The Mists of Sorrow: The Morcyth Saga Book Seven (42 page)

James turns back toward the oncoming riders.
When Jiron and the others move to join him, he says, “I’ll take
care of this,” as a dazzling shield springs into being around him.
Brighter by far than any other he’s ever created, it almost rivals
the sun in brilliance as sparks pop and crackles across its
surface.

Crumph! Crumph!

Two explosions on either side of the road
throw dirt and sand upon the riders. Coming to a quick halt, the
riders seem as if they are contemplating the wisdom of continuing.
To help make up their minds, James suddenly kicks his horse in the
flanks and races forward.

Stig and Shorty fly past as he moves toward
the riders. The expressions on many of their faces are ones of
fear. To go after fleeing riders is one thing, but to go head to
head with a mage of such power is quite another. Their minds
finally made up, they turn tail and race back to Morac.

James cancels his spectacular shield once
they are fully on their way and then turns his horse back to return
to the others.

“Yeah,” Shorty says as he talks to Jiron,
“after those soldiers chased you out of the inn’s courtyard, we
took two of the horses and exited the other way. We figured the
rest of you could handle things well enough without us so worked
our way toward one of the gates.”

“That’s right,” adds Stig. “Then when we
heard the explosion that must have taken out the gate, we raced
toward where you were and arrived just after you left. That’s when
those riders back there showed up and gave chase.”

“Glad to have you back,” James tells them.
“It might be wise to put as much distance between us and here as
fast as we can. I expect pursuit to materialize pretty soon.”

“Then let’s not sit here and talk,” says
Jiron. “Cyst awaits.” Turning to follow the road once more to the
southeast, he quickly gets his horse up to a fast gallop with the
others right behind.

Once Morac has disappeared in the distance
behind them, Jiron angles them off the road in an almost due
easterly direction. Moving deeper into the desert and away from the
road, he doesn’t turn them to the south until the road and the
travelers upon it are no longer in sight. Then he turns to run
parallel to the road on its way southeast to Cyst.

Throughout the day, James begins sinking
into depression. By the time darkness falls and they’ve moved even
further into the desert to make camp, he’s withdrawn into himself
and only makes one word answers when spoken to.

The others allow him time to himself, those
who have ridden with him for some time now know that this is
something that comes over him once in a while. Brother Willim
however is unable to let him wallow in whatever misery has him in
its grip. Once their meal is ready, he takes two bowls of stew and
goes over to where James is sitting.

Holding out the bowl, Brother Willim says,
“Here.”

James takes it and gives him a short, “Thank
you.”

“Mind if I sit down?” he asks.

James shrugs and says, “No.”

Taking a seat on the ground facing him,
Brother Willim dips his spoon into the so-called stew and begins
eating. He watches James for a moment before saying, “I can tell
there’s something gnawing away at you.” James glances up to meet
his gaze but makes no comment. “It might ease your mind if you tell
me about it.”

Locking eyes with the priest, James says,
“Confession good for the soul?”

Brother Willim gives him a brief grin.
“Never heard it put that way before, but yes. There are times when
keeping your troubles bottled inside can do more harm than good. A
tree cannot grow tall if there’s a disease eating it away from the
inside.”

James takes another bite and sighs. “The
weight of the dead is heavy,” he begins. Glancing again at Brother
Willim, he sees the concern and worry for him in his eyes. “Before
I came here, I had never been near the dead and dying. Oh sure, I
watched the news but had never connected to it emotionally. They
say that my people are growing numb to that sort of thing. Heck,
we’re inundated with it all the time from every direction.
Newspapers, TV, radio, everyday you hear about how this person was
found dead, or that person killed for political or religious
reasons. But it never really hits you.”

“But now, I personally have been responsible
for hundreds, if not thousands of deaths,” he states.

Brother Willim can see the pain behind his
eyes. “I understand the weight you carry,” he says understandingly.
“Events, unfortunately, have not given you any other options.”

In a voice that’s barely above a whisper, he
says, “But that’s not the worst of it.” He glances up to the
priest, holds out his hand and creates one of his spheres. “You’ve
seen me use this?” he asks.

Brother Willim nods gravely. “Yes,” he
replies.

He rolls it around in his hand as he
explains. “This is the most evil thing I have ever done,” he
admits.

“Evil?” says Brother Willim. “I wouldn’t so
name yourself, or your deeds.”

“You don’t understand.” Holding the sphere
between his forefinger and thumb he brings it up in front of the
brother’s face. “With this, I suck the life from people and use it
to kill. First it leeches power from everything nearby, then I am
able to utilize that power in various ways. Barriers, fire,
explosions, you name it and I can do it.”

Nodding his head, Brother Willim remains
silent as James continues.

“Isn’t that wrong?” he asks as his eyes turn
to gaze at the sphere between his fingers. “To steal the life that
the gods have given them?” He then goes quiet as the sphere
disappears and he looks to Brother Willim for a response.

“Our lord Asran teaches us that to take the
life of any living thing is wrong,” he says. “Whether it be birds,
fish, insects…” and then he pauses a moment before adding, “or man.
But we do need to survive, and so we kill animals to feed
ourselves, clothe ourselves and so forth.”

“But men are not animals,” he insists.

“No, that is true,” he admits. “But let me
ask you this. If a man was intent on taking your life, would you
have any compunction whatsoever about removing one of your slugs
from your belt and killing him with it? If that was the only way in
which to preserve your life?”

“Yes, though I wouldn’t want to,” he
replies.

“And later, would you agonize over it like
you are doing now?” he asks.

“Not so much, no,” he admits.

“Whether you take the life of someone with a
sword, knife, or even a slug, is no better or worse than what you
are doing with your sphere,” he says.

“Then why do I feel this way?” he asks.

“You feel this way because you are a good
man,” he explains. “Each person has within them the knowledge of
right and wrong. Some say it is learned from those around them as
they grow up, others believe that it comes from the gods.”

James nods. “I understand what you’re
talking about,” he says. “My people call it a moral compass.”

“You are feeling this way because you are
going against yours. You feel this is wrong, so your ‘moral
compass’ is working to keep you from continuing down this path.” He
pauses a moment to see what affect his words are having. When James
makes no comment he adds, “Are you finding it easier to do the
things you feel are wrong?”

“When I first discovered that the power
within everyone could be taken and used, I was appalled and told
myself that I would never do it,” he explains. “Or rather not to do
it unless absolutely necessary. Now though, I seem to be doing it
on a regular basis.” He turns pained eyes toward Brother Willim and
says, “Now it’s almost as if it’s becoming a habit. I no longer
even try to come up with another way.”

“The easiest path is often the most
dangerous,” Brother Willim states. “The more you do what you know
is wrong, the easier it will become the next time. And the next
time.”

“What can I do?” James asks.

“The solution to your problem is simple,” he
says. “Stop doing what you know is wrong.”

“But, that could cost us our lives if I
don’t,” he replies.

Brother Willim gives him a look of sadness.
“As long you can come up with reasons why you must do things
against your ‘moral compass’, you will. We humans can reason
anything to sound like a good idea. If taking the life of people in
this manner is abhorrent to you, then don’t. Or resign yourself to
continuing as you have.”

“What will happen to me if I continue?” he
asks.

“I think you know,” he says.

They sit there in silence for awhile while
each finishes their meal. James thinks about what Brother Willim
had said and knows the truth of it. After they’ve finished their
meal, he says to him, “Thank you.”

Brother Willim gives him a smile and says,
“That’s my job. I am a priest you know. Just think on what we
talked about, follow your conscience, and you’ll feel better.”

“I will,” says James.

The rest of the night goes well for him as
he rejoins the others. By the time he lays down on his blanket, he
feel much better and has promised himself not to sink further
toward the ‘dark side’.

Out in the desert as they are, nothing
disturbs them throughout the night. When the sun begins to lighten
the world with the coming of dawn, they break camp and resume their
trek to Cyst. Everyone can tell that James is feeling much better
than he did the night before. Many credit it to the talk Brother
Willim had with him before he went to bed.

Shortly after getting underway, a cloud of
dust can be seen rising from the direction of the road. James
removes his mirror from his pouch and checks it out to find a force
of several hundred riders moving fast on their way up to Morac.

“Word of our presence is spreading,” says
Potbelly when James tells the others.

“Could be their heading that way has nothing
at all to do with us,” counters Miko.

“Possibly,” says James, “but I doubt that.
We better be on our guard from here on out.” Throughout the rest of
the morning and most of the afternoon, he uses his mirror to scan
for probable hostiles in the area. A couple times he has them
detour around patrols of soldiers.

“Can you find Cyst?” Jiron asks some time
after midday.

Scrolling the mirror to follow the road, a
city soon appears. “There is a city up ahead,” he announces. “It’s
rather large but doesn’t have a protective wall surrounding it like
others have.”

“Is there a large compound on its eastern
side?” asks Jiron. “Azku said that a slaver named Buka could be
found in such a place.”

Nodding, he says, “Yes there is.” He moves
the image in for a closer look and adds, “It’s definitely a slaver
compound. There’s an auction going on even as we speak.” A string
of young women, girls really, are being auctioned off one at a
time, just as Jiron’s sister Tersa had before they rescued her.

“How far away is it?” he asks.

“Not more than a couple of hours,” he
replies. “There’s not much of a military presence there
either.”

“That’s good to hear,” remarks Scar.

“So if things go wrong, again, we shouldn’t
have more than the city watch to deal with,” Potbelly adds.

“Well let’s try not to have things go bad
this time,” James asserts. He makes one last scan for roving
patrols then puts away his mirror. “It’s clear all the way
there.”

“Excellent,” states Jiron.

For the next two hours or so, they ride
quickly across the desert always keeping the road just out of
sight. Then, from out of the horizon before them, the skyline of
the city appears.

“You know, it might be better if we didn’t
all go in together,” Scar says. “They’ll be on the lookout for a
large group, not just a couple of people.”

“Good thinking,” says Jiron. Slowing down,
he brings them to a halt and has them gather round. “James, Reilin
and I will enter the city while the rest of you stay out here,” he
says. From the way Scar is groaning, he was hoping to be one of the
ones to go. “As you said Scar, three will be less noticeable than
all of us together. I need Reilin, he’s the only one here who can
talk to the people and find out where this guy is. James is along
just in case.”

“With any luck, we won’t be too long,” he
continues. “Stay out here, if you have to move to avoid detection,
then do so. With James’ mirror we’ll be able to find you should you
not be here when we return.”

“Good luck,” Aleya says. For once she’s not
insisting to accompany him, much to his relief.

He moves his horse over close to hers and
leans over to give her a kiss. “What about the rest of us?” Scar
asks with a grin. The others break out laughing. Ignoring him, he
says to her, “Be back in a bit.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she says and
returns a kiss of her own.

“See,” says Potbelly to Scar, “if he gave
you a kiss, you would have to give him one in return.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” jokes Scar and
several of the others break out in laughter once again.

“Come on,” Jiron says as he turns to head
toward the city. “We’re wasting daylight.” When he sees that James
and Reilin are both ready to go, he nudges his horse into motion
and soon all three are moving at a fast trot toward the road.
Behind them, the others begin making their way over to a stand of
stunted trees that will afford them some protection from the sun
while they wait for their return.

To Reilin Jiron says, “Should you need to
talk to someone, we are looking to purchase slaves.”

Nodding, Reilin replies, “Okay. What
for?”

Shrugging, Jiron says, “I don’t know, how
about for some brothel up north.”

“That’ll work,” he says.

They soon reach the road then turn to the
southeast and to the city rising out of the desert. When they came
out of the desert, the other travelers upon the road look at them
quizzically but otherwise pay them no mind. Keeping a steady, but
not too out of the ordinary pace, they make their way toward the
city through the many wagons, riders and people on foot that clog
the road.