2
MORCO
I followed the path of torches and stepped through the golden fireflies until I reached the Hall of Elders, the place where they lived together. I knocked, and one of the maidens on rotation answered.
“Morco.” She stepped aside and allowed me to enter. “I’m glad you’ve returned unscathed.”
“Is my mother well?”
“Yes. Sharper than the blade of an ax—like always.”
“Good.”
“Come with me.” She guided me to the large room in the rear, the place where the elders convened when they socialized. The fire burned in the hearth and filled the room with light. There were no windows, because a window was pointless.
Chairs and tables were placed everywhere, furs to keep warm on nights that were colder than the others. I took a seat and looked at the fire, tired from my journey but bound by my duty.
A moment later, my mother entered, dressed in her trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, her dark hair combed back, streaks of gray visible in some places. She didn’t carry herself like she was feeble, her spine straight as a soldier, her core tight, her elegance eternal.
The maid was at her side, ready to guide her once it was necessary.
“Morco.” She didn’t face me directly, but she was close, somehow knowing where I was in the room. “I feel you.”
I looked at her face, her skin tone different from mine because I was the spitting image of my father. But whatever softness I had, I’d received from her. I rose to my feet and grabbed her outstretched hands. “I am here.” It hurt to look at her, every fucking time, and it never got easier.
She squeezed my hands, her palms several sizes smaller than mine. Her thumbs explored my knuckles and traced the veins that popped on the surface of my skin. Her touch was her sight, and she mapped out features and faces with her hands. “My son.” She stepped into me and hugged me, hugged me like she was the caretaker and I was the boy.
I rested my chin on her head and gripped her tightly.
“I’m glad you’ve returned as whole as you left.”
She meant well, but she killed me with guilt.
She pulled away and grabbed my hands again. “What do you report?”
I swallowed as I looked at her face, saw the empty sockets where her eyes should be, carved away by a sharp knife that had left scars all over her face. I closed my eyes and took a breath, feelingtears form behind my eyes and start to burn. I didn’t make a sound, gave her no indication of my sorrow.
She squeezed my hands to bring me back. “I can see your face perfectly, Morco.”
I felt the tear roll down my cheek, but I spoke with a voice as steady as my hand. “I was unable to steal the supplies we needed. But I will find another way.”
She didn’t admonish me for my failure. “We always do. We always will.” Her hands remained on mine. “Did the others make it back?”
“Yes. But we’ve brought another as well…”
She still formed expressions, even without her eyes, and somehow she conveyed confusion in the slight movements of her face. “Say what you mean, Morco.”
“The reason I failed is because a woman was cast into the Depths from above. She splashed into the water, and the sound was so loud that everyone within a mile radius heard it. Her unexpected arrival exposed our position, and we were forced to flee empty-handed.”
She processed that during a minute of silence. “And this woman is here with us now?”
“She followed me.”
“She wouldn’t have if you’d killed her. You spared her for a reason. We don’t have enough to feed ourselves, let alone another person, so state that reason.”
I’d tried to abandon her, but she’d followed my trail like she had some tracking experience. She led them right to me, so therewasn’t much of a choice on my part. But yes, I could have cut off her foot and left her there to be taken. “Because she was scared.” Scared and alone, thrown into a new place with no chance of survival. It was barbaric.
My mother held her silence, looking at me head on like she could see me when she could only look at me through the memory of the past. “As you are Chief of the Obsidians, I trust your decision. But remember, you carry the weight of your kin in every decision you make. It’s for all, not for one.”
