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Mor Trisencor and How it All Began in the Shadows, Part 2

His unhidden name was Luc Zelsor. The brutal, ruby-haired fairy not only commanded the respect of the High Prince’s division of the Shadow Army, he also tormented them when they didn’t do what he wanted. The High Prince’s division was tweaked and trained into the most brutal, unforgiving batch of war fairies in the whole Dark Corner. If they disobeyed, their flesh was scorched with cold iron. If they did not kill when instructed, they paid for it with their tongues or fingers. Mor always obeyed without question, as was his duty, but what he did not do was learn to respect Luc Zelsor or High Prince Reval. And even though Mor had come out of his silence, he did not speak unless spoken to. He did not give Luc the satisfaction of punishing him for an errant word spoken.

Instead, Mor left venom petals in the fox’s drinking goblet that sent Luc into unpredictable fits of stomach pain and fairy gas for three days. Luc could never prove it was Mor, but he retaliated by placing a handful of freshly birthed starbugs in Mor’s bed. Mor awoke the following morning with bright red spots all over his flesh and an itch that lasted for two weeks. That had been the beginning of their fairy games. Every trick got worse and more annoying, until the whole Army unit was whispering about the rivalry between Luc Zelsor—the fox, and Mor Trisencor—the lowly orphan from Pane.

“You two shall be a unit,” High Prince Reval said on a dim, cloudy morning in his private hut as he stroked his long, glittering scarlet hair. “I wish to send you across the border as Shadow spies, so you can report back to me what the High Queene of the North is plotting. And if you find a clever way to murder that North Prince while you’re there, see it done.”

Queene Levress—Queene of all the Corners of Ever but one—the Dark Corner’s greatest threat. Rumour claimed Levress had a ward that was tearing through the Shadow Army division the Dark Queene had finally sent to attack the North Corner villages. The Dark Queene wished to claim the golden fields under the sun to fill her own storehouses with gold wheat. Shadows whispered that the ward’s name was Cressica Alabastian; a peasant boy turned assassin. The fairy war had only started a single month ago, and already news of this dreadful assassin had reached the Shadow Palace and struck fear and rage into the hearts of the Shadow Army commanders. High Queene Levress did not need to fight herself when she had him.

Like every other fairy in the Shadow Army, Mor knew to avoid Alabastian and his brothers in navy and black shells. He would not dare approach the North Prince in his faeborn lifetime, lest he be torn apart limb by limb. But Mor had to admit, he was relieved to hear the fairy gossip of the ward’s existence. Relieved the North had been able to defend itself against the Shadows.

“A unit?” Luc said in disgust on the day his father stated his decision. “With this mute peasant?” Luc’s silvery glare shot to Mor. “What’s to stop me from killing him the moment we’re out of the Dark Corner and performing this mission on my own, Father?”

High Prince Reval tapped a finger against his folded arms. The canopy of vines around their division’s newest cove shuffled outside, and an icy breeze leaked in through the hut’s windows and scurried up Mor’s spine.

“I am not only sending him for your sake, Luc,” Prince Reval stated. “I am also sending him for his sake. So, try not to kill him.”

Luc did not stop glaring at Mor. Only this morning, Luc had dumped a barrel of seeds into the grass and demanded that Mor pick every single one of them up as punishment for sleeping in. Mor had worked through the whole morning gathering seeds before any got too moist from the dew and began to sprout. So, Mor had placed one in Luc’s pitcher of drinking water. He could hardly wait to see the fool drink down the seed, followed by the plant sprouting and growing up Luc’s throat and out his mouth.

In fact, Mor was a little worried the blossom might burst out right in front of the High Prince. If he’d known he and Luc would be meeting Prince Reval this hour, he probably wouldn’t have pulled the fairy trick. There was no way for Mor to tell if Luc had gotten thirsty and guzzled his water before they came.

“This fool is my greatest enemy here, Father. Haven’t you heard the rumours of our rivalry? Don’t you feel the ice between us?” Luc gloated. “Hasn’t anyone told you of the death threats we generously give each other on our way to our sleeping quarters each night? If you send him with me, I will kill him.” Luc stole a quick glance at Mor, like he wanted to see how Mor would react to his claim.

Mor stifled a scoff.

Frost surged over the grass, turning the fairies’ toes to ice and making them gasp.

“There are two reasons you must take him.” Prince Reval’s eyes flared at his son as he stood. “The first reason is for you. The second reason is for him. First, you are loud, Son, and he is quiet. So, between the two of you, if one needs to stand in the shadows to eavesdrop for hours without moving a muscle or peeping a word, it will be him. Second…” The Prince came to stand before Luc. They were nearly the same height, nearly the same build. Both too violent for their own good. “He still feels things.”

Mor’s skin pulled tight. He refused to speak up for himself or meet the Prince’s eyes.

Luc’s lip curled into a snarl. “I have ensured that he does not.” But the ruby-haired fairy’s tone wavered like a bass string being plucked. He didn’t dare look at Mor now.

Prince Reval’s gaze stayed on his son. “You’re wrong. His feelings will poison this army if you can’t get him under control. It’s why he rarely speaks, you fool—so we can’t hear the stories in his tone. He’s hiding himself from us,” he said. “I want him never to care for another living soul again. I have tasked you with this, and you have failed thus far.”

It was at this moment in time that Mor realized the High Prince was taking over Luc’s task. Prince Reval would steal Mor’s memories and wipe his mind clean. It was a promise the Prince did not need to say aloud.

Once upon some faeborn years ago, Mor had lived on the coast. He’d fed the sea monsters and swam with the blue-scaled water dragons. He’d plucked berries in the fields and had carried baskets of fresh fruit and blossoms to the neighbours. He hadn’t a care in the whole faeborn realm. The dragons and the fairies of the coast had become his family after his relatives had passed. They had clothed him in petals and water dragon scales. They had fed him their shellfish and forest beast stew. They were the family he missed, a family that might only remember him in their stories and songs.

But now he was this. Now he was an object that belonged to a vicious fox Prince. And no longer would he be allowed to remember the Jade Ocean or the blue-scaled water dragons. His past would be a blank slate, an uninhibited void for lies the Prince himself would use to bend Mor to his will.

Unless he accompanied Luc to the North Corner and injured the son of the High Prince, buried him in a mud pit he couldn’t get out of, and abandoned the Shadow Army forever. Mor held his breath as the thought entered his mind. He heard the shift in his rhythm, and begged the sky deities the High Prince would not pick up on it.

What an absurd, dreadful thought.

It was disgustingly, beautifully perfect.

Mor only half listened to the rest of the conversation between the wicked nobles of the Dark Corner at his side. He had been quiet for a long time. He could remain quiet for a while longer. He would not speak and give away his plans.

During the nights that followed, Mor stared up at the murky skies where not even the stars were permitted to shine. He searched the dark, ever-moving cloud for the moon that rarely showed itself, asking the sky deities how a simple village fairy was to outsmart a nine tailed fox. And he plotted. He plotted treacherously. And he wrote his plot in code on his arms in enchanted, never-vanishing ink so that after his memories were taken away, he would still know what he was meant to do. A code of the coast that he and the water dragons had come up with. A code only he and the dragons knew. If he was lucky, his muscle memory would recall how to read it, even if he could not remember the dragons who had taught it to him.

A week later, Mor stood before the High Prince and awaited the invasion of his mind. The Prince lightly touched Mor’s temples and hot power trickled in. All the army commanders were present to bear witness to the trial. But the verdict had already been decided. The High Prince deemed the fairy childling from the coast was no longer permitted to remember his origins. Mor felt the memories slide away, one by one. He said goodbye to his neighbours, to their kindness. He said goodbye to the sea monsters and the water dragons, the quiet forest, the dirt street of his childling village, and even to his aunt who had raised him on honey grape pudding until the day she’d died.

Soon, Mor recalled nothing.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a band of powerful fairies sitting around him on twig thrones. He saw an aged fairy with long scarlet hair wearing a satisfied smile. And behind them, hiding in the bushes, he saw a youthful ruby-haired fairy watching—spying perhaps. The young fairy had an odd look on his face; his brows were drawn; his mouth was tipped down at the corners. He seemed to realize Mor had spotted him. The worried look vanished and the fairy ducked back into the trees.

A date for the mission into the North was set. Mor and Luc were supplied with fresh cold iron fairsabers and pockets full of fairy tricks. They went over the plan thrice in the morning and once before bed each evening, preparing for the day when they would slip across the border and travel the trodden paths into the capital of the North Corner. High Prince Reval seemed quite certain that Luc Zelsor would be safe from Mor. Quite certain that all would go according to plan. And it would go according to a plan—Mor’s plan.

Because to Mor’s delight, he did remember the code of the dragons. His whole plan hung openly on his arm in tattooed ink, visible for all to see everywhere he went. Yet not a single fairy understood it or beheld the treachery he carried on his flesh. And one morning, as though the water dragons themselves sensed his distress all the way from the sea, Mor caught a flash of a moment when he had been underwater long ago. A memory.

A day later, he recalled another memory. And the day after that, he recalled every memory that had been stolen.

It was a miracle beneath the eyes of the sky deities. Perhaps a favour of the water dragons.

Mor smiled to himself for the first time in many years. He kept his plan of treacherous escape to himself, kept his memories concealed, and avoided speaking as he waited and prepared for a mission where he would leave the Dark Corner of Ever, perhaps avenge the fair folk who had been wronged by Luc and the High Prince, and never return.

He watched Luc as he counted down the days. The ruby-haired fairy had gone strangely quiet over the last week. It seemed odd that the fairy had lost his voice when Mor remembered him being shamefully outspoken before. Luc had stopped his pranks, too. Mor checked his bed every evening, checked his water every morning, and checked his armour every midday before training. There were no bugs, no enchantments, no tricks. Perhaps Luc didn’t care to torment Mor anymore now that he believed Mor had lost all his memories.

But everything changed one evening at a fire feast. The Prince’s Shadow Army division took over a large cave palace from a noble family. The great cave was notched deep into the mountainside, concealing the noise of the army as they feasted at long tables and entertained themselves with shouts and stringed music.

Mor did not eat the enchanted food. He waited for the evening to pass like all the others, only this time there was a different smell in the air. His left ear twitched as a pair of scout fairies passed by his table. Mor looked up for the first time since entering the cave, and what he saw sent a wave of warmth through his faeborn abdomen, bringing back all the feelings he had so carefully hidden away. Cheers lifted through the cave as the scout fairies tugged a living being to the lit area at the front for all to see. “Look what we snatched up across the gate, Prince!” one of the fairies shouted to High Prince Reval. “Shall we feed her our special sugar blossoms and make her dance for us?”

Mor had never seen a human before, but he had read stories about them and had seen a few black and white paintings in old books depicting their smooth, curved ears. The human girl had a different scent than the fairies. And by the horror of the sky deities, she was frightened. Her rhythms tumbled all over the place, her torchlit human eyes as wide as honey grapes. She could not have been much younger than Mor.

And faeborn plans be scattered to the starless sky, Mor decided he could take it no longer.