Carnelian- Dreams and Visions

by M. D. Grimm

  He rolled his eyes toward me, his breath finally under control. He didn’t look convinced by my words.

  I kissed the tip of his nose. “You would still be Morgorth with or without your powers. And I would still be with you. You know that, right?”

  His dark brown eyes stared into mine, filled with wonder at the understanding that what I said was the absolute truth. Then he smiled.

  “When it comes to being a warrior, you’re the best. I wouldn’t want to take that away from you.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think you could?”

  He laughed. I grinned. I stood and held out my hand. He gripped it, and I pulled him to his feet.

  “What shall we do now?” I asked as we left the training room.

  “I need to find Grekel.”

  “Why?”

  Morgorth grunted. “Shape-shifting.”

  “I thought you were training with Lansa,” I said, referring to Morgorth’s bird messenger. Lansa was a fasion, which were large, black carrion birds that lived in flocks of about thirty adults.

  “Got to keep challenging myself. I mostly have the bird form down.”

  I pouted. “I haven’t gotten to see you as a bird.”

  Morgorth snorted and patted my shoulder. “I said mostly. Still got some kinks to smooth out. But Lansa is, well, Lansa, and he begins to irritate me after a time.”

  “Why do fasions repeat words so often?”

  “Only the Mother knows.”

  “You should eat something before you leave to find Grekel. If shape-shifting is as difficult as you say, you’ll need strength.”

  He sighed. “Yeah. And it hurts like nothing you can imagine.”

  I nodded, though my understanding of the entire process was vague. After his second phase of training had ended months ago, Master Ulezander told Morgorth he needed to master, or at least be proficient with, shape-shifting and dreamwalking. I knew Morgorth had been slacking in his studies, and now he appeared to be making up for lost time. The letter from the council seemed to force him to dive into his studies. I suspected he was both distracting himself from the agony of waiting, and sharpening his focus, strengthening his mind. He said I was the warrior, but he had a little warrior in himself, as well.

  Of course, when he went off to Vorgoroth to train in magick, that left me trying to find ways to occupy myself. I usually did. Despite living with him for most of a year, I still didn’t know all of Geheimnis’s secrets. I spent a lot of my time wandering and exploring, knowing I was safe. Spells and enchantments wove intricately throughout the entire castle, and they’d once been hostile to me, but no longer. Morgorth modified all of them, and there were hundreds, to recognize and accept me. The amethyst pendant I still wore around my neck was no longer needed to protect me, yet I wore it anyway. It was the first gift he ever gave me, and I cherished it beyond measure. It was a symbol for both of us that he let me into his heart and his life. I was his mate.

  We still spent evenings together, either conversing or reading books in companionable silence. We also spent a few mornings swimming in the underground hot spring located inside the mountain Geheimnis perched upon. It was beautiful in the hot spring, with the large, natural-formed crystal structures inside the cavern, reflecting what little light was offered. Morgorth said the crystals inside the mountain were one of the major reasons he chose this land for himself. Crystals were apparently priceless when it came to spell-work.

  I slid my arm across his shoulders as we walked to our bedroom. I thought of our non-magick training sessions and shook my head. Morgorth thought he was nothing special if he didn’t have magick, if he wasn’t a mage. I never thought that. Magick or no magick, he was a beautiful and unique creature with darkness and light mixed in complex patterns. It humbled me to know he willingly showed me his vulnerable side, depending on me to have his back. When I allowed myself to think about it, it left me in awe to realize I held the heart of the Dark Mage of the North, the seventh son of a seventh son of our generation. Considering what his forbearers had done to Karishian, it was almost unbelievable.

  Morgorth told me once that the first seventh son, Nanthar, had psychically enslaved half the Council of Mages along with the entire southern continent, millions of minds under his control, and it took the rest of the mages of Karishian, hundreds upon hundreds, to finally defeat him, killing him in a spectacular show of might. Kierthak, the second seventh son, had destroyed a large part of Karishian before killing himself. Those were the only seventh sons of seventh sons to be born before Morgorth, and they lived centuries ago. The power they wielded had been great and terrible, and it made me wonder what all Morgorth was capable of doing. I’ve seen much of his power, his stubborn will, and yet I doubted I’d seen all of it. He continued to surprise me. What could he do if he truly freed himself from conscience and morals? I hoped I never found out, for my sake as well as Karishian’s.

  We changed our clothes before having a small meal in the smaller parlor. It was cozier than the larger one, and had the same thick, welcoming chairs and sofas spread throughout, many paired with tables. It was a room meant for intimate conversations and cuddling by candlelight. We often ended up there at the end of the day, Morgorth with his potion books and me with one of the many books or scrolls from his library.

  We were almost finished with the meal before I asked him about shape-shifting.

  “You’ve yet to give me a full description of it,” I said. “It sounds fascinating.”

  “Oh, it is. In theory.” He leaned back against the sofa and sighed. “You can’t imagine how much it hurts.”

  “I’m sure I can.”

  He eyed me. “No, not really. It’s a full-body pain. All your bones and muscles are distorting and contorting, shrinking or expanding depending on the animal. Your senses are changing depending on the animal you choose to become. Fasion have heightened sight and hearing. Everything is magnified when I’m in that form, but I still need to work on perfecting it.”

  It sounded horrendous. “If it hurts so much, why must you do it?”

  He snorted. “A lot of mages can’t. They rely on potions or illusions, but those only work under certain circumstances. I have a lot of potions for shape-shifting and illusions, but you gain respect if you can shift without them. I tried a couple potions that actually shifted my body, just so I could get the feel of it and know what to expect. Those hurt, too. Then I created a spell for it.”

  Fascinated, as I always was when he spoke of magick, I watched him as he explained his techniques. I didn’t begrudge him his power, not in the least. I was a little envious at times, but I accepted we all had our skills and talents, and it was foolish to compare ourselves with others. Morgorth was a mage. Magick was part of who and what he was. I was a dialen, and my own skills were nothing to sneeze at.

  “How does it work, exactly?”

  Morgorth sat up and turned toward me. “Well, I have to keep a firm image of a fasion in my mind and hold the spell, plus focus on the energy flow, plus be aware of my surroundings and listen to Lansa’s instructions. Then I had to learn how to fly. You’ve seen the bruises when I failed.”

  “How do you change back?”

  “I let go of the image of a fasion and my hold on the spell and the flow of energy.”

  I could only stare at him in wonder.

  He shrugged as if it was nothing. “A lot of mages never get the hang of it or don’t see the point when they can simply mix a potion and be done with it. That’s why mages have levels they’re assigned to indicating their magickal strength. There are a lot of factors that go into labeling ‘strength’ and most mages remain at level three.”

  “How many levels are there?” I asked.

  “Five. Fives are part of the Council of Mages.”

  I eyed him, realizing he looked a little uncomfortable. “What are you?”

  He glanced at me, then away. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you have to consider a lot of
things. A lot of requirements need to be met before a level can be assigned with any sort of accuracy. There’s sheer magicakal power, sure. And skill to wield it. Then there’s political influence. Mages in the employ of leaders, usually seela kings and queens, can be given a high level three, even a low four, even if their strength doesn’t compare to another mage’s. Same thing if they become ambassadors to a certain species, like payshthas. If a mage has sheer strength and skill and no influential power, then they might be only given a high three.”

  I nodded slowly. “In sheer magicakal power, Morgorth, what are you?”

  He coughed. “Four. Maybe low four.”

  Mages generally grew stronger as they grew older. Morgorth was still young for a mage, and he was a four even without influence. As I understood it, a mage wasn’t considered “fully grown” until they completed their third phase of training.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You defeated Master Ulezander during your second phase of training. And you defeated Elorn in the duel.”

  He leaned forward and placed his arms on his thighs. “I have strength and I’m still working on skill. I still haven’t mastered shape-shifting or dreamwalking, and I haven’t lived long enough to have the experience of the elders. I also don’t council a king, nor have alliances and the respect of the general mage populace. All that counts when determining levels.”

  I touched his back. “I know why you’re afraid to be as powerful as you are. But you can’t fear your magick. It will lead to bad things.”

  “You sound like Master Ulezander.”

  “Be that as it may....”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I know. It’s easy for you two to say. You don’t have a Mother damn dark destiny looming over you like a storm cloud.”

  “But I have as much invested in making sure you turn that storm cloud into a sunny day.”

  He grunted and didn’t argue. I rubbed his back and let him brood for a couple of minutes before breaking the silence.

  “When do you need to meet Grekel?”

  “Now. I’m late.”

  I kissed his cheek, lingering over it. “I love you.”

  He closed his eyes. “I know. And isn’t that a wondrous thing?”

  ***

  Somehow, the month passed and we were two days out from teleporting to the Tower. I was nervous. I tried to ignore it by exploring Vorgoroth and playing with the trees that tried to lop off my head. It was how they showed affection, strangely enough. All the creatures in Vorgoroth knew I was their lord’s mate, and they never sought to harm me. Some even called me commander. I honed my skills with truls and wichtln when Morgorth wasn’t around, and it was nice to know I wasn’t getting rusty. Lansa reported regularly on activity around the border of our territory. Neither the kingdoms of Cwalyn nor Raskalin had tried to send armies to invade, yet. I remembered a friend of mine had told me the Cwayln’s king to the north was ill and probably dying. No wonder; he was quite old. He did have a son as heir, however, and I wondered if he would be his father’s son. I suspected King Raskalin—yes, he’d named the kingdom after himself—was trying to find more money to raise his army. I doubted he had support for such an endeavor, since Morgorth always sent a good portion of the soldiers back in pieces.

  Vorgoroth was quiet as usual. The stygian peace broken now and again with the creak of branches, the wind through the leaves, or the occasional chitter of squirrels, the footfall of deer, and rustle of birds’ wings. I saw the occasional trul as he or she lumbered around the trees and through bushes with little grace. Truls were large beasts with gigantic forearms and wicked tusks that jutted up from their lower jaw. Oddly enough, though, they made the most beautiful music. They paid me no mind, and I wasn’t in the mood to initiate a training session. Vorgoroth was beautiful in its darkness. There was so much life inside it with pockets I’d yet to explore, still creatures I’d yet to meet. Morgorth knew all the creatures that resided here, and I asked him a while back to let me explore and discover on my own. Morgorth was probably unaware of the fact he provided a home to creatures others deemed evil or menacing or simply nuisances. He gave a home to the outcast, the villains of children’s stories, the predators in the night. It was little wonder why their loyalty to him was absolute.

  While looking for Morgorth, I found Grekel instead. The large wichtln alpha lifted his head and perked his ears upon seeing me, his tail wagging slightly. Shaggy silver fur and startling yellow eyes were the first elements to notice about him, then his sheer height and bulk would lead to further anxiety. He was nearly as tall as my chest, and his body was thick, twice as long as his height. Wichtln were fierce, fast, and nearly the perfect predator. Despite often being the villains in children’s stories, they were not evil. They were brutal and vicious but not for any malicious reason. It was simply what and who they were. I used to be afraid of them. As time passed, however, I grew merely wary since I’d come to an understanding with them. They weren’t only loyal to the most powerful, which was what Morgorth and I first believed, but to whom they loved. It was their best-kept secret. Grekel loved Morgorth in his own way, and I knew his loyalty ran deep. He’d known Morgorth since he was a puppy.

  I smiled as I approached him. “Grekel. Do you happen to know where my lord is?” To speak of Morgorth in such a way sounded funny to my ears, yet it was wise to play the game and act as if Morgorth was my lord and I was his commander.

  “Commander,” Grekel said, bobbing his head in greeting. His voice was gravelly, as if he was crunching rocks. It was odd but not entirely unpleasant. Or maybe it was because I was used to it. “He should be along soon.”

  A sharp rustle met my ears and I spun around. Out of thick foliage came a shaggy black wichtln, one I didn’t immediately recognize. That didn’t worry me; I never saw much of the other wichtln besides Grekel. He wasn’t as big as Grekel, and slightly on the scrawny side. He had the black shaggy fur common to the species, and the thick tail was low in what I sensed was exhaustion. As I looked closer, I realized his paws were smaller than they should be, and his ears were a little too tall. There were other oddities about him and there was just something off.

  He looked up at me and, for a moment, all I saw were yellow eyes. As I continued to stare into them, I saw the mask and the creature behind it. My gift for seeing creatures for who they really were allowed me to see the soft brown behind the yellow.

  “Morgorth?”

  The wichtln chuffed and bobbed his head.

  I laughed and clapped my hands. “Well, look at you! You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

  Morgorth’s front paws danced slightly as if answering my excitement, his tail lifting and wagging. Then he looked at Grekel and flattened his ears as if embarrassed. I glanced at Grekel, and I could have sworn he looked amused. His yellow eyes were bright, and there was a sense of pride to his stance as he looked at Morgorth. Remembering himself, Morgorth lifted his head in an arrogant tilt an instant later, and strode over to me. I patted his head, and he leaned against me.

  “I can still smell the difference,” Grekel said. “And so will other creatures. The transformation is only half complete.”

  Morgorth bobbed his head. It occurred to me he wasn’t talking. I wondered why. All wichtln could talk, if they wanted to.

  Grekel padded over to me, and I gave him a quick pet on the head. He soon turned and trotted off the dirt lane, deeper into the forest. Morgorth pulled away from me and bowed his head before closing his eyes. I watched, fascinated, as his body began to ripple and the air around him shimmered. It looked agonizing as his proportions shrunk and thinned, the crack of bones and tendons putting my teeth on edge. The low moan escaping him proved the morph was unpleasant.

  Soon, a panting Morgorth was in his original form, on his hands and knees. I knelt in front of him and gripped his shoulders.

  “You’re amazing.”

  He lifted his head, dripping with sweat. He looked paler than usual and mighty pleased with himself. “I am, aren’t I?” />
  ***

  It was an intense joy of mine to wash Morgorth during his baths. Usually we took them together, which meant we often became distracted from the point of a bath. Ever since I took care of him during his second phase of training, I realized how much I enjoyed pampering him, knowing he needed me.

  This time, however, I stayed out of the tub. Just as during his training, Morgorth needed rest and relaxation. While my body reacted predictably at seeing him naked, I kept my desire in check and sought to soothe instead of seduce.

  I gently dragged a soapy cloth across his back as he sat with his head bowed. Old faded scars from whips and knives, and burns from his father’s pipe, marred his pale skin. They made me remember what he did to his father before killing him. Morgorth duplicated every single mark Lazur had given him as a child, plus a hundred more.

  “Grekel looked pleased with you,” I said as I dipped the cloth back in the water.

  Morgorth snorted. “Yeah. He’s a good teacher. Doesn’t give me any allowances, which is what I need. I definitely need someone kicking me in the ass to get this done. Plus, he doesn’t irritate me like Lansa does. Not all the time, at least.”

  It was astonishing to see him change his very shape and anatomy. While I could perform healing magick, as most dialen could, that was the limit of my magickal abilities. I was damn good at it, and had healed Morgorth many times. To compare our abilities would be like comparing a sword to a dull kitchen knife. There was no comparison. Morgorth could move mountains with his power.

  “I caught him in a good mood,” he said, breaking me free from my thoughts.

  “Oh?”

  “He and his mate just had another litter of pups.”

  I paused in my ministrations. “Another? How many have they had, now?”

  “Five. Six. Something like that.”

  I shook my head in wonder.

  “You gotta remember, though,” he said. “It’s been about three seasons since Grekel’s mate managed to produce a litter twice in a row. The last litter only had two pups survive. He has reason to be incredibly happy.”