by M. D. Grimm
Memories of my past suddenly reared up, and I stopped jogging. I stood in silence, my head bowed, grief filling my chest. My tribe was never far from my mind -- how could they be? -- but now I had a balance for that grief. Sincere and fulfilling happiness with my mage. But that didn't remove the grief, the remorse. It shouldn't. My tribe deserved to be remembered; they deserved to be mourned. Images bloomed before my closed eyes and old sensations wracked my body: my little sister's smile, her green eyes flashing with laughter, her round face showing nothing but pleasure. I heard my mother's lullaby, her even tones, the blatant love in her voice, her soft hand stroking my head. I felt sweat on my skin, and the burn of my muscles as I grappled with my brothers, as we insulted and encouraged each other with equal enthusiasm. I heard my father's booming laughter, which he rarely allowed himself to indulge in, and only then with his immediate family -- my mother and my siblings.
Taking a deep and careful breath, I knelt on the trail and slid my ungloved hand through the cold snow. While I knew their trials were over and that they were safe inside the Mother's bosom, I selfishly wanted them here, with me. To lose everyone, all at once... It shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have been possible. I would never fully forgive the Mother for allowing it to happen, despite her reasons. And Morgorth...
I closed my eyes and covered them with my hand. How could I hate him for something he didn't know he'd done yet? To him, it hadn't even happened. But when would it? When would that secret of our past be revealed to him? He made me promise not to tell him, and I always kept my promises, but at what cost? There'd been moments when I just wanted to burst out and tell him everything. To tell him why I'd clung to him so hard during our "first" meeting. Why I'd been so determined to become his lover, to stand by his side. He already suspected that we'd known each other before, and he had questioned me about it, but I'd said nothing. It pained me to keep such a secret from him.
But that was the way with time travel. If I revealed the secret to him in this time, how would it damage the then, and the now, and the will-be?
Growling in frustration, I stood and rolled my shoulders. I'd drive myself to madness if I kept trying to make sense of time travel, the Mother's reasons, or our destinies. Morgorth thought he knew what his was -- to become the Destroyer of Karishian. His fellow mages certainly thought he would become such a monster, being born the third seventh son of a seventh son in history. While I feared that just as he did, there was no turning back for me. I was with him -- to the end. Whatever that end would be.
He was my reason for living.
The sound of rustling behind me brought me out of my thoughts, and I turned to watch Grekel, the alpha of the wichtln pack, step out of the foliage. As always, my heart quickened its pace in instinctual fear, but outwardly, I revealed nothing. I turned fully toward him, and my gut reaction eased, leaving me with mixed feelings. The wichtln had many dark tales attached to them -- their fierce and beastly natures made for some wild stories. I'd grown up with such tales around the fire, told in my father's deep voice, after the sun had gone down, with eyes of nocturnal animals staring at me from the darkness.
But many of those tales had been contradicted by the wichtln's actions during the battle. I'd led them as a necromantic army attacked the southern borders of Vorgoroth. The necromants had been summoned by a mage of the Council, one who wanted to destroy Morgorth. When my mate, weakened by his exertions, had been at the mercy of Dyrc, I'd placed myself in danger to shield him. Yet, it had been Grekel who led the wichtln pack, and the rest of Vorgoroth's beasts, to protect Morgorth -- and me. Grekel had protected his leader, even though that leader had been weakened, at another's mercy.
It would've made more sense if Grekel and the rest had stayed out of it -- if they'd waited on the sidelines to see who would be the victor, and then side with that victor. It would've been smart and true to their natures. They didn't follow a weak leader.
But they hadn't. I didn't know who had been more shocked, Morgorth or myself. That unusual behavior had made me take a closer look at the wichtln. It made me wonder if I was really seeing them for what they were, or if I was allowing my bias to sway my mind. Their actions made me respect them and perhaps trust them just a little bit.
"Commander." Grekel's voice was barely more than a growl, grinding against my ears like crunching gravel. It was a very strange sound, one I didn't think I would ever get used to.
Another thing had happened during that battle -- I had earned their respect. The wichtln hadn't known what to think of me when Morgorth brought me home, but now they had given me my title.
They called Morgorth Master or Lord. And now they called me Commander.
"Grekel." I inclined my head to him. He was big and muscled, his thick, silver fur never hiding that fact. His yellow eyes glimmered as he approached, his tail down and tall ears flicking back and forth, catching all the forest noise. He stood about five feet from shoulder to paw, and he was around nine feet from snout to tail, which made him hard to ignore. Wichtln only came in two colors: black and silver. The silver ones usually had black fur mixed in, creating a strange shadowed effect. But Grekel didn't have any black.
I wondered how he hunted so efficiently if his fur stood out so much in the dark. He must be great at it considering he was pack leader.
"Anything to report?" I asked.
"No. The cold keeps everything quiet."
I smiled, not surprised by his answer. "We should enjoy this time while it lasts, Grekel. With summer brings new attempts by the kingdoms to penetrate this forest. And to fight the Master. Those knights become a nuisance after a while, don't they?"
Grekel's large tongue came out and slid over his wicked, serrated, black teeth. "I enjoy those attempts."
My heart trembled, but I stood firm. "I'm glad you do."
Morgorth had deliberately claimed disputed territory between two warring seela kingdoms. That meant that each kingdom did everything they could to destroy him. They frequently sent armies, heroes, knights, everything in their arsenals -- but still Morgorth stood firm. The southern kingdom of Raskalin was more determined, their king more aggressive, but the north kingdom of Cwaylin was also relentless. That was the one thing I disliked about summer here.
I lifted my hand, wondering how much I should trust this beast. But then Grekel walked under my hand, and I set it on his head. I scratched his ears lightly, and relief flooded through me when his eyes rolled up in the back of his head in response. Morgorth showed affection this way -- the only safe way to do so. Great care was needed when dealing with wichtln, in what was said and how it was said. Affectionate gestures had to be few and far between, the same with gratitude. Too much, and they would consider it as weakness since it would show doubt in the command over them. Whatever you felt on the inside, you had to remain distant and practical.
My scratching Grekel's head would be seen as approval for his bloodlust and his continued loyalty. But then I pulled my hand away after only a few scratches, showing that while I was grateful, I also expected his continued loyalty. It was assumed.
Grekel stared at me with intelligent eyes that could turn instinctual if he sensed any fear coming from me. It wouldn't matter how loyal to me or Morgorth he was; fear equaled weakness. As a predator, he would attack. It was just what he was.
I couldn't hate him for that.
"Keep your ears open, Grekel," I said, my tone a command. "Even in this weather, I wouldn't doubt the kingdoms' determination to conquer this territory. Or to give the Master trouble."
Grekel gave a deep bark in understanding. Then he turned and ran back the way he had come. I watched the many pairs of eyes that had been watching us from between the trees flicker and vanish as the rest of the pack followed him. Only when I felt all their presences leave did I take a relieved breath. I was still trying to find my rhythm with those predators, and I wished I could see them as well as I could other creatures. But the ability I had wasn't equally powerful for all living beasts, and
some creatures were just easier to see than others. I turned and continued on my way, jogging, my blood quickly warming to fight against the cold that kept trying to freeze me.
It wasn't long before the trees began to thin, the cold sun beginning to glow brighter. My boots sank into deeper snow, but I continued to jog, stomping it down. Then I saw bright, colorful lights flashing and sparkling, the sounds of impact, and knew I was close. Anticipation rippled through me as I came nearer to my mate and his mentor.
Then I was out of the forest completely. I stopped in my tracks. The snow had melted on a portion of the field, creating a large circle of dead grass, where two mages stood and fought. Master Ulezander was a tall mage, even taller than me, and it would be a mistake to consider him frail despite his elderly appearance. He had wrinkles on his face, which had turned ruddy by the extreme cold. His hair was an unusual silver-gray and fell in a long braided tail behind his head. His beard was long but always neatly trimmed, and it fell to a point level with his waist. His robes were long and purple, belted around the waist. He was an Elder of the Council of Mages, the highest ranking in the mage world, and he used that position to protect my mate from the Council's wrath. His bright blue eyes held knowledge and wisdom coupled with sheer magickal power. My first impression of him was that I never wanted to be on his bad side. He was loyal to friends and ruthless to foes.
My mate wore his customary black. Loose leggings encased lean legs, and heavy, thick boots protected his feet. They reached mid-calf and were laced. I'd never seen boots like that before, and he explained he'd gotten the design from a very intriguing world called Earth. His tunic, which he called a jacket, covered him from the bottom of his chin to just past his wrists, hiding his skin, which bore scars from childhood abuse. The jacket was latched from his neck to his waist before dividing, creating a cape-like tail behind him. It was an unusual look, but not as constricting as the robes Master Ulezander wore. Although, the older mage didn't seem to find them a hindrance.
As I watched I realized they weren't really fighting. Morgorth was taking all the hits and not throwing any back.
That puzzled me. I'd always been impressed with Morgorth's ability to shield and attack at the same time during a battle. But this time, all he did was stand there, his left arm bent at the elbow, his hand clenched in a fist in front of his face. His right hand was lowered by his side, his fingers splayed. I then noticed the translucent half-dome that covered his body, protecting him from the powerful blasts sent by Master Ulezander.
I knew they were powerful, because with each blast, Morgorth's body quavered, his feet sliding across the ground very slightly. Sweat slid down his face; his hair looked damp with it. Despite the cold, he'd thrown away his heavy coat, and even unbuttoned his collar all the way down to the middle of his narrow chest, making some of his scars visible. Scars his monster of a father had given him during his attempt to "train" his son to become an obedient, mindless tool of destruction.
I saw red for a moment, my body becoming hot, my hand clenching my bow harder than necessary. My gut roiled as it always did when imagining the sheer terror and agony Morgorth must have experienced at the hand of his own father. His own flesh and blood. One who should have protected his son instead of showing him just how cruel the world could be. I longed to shoot an arrow right through that bastard's eye. Or hold him while Morgorth beat the life out of him with his bare fists.
Morgorth's first lesson had been "trust no one." The monster even had the nerve to name Morgorth after himself: Lazur -- Morgorth's birth name, before he'd changed it. I'd called him that, now and again, but that wasn't who he was anymore. He wasn't the fearful son of a torturer; he was the Dark Mage of the East.
Taking a calming breath, I walked over to a stump of a tree that had not survived the battle with the necromants, and sat down on it. I watched, my chin cupped in my hand. Morgorth's eyes, which were usually a soil-rich brown, were now a fierce, glowing amber. His pale skin glowed faintly, causing his scars to stand out even more starkly than usual. His hair was the darkest black I'd ever seen, slicked back from his angular face. It seemed as if a small portion of the starless night sky had been transformed and made into something tangible. But now a few strands were loose, hanging around his face, evidence of his exertion. Only because I knew him so well did I notice the fatigue around his eyes, the exhaustion in the clench of his jaw, the pain in his trembling arms and legs. The way his nostrils flared told me he was breathing hard, but his mouth was clenched shut.
Master Ulezander wasn't holding back either. Balls of light -- green, yellow, and blue -- shot at Morgorth. My mate managed to hold them all back, moving his shield when needed, shifting his stance when he began to slip. The spells made a strange sound whenever they impacted Morgorth's shield; it was a cross between a hammer hitting a rock and a sword striking a shield. It was dull but still resonated in the air. Moments later, Master Ulezander sent a large blast of fire at Morgorth. The roar momentarily deafened me, the colors of the fire orange and red with some blue thrown in. The fire seemed eager to devour, and it clobbered my mate's shield like a trul bashing a club into its prey's head. A few flames licked around his shield, seeking flesh, but Morgorth hunched, and merely expanded his shield a few inches. The impact shoved him back a step or two, but he managed to keep standing. His shield flickered, but never fell.
I suddenly realized I was on my feet, my bow held out in front of me while my other hand was about to pull an arrow out of my quiver. My heart pounded harshly, the instinctual need to protect humming through me. Fire. I didn't like fire. Oh, I liked it fine when it was in a hearth, harmlessly giving warmth. But in battle, all I could see were the greedy flames eating at those I loved, all I could smell was the acrid scent of smoke mixed with the scent of burnt flesh stinging my nose. All I could hear was the crackle of bones snapping under the intense heat. I sucked in air as I fought against my initial reaction. I pushed back the memories, focused on the now. All I smelled was smoke in the cold air. Nothing more, nothing less. This was mage training. Master Ulezander would never harm Morgorth.
Shuddering, I forced myself to sit down. I rested my bow on my thighs and stroked the wood, calming my heart. It was not then, it was now. I had to remember that.
There were a few more strikes before it was over. Master Ulezander stood straight, inclining his head to Morgorth. My mate dropped his shield and did the same, right before he bent over, gripped his knees, and gasped for breath. Master Ulezander didn't look winded at all. His long, purple robes weren't even wrinkled or dirty, his gray hair still in a neat braid, and his long beard unaffected.
"Better, Morgorth. That was much better. But you still need to work on your endurance, and your stance was still shifting. You won't be able to deflect well if you keep losing your footing. The shield was an improvement, however."
"Thanks a lot," Morgorth said, gulping down air, his sarcasm thick. "How can I keep my footing when a fucking fireball comes hurtling at me? And why would I want to? Wouldn't it be smarter to just run the fuck away?"
I chuckled.
"I believe you're missing the point, Morgorth. Again."
At that I managed to laugh.
Master Ulezander looked at me. "It would seem we have a visitor, Morgorth."
Morgorth looked around, still bent over, still gasping in breath. But most of the fatigue vanished from his eyes when they met mine. He smiled at me, and my insides warmed. That was what I needed to finally push the memories far to the back of my mind. His smile. His love.
"Morning, Aishe," Morgorth said.
"Morning, Morgorth. Are you all right?"
"Course, why wouldn't I be?" He straightened and pressed his hand to the base of his back, stretching backward. He groaned.
"Hey, Master. Take five?" he asked.
"Five." Master Ulezander nodded before walking a little away from us.
Morgorth walked to me, and I scooted over to make room for him on the stump. He sat, another groan escaping him
. His sweat was pungent, but I liked it; it went far to erase the phantom smell of burnt flesh. He rolled his head on his neck and stretched his arms. I distinctly heard some popping, and I resolved to give him a massage when we returned to the castle.
"How's the training going?" I asked innocently.
He snorted, eyeing me. "You saw."
"What I saw, I thought was amazing. But Master Ulezander didn't seem impressed."
"He's never impressed." Morgorth looked at his mentor's back. "That's why he's a good master. He challenges me. Though, sometimes, I wish he'd cut me some slack."
I smiled. Since finding him again, I'd quickly grown used to the way he talked: his pattern of speech, his slang, and his expressions. I'd even used some of his curse words, finding them oddly satisfying to say. Apparently, he'd gotten a lot of his knowledge from that world called Earth. He'd told me a little about this strange world in another dimension, and it seemed like a fascinating place.
Morgorth stretched his back again before groaning once more.
I took pity on him. "Come here." I turned him so his back was presented to me. I pulled his jacket down just enough to get my hands on his shoulders and neck, beginning a slow massage. I couldn't stand seeing him in so much pain.
"Anything from Grekel?" he asked a few moments later.
"Nothing. Winter seems to have caused the kingdoms to hibernate."