The Fenimeldiyaan: Origins - Chapter 2
A tear slid down the priest’s face at the sight of the scars on River’s back. He murmured under his breath in his own language. “May the Goddess protect ye from further harm until I can get ye outa here”.
Two cells down, he switched to another Varathusian dialect — a lazy-sounding street slang — and engaged in conversation with two filthy ragged men. At one point they laughed along with him at some joke he had made. They huddled close to the bars and bumped fists with the priest before he left.
--------------------------------------
Ciracea banished the images from her spying crystal and prepared herself for the evening inspection rounds in the dungeon.
Keeping the little priest’s face in her mind’s eye, she spoke to her guards while they walked alongside her. “Tis the first time a priest has visited since I took over as Governess. You worked for the previous Governor. Did priests attend regularly during his tenure?”
“Not regularly, my Lady” one of them answered. “And never a foreign priest. The few who did come were from the Fesnarian Unitarian Order”.
“Interesting” she mused. “Why would a Carpathian priest from the Order of Justice travel way outside his native Fenian Galaxy to visit prisoners here? If he should return, I’d very much like to speak to him. He should be brought to my receiving room”.
“Understood, my Lady” the guard acknowledged.
--------------------------------------
On hearing the approaching footsteps, the dungeon guards packed up their playing cards and returned them to their hiding place under a loose flagstone. Two of them watched the cells while the other two busied themselves writing reports.
Ciracea moved in on one of the guards, standing uncomfortably close and patting him on the shoulder. “So your secret be revealed at last and it took a priest from another world to notice”.
Flustered, the guard stammered “I … I don’t know what you mean, m-my L-lady”.
Affecting a girlish giggle, Ciracea pointed to the single playing card which lay on the floor beneath the table, overlooked in the haste to hide the rest of the pack. “I know about your card games and about your cheating. I wanted to see how long it would take your colleagues to notice. If you go by the Rekantian calendar, tis four months since I took up the Governorship of this fortress. The staff records indicate that you have been stationed here for two years and in all that time no-one noticed your cheating. I can only conclude that either you must have some skill or your colleagues must be particularly unobservant”.
The cheating guard started to say something else, but Ciracea cut him off with a wave of her hand and a silencing spell. “I will indulge your recreational activities as long as no prisoners escape. But I will be keeping a close eye on all of you”.
She swept along to the cells, the hem of her heavy robes dragging along the flagstones and the heels of her boots making small clicking sounds.
She addressed the sullen woman in the first cell. “Lady Fiametta Scalani”. Somehow she managed to make the name sound more like an insult than an honour. “A word of advice. Priests speak with forked tongues. Don’t let Father Alberto give you false hope. If he promised to get you out of here, he was lying to you. The only way to improve your circumstances be via an enduring alliance uniting the Scalani to the DeGraaw. Think on that next time you feel like reciting prayers to your Goddess of Justice”.
Fiametta scowled but made no reply.
Ciracea paused, sensing something beyond the walls of the fortress. A hint of darkness, accompanied by an earthy, woody aroma. “A scion of Dante?” she whispered, a smile playing on her scarlet lips. “Interesting. More so than the Carpathian priest”.
She turned and walked away from the cells, abandoning her inspection.
Relieved to have escaped another round of Ciracea’s threats, River Meer opened her book to the page where she had begun writing her account for the priest. Something fell out onto her lap and she clutched at it. It was a brand new pencil.
On the page below her unfinished writing, she read “A glimmer of hope in the darkness. Wind turns green and the Goddess smiles. Everything will be the right size. With respect and affection, Chimera Obscura”. The handwriting was far more elegant than her own. Beneath it was a tiny sketch of a serpent eating its tail, perfect in every detail.
-------------------------------
Morgan paused for a rest, his breathing laboured and his forehead slick with sweat. More sweat ran down his back beneath his robes, making him feel damp and uncomfortable in the gathering darkness. He stared up at the incline, his gaze travelling to the fortress at the top of the hill. That was where the enticing trail led and despite his fatigue, he had to follow it.
A faint fragrance reached his nostrils. He had smelled it before but could not remember where. It grew stronger and a soft female voice projected into his mind. “Morgan Shadowbinder, come to me. Without me, you be incomplete. Without you, I be incomplete. We belong together. Come to me and let us become whole”.
Tendrils of alluring darkness gripped at him and the heady aroma intoxicated him. Taking a deep breath, he struggled up the hill, forcing himself to continue even when his lungs burned from the unaccustomed exertion and his legs felt as though they would give way beneath him.
The ascent to the fortress seemed to take hours but Morgan had no care for the passage of time. The heavy door creaked open before he had a chance to pull the bell-cord.
A vision of loveliness stood before him, radiant with warmth and joy. The jewels in her tiara sparkled and her blonde curls shone like a halo. She smiled at him and held out her arms in a universal gesture of welcome. “Greetings, dearest Morgan. I be Ciracea DeGraaw and I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet someone of the Dante lineage. I expect you must be in need of a bath and food after your journey. Come with me”.
Too astonished to form any coherent reply, he trailed along behind her.
--------------------------------
River examined the pencil, wondering where it had come from. It was identical to her old one, which was a strange comfort. The girl looked out into the corridor, but the little priest had disappeared by that time. Surely it couldn’t have been him. His name had been Father Alberto, not the Chimera Obscura.
Her finger traced the snake, and the peculiar words. Who would draw such a terrible picture with such detail? Drawn to the images, she curled her legs up beneath her and continued examining the writing and the drawing. What a peculiar thing …
Feeling oddly restless now that Alberto had gone, Gerald paced his cell again. Surely one of his friends knew that he’d gotten sent to the wrong place by now! Frustrated, the mercenary laid down on the bed.
Unfortunately, his antsy nature led him to stand and start to pace again. Good heavens, when was he going to get out of the cell? Maybe he could pretend to agree to work for the witch, and when she wasn’t looking, run away. Granted, she probably had magic to prevent him from getting away, and then he’d end up right back where he started.
Huffing impatiently, Gerald went back to his push-ups. At least he wasn’t chained up and could continue his training regimen. He started mumbling the numbers under his breath. “One, two, three …”
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Morgan continued following the sorceress, his curiosity piqued. Not that he had much choice — his dark magic was leading him on, like following like. Some small part of his mind wondered where Apollo had gone, but he pushed the thought aside. His cousin could take care of himself.
“You said Dante,” Morgan said, puffing slightly from exhaustion. “What do you know of him?” A part of Morgan was always desperate to know more about his father, the mysterious figure that had abandoned his mother to be executed. A figure Morgan barely remembered.
One that he wasn’t sure he wanted to, yet the temptation was always too much.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Apollo made the trek up the mountain to the fortress in silence. Morgan’s magic must have helped him during the climb, for there was no other way that he would have gone all that way ahead of his cousin. Sighing, Apollo continued, wondering what he’d find at the top. Not that it much mattered; he had to go, for Morgan’s sake.
Finally, Apollo made it to the creepy fortress. He flicked up the white cowl of his cloak and held his staff in one hand. The darkness surrounding the place made the healer shudder, but an aura of light covered him. It gave him a slight radiance as he walked the final steps to the gate of the fortress.
Anxiously, the healer glanced around once more. This was the last thing he’d wanted to do, but he had no choice. Inhaling slowly, he raised his fist and knocked on the door.
----------------------------------------
“Dante and I go way back” Ciracea remarked. “Of course, we were only involved for a short time and no offspring resulted from our brief dalliance. To think, in different circumstances you might have been my son. But if you want to know personal details about him, you’ll have to find him and ask him yourself. He never gave anything away, not even in his least guarded moments. A monument to isolation and self-control, you might say”.
She stopped outside a door, made from stone like the one at the main entrance, only on a smaller scale. “Your suite of rooms, dearest Morgan. One of my servants will run you a bath and in the meantime, my kitchen staff will be preparing a meal for you”.
Morgan needed no further encouragement. He entered the room, noticing the huge comfy canopied bed, the set of clean robes laid out for him and the vast array of reading material in the bookcase on the far side of the room.
Wisps of steam wafted from another door. He took off his boots and padded across the scarlet rug. Inside, a maid in a traditional black dress and white apron tested the water temperature and added scented bathing herbs. She looked up and smiled at him. “Is everything to your satisfaction, my Lord?”
“Er … yes, thanks” he spluttered, feeling his face reddening and knowing that it was not entirely due to the steam rising from the tub. “I’d like some privacy now if you don’t mind”.
The maid bowed and left the bathing chamber. Morgan closed the door before removing his sweat-soaked clothing and immersing himself in the fragrant water.
-----------------------------------
“Another visitor” Ciracea murmured, translocating herself back to the main entrance hall of the fortress. “Three in one day, all of them from far-flung places. And I thought Rekantia was an unremarkable backwater. Clearly I must have been mistaken”.
Smoothing her robes and putting on her best dazzling smile, she opened the door and greeted the white-robed healer. “Welcome, traveller from afar. What brings you here?”
Apollo considered for a moment, deciding on a vague version of the truth. “I was travelling with my cousin and we got separated in the forest. He’s not that good at finding his way and I wondered if he might have come here asking for directions”.
“This cousin of yours … what does he look like?” Ciracea enquired.
“Not very tall, black hair, wears black robes” Apollo stated.
Ciracea shook her head, making her curls dance around on her shoulders. “Sorry, I haven’t seen anyone fitting that description. But if I do, I’ll be sure to tell them that you were looking for them. Where will you be staying?”
Apollo sighed, realising that she had lied to him. Morgan had to be in the fortress. There was no other place he could have gone. “Camping in the forest. I suppose I’d better return to our campsite and see if he’s found his way back there”.
“You should be careful in the forest at night” she warned. “Predators abound. I hope you have suitable weapons to protect yourself against attacks”.
“I’ll manage” he muttered, opening the door and letting himself out into the darkness.
He walked a circuit of the fortress, wondering what to do. He had sensed immense power radiating from the woman and knew that it would be foolish to rush in and try to rescue Morgan without a plan. To start with, he needed to find out if there was another way into the fortress.
-----------------------------------
Morgan staggered out of the bath and wrapped himself in one of the large fluffy towels. The thought of clean clothes, decent food and a warm bed filled him with satisfaction, marred only by a slight twinge of guilt over Apollo spending the night alone in the forest.
Morgan, however, was not alone. Reclining on the bed was a little priest, head propped up on the pillows, eyes closed, smoking a herbal cigarette. “Nice crib ye got here, pilgrim”. The words were spoken in Vordellan but Morgan could not place the man’s accent.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my room?” he demanded.
The priest grinned and pulled himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Rooms this luxurious don’t come for free. Ye might be interested to know that there be other accommodations on the lower levels, where the less favoured guests be staying”.
Morgan stared at the priest. “You didn’t answer my question. Who are you and what are you doing in my room?”
The priest stood and bowed. “Fhadre Alberto Demarco of the Ordo Justo. A seeker, a traveller, much like yerself. And as for the room, like I said, it ain’t yers and it don’t come for free. Afore ye availed yerself of Governess DeGraaw’s hospitality, did ye think to ask what she wanted in return?”
“She … she said she knew my father” Morgan stuttered. “And she said something about me and her belonging together”.
Alberto gave a thoughtful nod and stroked his droopy moustache. “Aye, and I know yer cousin. The one ye abandoned out there in the forest. Well, only in passing. I saw both of ye when I were on me way here. Morgan Shadowbinder and yer cousin Apollo Lightbringer. Equal and opposite. Dark and light. Friends and rivals”.
“How comes you know so much about us?” Morgan questioned. “Are you some kind of spy?”
“Some might choose to pin that label on me”. Alberto shrugged and grinned. “Priests be keepers of knowledge. I don’t need to remind ye that knowledge be power. Our power comes from the Gods. We don’t seek it for ourselves but we use it for the greater good. I came here to free those poor souls downstairs”. He blew out a cloud of fragrant smoke, finishing his herbal cigarette and crushing the butt in his closed fist. “I’ll leave ye to yer meal and yer soft bed. Do think about what the Governess wants from ye”.
The priest’s outline wavered and shimmered before he vanished altogether, leaving Morgan wondering whether he had fallen asleep and dreamed the entire encounter.
----------------------------------
For a few minutes, Morgan stared at the bed, where the little priest had been. Had he dreamed it all? Was the man just a figment of his overactive imagination? Biting his lip, he went to the bed and put his hand down on it. The sheets were rumpled, and when he raised his hand, there were ashes stuck to his fingers.
So … he hadn’t dreamt it at all. The priest had really been there. And what had he meant, talking about the people downstairs …? The unfavourable ones. Like it had actually meant something to Morgan …
The mage froze. “No, no,” he said, grabbing his head. “Idiot!” Gerald, how could he have forgotten Gerald? He was the whole reason they were on this backwater world! And, knowing Gerald, he was likely imprisoned. “Downstairs” would be the dungeons. Gerald was locked in the dungeons by the very woman who had put Morgan in this room!
Morgan started to pace, breathing hard. How could he have been so stupid? His father had been evil, cruel and evil. Why had he thought that any woman Dante had become attached to would be his ally?
He went to the door and tried the knob. Locked, of course. Things could never be easy for him. He rested his forehead against the door, fighting down self-loathing and disgust. Why did he always fall for tricks like that?
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Apollo frowned at the window he’d found. It was locked, of course, but he used his magic to open it. Pursing his lips, he had to jump up slightly and haul himself through it. First, he’d have to check the dungeons, the obvious place, because now he had to rescue both Gerald and Morgan.
Annoyance flooded through the healer. Nothing could ever be easy for him. Whether it was his own emotions complicating the situation or his cousin struggling with darkness, things were never easy for him. Inside the keep, he cast about, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He tried to keep his light down, but the illumination wouldn’t go away. One of the unfortunate side-effects of the Lightshield.
After momentarily hesitating, he ploughed forward to find the stairs down to the dungeons.
Two cells down, he switched to another Varathusian dialect — a lazy-sounding street slang — and engaged in conversation with two filthy ragged men. At one point they laughed along with him at some joke he had made. They huddled close to the bars and bumped fists with the priest before he left.
--------------------------------------
Ciracea banished the images from her spying crystal and prepared herself for the evening inspection rounds in the dungeon.
Keeping the little priest’s face in her mind’s eye, she spoke to her guards while they walked alongside her. “Tis the first time a priest has visited since I took over as Governess. You worked for the previous Governor. Did priests attend regularly during his tenure?”
“Not regularly, my Lady” one of them answered. “And never a foreign priest. The few who did come were from the Fesnarian Unitarian Order”.
“Interesting” she mused. “Why would a Carpathian priest from the Order of Justice travel way outside his native Fenian Galaxy to visit prisoners here? If he should return, I’d very much like to speak to him. He should be brought to my receiving room”.
“Understood, my Lady” the guard acknowledged.
--------------------------------------
On hearing the approaching footsteps, the dungeon guards packed up their playing cards and returned them to their hiding place under a loose flagstone. Two of them watched the cells while the other two busied themselves writing reports.
Ciracea moved in on one of the guards, standing uncomfortably close and patting him on the shoulder. “So your secret be revealed at last and it took a priest from another world to notice”.
Flustered, the guard stammered “I … I don’t know what you mean, m-my L-lady”.
Affecting a girlish giggle, Ciracea pointed to the single playing card which lay on the floor beneath the table, overlooked in the haste to hide the rest of the pack. “I know about your card games and about your cheating. I wanted to see how long it would take your colleagues to notice. If you go by the Rekantian calendar, tis four months since I took up the Governorship of this fortress. The staff records indicate that you have been stationed here for two years and in all that time no-one noticed your cheating. I can only conclude that either you must have some skill or your colleagues must be particularly unobservant”.
The cheating guard started to say something else, but Ciracea cut him off with a wave of her hand and a silencing spell. “I will indulge your recreational activities as long as no prisoners escape. But I will be keeping a close eye on all of you”.
She swept along to the cells, the hem of her heavy robes dragging along the flagstones and the heels of her boots making small clicking sounds.
She addressed the sullen woman in the first cell. “Lady Fiametta Scalani”. Somehow she managed to make the name sound more like an insult than an honour. “A word of advice. Priests speak with forked tongues. Don’t let Father Alberto give you false hope. If he promised to get you out of here, he was lying to you. The only way to improve your circumstances be via an enduring alliance uniting the Scalani to the DeGraaw. Think on that next time you feel like reciting prayers to your Goddess of Justice”.
Fiametta scowled but made no reply.
Ciracea paused, sensing something beyond the walls of the fortress. A hint of darkness, accompanied by an earthy, woody aroma. “A scion of Dante?” she whispered, a smile playing on her scarlet lips. “Interesting. More so than the Carpathian priest”.
She turned and walked away from the cells, abandoning her inspection.
Relieved to have escaped another round of Ciracea’s threats, River Meer opened her book to the page where she had begun writing her account for the priest. Something fell out onto her lap and she clutched at it. It was a brand new pencil.
On the page below her unfinished writing, she read “A glimmer of hope in the darkness. Wind turns green and the Goddess smiles. Everything will be the right size. With respect and affection, Chimera Obscura”. The handwriting was far more elegant than her own. Beneath it was a tiny sketch of a serpent eating its tail, perfect in every detail.
-------------------------------
Morgan paused for a rest, his breathing laboured and his forehead slick with sweat. More sweat ran down his back beneath his robes, making him feel damp and uncomfortable in the gathering darkness. He stared up at the incline, his gaze travelling to the fortress at the top of the hill. That was where the enticing trail led and despite his fatigue, he had to follow it.
A faint fragrance reached his nostrils. He had smelled it before but could not remember where. It grew stronger and a soft female voice projected into his mind. “Morgan Shadowbinder, come to me. Without me, you be incomplete. Without you, I be incomplete. We belong together. Come to me and let us become whole”.
Tendrils of alluring darkness gripped at him and the heady aroma intoxicated him. Taking a deep breath, he struggled up the hill, forcing himself to continue even when his lungs burned from the unaccustomed exertion and his legs felt as though they would give way beneath him.
The ascent to the fortress seemed to take hours but Morgan had no care for the passage of time. The heavy door creaked open before he had a chance to pull the bell-cord.
A vision of loveliness stood before him, radiant with warmth and joy. The jewels in her tiara sparkled and her blonde curls shone like a halo. She smiled at him and held out her arms in a universal gesture of welcome. “Greetings, dearest Morgan. I be Ciracea DeGraaw and I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet someone of the Dante lineage. I expect you must be in need of a bath and food after your journey. Come with me”.
Too astonished to form any coherent reply, he trailed along behind her.
--------------------------------
River examined the pencil, wondering where it had come from. It was identical to her old one, which was a strange comfort. The girl looked out into the corridor, but the little priest had disappeared by that time. Surely it couldn’t have been him. His name had been Father Alberto, not the Chimera Obscura.
Her finger traced the snake, and the peculiar words. Who would draw such a terrible picture with such detail? Drawn to the images, she curled her legs up beneath her and continued examining the writing and the drawing. What a peculiar thing …
Feeling oddly restless now that Alberto had gone, Gerald paced his cell again. Surely one of his friends knew that he’d gotten sent to the wrong place by now! Frustrated, the mercenary laid down on the bed.
Unfortunately, his antsy nature led him to stand and start to pace again. Good heavens, when was he going to get out of the cell? Maybe he could pretend to agree to work for the witch, and when she wasn’t looking, run away. Granted, she probably had magic to prevent him from getting away, and then he’d end up right back where he started.
Huffing impatiently, Gerald went back to his push-ups. At least he wasn’t chained up and could continue his training regimen. He started mumbling the numbers under his breath. “One, two, three …”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Morgan continued following the sorceress, his curiosity piqued. Not that he had much choice — his dark magic was leading him on, like following like. Some small part of his mind wondered where Apollo had gone, but he pushed the thought aside. His cousin could take care of himself.
“You said Dante,” Morgan said, puffing slightly from exhaustion. “What do you know of him?” A part of Morgan was always desperate to know more about his father, the mysterious figure that had abandoned his mother to be executed. A figure Morgan barely remembered.
One that he wasn’t sure he wanted to, yet the temptation was always too much.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Apollo made the trek up the mountain to the fortress in silence. Morgan’s magic must have helped him during the climb, for there was no other way that he would have gone all that way ahead of his cousin. Sighing, Apollo continued, wondering what he’d find at the top. Not that it much mattered; he had to go, for Morgan’s sake.
Finally, Apollo made it to the creepy fortress. He flicked up the white cowl of his cloak and held his staff in one hand. The darkness surrounding the place made the healer shudder, but an aura of light covered him. It gave him a slight radiance as he walked the final steps to the gate of the fortress.
Anxiously, the healer glanced around once more. This was the last thing he’d wanted to do, but he had no choice. Inhaling slowly, he raised his fist and knocked on the door.
----------------------------------------
“Dante and I go way back” Ciracea remarked. “Of course, we were only involved for a short time and no offspring resulted from our brief dalliance. To think, in different circumstances you might have been my son. But if you want to know personal details about him, you’ll have to find him and ask him yourself. He never gave anything away, not even in his least guarded moments. A monument to isolation and self-control, you might say”.
She stopped outside a door, made from stone like the one at the main entrance, only on a smaller scale. “Your suite of rooms, dearest Morgan. One of my servants will run you a bath and in the meantime, my kitchen staff will be preparing a meal for you”.
Morgan needed no further encouragement. He entered the room, noticing the huge comfy canopied bed, the set of clean robes laid out for him and the vast array of reading material in the bookcase on the far side of the room.
Wisps of steam wafted from another door. He took off his boots and padded across the scarlet rug. Inside, a maid in a traditional black dress and white apron tested the water temperature and added scented bathing herbs. She looked up and smiled at him. “Is everything to your satisfaction, my Lord?”
“Er … yes, thanks” he spluttered, feeling his face reddening and knowing that it was not entirely due to the steam rising from the tub. “I’d like some privacy now if you don’t mind”.
The maid bowed and left the bathing chamber. Morgan closed the door before removing his sweat-soaked clothing and immersing himself in the fragrant water.
-----------------------------------
“Another visitor” Ciracea murmured, translocating herself back to the main entrance hall of the fortress. “Three in one day, all of them from far-flung places. And I thought Rekantia was an unremarkable backwater. Clearly I must have been mistaken”.
Smoothing her robes and putting on her best dazzling smile, she opened the door and greeted the white-robed healer. “Welcome, traveller from afar. What brings you here?”
Apollo considered for a moment, deciding on a vague version of the truth. “I was travelling with my cousin and we got separated in the forest. He’s not that good at finding his way and I wondered if he might have come here asking for directions”.
“This cousin of yours … what does he look like?” Ciracea enquired.
“Not very tall, black hair, wears black robes” Apollo stated.
Ciracea shook her head, making her curls dance around on her shoulders. “Sorry, I haven’t seen anyone fitting that description. But if I do, I’ll be sure to tell them that you were looking for them. Where will you be staying?”
Apollo sighed, realising that she had lied to him. Morgan had to be in the fortress. There was no other place he could have gone. “Camping in the forest. I suppose I’d better return to our campsite and see if he’s found his way back there”.
“You should be careful in the forest at night” she warned. “Predators abound. I hope you have suitable weapons to protect yourself against attacks”.
“I’ll manage” he muttered, opening the door and letting himself out into the darkness.
He walked a circuit of the fortress, wondering what to do. He had sensed immense power radiating from the woman and knew that it would be foolish to rush in and try to rescue Morgan without a plan. To start with, he needed to find out if there was another way into the fortress.
-----------------------------------
Morgan staggered out of the bath and wrapped himself in one of the large fluffy towels. The thought of clean clothes, decent food and a warm bed filled him with satisfaction, marred only by a slight twinge of guilt over Apollo spending the night alone in the forest.
Morgan, however, was not alone. Reclining on the bed was a little priest, head propped up on the pillows, eyes closed, smoking a herbal cigarette. “Nice crib ye got here, pilgrim”. The words were spoken in Vordellan but Morgan could not place the man’s accent.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my room?” he demanded.
The priest grinned and pulled himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Rooms this luxurious don’t come for free. Ye might be interested to know that there be other accommodations on the lower levels, where the less favoured guests be staying”.
Morgan stared at the priest. “You didn’t answer my question. Who are you and what are you doing in my room?”
The priest stood and bowed. “Fhadre Alberto Demarco of the Ordo Justo. A seeker, a traveller, much like yerself. And as for the room, like I said, it ain’t yers and it don’t come for free. Afore ye availed yerself of Governess DeGraaw’s hospitality, did ye think to ask what she wanted in return?”
“She … she said she knew my father” Morgan stuttered. “And she said something about me and her belonging together”.
Alberto gave a thoughtful nod and stroked his droopy moustache. “Aye, and I know yer cousin. The one ye abandoned out there in the forest. Well, only in passing. I saw both of ye when I were on me way here. Morgan Shadowbinder and yer cousin Apollo Lightbringer. Equal and opposite. Dark and light. Friends and rivals”.
“How comes you know so much about us?” Morgan questioned. “Are you some kind of spy?”
“Some might choose to pin that label on me”. Alberto shrugged and grinned. “Priests be keepers of knowledge. I don’t need to remind ye that knowledge be power. Our power comes from the Gods. We don’t seek it for ourselves but we use it for the greater good. I came here to free those poor souls downstairs”. He blew out a cloud of fragrant smoke, finishing his herbal cigarette and crushing the butt in his closed fist. “I’ll leave ye to yer meal and yer soft bed. Do think about what the Governess wants from ye”.
The priest’s outline wavered and shimmered before he vanished altogether, leaving Morgan wondering whether he had fallen asleep and dreamed the entire encounter.
----------------------------------
For a few minutes, Morgan stared at the bed, where the little priest had been. Had he dreamed it all? Was the man just a figment of his overactive imagination? Biting his lip, he went to the bed and put his hand down on it. The sheets were rumpled, and when he raised his hand, there were ashes stuck to his fingers.
So … he hadn’t dreamt it at all. The priest had really been there. And what had he meant, talking about the people downstairs …? The unfavourable ones. Like it had actually meant something to Morgan …
The mage froze. “No, no,” he said, grabbing his head. “Idiot!” Gerald, how could he have forgotten Gerald? He was the whole reason they were on this backwater world! And, knowing Gerald, he was likely imprisoned. “Downstairs” would be the dungeons. Gerald was locked in the dungeons by the very woman who had put Morgan in this room!
Morgan started to pace, breathing hard. How could he have been so stupid? His father had been evil, cruel and evil. Why had he thought that any woman Dante had become attached to would be his ally?
He went to the door and tried the knob. Locked, of course. Things could never be easy for him. He rested his forehead against the door, fighting down self-loathing and disgust. Why did he always fall for tricks like that?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Apollo frowned at the window he’d found. It was locked, of course, but he used his magic to open it. Pursing his lips, he had to jump up slightly and haul himself through it. First, he’d have to check the dungeons, the obvious place, because now he had to rescue both Gerald and Morgan.
Annoyance flooded through the healer. Nothing could ever be easy for him. Whether it was his own emotions complicating the situation or his cousin struggling with darkness, things were never easy for him. Inside the keep, he cast about, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He tried to keep his light down, but the illumination wouldn’t go away. One of the unfortunate side-effects of the Lightshield.
After momentarily hesitating, he ploughed forward to find the stairs down to the dungeons.
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