Song Of Mornius

by Diane E Steinbach

  “Avalar,” Terrek cautioned. “What you see is not real.”

  She nodded. Evil existed in this time, in the form of real human beings serving a monster in these tunnels, hunting and killing their own kind to please their god.

  Avalar glanced at the prisoner clinging to Terrek and then past them at Argus. Quietly, she accompanied the ghost away from her companions and from the warder cremating the child’s bones.

  “You hear them, too,” Avalar murmured to the Thalian Knight. “You endure your ghosts, as I do my memories.”

  Argus snorted. “I am them.” He glared at her from a rounded corner of the ceiling, hugging himself with limbs he could no longer feel. Unable to find comfort in the gesture, he dropped his arms. “You experience the past. Echoes of torment from long ago. Yet the giants themselves are at peace.”

  He motioned to the empty air above his head. “Her victims cannot rest. They cling to their lost lives, screaming for her death while we speak. Yet always, he stands in their way. I hear him speaking to his brother, calling into Terrek’s ear! He loves her still! After everything she’s done!”

  “Who does?” she asked. “Who stands in the way?”

  Argus held up his hand, forestalling her rising flood of words and emotions. “His brother,” he said, nodding at Terrek. “Who else?”

  “Camron!” Frantic for a glimpse of her friend, she scanned the tunnel. “Is he here? Does he know how I fought? How hard I tried to save him, and how I . . .”

  “Hush, Giant.” Argus’s scowl softened, empathy pulsing from his green-limned image. For the briefest of moments, the pain retreated from his expression, replaced by concern for her. “He knows, dear one. Of course he knows!” Argus paused. Then his eyes glinted, as if he had spied something profound within her that moved him.

  “Never doubt it, Giant. Camron knows!”

  Chapter 49

  OBEYING THE PRESSURE of Terrek’s grip on her arm, Felrina shambled to a halt behind the ghost’s unnerving light. Next to her, the neighbor she had known all her life—the man who was now her captor—signaled a stop.

  “We rest here,” Terrek announced. He unshouldered his pack, letting it drop with a thud on a drier patch of dirt. As he released her, Felrina stumbled toward the side of the tunnel. They were venturing under the mountain now. The ceiling, high enough for the giant to stand straight, was fringed with tiny roots, while the floor was sunken through the middle and grooved where the carts had been.

  Across from her, Gaelin Lavahl struggled to keep his feet. Terrek spoke to him, and he settled on his heels, his Skystone winking out.

  An elbow jostled Felrina.

  “How’s the neck?” Lieutenant Roth sniggered, glaring under his curly mass of brown hair, his thin lips twisted with hate.

  She probed her aching muscles with tentative fingers. “It’s sore,” she said. “How did you know?”

  “I wish he had left you dead!” Roth hissed. “My mother didn’t get to come back alive. My sister, Gindle, didn’t either, nor did Terrek’s brother.”

  “Left me dead? What are you talking about? When was I d-dead?”

  Roth made a brutal, twisting motion with his hands. “Just like that!” he said. “I loved the sound it made: snap! Terrek did it himself, bitch. I’m pretty sure he enjoyed it, too! I did!”

  Felrina jerked away from his naked contempt. Above him, the ghost knight sneered, his gaze rife with malice.

  She moaned as she sank to her haunches. The features of her companions blurred. The rocky wall at her back reminded her of Erebos, its merciless cold snuffing out her will to live.

  With a snort of disgust, Roth stomped off, but his words remained to haunt and to hurt, piercing like a lance through her heart. Somehow, she knew when Terrek gestured his companions on. The ghost’s departing illumination left her sitting in the darkness; the footsteps of the men drew away. Yet still, she sat, frozen beyond caring or tears.

  Avalar tapped her shoulder. “Come,” the giant urged.

  Felrina pressed her palms to her face and sagged.

  “Now what?” Terrek asked sharply.

  Lowering her arms, Felrina focused on a discolored speck on his leather breastplate as he crouched down, her fingers twitching on the floor. “You . . . k-killed me. He says you b-b-broke my neck.”

  Terrek glowered at Roth, who hovered behind him. “You said this why?” he demanded.

  “I thought . . . she ought to know,” Roth muttered. “She . . .”

  “Well, you thought wrong!” Terrek lurched to his feet. “We don’t torture people.”

  “Torture?” Roth echoed. “Terrek, I only meant . . .”

  “You meant to cause her misery; that’s what you meant,” said Terrek. “I call that torture. You’re bullying her, Roth, and this stops now!”

  Roth blinked and looked away. “I . . .”

  “If you can’t show compassion, then let her be.” Terrek stared at the younger man. “Yes, she slew Camron. And no, I haven’t forgotten. I’ve also known Felrina Vlyn my entire life. Kindly accept that perhaps I have insights here that you do not! Now go. Follow Argus.” Terrek gestured toward the knight. “Not you, Gaelin,” he added. “If you would, I could still use your light. But the rest of you, go. We’ll be right behind you.”

  Felrina held her breath while the silence stretched out, filled with the soft sound of the two men breathing, the quiet scuffle of Gaelin’s heels when, holding Mornius high, he stepped out of earshot.

  Once more Terrek squatted before her. Fearing his reprimand, she bowed her head, her gaze averted.

  “I had no choice,” he told her. “I learned you and Erebos were linked. That made you a threat. Your death, Felrina, was the one way to sever his connection.”

  She shook her head. Her eyes were dry again, her heart a wasteland. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wish you had left me d-dead.”

  “No, you don’t,” he murmured. As he took her hand, she stiffened at his touch, the subtle reminder of Mens. She thrust with all her might at his chest.

  “No,” he said. “Felrina, no.”

  Tears blurred her sight, streaming hot and unstoppable over her grimy cheeks. He paused, his inner conflict darkening his eyes. Then he was pulling her to his chest, his right arm enfolding her, supporting her while she cried.

  “I never wanted you to know,” he said. “I thought I wanted your death, too. I thought it was the correct answer for what you did, but I was wrong. Killing you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  Felrina hiccupped as she struggled for control. “I’m . . . I . . .”

  “I don’t hate you.” Terrek’s voice was gentle. “Not everyone here does. I know Vyergin doesn’t. Nor does Gaelin. Avalar—I suspect she feels rage, as I do. Not hate. Remember what you told me back there? If we find a cave-in and have to dig through it, the air might fill with spores. That was a help, Felrina. You’re trying, and that counts for something.”

  She sat back as, by degrees, he let her go. Yet still his gaze held her. “After all you suffered,” he said, “this is the last place you should be, but I need your knowledge of these tunnels. Argus is a ghost. He’s forgotten how it is to be . . . well, human. Roth is a troubled boy who lost his family. You cannot let their anger unravel you so, not when we’re this close. I need you alert, aware, and brave like you used to be. No more of this.” He touched her wet cheek. “Too much crying will make you sick. You’re stammering, too, and you haven’t done that for years.”

  Felrina hung her head. “That w-woman you remember no longer exists, Ter . . . Commander. She v-vanished when I—” She broke off, trembling. “Now because of me, my father . . . I c-couldn’t save him, or your brother. I do wish that you had left me d-dead. I do.”

  Terrek drew a small knife from his boot. “No.” He set its keen edge to her throat, while resolutely she shut her eyes, shivering at the steel’s icy touch.

  Terrek pressed ever so slightly, and Felrina shuddered, harder still, until the
metal nipped her skin. She gasped at the warm trickle of blood she felt. Her eyes flew open. She clutched at Terrek’s fingers with both hands, frantic to push away the blade.

  Terrek let her. He drew a cloth from his pack and dabbed at her tiny cut. “You see?” he said and deliberately arched his brow. “No, you don’t.”

  Chapter 50

  BLINKING, KRAY LOOKED up from where he sat at the table as Ponu charged into his workroom. Beside the little boy, the ferret, Saemson, whom Kray had been feeding, exploded into a rapid “uh-uh, uh-uh” as it dived beneath the nearest bed. “You scared him, Ponu,” said Kray. “You shouldn’t—”

  “No!” Ponu cut him off. Then he hurried to sit on his bed and stamp on his warmest boots. “We’re going,” he said as he stood. His glance fell on a satchel high on a shelf, and he snatched it down, scattering jerked meat onto the floor so the ferret could forage for himself.

  Kray scrambled from his chair. “Going? What?”

  Ponu sighed. “Kray, we talked about this. It’s time.” He began quickly to gather the boy’s things from under his cot.

  “What’re you doing?” Kray cried, tugging at his sleeve.

  “We planned this, remember?” Straightening up, Ponu scanned his home’s interior before moving to the table. Gravely he added to his ward’s meager possessions the baubles Kray had earned, including the two leather-bound books he had given the child. Then Ponu froze, staring at the small crystal globe hidden between the books. Without a word, he slipped the gem into his pocket.

  “I have no idea what will happen, Kray,” he said, “but this cannot continue. Your people are dying! I must lend what aid I can.”

  “Ponu, no!” Quaking with grief, Kray sank to his knees.

  Ponu tied the bag and placed it on the table. “Kray.” Settling himself on the floor, he cupped the boy’s chin and stared deep into his eyes. “You know I’ve been upset. Well, this will help me. Don’t you want that? It will assist other humans like you, too. I promise it’s not for very long. I need to take you where it’s safe.”

  “But I wanted to show you what I found in the sky!” said Kray. “It’s big and it’s not on your map. I saw it through your viewer. It’s there!” He pointed straight up.

  “Did it resemble a cloud filled with stars?” Ponu asked.

  Kray nodded. “Yes. You’ve seen it?”

  “Many times, but only through my staff,” Ponu said. “That is where Sephrym dwells. This worries me, Kray. What you describe should never be visible from here!”

  Ponu climbed to his feet. This second visitation of Sephrym’s spirit confirmed his suspicions. The great warder could sense Holram’s rise to power and was preparing himself. If Holram failed to stop Erebos this time . . . Ponu frowned. I know what Sephrym will do, he thought grimly.

  Lifting the bag with the child’s possessions, he retrieved the thick wool blanket from his bed and tossed it to Kray. “Wrap yourself up with this. It’s even colder on Hothra Isle than it is here.” He hesitated as the child’s lips trembled. “Come now, Kray. We must all do our part!”

  The boy stumbled to his feet, dabbing at his eyes with his stuffed bunny’s ear. “My part?”

  “Yes, this is very important, too,” Ponu informed him. “If you are to become a great wizard one day, you must let us protect you.”

  Ponu reached for his staff, positioning himself behind the little boy and closing his eyes. More than anyone else, he knew Grevelin. He was familiar with the master’s habits and haunts, and his probable whereabouts as winter dragged out on the northern isle. As Leader Second to Trentor Govorian, Grevelin had his duties, and one such chore compelled the solitary giant to venture out among people.

  Ponu concentrated through his Staff of Time’s crystal, focusing on the location where the giant would be.

  As his magic sparked, Ponu gripped the child, steadying the boy against his hip. He smiled, seeing the small human’s curiosity take over. His fears forgotten, Kray peered about him as they transferred, his eyes wide with wonder.

  My staff is made from time crystals, Ponu recalled trying to explain to the boy—rare round gems from the hills of Shamshedaya on my world. Kray had nodded off as he spoke, yet Ponu had pressed on in hopes some understanding might sink in. At first, I had to shatter one of the quartz spheres to release the power. I would then ride the blast to get where I needed to go.

  He frowned, recollecting how he had grown concerned as his supply of gems had dwindled. My world was gone, he had told the boy, and my cache of stones shrinking. So I merged the finest gems I had left to form this staff. Now I don’t have to destroy the stones whenever I wish to travel. Instead of ruining a crystal with a single blast, now I just push my consciousness inward into my staff and visualize my landing place.

  “Imagination is magic,” his mother had taught him once, and so he had tried to console the boy, stressing that humans did indeed possess magic—the ability to visualize and invent. While he, reaping the benefits of his own ingenuity, could now wield his staff as often as he liked. Only as a last resort would he consider destroying one of the remaining round crystals he kept hidden in the cavern below his quarters, the cave where Kray had strayed despite his orders. He felt the little gem in his pocket growing hot in response to his staff. It could have taken you anywhere, Kray, if you had dropped it.

  As the interior of the Ironwood Hoist Pub sprang into existence, Kray pressed against him. Standing with the child at the center of a small woven rug, Ponu stared at the huddle of giants nearby, at the muscular and yet rotund owner lifting a barrel to drain it.

  The room was longer than it was wide, its peal-stone walls indented to frame rows upon rows of nautical artwork. Kneeling next to Kray, Ponu pointed, directing the child’s gaze to the colorful net-entangled floaters suspended from the ceiling.

  The giants sat around a table, enjoying a game of “pieces” with three many-faceted stones carved with runes on every side. Ponu counted eight males, six of them former slaves.

  With bravado he did not feel, he swept them a bow. “Hail, Masters,” he said in a hearty voice. “I am here for your Leader Second, Grevelin.”

  Scratch, the captain of a ship Ponu knew as the Roundabout, rose from his chair, his one stormy gray eye focusing on the child. “You bring a human?” He coughed through his torn throat and over the remnants of his tongue. “You dare?”

  “Apparently so,” Ponu replied. He peered at the fire in the blackened hearth, the oversized stone chairs and tables penning him in, and the Hoist’s ironwood door so heavy that he knew it would take a giant’s strength to open.

  A tense pause ensued as the pub’s owner, Rhayme, raised his club and placed it with a thud on the counter for all to see.

  Ignoring this threat, the giants rose from their chairs, their big hands doubled into fists as they towered above Ponu. In their fury, he perceived the memory of whips and hunger, of chains and unending abuse. Despite his outrage at giants menacing a child, he bowed in respect.

  “But this is a little boy, Masters! He has lost his home and everything familiar to him, because of the same evil force that once fettered you. That slaver king you abhor still exists! With no giants to torment, he attacks humans now, like this child’s parents! I rescued this small one and he is my ward. None of you shall touch him!”

  “They certainly shall not,” said a scathing voice from the doorway. “Giants never harm children, and yet see you how this little one trembles! For shame!”

  Avalar’s massive uncle, Kurgenrock Mistavere, stood with his back bent, his great bearded head thrust through the doorway. With eyes that sparked like flint, Kurg snarled at the giants assembled, many of whom were of his own crew.

  “They are in their cups, Captain,” growled the barkeep.

  “That is no excuse, Rhayme! Behold this poor child. Ponu,” Kurg acknowledged. He lifted his chin and scowled at the rest. “You lagabeds!” he roared. “Shame on you! Dawncutter’s hull still has damage, and here you go when you final
ly wake up—to Hoist, of all places—for your pieces and cups! Gaming! When we sail on the morrow and ’Cutter is taking on water! Out!”

  The giants scattered toward their purses or sacks, jostling each other in their haste to pack up the game and scoop their winnings into pockets or satchels. They rushed for the doorway, and Kurg stepped aside.

  Even Scratch, the captain still called Taneus Spadethrust by giants who did not know better, was shoving his way out, Ponu noted sadly. All that bluster, Ponu thought as the door slammed shut behind the Roundabout’s captain, and still so crushed. As long as I have known him it has been the same. Scratch cared for no one, or so the gossip went. He had been great among giants—the beloved friend of Thresher Govorian—until a slaver’s ax had cleft his spirit as cruelly as his face.

  “Grev’s coming,” Kurgenrock said to Ponu as the last giant vanished into the storm. He shut the iron door that had once been a galley-hatch—and forced the latch down with red, stiffened fingers. “Good night’s keep to you, Rhayme Blythe,” he said, bowing his head to the barkeep. “I shall cover what coin my giants still owe.”

  Kurgenrock, Ponu knew, had never kept a wife or even a home on solid land. His ship was his world, and the wide Misty Sea his sanctuary. As it was with many former slaves, only the endless horizon had the power to ease his heart.

  Still, Ponu reminded himself, Kurg doted on his niece, Avalar. Grevelin had taken care to hide Avalar’s absence from his temperamental brother, yet from the blaze of Kurgenrock’s eyes, Ponu suspected that he knew.

  Kurg stared in fascinated fear at the child.

  “He has no family,” Ponu explained, “no one to care for him but me. Yet, I have things I must do, Kurg. Suffering is wrong, and my kin from this world have done nothing to stop it.”

  Kurgenrock nodded. “If only my people could break free from our need for protection,” he said. “I grow weary of battling magical creatures to defend the North. The Sundor Khan beasts do not slay us. So they fall beneath our swords. This butchery is not what giants were made to do! I want to live to see the day when my people remind the elves why giants came first to this world to defend all other creatures.