes. He was playful and loving toward me. He blushed and he laughed when I teased him. I wasn’t afraid of him, not really, but I was sick for him. No one should know such pain or how to inflict it.

  The trees grew denser as we traveled deeper inside. The rain was relentless, reaching us even through the canopy of leaves above us. I was beginning to shiver, my clothes becoming heavier. Where were we going?

  “Morgorth!”

  Still, no answer. I grew more concerned. We suddenly came across a large pile of boulders, and Morgorth disappeared between them. I rushed around them to discover a cave. I skidded to a stop to see Morgorth standing in the center, looking around as if he knew the place. His magick faded back into his core, his skin becoming t
he pasty pale it normally was, but this time it was slightly gray, as if he was ill. His eyes became dark and hollowed, his hair dripping. I realized then, in the dense light, his eyes were wet. His breath suddenly shuddered in and out, and even as I took a step toward him, he collapsed upon his knees. He gripped his head with his hands...and screamed.

  I flinched. I couldn’t stop myself. By the Hunter, his scream...it was similar, eerily similar to the scream I had loosened when I discovered my tribe was dead. It was a scream from the soul.

  I waited. I could only wait. His scream seemed to last forever, then his voice cracked and he pressed his head to the ground. I dropped my bow and slipped off my quiver before kneeling beside him. He came willingly as I gathered him into my arms. He even seemed to try crawling inside me. If that were possible, I would have let him. He sat in my lap, his face buried in my chest as sobs wracked his body. I held him as tightly as I dared, fearing he might fly apart by the strength of his cries. His arms were around my waist, tightly enough I wondered if he was trying to use me as an anchor.

  My own tears choked me as his agony cut across my heart as sharply as a knife. I cradled my precious mage, stroked his head, and kissed his temple. I couldn’t heal his wound with focused will and my own essence. No, this pain went straight down to his core. A wound that would never fully heal. It was damage to his soul.

  I pressed my face against his hair and rocked us both, giving comfort however I could.

  Chapter Twenty

  Morgorth

  An hour earlier

  I let the hatred come. I let it pour into my magick. I let the rage, the thirst for blood, vengeance, be my strength. He was the source of all my pain, my rage, my misery. He had to be destroyed.

  Magick only worked if a mage had the will, desire, and control to see it done. The will had to be hard and determined, the desire to see the results of the spell had to be strong, and the control to know right from wrong, and to know how much energy to give to each spell, was the last piece of the trifecta. If a mage doubted himself, the spell would either not work or it would backlash upon him, potentially killing him. There could be no doubt or hesitation when working magick. Mother help me, I had none. Not a single ounce.

  I broke him. I enjoyed it. For every break I had suffered at his hand, I gave him twice the pain. For every scar he’d cut into my flesh, I gave him two. The snaps, the pops, the cracks, his screams, it was all music. I flung him into the air, used the strand of hair to control his limbs. I wrenched his arms behind his back, where they snapped, then I wrenched them forward again. I burned him, scarred him with fire. I used flashes of force to slice his skin, to make him bleed. I gave him pain, but nothing that would kill him...not yet. I wasn’t done with him yet.

  I enjoyed torturing him more than I had Drasyln, more than I had Elorn. It was a sick pleasure—I knew even as I felt it, wallowed in it. His was the face I’d seen when hurting those other creatures during my dark years. It felt great, it felt incredible that it truly was him now, not a pale substitute. I could face him now without fear and it felt orgasmic.

  My magic burned and boiled, and though I felt my exhaustion, I pushed past it. I hadn’t sated my bloodlust yet. I hadn’t healed that wound inside me. I hadn’t placated the child I’d once been. How long this lasted, I couldn’t say. But, finally, I paused. He lay on the ground, his limbs at odd angles. His breathing was faint and broken, every breath sounded like knives were slashing at his throat. I had damaged him internally as well as externally.

  I even mutilated his genitals...just for Lorelei.

  He lay in blood and foul liquids. I vaguely realized it was raining, turning the ground into a muddy soup. I heaved in a breath, shaking, my eyes still burning with rage. His words before taunted me, fed my rage and magick like fuel. But I knew it was time. It was time for me to end this, finally, once and for all.

  I knelt beside him. One of his eyes, the one I let him keep, opened. His bruised and bloody lips moved. I glared but curiosity had me bending down closer.

  “Repeat that, bastard.” I didn’t recognize my own voice.

  “My son,” he croaked.

  I snarled, stared into his eyes. “Yeah, I’m your son. The son that’s going to kill you.”

  He grinned. I thought I’d broken his jaw. His eyes lit with something I thought I’d burned out of him.

  “Little Lazur. I’m your father, the one that created you.”

  My jaw clenched but I forced words out. “Filth. My father is Master Ulezander.”

  “You’re just like me,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard me. “I’m so proud of you.”

  I snapped. My fingers wrapped around his neck and squeezed. His eye bugged, his smile vanished. He struggled weakly but his body was broken, he had nothing left to give. But even as I squeezed, even as I watched the life die from his eye, felt it drain from his body, I knew he’d given his last, great parting shot. With those words, he sliced me deeper than he ever had before. He left a wound that would fester and leave an ugly scar.

  You’re just like me. I’m so proud of you.

  Proud of you.

  You’re just like me.

  No. I wasn’t. No. I squeezed harder. He was dead, I knew he was, but still I squeezed. Then, my own breath thready and raspy, I jerked back. I stood. With a flick of my wrist and a surge of power I broke his neck, just to be sure. With a trembling gut and chaotic mind, I managed to focus my magick and crack the earth open. With a sound of disgust and loathing, I kicked his body into the crack. I watched his shattered body fall and felt...confused.

  The earth snapped shut and I stood there under the rain, in the mud, soaked to the bone. I felt scraped raw, wrung out and twisted tightly. I kept my magick at the surface because I knew the moment I let it settle into my core I would break.

  Then I felt him. Aishe. I saw him out of the corner of my eye.

  “Morgorth?” He held out his arms to me. I shook my head sharply. No, not here. Not in this wretched place. I couldn’t break, I couldn’t heal, I couldn’t be soothed here. I spun on my heel and strode into the forest. I knew he would follow. Mother and Hunter bless him—he always followed me.

  I knew where I needed to go, where I would be soothed. My clothes weighed me down, my boots muddy, filthy, but I barely noticed the discomfort. It was nothing compared to what I’d once suffered. I needed my cave. I needed to remember that moment of sheer happiness. The first time experiencing it. I’d found my magick in this forest, in that cave. Alone and free, I found the power, the joy of being a mage. I didn’t know what that meant, not then, but I learned. Finding my magick had led me to the kingdom, to Master Ulezander. My magick opened doors. It had been my first love.

  I needed such memories if I was going to recover from this. If there was any hope for me.

  You’re just like me. I’m so proud of you.

  No. No, I’m not!

  I walked into the cave.

  “Morgorth!” Aishe ran in behind me.

  I looked around as I settled the magick into my core. I felt drained, heavy, weak. The cave hadn’t changed much from back then, and I remembered my joy. But I couldn’t feel it now. I turned, feeling sick, feeling alone.

  I looked at Aishe. What would I do if he turned away from me? He saw what I’d done to my own father. He saw the monster, the true villain. He saw and yet he followed me. The ugliness of my past and origins were bared, festering and naked for his perusal.

  He followed me.

  I’m so proud of you.

  A small noise escaped me as I fell to my knees. I gripped my head.

  Monster.

  Abomination.

  Destroyer.

  Thou art a mistake of nature.

  Thou shouldst have been destroyed while still in thy mother’s womb!

  Your eyes...you’re Lazur’s child.

  Dear Mother, were they right?

  Proud of you.

  I screamed. With their voices in my head, I screamed. I tried to drown them ou
t, but the louder I screamed, the louder they became. Was I like my father? Was he right? I shouldn’t believe anything he said, but... but was he right? I’ve tortured, I’ve killed. I’ve maimed and brutalized. I’ve found enjoyment in the fear of others, in making them cower. I’ve enjoyed their screams and their pain. I’ve sought power.

  I shook my head. Were they all right about me?

  I just killed my father and enjoyed it. It was a dark, sick enjoyment. Did that make me a monster?

  My voice broke and my scream stopped. I leaned forward, my head thunking onto the ground as tears rained down my face.

  I was suddenly in Aishe’s arms. His smell, his touch... Mother, I needed him. I curled into him, pressed against him. He held me tightly as I burrowed in, as my sobs wracked my body, scraped against my throat. He was my anchor, my lovely, sweet, stubborn dialen. He was my light. My love for him was my one redeeming quality. His love for me, my miracle.

  I realized, with my head buried against his chest, I would endure everything all over again. I would repeat everything I’d done and said, knowing my path would lead to him. All my pain, all my misery, couldn’t stack up to the gift that was Aishe. He was truly my reason for everything. The one thing that could redeem me, that could save me. He would never see me as a monster. I trusted him with everything inside me, no matter how broken and beaten it might be. There was a time when if anyone had said I would feel such a profound love for anyone, I would have considered them mad and put them out of their misery.