Mercy and Monsters - Chapter 3
Mercy and Monsters - Chapter 3
“Have at you, swindler!” Erin howled. “Oh sard!” Julia cursed, and put her mule into a gallop.
I speak to kings the deeds of their forefathers and the myths of their people, so that they might learn from the words of history, for from the past there springs the future, and from tradition comes strength and wisdom. There are no lies in myth and fable, merely lessons to be learned and guarded closely.
-The Epic of Sundiata
Morien had returned to the mosque with a bag full of new books when he ran into Zakariyya and his goons. Zakariyya had always been Morien’s chief tormentor in his early childhood, and even now, as Morien had grown strong enough to defend himself, he was wary of trading blows with the young man, especially when he was flanked by his two followers.
“Hey Morien, back from another one of your trips?” Zakariyya somehow managed to make an innocuous comment sound spiteful.
“Yes,” Morien muttered and tried to walk past the trio of tormentors. Unfortunately for him, Zakariyya and his partners moved to block him.
“Come on, don’t be shy, show us what you got,” Zakariyya sneered as Goon 1 and Goon 2 grabbed Morien’s bag.
“Hey! Give that back!” Morien cried.
“Ooh, look at this!” Goon 1 pulled out a book with a particularly beautiful princess on the cover.
“Dang Morien, no wonder you’re into this crap,” Goon 2 cackled.
“It’s disgusting,” Zakariyya hissed. “Like the Moorish emirs.”
“What?” Morien asked.
“Haven’t you heard?” Zakariyya said. “When the Moorish emirs conquered most of Ibery, they were just like you. Sick, lovelorn puppies, chasing after southern women and making sick, half-breed babies. Is that what you want, some sweet southern strumpet to sing you to sleep?”
“N-no, I-”
“No Zak, didn’t you hear?” Goon 1 said. “He wants to be an Augustine himself! I say!”
“I don’t!” Morien cried.
“I say! Do shut your lying face!” Goon 2 punched Morien square in the nose.
“I say. Can you not see we are doing you a favor?” Goon 1 started ripping up Morien’s books. “It is our duty as noble Rahmanites to prevent you from being corrupted by decadent southern forces.”
“No!” Morien howled. “Stop it!”
Before he could stop Goon 1 though, Goon 2 pounced upon him.
“May Ar-Rahman save this poor, unworthy soul,” Zakariyya prayed. “And may He guide my righteous fists towards his salvation. I say!”
Zakariyya then joined in on the fight, and though Morien tried his best to defend himself, Zakariyya and his goons were simply too strong for him. After a valiant effort, Morien lay broken, battered and bruised on the ground, while his torn-apart books blew away in the breeze. Morien cursed as he watched Zakariyya and his partners walk away laughing. He had to get stronger! He could no longer be weak! He had to be a hero, like Lon!
“He’s still at it,” Pakeezah said.
Malik turned in his seat to see Morien practicing his swordsmanship outside. The bruises on his cheeks were still fresh from that day’s fight with Zakariyya, and the food on his plate lay uneaten and cold, even after Pakeezah and Malik had long finished their own meals. Malik sighed. Morien had always possessed a stubborn streak. But tonight, it had manifested itself so strongly it was beginning to worry his mother.
“I should go talk to him,” Pakeezah stood up.
“No, let me do it,” Malik stood up as well.
“But… I…”
“Just let me try,” Malik said calmly. “I think I know what’s eating at him.”
“I just…” Pakeezah bit her lip. “I should be better at this than I am. I should be a better mother.”
“You’re an excellent mother,” Malik contended. “You’ve given Morien all the love and guidance he’s needed in life.”
“But… he suffers…” Pakeezah protested. “Look at him. I shouldn’t have brought him into this world if he was only going to be bullied and hated.”
“Pakeezah,” Malik placed Pakeezah’s shaking palms in his comforting grasp. “A woman should never feel ashamed for the circumstances of her child’s birth. When you came to me, all those years ago, I knew that the baby in your belly had been conceived out of wedlock. But I could see, from the way you clutched your womb so fiercely, so protectively, that he had been conceived in love. And I knew that to turn you away would be a sin too great for even Ar-Rahman, in all His infinite mercy, to forgive. This is not your fault.”
“I… I…” Pakeezah at last began to calm herself. “Thank you.”
Morien was practicing his forward slash when he noticed Malik walking outside to sit nearby him. Beads of sweat glistened on Morien’s face as he glanced curtly at his guardian.
“I said I’d be a minute,” Morien grunted. “I just want to get this technique right.”
Malik said nothing, merely smiling and nodding to show that he understood, so Morien went back to his practice. After a while though, Malik finally broke the silence.
“You know,” he said. “The Marabout of the Grand Mosque himself has mentioned you to me.”
Morien continued to practice in silence.
“He mentions your piety, your diligence, and your intelligence. He has said, if you have no name but Morien, that he would be honored to bestow a new name upon you.”
More practicing, more silence.
“But you have other dreams, don’t you?”
Morien halted his swings, Malik’s question striking home.
“How…?” he asked.
“I’ve got eyes, haven’t I?” Malik smiled. “And the moment I saw you first reading that book you got from that merchant, I could see the hunger in you, the same hunger that drove me to take the name Malik al-Shabazz.”
“It… it’s a stupid dream…” Morien muttered. “I know it is.”
“But it sustains you. It fulfills you and completes you, doesn’t it? Just as my task sustains me.”
“But I… I couldn’t even fend off Zakariyya today,” Morien clenched his fists in fury.
“And when I first began my transcriptions, I couldn’t convince a single griot,” Malik stood up and placed a hand on Morien’s shoulder. “But I kept at it. I kept trying. Dreams are worth fighting for, Morien.
“But just remember,” Malik glanced inside. “There are people who love you, whom you can always come back to, whenever you need to.”
Morien looked and saw his mother gazing worriedly outside, and a deep sense of shame filled his heart. How could he have worried his mother so? Malik was right. Even if it was only them against the world, that little trio who lived in the mosque had become a family.
“Come on,” Malik said. “Let’s go inside.”
“Alright,” Morien nodded, and followed the imam back into the mosque. That night, Morien spent an enjoyable dinner surrounded by warmth and the people he loved.
Morien strolled through the Timjeli bazaars, the warm sun shining its rays on the panorama of peddlers all gossiping and gabbing with their customers. Morien loved the bazaars. Outside, he may have only been no-name, but here, he was just another customer. People from all walks of life and all corners of the earth gathered here to buy, sell, and make merry. Amidst this sea of people, Morien was inconsequential. Inconsequential, how he loved to be so!
Food, clothes, toys, games, weapons, armor, pots, pans, horses, livestock, instruments both musical and mathematical, one could find anything at the Timjeli bazaars. And as always, Morien had come to find the one thing more valuable to him than anything else in the world: books. Old books, new books, small books, big books, if they had a dashing swordsman and wild adventure inside, then Morien bought them. It really was as simple as that. It was true, sometimes Morien would be disappointed with the contents inside, but for every story that bored him there was one that excited him. For every story that was rife with clichés there was one that had something new and fresh within. And when Morien read those stories, he became swept away in an adventure far greater than anything he had ever dreamed. If only he himself could slay a mighty dragon! If only he himself could travel to distant lands! If only he himself could be a hero like Lon; strong and noble, chivalrous and wise! All this I did, because you believed in me, and I believed in you.
But of course, what were the odds of that ever happening? Morien could certainly swing a practice sword, but he was nowhere near qualified enough for dragon-slaying. Maybe he was comfortable enough to travel to Timjeli frequently, but to entirely different countries? And as for being like Lon, well, he tried his best to live up to that heroic ideal. But in the end, Morien knew it was only an ideal, not a reality. In his stories, Lon always knew the right thing to do. He was adored by everyone he met. And he always had the power to protect the ones he loved. What were the odds of Morien ever being like that?
The Marabout himself, eh? That was what Malik had said. And even Morien, who heard every hushed whisper in his presence as a snide or smug remark, knew that when his name was whispered among the librarians, it was with the utmost respect. Perhaps, Morien pondered, the Marabout was right. Perhaps his fate lay within the Grand Mosque’s library. He still remembered Malik’s words. Dreams are worth fighting for. And when Morien went over that old tome again, his heart soared with a passion that nothing else could match. But in the end, it was just a silly fantasy, wasn’t it?
Now in a melancholy mood, Morien’s disposition became even dourer when he discovered there were no new books at his favorite vendor. Morien had bought so many from them already, the only copies that remained were reprints and retranslations. In a funk, Morien decided to try his luck elsewhere, but in his heart of hearts he knew it to be pointless. Years of navigating the Timjeli bazaars had made Morien an expert on where to find the best goods he required. If his favorite vendor did not have the books he sought, there was little point in looking elsewhere.
However, as luck, or perhaps some force far greater, would have it, Morien’s stumbling funk brought him to a vendor he hadn’t seen before. It was an Iber wagon, with a slothful Molly mule resting at the front, and a young woman, the same age as Morien, sitting regally at the side as she sold her goods. Everyone who passed her way would stop and stare, either because of her exquisite beauty, or her exceedingly weird wares. Truly, this girl seemed to be a jack-of-all-items merchant, and as Morien looked at the products she was proffering, it did not seem at all unreasonable that she might have a book he hadn’t read before.
“Uh… excuse me,” Morien called the young woman’s attention.
“Yes?” the girl spoke in a soft, sing-song voice, making Morien’s heart flutter slightly.
“Well, I was just wondering, miss-”
“Oh please,” the young woman’s beautiful brown eyes glowed as she laughed. “Call me Julia. It is my name, after all.”
“Oh, uh, well, Julia,” Morien stammered. “It’s just… you wouldn’t happen to have any books, would you?”
“I have books of all subject matter and genre from all countries and languages,” Julia brushed back her billowing, black hair. “Is there any category in particular that interests you?”
“Well, any of the chivalric romances,” Morien said. “You know, like Lon the Lionheart or Orlando.”
For the briefest of moments, Morien thought he saw a dark flash of contempt in Julia’s eyes. But it passed so abruptly he was sure he had merely imagined it.
“Ah,” Julia began to play with the green feather that hung from her necklace. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t have any of those sorts of books. I do have plenty of books concerning the history that inspired those tales though, if you’re interested.”
“Well…” Morien muttered. The offer did sound tempting.
“Or,” Julia grinned. “I see you have a practice sword on you. I don’t suppose you can wield it at all well?”
“Oh, this?” Morien glanced at the wooden blade at his belt. “I mean, I know a bit of swordsmanship. I wouldn’t say I’m an expert though.”
“Don’t be so modest,” Julia chuckled. “I’m sure you make all the ladies swoon back home.”
“N-not really…” Morien mumbled. He had never really had much opportunity for romance.
“Well, regardless, I think I have something that might interest you,” Julia reached back and rummaged around before pulling out a sword from the wagon. It seemed ordinary enough at first glance, but once she unsheathed it, it glistened with a luminescent quality unlike any other sword Morien had seen. Morien could only stare and marvel at the blade as it shimmered and shone, and wonder how it could possibly do such a thing.
“The sword Sacnoth,” Julia grinned. “A remarkable artifact, infused with mystic power. Nothing too fancy, mind you. You won’t be able to shoot beams of energy out of it or anything. But it is particularly fortified and sturdy. It can retain its razor edge after even the toughest of fights. Want to hold it? Here.”
“How on earth did you get this?” Morien gazed in amazement at the saber of light in his hands.
“Some old fool named Morgan,” Julia chuckled. “Goes by the title of ‘boss’ apparently, but was too stupid to realize what he was sitting on. Only cost me a bargain to take it off his hands.”
“I see…” Morien unsheathed the blade fully and took a few practice swings. Morien had never wielded a proper sword before, and even now, as he swung it, the blade felt somehow odd in his hands. But then again, he could find nothing wrong from swinging it.
“I may not have any books about swords and sorcery,” Julia said. “But with a blade like that, you could very well make your way as a romantic hero in your own right.”
“What?” Morien was caught off guard by Julia’s comment. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” Julia replied. “You know what they say, ‘from the humblest of origins’. And I don’t know much about knights and chivalry, but I can see you’ve got a hunger to be something more than what you are right now. With a sword like this, you can be that very something.”
“Something…” Morien turned the sword over in his hand, and saw his image reflected back. Was his dream so foolish after all? Was it fate that had brought him to that vendor? Deep inside his heart, Morien knew that such a thought was crazy, but even deeper still, he desperately wished it to be true. Look at what I have done, he would say to the hero. All this I have made because of you. Oh, his heart ached at the thought of it!
“So… how much do you want for it?” Morien asked.
“I can see you’ve experience in this game of haggling,” Julia grinned. “So I’ll set you a fair price.”
After a successful bout of bickering and bargaining, Morien managed to buy his new sword for all the money he had left in his pocket. A steep price, but one he was willing to pay for something so dear to him. But as Morien walked down the street, eager to test his new weapon out, he failed to notice the Iber merchant’s smug expression behind him.
“Sucker,” Julia smirked.
Morien had only bought Sacnoth a few minutes ago, but already he was aching to try it out. Making his way to an empty alleyway, he unsheathed his new sword and heaved a mighty swing. Jabbing, parrying, thrusting, stabbing, Morien began to really feel like a mighty hero as he felt the lighted saber’s power in his hand. It was incredible, exhilarating, everything he had ever dreamed of and more. So full of euphoria was he, that when Morien saw a simple wooden barrel nearby, he instantly moved to strike it, foregoing any consequences that it might bring.
So when the sword Sacnoth shattered as it made contact with the barrel, at first Morien could not even register what had happened. Then, as he saw the still-glowing pieces of blade gathering dust in the alley, Morien knew he had been tricked. A sudden howling emptiness began to surge in his heart. He had believed Julia. He had believed he could be a hero. And she had taken advantage of that belief to swindle him of his last remaining money. Slowly, the emptiness began to grow, as he saw the Iber merchant laughing at him with the same scornful contempt of Zakariyya, or his goons, or everyone else that had taunted and tormented him so. Then his sorrow surged into a roiling rage, and all the anger and hurting and hatred that had been boiling up inside his heart for years at last erupted in its full fury. Cursing and howling, Morien ran out the alley and dashed back to where he had seen Julia’s wagon. By Ar-Rahman, he would make her give back the money she had stolen from him!
Shoving past the busy passersby, Morien at last reached the spot where Julia’s wagon had stood, only to discover with horror that it was no longer there. In record time, she had packed everything up and left! All Morien could do was unleash a wrathful scream and pound his fists in the ground, as a sea of indifferent bystanders did nothing but ignore him.
It wasn’t fair.
Julia whistled a merry tune as she made her way towards the city limits of Timjeli. She had made several lucrative deals during her stay in this fine city, and she looked forward to a new city with new economic ventures awaiting her. Admittedly, she did feel a tinge of guilt over that poor boy she had swindled with her phony Sacnoth, but she knew she would get over it soon enough. After all, if that boy was still naïve enough to believe in fairy stories of honor and chivalry, he must have lived a very sheltered life. Teaching him some facts about the real world would do him some good.
As Julia waited in traffic at the city gates, she noticed a sight that intrigued her immensely. There, standing by the side of the road, holding up a hitchhiker’s thumb to all the passing carts, was a tall glass of water carrying a lute on his back. He seemed to be a bard, with blonde hair and a red tunic over his tall and lean frame. He also seemed to be exquisitely attractive, a quality that interested Julia far more than anything else.
“Well hello there,” Julia grinned greetingly at the young man. “What brings you round these parts, handsome?”
To Julia’s surprise, the bard responded in the form of a song.
“Hello dear sir
Or madam miss
I hope you’ll lend an ear
You see, I am
A bard by trade
Have been for many years
The reason for
This job of mine
Is such a tale so tragic
Some might say I
Had run afoul
Of some mischievous magic
In fact in youth
A stable boy
There was a certain mule
That kicked me hard
Upon my head
To wound me like a fool
Since that dark day
Though my voice still
Comes to me when I sing
I cannot call
Words from my mouth
For else of anything
As such I sing
To make my trade
And travel day and night
Through all the lands
Yehovah blessed
With His pure, holy light
If you would please
Lend me a ride
I would be most beholden
Though I’ve no coin
To pay you with
Merely my silence golden
Before I ask
This of you though
Permit me say my name
That being Yann
A simple bard
I hope you know my fame”
In fact, Julia had hardly paid attention to anything Yann had just sang, instead opting to thoroughly examine his lean, muscular limbs. As such, when the bard finished his song, it took a moment for her to snap out of her dazed stupor.
“Hm? Oh, ah,” Julia regained her composure. “Well, Mister… er, Yann, was it? Despite you having no money, as an enterprising young businesswoman, I’m sure the two of us can devise a capitalistic arrangement that we would both find… mutually beneficial.”
Yann cocked his head to one side, not quite understanding Julia’s meaning.
“I’m offering you a ride,” Julia said.
Ah, Yann smiled. She had his thanks.
As Yann climbed aboard Julia’s wagon, the merchant was already devising the best strategy to later get him into said capitalistic arrangement.
“Um… do you need help?”
Morien was kneeling dejectedly when he heard the voice speak. Mechanically, he turned around to see a young woman standing behind him. She looked just as odd to him as Julia’s cart had, with a disheveled mop of curly red hair, pale, freckled skin, and a green robe that looked more like a sack than proper clothes. In her hand, she carried a wooden staff, and as she stared down at Morien through a pair of lenses perched on her nose, he could see concern etched across all her features.
“I… I just…” Morien mumbled. “There was a woman here. She… she ripped me off.”
Saying it out loud, Morien realized how petty it all sounded, getting bent out of shape over a simple swindling. But how else should he have reacted?
“Do… you need help finding her?” the girl asked.
“That’d be nice,” Morien muttered. “But I don’t see how it’ll happen.”
“Well,” the girl said. “Did she have anything on her that was green?”
“Green?” Morien didn’t understand the question.
“Yeah, green. Like, her clothes, or some jewelry, or…”
“She… she had a feather,” Morien recalled. “On her necklace. It was green. But I don’t see-”
Before he could finish, Morien saw that the young woman was now twirling her staff in the air and chanting an unearthly incantation.
“Spirits of the Spectrum, your servant Green calls for your aid,” the girl chanted. “Those who color the leaves and the grass, those who decorate the courts of kings, those who fill the eyes of my kin, I call upon you!”
Instantly, the young woman’s eyes emitted an ethereal emerald light, and she seemed to be within a trance. All at once, the girl saw everything in the city that was green, from the potted plants to the colored tapestries to the regal robes. They whizzed and sped all around her, like a raging river, threatening to envelop her and consume her. But still her mind effortlessly walked through the stream of green, until at last she found the prize she sought. There, just outside the city limits, was a young, female merchant with a green feather hanging from her necklace, and she was making her way south.
With a sneeze, the girl escaped her trance, and grinned gleefully at the confused Morien.
“Come on! I know where to find her!” she grabbed his hand and ran with him down the street.
“Wh- How?” Morien exclaimed. “How did you… what’s your name?”
“Erin!” she grinned. “Now come on!”
For an instant, Julia’s lucky feather seemed to glow with an otherworldly magic. But it soon faded to its original hue, and she wrote it off as a trick of the light. The sun was beginning to set, after all. It would be Qurtana, the capital of Andalus, that she went to next. In the meantime, she intended to use the trip to her full advantage.
“So, Yann,” Julia smiled sweetly. “How exactly did you end up all the way in Timjeli?”
Yann thought for a moment, evidently trying to think of a way to sing an explanation.
“Ah, yes,” Julia remembered. “I’m sorry.”
It was alright, Yann shook his head. He was used to it.
“Well,” Julia changed the subject. “It’s getting dark, but there’s a bed in the back of the wagon, so you can sleep there if you like.
“Although,” Julia launched her attack. “I wasn’t planning on having a passenger aboard. And seeing as how it’s such a small bed, well… perhaps you get my meaning?”
Yann nodded and smiled reassuringly. Sleeping outside suited him fine.
“Er… no,” Julia said. “I mean… I’m not asking you to sleep out in the wild, I mean-”
Before Julia could make her intentions clear, she saw that Yann was staring star-struck up at something in the twilight sky. Turning her head to where he was looking, Julia saw what looked almost like a shooting star in the distance. However, it seemed to be moving at an unusually slow pace. As Julia squinted, trying to catch a better glimpse of the supposed star, she couldn’t help but wonder just what the mysterious object was.
“Spirits of the Spectrum, your servant Green calls for your aid,” Erin began to chant.
“What are you doing?” Morien tried to keep pace with Erin, who moved surprisingly quickly in her bulky robes.
“Calling us a ride!” Erin completed her chant, and then with a sneeze, called upon a green Persian carpet, which whizzed through the air towards her.
“Hey!” the carpet merchant yelled. “That’s my carpet!”
“Sorry sir!” In one continuous, deft motion, Erin let go of Morien’s hand, reached into her robes, pulled out several gold coins, tossed them into the air, batted them with her staff towards the carpet merchant, grabbed Morien’s hand again, and leapt onto the flying carpet. All this she did without ever slowing down her pace.
“Oh! My!” the carpet merchant gawked at the gold in his hand.
“That should be enough to pay for the carpet!” Erin cried as she swept Morien up high above the tallest buildings of Timjeli.
“Merciful Ar-Rahman!” Morien cried. He had never been so high above the ground in his life! How was any of this possible?
“Now then,” Erin swept her staff forward. “Let’s go!”
The flying carpet sped through the air, as Morien held onto Erin for dear life, and within seconds they were already out of the city limits.
“How are you doing this?” Morien gasped.
“Magic!” Erin grinned. “I was chosen to be one of the Seven Spectral Sorcerers, under the tutelage of the mighty Deus ex Machina, to carry out the will of Green, one of the Seven Spectral Spirits.”
“…What?”
“Eventually, my studies took me to the Rahmanite world, and I instantly fell in love!” Erin went on obliviously. “To the Yeshuans, green is just another, regular, old color. But to you Rahmanites, it’s a sacred part of your iconography! After finding that out, I just had to visit all the Rahmanite kingdoms and see all the amazing green here for myself!”
“So… you’re a… witch, or something?” Morien asked.
“Well, I don’t know about the term witch,” Erin chuckled. “I’m more fond of ‘sorceress’ myself. But I guess you could call me a witch, if you wanted to.
“By the way,” Erin extended her hand out. “I’m sorry, I never asked for your name.”
“Uh, Morien,” Morien took her hand.
“Morien, that’s a nice name,” Erin grinned.
“So… are you from Carolina or Antile or…?”
“Me? No way!” Erin laughed. “I’m a Celt, from the island of Hibernia.”
“Hibernia?” Morien furrowed his brow. “Like, Fionn Mac Cumhaill?”
“You know him?” Erin’s beam seemed to strike Morien like something physical. “Wow! That’s amazing! And I take it you’re a Songhay swordsman?”
“Um,” Morien glanced down at the practice sword Erin was now pointing at and blushed. “W-well, actually I’m a… Mandenka.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Erin gasped.
“N-no, it’s alright,” Morien laughed nervously. “I mean-”
“Ah! Over there!” Erin cried, saving Morien the embarrassment of explaining his hobby. As Morien looked to where Erin was pointing, he saw in the distance the familiar wagon and its merchant driver.
“Let’s cream ’em!” Erin swooped down towards their target, staff at the ready.
“I swear that thing’s getting bigger,” Julia muttered. The sun had almost completely set by now, and the unidentified light in the sky seemed to be growing in size. Suddenly though, there was a cry from above, and as Julia and Yann turned around, they saw a flying carpet rushing towards them, with an angry Celt and familiar Mandenka onboard.
“Have at you, swindler!” Erin howled.
“Oh sard!” Julia cursed, and put her mule into a gallop.
Morien supposed he should have felt exhilarated at the current situation, but in reality, he felt more confused than anything else.
Yann, meanwhile, just stared blankly at the flying carpet coming their way. It was not every day someone saw such a thing.
Meanwhile, many miles away, in a darkened cathedral on a mysterious island, a woman stood horrorstruck by a strange pedestal of some kind.
“No!” she cried. “Not now!”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” the man beside her asked.
“The seals, they’re coming apart too quickly. The dark energy inside is going to burst!”
“What… what’ll happen then?” the man asked anxiously.
“I don’t know, but- Ahhh!” the woman reeled back as the pedestal exploded with shadowy lightning.
“Saoirse!” the man rushed over to the woman. “Are you alright?”
“Y-yes,” she said as the energy around the pedestal died down.
“Can you stand?” the man helped her to her feet again.
“Y-yes,” Saoirse made her way back to the pedestal. “And… and it looks like the seals are still in place.”
The man whispered a prayer of thanks to Yehovah.
“But…” Saoirse went pale. “I’ve lost contact with the Angelic Spheres.”
A blinding flash of light against the night sky caught Morien’s attention, and as he glanced in the direction of where the flash had come from, he saw a glowing orb spiraling straight towards him! Before Erin could do anything, the orb had collided with Morien’s face to fling him off the carpet and into the dusty ground below.
“Morien!” Erin cried.
“Well, toodle-oo,” Julia took the opportunity to make her escape.
“Not so fast!” Erin growled, and with a chant and a sneeze, everything green in Julia’s cart became immobilized.
“What… what the…?” Julia found herself unable to move, despite her repeated struggles.
“Morien!” Erin leapt down from the carpet and rushed to the poor boy’s side.
“Ungh…” Morien groaned as he came back to his senses.
“Are you alright?” Erin asked.
“Y-yeah…” Morien muttered. Everything ached, but he was still alive.
“What… what is this?” Erin held up the orb that had hit Morien, which had now dimmed considerably.
“I don’t know,” Morien shrugged.
It appeared to be some sort of magic object, Yann observed from across Erin’s shoulder.
“Ah!” Erin shrieked as she noticed Yann’s presence. “What the-? How did-?”
In her moment of surprise, Erin accidentally tossed up the orb, which Yann deftly caught with one hand to more closely examine. It didn’t look like anything he had seen before, but then again, he was not very well-versed in magical artifacts.
“Hey! Can somebody help me get out of this… spell-thing?!” Julia griped.
“Hush you!” Erin cried. “Your swindling days are over!”
“Now see here!” Julia spat. “I don’t know what sort of rot this fellow’s been telling you, but I run a perfectly legitimate business here!”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Erin growled.
While the girls were in the midst of squabbling, Morien got back up and examined the sphere in Yann’s hands.
“Uh… can I take a look at it, please?” Morien asked.
Yann handed the orb over to Morien, which then suddenly sprang to life once again. As Morien, Yann, Erin, and Julia all stared in disbelief, the sphere flashed a striking golden hue, and began to float somewhat woozily out of Morien’s hands.
“Unh…” the orb glistened groggily. “Where am I?”
“It can talk!” Erin cried.
“Of course I can talk,” the sphere glowed grouchily. “I’m one of the sacred Angelic Spheres of Ohr.”
“Oar?” Julia smirked.
“Ohr,” the orb growled. “Ar-Rahman, Yehovah, Elohim, or whatever you wish to call Him!”
“Wait, you’re a servant of Ar-Rahman?” Morien was dumbfounded.
“That is what I just said, isn’t it?” the sphere hissed.
“What’s your name?” Erin asked.
“I haven’t got a name!” the orb flashed furiously. “I don’t need one. I’m-”
“I’m gonna nickname you Hobie!” Erin said.
“Hobie?!” the orb smoldered. “Why…?”
“Y’know, from Yehovah,” Erin replied. “I think it’s a good name.”
“Yeah, I gotta admit,” Julia snickered. “That is a pretty good name for you.”
Yann nodded in agreement.
“Oh, away with the lot of you!” Hobie howled. “I shall… unh…”
Hobie began to sink towards the ground again, before Morien caught him. Hobie’s light had begun to fade once more.
“I… thank you, young man,” Hobie mumbled. “I’m sorry. My connection to Ohr has been severed. Tar-Cruorem must be almost free.”
“Tar-Cruorem!?!” Morien gasped.
Could it be? The Black-Blooded Baron? The scourge of the Aenean Empire, who had been sealed on the Isle of Thule so many centuries ago? But that had just been a story, hadn’t it? A myth, a legend, a fable that Morien had read over and over again. It couldn’t really be real, could it? And yet, here in his hands rested an Angelic Sphere, just like the ones that had aided Lon the Lionheart in his final battle, just as real and as tangible as anything else in the world.
Suddenly, the silly dream that had danced in the back of Morien’s mind did not seem so silly after all. After all, if the Angelic Spheres were real, then that meant Lon was also real. And if Lon was also real, then perhaps that hero from so many years ago really had been him. And if that hero had been Lon, why, what better thing to show him, what better deed to accomplish, than to re-seal the evil overlord that had plagued Lon’s kingdom so many centuries ago? Morien could hardly believe his luck then!
“Who’s Tar-Cruorem?” Erin asked.
“The Black-Blooded Baron, the evilest entity to ever walk the earth!” Morien cried.
“Oh come on,” Julia groaned. “That’s just a myth, a legend, a fairy story!”
“I can assure you miss, it is no ‘fairy story’,” Hobie replied. “Tar-Cruorem has remained trapped on the Isle of Thule for many centuries in eternal slumber. But now he is beginning to wake once more.”
“Wait! Thule?” Erin lit up. “Is that the same land as Tír na nÓg?”
“That is what the Celts call it, yes,” Hobie said.
“And you say you come from there?” Erin exclaimed.
“Yes,” Hobie replied. “But the other Angelic Spheres and I were sent by Ohr to locate a soul worthy of finding the three Keys of the three seals that contain Tar-Cruorem, and-”
“Okay, stop. Stop it right there,” Julia interjected. “I don’t know if any of this prophetic gobbledygook makes a lick of sense to anyone else, but it doesn’t make any sense to me, so why don’t you all just let me go and I can be on my merry way?”
“Don’t you realize how big this is?” Morien cried. “This is Tar-Cruorem! If he returns to power, it’ll mean the end of humanity!”
“Land’s sake, do you even hear yourself talk?” Julia groaned. “You sound like one of those insufferable heroes from those stupid tales of chivalry.”
“Maybe he is!” Erin posited. “I mean, think about it, Hobie, you were sent by Yehovah to find someone worthy to reseal Tar-Cruorem, right?”
“More or less, yes.”
“Well, you found Morien!” Erin said. “You crashed into him, and as soon as he held you in his hands, you regained your strength.”
“Er, no,” Hobie glowed grimacingly. “I did not find Morien. I crashed into him because my connection with Ohr was severed by Tar-Cruorem. There’s a difference. Also, look at him. You expect me to believe this child is able to reseal the Black-Blooded Baron?”
Instantly, something deep inside Morien snapped at those words.
“How do you know I’m not!?” Morien shouted. “Who are you to judge me!?”
“Listen to yourself,” Hobie groaned. “A spoiled, petulant child like you could never be worthy of the three Keys.”
“You-!” Morien was about to toss Hobie as far as he could, when a calm, reassuring hand was placed on his shoulder. Morien looked up to see Yann, with an expression of understanding on his face.
“Alright… fine,” Morien muttered. “Maybe I’m not some fancy hero. Maybe I’m just some stupid kid. But look at you! You’re in no condition to go… questing or whatever for this worthy one. You can hardly even float!”
“This… is true,” Hobie grumbled.
“So maybe I’m not the hero you wanted, but I’m the one you’ve got!”
Hobie flickered for a moment.
“I don’t follow.”
“Look, I know all the stories about Lon the Lionheart, and Tar-Cruorem,” Morien said. “If the Black-Blooded Baron is really rising again, then I have to try and stop him.”
“True,” Hobie admitted. “But are you really only saying that out of a sense of altruism?”
“I…” Morien had no response.
“Alright then, if you’re gonna stop this Tar-Cruorem character, then I’m coming with you!” Erin cried.
“R-really?” Morien blinked in surprise.
“Sure!” Erin grinned. “After all, it sounds like you two’ll need all the help you can get. And besides, it’s a chance for me to see Tír na nÓg! No way am I passing that up.”
Yann raised his hand in agreement. He wanted to come along as well.
“But… I…” Morien could not describe the feeling he was having just then. It was almost like having friends.
“Well kumbaya and whoop-de-doo!” Julia groaned. “Now can someone please let me go?!”
“Not so fast, swindler!” Erin cried. “As recompense for cheating Morien out of his money, I sentence you to giving us a ride to… where are the Keys located again?”
“Ibery, Normandy, and Hibernia,” Hobie replied.
“Exactly! Ibery, Normandy, and Hibernia!” Erin grinned.
“You’ve got a sarding flying carpet!” Julia screeched. “What the sard do you need my wagon for!?”
“I say!” Hobie flashed furiously. “A lady such as yourself should never use such foul language!”
“Sard off!” Julia shrieked.
“I can’t fly us all the way to those places,” Erin said. “My magic’ll run out before I even get to Andalus. We’ll need some other form of transportation.”
“Forget it!” Julia grumbled. “Find some other poor schmuck to help you. As far as I’m concerned this isn’t my problem.”
“Uh…” Erin reached into her pocket. “I’ll give you some gold.”
Julia erupted in an explosion of anger. “If you have gold on you, then why didn’t you just give that to Morien to make up for the money he lost!?!”
Erin blinked bewilderingly.
“Uh… why didn’t I do that?” Erin pondered aloud. “Huh. Heheh, I guess I could have just done that all along.”
As Julia’s howls of anger pierced the night sky, Morien suddenly realized what was happening. He was now going on an adventure, one as spectacular and grand as the ones he had dreamed about for so many years. And yet, somehow, this adventure didn’t feel anything like the ones he had read about. Somehow, it felt even stranger and more fantastic than anything he’d known before in fiction.
