The Morl

Dear Human, if I told you this was all part of my master plan, I’d be a liar. I remember regaining consciousness. I remember opening my eyes but leaving my body limp, so they would not know yet. I wish I could better describe my feelings to you, but we morls do not feel emotions in the same way that you do. I fear that the nuances might get lost in translation, but I can tell you that the primary sound in my ears was that of laughter. Torin Thanata’s voice was there; as was Sir Mau Dannister’s; as was Madam Ulana Bela’s. These three voices were the loudest, having been Gathered most recently.

Now that we knew where to look, the unmistakable morlish shimmer lay before us, making the rocks on the cave floor dance and bend. “Well?” said the Singer. “Is it Father Ori?”

We all peered into the waves, looking for a face. I saw my father’s face, then my own, then the face of the man who had tried to touch me in the cargo hold, then the face of a monster with hundreds of eyes. Then the headache was too strong for me to keep looking.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness,” said Father Ori’s voice. “Some things are unforgivable.”

Light flickered at the corner of my eye. Professor Octavius was holding a sword out for everyone to see. “Sir Mau’s weapon,” said the Wizard. “He dropped it.”

The Hunter took it. The last time we had seen it, it was being buried in the sand with Father Ori. I remembered the first time I had seen it, too: in the crowded streets before all this had begun; I had crashed into Sir Mau’s breastplate and lay looking up at the shining soldier wondering if he had come to apprehend me.

“Well,” said Octavius, “was it you who killed Madam Bela and Sir Mau?”

“What makes you think they’re dead?” said Father Ori.

“That means yes,” said Asuana. “Come on. Ignore him.”

But Octavius was not done. “And the monks?” he demanded.

“Oh, they’re definitely dead,” said Father Ori. “Sorry if this sounds like a non sequitur at first, but I’m not going to be asking for forgiveness, and I won’t be explaining myself. So if you’re looking for some kind of… what is it you humans call it? Closure? Wrapping up? What do you call it, Nial? It’s a book word…”

“Denouement?” I said.

“Yes, that’s it! If you’re looking for that, you won’t get it. So your best bet is to take that sword and do what you have to do with it.” Everyone looked dumbly at the sword in the Hunter’s hand. If it had been in my own hand, it would have been shaking. But in Asuana’s it was steady, sending off unwavering rays of light. How could she possibly not be shaking right now?

“What are you waiting for?” said Father Ori.

“How long have you been following us?” demanded Lilly.

“Long enough,” said Father Ori. “I was there for your awkward kiss with Nial. And its sequel!”

I suddenly felt like vomiting. The idea that the Morl had watched my first kiss was somehow sickening. Unbidden, I reimagined the awkward passion as Lilly and I rolled down the sand dune, arms and legs entangled. The memory would be tarnished forever—corrupted, made unholy. And now, none of my memories were trustworthy: always, in the shadows, the specter had been waiting—the wraith in the night. Beneath the depths, betwixt the shadows, behind the air, between the lines, the Morl had always been.

Crumpled, tied, beaten—how could he seem so calm? He’s lost, and we’ve won. Why do I feel sick?

“In all seriousness, though,” said Father Ori, “don’t I deserve a trial?”

“Spoken like a true serial killer,” sneered Professor Octavius. “Suddenly, you feel entitled to mercy.” He spat on the ground.

“One vote for no trial…” said Father Ori. “Has the committee decided, then?”

“Maybe we should,” said Gwen Florence gravely. I could tell she was thriving on the drama, on the opportunity to be someone’s judge.

Father Ori nodded encouragingly, or at least that’s what it looked like to me. “Maybe you should be the judge, Gwen,” said the Morl.

“Maybe I should,” she retorted.

“No trial,” said the Hunter quietly. “Stop letting him get inside your head. Words are the only weapons he has left.”

I expected Father Ori to say something. But no. Only shimmering silence. Perhaps that was a weapon too.

The Hunter went on, “We will however be conducting an interrogation. We are at war, and we need to know what he knows.”

“The war is over,” said Father Ori. “Haven’t you heard?”

All eyes went to Asuana, who rolled hers, but not (I thought) before betraying a hint of doubt. “I’ve always wondered,” she said, “if morls are anatomically the same as humans.” She aimed her sword roughly at where legs should be. “For example, if I do this…” She shoved the sword point down, causing the Morl to scream. And when the echoes faded, she said, “does the blade scrape the same bones? Does it cut the same arteries?” A patch of morl blood was spreading, which just made the cave floor in the area harder to look at.

“Yes,” the Morl hissed through the pain, “we are similar. Anatomically.”

“I’d say the interrogation is going well,” said the Hunter. “What do you think, Professor?”

“Perhaps,” said the Wizard, “it would go better if I used my truth spell?”

This elicited a pained chuckle from the Morl.

“Well, what’s so funny?” said the Wizard.

The Morl was laughing now, a strange, strangled sound when mixed with pain. “It’s just that I knew the morl who was handing out ‘truth spells’ about, oh I don’t know, one hundred and fifty years ago. You wouldn’t be able to see it but, if I were untied and my leg weren’t bleeding, I’d be using air quotes for ‘truth spell.’”

“It worked on Nial,” the Wizard snapped. “I have been teaching Advanced Truth Telling Magic as an upper-division elective to elite students since…”

The Morl’s poorly stifled laughter caused the Wizard to trail off. “It worked on Nial? Let me guess. Nial, you felt your mind go foggy, like you’d had a drink or two. And suddenly, you became so relaxed and happy that it just didn’t seem to matter if you told the truth or a lie, or if you spoke at all. You were just floating, listening to the sounds that came into your ears and the other ones that went out of your mouth.”

I didn’t affirm or deny anything. But in truth, the Morl was right.

The Wizard cut in, “Yes, well, what’s your point? The induced state of mind is highly conducive to extracting the truth even from unwilling subjects. I myself have run several studies and published twelve peer-reviewed papers on the technique.”

“On subjects who are students at the Academy,” the Morl pointed out. “This is the problem with Academy science. You study how your human magic works on a select population of other humans. How many morls have you studied?”

The Wizard said to the Hunter, “He’s just trying to get into our heads. I say we use the spell.”

The Hunter said, “Have you ever used the spell on a morl before?”

“No, but—”

“Father Ori,” she said, “does human magic come from morl gifts?”

“You can’t tell, but I’m smiling,” said Father Ori. He didn’t go on.

“Well?” said the Hunter, playing along. “What are we smiling about?”

“I’ve long been a student of your language and culture,” he said. “The word ‘gift’ in morlish has connotations in our own language that get lost in translation. Would you like a quick language lesson? The verb that we translate as ‘to gift a human with magic’ is the same as the one we translate as ‘to sow seeds’ and, if you can believe it, also the one we translate as ‘to play a card face down’ in many ancient morlish card games. Nial, take out your paper, this next part is complicated.”

“Enough of this,” said the Hunter, taking a gulp from her canteen. She shook it, irritated at how slowly it was filling. “He’s just stalling. Benji, we need to get to the shrine. We can continue the interrogation afterward.”

Benji pointed down the tunnel. “I can take Father Ori through the shrine chamber and wait with him on the other side, where you will exit.”

I felt my stomach twist. After all this time, to be just minutes away! I peered at the darkness from which heat radiated.

“Then here’s the plan,” said the Hunter. “We take him with us. We all ask our questions of the shrine. Then, when we exit the mountain, we’ll continue the interrogation. He’ll grow more pliable as he grows hungry and thirsty. And if that doesn’t work, there’s the truth spell. And if not that, then… we take him back to the monastery where there are a surprising number of experts in administering pain.”

Benji said, “A fair plan. I just hope you are the same person on the other side that you are now.”

“A shrine cannot change who I am,” said the Hunter. I could tell she believed it fully, so I did too. “Lead the way.”