XXII. Dreamer

The scents of breakfast wafted from the galley as the hearth cast an orange glow into the otherwise dark and lifeless hallway. Osric had rolled up his sleeves and bustled about, chopping ingredients to rush back to the skillet over a roaring fire. The sight was most unexpected as Morana glided past. Curiosity got the better of her and she turned back to see what he was preparing.

“What’s all this then?” She queried as she waved the fragrant smoke from her face.

Osric paused, looking up with a brief flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He wiped his forehead on the back of his hand; his hair was loosely tied in a tail behind him. The man looked significantly less sinister in such a domestic role, not that he looked like the type to commit the atrocities credited to him to begin with.

“It’s breakfast.”

Morana took in the spread with genuine surprise; Osric seemed the type to disdain such mundane tasks as preparing meals and eating. Since they had been together, she had only seen him nibbling at bread, cheese and dried fruit, things that were readily available in the castle larder.

“I see then.”

She slowly made her way into the kitchen as Osric went back to the skillet. There were eggs, and she knew that chickens ran about in the castle storerooms, but could not tell what the meat was. She sniffed, trying to place the smell. It reminded her of pork, but there were no swine; they were all dead or feral by now.

“So what are you making?”

Osric turned the meat and flipped the eggs on the skillet. She smiled, recognizing it as Dusk meat. Not all creatures of Dusk oozed evil; some could be domesticated and were quite tasty. However, how Osric could have known this was beyond her. The man did possess knowledge; she would credit him that. He must have lived in the Asketillian Archives. Osric summoned a stack of plates and removed the skillet from the fire.

“There is enough for three of us.” Osric added dryly, his attempt at an invitation to dine while still saving face.

She smirked, wondering if it was his half-assed way of apologizing for trying to keep the priestess’ location a secret.

“Well, I am honored. Yet, I do not believe that Alden has the need for food, and I merely enjoy the act of eating.”

Osric heaped the meat, eggs and vegetables onto a large platter. “How unfortunate.”

He waved his hand and cleared the table, sending the clutter to its rightful place on the shelves or in the sink. Morana watched as he loaded a plate with food, looking slightly uncomfortable. To see the reason of his distress was reason enough to keep her around, especially if her presence was the cause of that discomfort.

“He is Agrardyan isn’t he?”

“He is.” Morana paused, probing him with her eyes. “Or rather, he was… Why?”

Osric shrugged. “I did quite a bit of research on that society.”

“So I heard.” She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I have questions.”

A mischievous grin spread across her lips. “And I am sure I have answers.

“I want to hear them from him.” Osric replied tersely.

Morana grinned, seeming to stare into Osric’s very soul. “His answers are limited and can only be shared in a long dead tongue.”

Osric paused, taking in the vagueness of the response. “Then what can you tell me?”

Morana traced the rim of a nearby glass with her finger. “What do you want to know?”

Osric placed a glass dome over the platter and drew a symbol of fire upon it to keep the contents warm. “Who is he?”

“A General. A leader. A butcher. That is…enough on that subject; it is not my place to divulge the cause of his imprisonment in The Dusk. He was the Head of State for the Republic of Agrardya.”

“Was there magic? In the same sense as there is today I mean.”

She shifted her weight on the stool, thinking of a way to word her response. “There was, cheap tricks mostly and only about one percent of the world population could use it. Magic was still in its infancy even in my time, the Academy was still new to the world. But during his time on Silex, technology was the reigning force…”

“I am not familiar with that particular art…”

She chuckled. “It is just a dead word. Yes, there was magic, it was just under a different guise. The ‘Power of Dawn’ was actually man made, or so he said. It was for emergency medical teams and field medics, healers in other words. Much like the clerics of today.”

Her brow furrowed and her eyes darkened. The aura of terror around her intensified and Osric pushed his plate away, his stomach was in knots and the very sight of food made him nauseous.

“Then that bitch Renata came along preaching about taints and the arrogance of men. As usual, the scared masses ate it up and bought every word she sold, just because that fucking word was hope.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath; the room seemed to brighten as her aura subsided. “If they had stayed healers it would have worked, but men want power, they get greedy. Because of that we wallowed through hundreds of years of darkness and religious subjugation. All that remains of the past are demonized stories. The truth and lessons long since forgotten.”

Alden poked his head into the kitchen, saw the two of them and snorted in disgust before he continued on his way. Morana made her way to the table and picked through the platter as she made her plate, ignoring him completely. Osric watched with interest, their relationship was intriguing, and for some odd reason he felt a twinge of jealousy. There was something deep inside that he knew could explain his feelings, but he could not recollect.

“Is there something I need to be made aware of regarding you two?”

Morana nibbled on a piece of meat. “We were in hell together. He knows what it was. Leave it at that Ozzy. This is good.”

Osric handed her a fork and a napkin. “Don’t use your fingers…”

“He won’t tell you anything.”

Osric looked up from his own plate. “Because of you?”

“Yes, in part, but he was condemned to The Dusk for a reason. Even murderers and rapists don’t go there.”

“What did he do?”

“Genocide mostly, but also....” Morana paused, a mischievous glint in her eyes and a smirk on her red lips. “Oh, what the hell. not like it matters much anymore anyway.”

Osric silently chewed, intently watching as Morana poked at the food on her plate.

“His people killed the gods, or rather, bound them to flesh, plucking them from their heavenly sphere’s to be caged and shackled, discarded once their usefulness had been exhausted.”

Osric leaned in to whisper as some co-conspirator discussing a crime.“He can kill the Eloi?”

Morana laughed, causing Orsic to flinch. “No, no, those beings are beyond even me. It seems there is much you still do not know, and that which should remain unspoken. Suffice to say, he is bound to me, as all mortal’s are. For attempting to break that bond, he was damned.”

Osric opened his mouth to ask more questions, but decided against it. Her words were intentionally cryptic, and he knew by now that she was unwilling to divulge anything else on the topic.

“And Renata? How does she fit into things?”

Morana snorted in contempt. “How doesn’t she? She may have healed sickness and taught the masses to take care of themselves again without the old magic’s, but she subjugated us all with ‘The Order’ and enforced the Eloi’s dominion. The bitch.” She stabbed angrily at her eggs, bursting the yolk. “Only the founding of Asketill in three seventy loosened their grip slightly, but even they are mere puppets clutching at half truths.”

“Why does he want her?”

“The Demon? I’d rather not say…” she said through a chilling smirk.

“What is Yggdrasil?” Osric asked after a moment of silence.

She rolled her eyes and took a bite of the eggs. “A big ass tree, you know this.”

Osric took a deep breath and attempted to keep his annoyance in check. “There are precious few records of its purpose, why it is and where it came from. Only myth and legend.”

“And have you thought to look at the myths literally?” Morana teased. “The myths are the records. The Sidhe, of Aes Sidhe, planted Yggdrasil. After the war, the planet was in turmoil, a decade of winter because no sunlight was able to pierce the veil of dust and smoke in the air, people dying left and right as their organs grew tumors and their immune systems attacked living tissue. The air and even the water was toxic, all life on this planet faced extinction. The elves attempted to stop this, and planted several of these trees to draw out the poison in the soil, but all died with blood red leaves.

“By year forty, things were getting better, but not by much. It is only in the year one twenty, with the planting of the world tree that the pollutants are siphoned from the air, soil and water.” Morana smiled upon catching Osric’s enraptured look. “Are you enjoying this?”

Osric blushed and straightened up. “Well, history is my subject of interest…”

“I see.” Moran grinned and took a bite of egg. “As I was saying, the forest of Alfheim and the Wraith Wood are evidence of this. Those used to be great nations, and the worst hit. It was once that all of Runandia and parts of Briternica were covered in forest. That is why the Wraith Wood and Alfheim are home to some of the only ruins of pre-collapse civilization. Except maybe a few cities buried in the swamps of Rhode and that highway in Aes Sidhe.” Morana picked at the vegetables. “Was there no fruit Ozzy?”

“No, it is winter. But tell me, how do you know all of this?”

“So curious.” She admonished with a grin. “I know because I asked those who were there. Shades now long since recycled and diluted. Why all the questions Osric? And the pleasant mood?”

“If I am to take myths as truths, then Yggdrasil is a gateway to the Elysium fields.”

Morana flinched in surprise. “You certainly are resourceful… but that gateway is tightly sealed. You would not be able to march your army through. Not that it’d do any good. Only The Beast knows the way.”

“I don’t believe reviving his soul will do us any better.”

Morana angrily threw her fork onto the plate. “What are you getting at?”

Osic distracted himself by picking at his food as wafts of terror emanated from his master. “I’m not sure yet, but he can’t be trusted. You yourself said this.”

Morana crossed the room to the hearth and put on a kettle for tea. “Don’t get cold feet now Ozzy. No matter how distasteful, The Beast must be raised if we are to have any hope of freedom.”

Osric knit his brow in concentration, avoiding eye contact with Morana as he wrestled with his options. He had given this conundrum quite a bit of thought prior to even setting out on his mission, but the answers he assumed would fall into place had not been forthcoming.

“I refuse to accept that, to substitute one form of tyranny for another.”

Morana stared at Osric, one hand upon her hip. “So what do you suggest?”

He idly stirred some vegetables in the egg yolk that spilled across his plate. “I will tell you when I’ve worked all the details out.”

“I see then.” She returned to stoke the fire.

“You sound, less than enthusiastic.”

“When you see the demon, when you are in the presence of his revived soul, then you will understand the futility.”

Osric wiped his mouth on a linen napkin. “Perhaps. But as you said, I am quite resourceful.”

Morana, growing impatient, used magic to hasten the boiling of water. “I suppose Osric.”

She poured the rapidly boiling water into two mugs, cursing as some splashed on her. Osric pushed his empty plate away, and watched her with some interest. She was a beautiful woman, despite his best efforts to dispel such thinking. He was suddenly remorseful for reasons he could not put to words, but knew that his memory gap was the cause of the remorse. Though he would not admit he had such thoughts to her, he found himself longing for her touch.

“Why the hurry?” Osric asked as she placed his mug before him. “It’s out of character.”

“I have to get to Marquez, there’s a king to murder.”

“Happy hunting then.” Osric said wryly and took his tea into another room.