Morgan could fly up, but the only way for non-flyers to access the area above Athelda-Aoun’s crevasse was something called an elevator.
Hattie called it the “Cloudlift” though and Morgan rather liked that name better.
“How does this thing work?” Morgan asked as she, Frances and Timur stepped into a wood and metal box. It wasn’t completely enclosed and small windows were set into the compartment Timur closed the door behind them, whilst Frances pressed a stone button. A bell chimed and the box they were in started to rise.
“It’s based on a kind of magic lift that is at the Salpheron, where the White Order headquarters is located. However, we were able to use the existing design left over from the Goblin Empire.” Frances pointed at the wheels that were attached to the outside of the box that rolled up channels cut into the stone. “The original goblin builders made these rails that guided the lift. They used slaves to move the lift of course and we weren’t going to use that.”
“So instead we rigged up a system where mages and labourers would “store” energy by raising large weights,” said Timur, pointing at series of huge boulders wrapped in chains. One of them was slowly lowering down as they rose.
Hattie nodded. “We’re trying to figure out how to use water to power the lift, but it’s a bit of a work in progress.”
Morgan bobbed her head, watching as the city grew smaller and smaller beneath her. The rumbling of the lift’s wheels filled her ears, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sound.
What was strange was when the lift entered a shaft carved through the rock. The occupants were promptly plunged into darkness.
Morgan stiffened, but in a few moments, the crystals embedded into the lift’s walls flared to life and bathed the box in a cool green-blue light.
A little while longer, and the elevator was in the sun. They slowed to a stop, and after a ring of another bell, Frances opened the door.
Before Morgan was a beautiful valley. The crevasse that led to Athelda-Aoun was dropped at its lowest point, and could be crossed by multiple stone and wooden bridges built across its abyss. On the slopes of this verdant hideaway were terraced fields, held up by carefully cut stone faces. Regularly placed orchards neatly lined sections of the valley, holding in soil. A small aqueduct ran through the fields, distributing water to smaller canals.
Most of the valley wasn’t cultivated, but wild alpine terrain with grasses and trees, where horses and other animals grazed. Yet what Morgan saw instantly showed her how had the town below her had managed to feed itself.
“Hattie, why don’t you show Morgan around, Timur and I need to talk about something quickly and in private,” said Frances.
She smiled, but Morgan could see that Timur lagged behind her teacher. There was something she wasn’t saying.
“It’s not about you, Morgan, it’s something else,” said Frances.
Morgan nodded slowly, and allowed Hattie to guide her away.
“Come on, there’s a place where you can see into the crevasse,” said Hattie, smiling.
Morgan swallowed. “Is…is everything okay with Frances and my uncle?”
Hattie’s lips pursed. “Not entirely, but…they do care about one another and I don’t think she’s angry at Timur. Just worried.”
Morgan frowned. “If…if you say so.”
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Timur and Frances, holding hands, walked through the fields, making their way away from Morgna and Hattie.
“Frances, you don’t want me to go, right?” Timur asked quietly.
Frances sighed. “No, but there’s nothing I can really do to convince you.” She looked up at her boyfriend, and the one whom she had long started to see as her soul mate. “And…I don’t think it’s right to convince you. I see why you want to do it and I think you have good reasons.”
Timur clasped her shoulders. “Then how can I make you feel better?”
“Timur, I’m mostly worried about being able to take care of Morgan while you’re gone,” said Frances. “There’s not much you can do.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could stay, but I do think they need me up there.” He leaned forward and Frances lifted her own head up so they could meet each other in a brief kiss. “If it’s any comfort, I think you will do amazing with Morgan. She likes you now.”
“There’s a lot more I’ll have to do other than simply getting her to like me. It’s been less than a month since we rescued her. There will still be a lot to learn and adjust to,” said Frances. She shook her head. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to say sorry, Frances. I am leaving you to take care of Morgan, and Hattie for that matter,” said Timur.
Frances winced. “Yeah, I know. We had a bit of a breakthrough, but she’s…I’m still worried about her.”
“We can only do what we can, Frances, and I know you’ll do your best,” Timur hugged her, and Frances, despite the tight anxiety in her chest, let herself lean into the trogre.
And they stayed there, embracing each other, for a long while.
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“There’s really no way into this valley?” Morgan asked as Hattie and her walked toward the crevasse.
“Well there is, but there’s no practical way for an enemy to attack. All the passes are either locked down or fortified. They also lead to winding paths that take ages to navigate and that’s when the weather’s good,” said Hattie. Stopping, she reached up and picked an apple from a nearby tree. “Here.”
Morgan took the apple. “Is this alright?”
“Yes. This…it’s one of Elizabeth’s suggestions.” Hattie gestured to the area around them and Morgan suddenly realised that it was a grassy patch of land without an actual orchard, but strewn with benches and some trees. “She called it a park, though, it’s more like a Common Ground for everybody to use. I quite like it.”
Morgan nodded, agreeing with Hattie. The green space was a little wild, with longer than usual grass and wildflowers growing between the walls, but the little bit of wildness was part of its beauty.
“What are those rock circles by the way?” Morgan asked, pointing to one of the circular structures of rocks in the fields.
“Rock gardens. We grow plants that need to be sheltered in them. The ring of rocks raises the temperature inside and protects the plants from shearing rain or wind,” explained Hattie as she led Morgan onward to the crevasse.
“Oh. I’ve never heard of them,” said Morgan.
“That’s because it’s a technique from Elrenberg. Their farms are near the sea and so the sea spray and sea winds make it difficult for them. Hence the rock gardens,” said Hattie.
“Huh,” Morgan thought back to the crowds of humans and Alavari she’d seen at the School, and on the streets from when she was flying back to Frances and Timur’s home. She still found humans worrisome, but she couldn’t help but admire how smart and useful it was to combine the knowledge of Alavaria and the humans.
Hattie led Morgan up to a stone platform and to a sturdy-looking set of rails that ended at the edge of the crevasse. “Here we are,” she said.
Without hesitation, Morgan walked up to the railing and leaned against it, looking over. Her eyes wide, she stared down. She was right over the green-blue lake that ran through Athelda-Aoun. The crevasse showing its glistening waters and the buildings that ringed it. From here, she could appreciate how thick the crevasse was and how fast the lift must have been to get them up here in a timely fashion.
“It’s…wow,” Morgan turned to Hattie. “Thanks Hattie.”
“You’re welcome,” said the half-troll, smiling kindly. She took a quick breath. “Um, I’m sorry about refusing to let you end the exercise by the way. I…I was being stupid.”
Morgan almost agreed, but something stopped her.
“Whatever. Can’t be more stupid than when I tried to steal Ivy’s Sting and leave Athelda-Aoun,” said Morgan. She paused, a thought coming to her. “Hattie, thanks for not telling Frances and my uncle about…about how I’m a monster.”
“You’re not, you know that right?” Hattie blurted out.
“I know, I just…it’s hard to feel that I’m not,” Morgan said.
“I know. I mean, I still sometimes feel like that I don’t deserve to live after what I did.” Hattie leant against the rail, looking down at the city below. “I thought I was making everything better, but I just made things worse. I…I wanted revenge on Frances, for everything that happened.”
“For your father, right?” Morgan asked.
“And my mother, and… and me. When my father died…there was nobody to protect us. Our village…they burnt our house down, and killed my mother.” Hattie pulled her arms around herself. “I ran, I begged, I tried to find help but nobody wanted to help a half-human scum. I had some magic, but no mage wanted to take me as a student. I just…I just drifted, fighting, stealing, doing anything I needed to in order to survive. I saw…I saw Frances as the one who’d destroyed my life, when really it those Alavari. I know that now.”
“I’m…Shit, that sucks,” Morgan said.
Hattie blinked. “I…Yeah, I’m…Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you with all that.”
“No it wasn’t. A bother I mean.” Morgan frowned. “Did you talk with Frances? You seem…”
“A little less down? Yeah. We talked and she…she told me she loved me.” Hattie sighed. “I still can’t believe it. I mean, I trust her, and I know she’s telling the truth, but well, like you said, it’s hard.”
“What’s so hard? You’re smart, kind, and pretty,” said Morgan.
Hattie snorted and pointed at her scar, tapping the reddened and blotchy skin on her face. “Thanks Morgan, but I’m definitely not pretty.”
Yet, as the half-troll met Morgan’s glance, she could see no humor in the harpy-troll’s eyes. Only the young girl’s steady golden stare.
“Well I think you are,” said Morgan.
Hattie stared at the girl. “I’m sorry? What…why—”
“Why? I mean, I like how you look. I like your eyes. I like…you,” Morgan spluttered, looking away. “Look, if anybody calls you ugly or tries to bully you. I’m backing you up okay?”
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Something clicked in Hattie’s mind as she stared at Morgan. Something that she just could not believe and did not know how to react to.
“T-thanks,” she stammered.
“Anytime,” said Morgan, still not meeting Hattie’s gaze.
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Timur’s parting was bittersweet. Morgan had teared up, not wanting her uncle to leave. Frances was quiet, but something seemed far more fragile about her for the rest of the day, even as she taught the day’s class at school.
This was why Hattie had waited until Frances was taking a lunch break in her office, to approach her teacher.
“Master, I’m really sorry, but is this a good time?” Hattie asked.
Frances, looked up from her sandwich. What she saw on Hattie’s face, the half-troll wasn’t sure, but her master nodded briskly. “Of course. Have you had lunch yet?”
Hattie sat down across her teacher. “Yes. Um, I just…” Hattie picked at her scar, and winced, forcing her hand down. “It’s a…I um.”
Frances rested her elbows on her desk. “Start with how are you feeling, Hattie. List them out.”
“Surprised? Confused? Scared? Bewildered? Shocked? Happy?” Hattie stiffened. “I mean…it’s impossible, though.”
“What’s so impossible, Hattie?” Frances asked.
“Morgan. I think…” Hattie abruptly stood up and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Frances. This was a silly question. I was just misunderstanding things.”
“Hattie, it wouldn’t be a silly question if it was bothering you so much,” said Frances.
“Yes but…” Hattie swallowed, standing in the room, her thoughts a whirl.
Frances pursed her lips and thought back to yesterday night, when they’d had dinner together. Morgan and Hattie had barely been able to look at one another but not because they seemed angry at one another.
“Is it about Morgan and how you think she thinks about you?” Frances asked.
“Yes, but—” Hattie scratched the back of her head. “How do you know?”
“I don’t actually. But you two seemed to be a bit awkward last night. Friendly, but awkward. Did she say something?” Frances asked.
“She said she liked me, but…I don’t think that’s what she meant. I mean, I don’t think that’s all she meant.” Hattie took a deep breath. “Frances…I think Morgan has a crush on me, but that’s impossible, right? I mean, what do you think?”
Frances took a breath. “I also think she has a crush on you.”
Frances would find Hattie’s expression of astonishment a bit funny, if her student hadn’t immediately buried her head in her hands. “But…what? Why? That can’t be right.”
Her student’s voice sounded so broken that Frances stood up, running over to the half-troll.
“Hattie? What do you need? What are you feeling?”
“I…I need you to…to make sense of this!” Hattie wiped her eyes, trying to stem the tide of tears. “She’s a princess! Of Royal Blood, descended from King Alan! I’m…I’m…” She pointed at herself. “Some ugly peasant half-blood.”
“You don’t think Morgan likes you?” Frances asked.
“I can’t believe that she does! What could she possibly see in me? Everybody I’ve met outside of Athelda-Aoun, even some people in Athelda-Aoun, have treated me as untrustworthy. As strange, alien and weird.” Hattie touched her scar. “And there’s this.”
“I can’t really explain why Morgan likes you Hattie. People like others for different reasons. I do think there’s still a lot to like about you, though.”
“But I’m half-Alavari, half-human. I know…I know that shouldn’t change how others treat me, but it’s supposed to. And I…I’m hideous.”
Frances blinked, staring at Hattie with wide eyes.
“Frances?” Hattie asked.
“I’m sorry, I…It’s just…I have had a very similar conversation with my mother before.” Frances pulled her seat beside her student’s, and gently touched Hattie’s arm. “I think that although you do have a scar, you have beautiful blue eyes. Your figure is tall, statuesque even, and you carry yourself well.” Frances pursed her lips. “I know that won’t convince you and I know you’re going to compare yourself to others, but the thing that I’ve learned is that…love and emotions are complicated and not always expected. We fall in love, and we develop feelings for people we may not expect.”
Hattie looked up from her hands. “Are you talking about you and his Highness Timur?”
Frances nodded, smiling. “For a long time, I thought I was ugly. That I needed to use makeup and beautiful dresses to stand a chance of feeling pretty. And when Timur told me he liked me the same way I liked him, I couldn’t believe it.”
Hattie blinked. “But…you’re…huh?”
“I know. What I learnt was that how I felt about myself was more important than how others saw me. It’s not that the opinion of others is unimportant. What happened to us, what people said to us, and how our loved ones treated us…they all affect who we are. But I think in this matter, you’re the one who decides whether you think you’re pretty or not. You’re the final judge of yourself,” said Frances.
Hattie nodded slowly. “Oh…but then, what do I do now?”
“What do you want to do? Do you want Morgan to keep having a crush on you? Or do you want to ask her to stop? And how do you feel about Morgan?” Frances asked.
“I…she’s nice. Brave. A little dangerous but she means well, and she’s trying,” said Hattie.
Frances nodded, smiling. “So do you want to accept her feelings?”
Hattie froze and shook her head. “Not…no, not yet anyway. I mean, I’m not ready.”
“Then we can tell her that. Or if you’d like, I can tell her that,” said Frances.
“No. I can tell her. Um…” Hattie turned to Frances, and suddenly grabbed onto her teacher, who stiffened, but slowly wrapped her arms around her student.
“Thank you, Frances.”
“You’re welcome, Hattie,” said Frances.
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Two days after Timur had left, Morgan sat down at the dining table for the night’s meal to find that it had been set with a plethora of knives, forks, spoons and some other utensils that she couldn’t recognize. Picking one up, Morgan blinked at how heavy it was and realized it was probably silver.
“What’s all this?” Morgan asked.
“This is to help you brush up your eating habits, Morgan. Naturally when you were in captivity, you didn’t need to bother with table manners, but things are different now,” said Frances.
The harpy-troll rolled her eyes. “But what’s the point? I mean, it’s food. Why complicate it?”
“Well you are a princess, Morgan.”
“Bastard technically. Besides…so long as I eat my food and don’t waste it, why do I need to learn how others eat it?”
Frances’s smile wavered into a bit of a frown, not an angry one, but one that seemed almost confused.
“Well—” Frances crossed her arms, looking up at the ceiling. “To be honest, I’ve never thought about it that way.”
Morgan blinked, as Hattie, who’d been invited for dinner, gawked. “You haven’t, Master?”
Frances shook her head. “No. My…well, my biological parents beat it into me that I needed to have good table manners no matter what. They never really…explained why.”
“That’s…horrible,” Morgan stammered.
Frances nodded and took a breath. “Mm hmm, so I do understand your point. I just feel that it’s important that you learn. If…if anything, at least other humans and Alavari won’t judge you by how you eat and they will. I mean, would you think it looks good to eat soup with your hands?”
“No of course not.” Morgan grimaced. “Fuck, I get it now.”
“And speaking of which…Morgan can you try to watch your language?” Frances asked.
The harpy-troll winced. “I’m trying, but it’s not exactly easy.”
“Maybe we can start one thing at a time, Master?” Hattie asked.
“I know. That’s why I’m only asking Morgan. There’s no deadline for this, I just want you to keep working on it,” said Frances, smiling warmly.
Morgan groaned. “But why? I mean, the fuck is the point? It’s not like I’m going to just stop swearing.”
“I know you’re not going to stop, but swearing does sometimes make others uncomfortable, particularly younger children, and since you’ll continue to be attending school, I want you to be able to interact with your junior classmates,” said Frances.
Grumbling at how her teacher always seemed to make sense, Morgan nevertheless nodded.
“Fine—I mean…okay, how do we use this piece of s—doohicky?” Morgan asked, picking up what looked like to be a pair of silver-capped wooden sticks.
“These are what people in my world called chopsticks, the Alavari of the west actually use them quite frequently, though, I believe you call them Wooders,” said Frances, picking her set up.
Hattie nodded, smiling brightly as she picked her set up in a strange, and yet elegant grip with her fingers that Morgan couldn’t help but admire. “My family used these all the time. It’s a very rural tool, but rather versatile.”
Frances demonstrated by picking up a bit of sauteed meat from the plate and depositing it on Morgan’s plate.
Her ears open, and eyes wide, Morgan listened to her teacher with deep intent.
“To start off with, you shouldn’t grip them with your fist…”
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Monster!
You killed them! You killed them all!
Monster!
Get her back into the room! She’s had enough freedom.
Morgan tumbled out of bed, gasping, clamping her hands over her mouth. Claws scraping on the floor, she sprinted for the bathroom and vomited her dinner into the sink.
Bile stinging her throat, arms shaking, Morgan pulled herself up and turned the tap on.
“Fuck. Fucking shit.”
The nightmares had started a few days ago. They were small at first. Just brief, uncomfortable memories that woke her up in the middle of the night. She could sleep after those.
But then…after she nearly killed Tavara, they’d gotten far worse.
This time she’d been surrounded by a field of dead children. Hundreds of bloody corpses that stretched out for miles, surrounded by her own magic. Frances was screaming, holding onto Hattie’s limp body, her face pale.
They’d shoved her into a box to protect everybody lightless and cramped, before slamming the lid on top. Only, it hadn’t stopped, the walls had started to push in.
“It’s just a dream. Just a dream.” Walking out of the bathroom, she made her way down to the pantry. A snack would cheer her up.
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The next day at breakfast, Morgan was spreading butter on her bread when Frances sat down, frowning.
“Morgan, did you use the pantry last night?”
Morgan’s eyes widened. “No.”
Frances’s eyes narrowed for a micro-second, before she nodded. “Okay. I just couldn’t find a jar of strawberry jam I’ve been making.”
Morgan blinked. “You make your own jam?”
“Mm hmm, I made most of the food in that pantry. We do buy the raw ingredients, but the cooks we have are busy feeding the garrison and the labourers who do have to work,” said Frances.
“Oh.” Morgan stuffed her toast into her mouth. She wasn’t even sure why she’d lied. She just didn’t want Frances to find out anything about last night. Besides, it was just going to be a one off thing.
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It was not a one-off thing.
She woke up screaming, somehow not waking Frances the next night and too scared to go to the pantry, she lay in her bed late into the night until she fell asleep.
The night after that, she’d woke up, sobbing into her blanket, whispering to herself that it wasn’t real. That Timur wasn’t calling her a monster, that she was in fact, safe in Athelda-Aoun. Half-asleep, she had stumbled to the pantry and took a few morsels.
Frances hadn’t seemed to notice and Morgan was too groggy to figure out if she wasn’t suspicious. She somehow made it through school, but had to pinch herself to stay awake.
“Morgan, what’s going on?” Hattie asked as they walked to Frances’s house from school.
Morgan shook her head. “Um, nothing. I…Well, I haven’t been sleeping too great.”
Hattie pursed her lips. “Nightmares?”
“How—” Morgan glanced around her. “You can’t tell Frances. Please.”
“I won’t, but…you should get help. Don’t you have an appointment with Renia tonight? Maybe you can ask her?” Hattie suggested.
“I have another appointment with Renia? Oh! Shit—crap I forgot,” Morgan groaned.
“You could skip it if you’d like Morgan. You seem very tired,” said Hattie.
Morgan swallowed. She did think her friend was right, but she hoped maybe Renia might help with her nightmares.
“No. I’ll be fine. Thanks, though,” said Morgan, striding forward toward Frances’s house.
She didn’t notice Hattie’s look of concern.
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“So you’ve been having nightmares? When did they start?” Renia asked, a worried look on her face.
Morgan nodded. “After I hurt Tavara. Just after our last appointment. I…I don’t know why. They just started happening. Do you know why?”
Renia pursed her lips. “Frances told me that she didn’t start having nightmares in earnest until a few days after she arrived in Durannon.”
“Wait, she had nightmares? Also, I thought you weren’t supposed to share patient information?” Morgan asked.
“Frances told me that I can with you, so to help you understand what might be happening. We both theorized that before, when she was being abused, she couldn’t either afford to have nightmares, or had nothing to contrast them to.”
Morgan blinked. “What?”
“Most of my patients, including Frances and yourself, rarely had nightmares, or didn’t feel their effects until after they had returned to a safer place. Think of this way, nightmares wouldn’t have helped you when you were kidnapped, so your body and mind suppressed them, until it was safe for you to finally have them.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Morgan hissed.
“I wish I was, dear. The other theory we had was that when Alavari and humans are in danger, we normalize it. Our minds learn to expect danger and pain at every turn. But when we finally become safe, and started to see that being safe was normal, we start to react to what happened to us.” Renia sighed. “Again, these are only theories. As to why we have nightmares, Frances and I think that it is how our bodies and minds try to process the horrible things that happened to us.”
Morgan scowled at the harpy. “That’s bullshit. How could having nightmares help! It just shows me things that never happened. Or things that I couldn’t change!”
Yet, instead of getting angry, Renia looked contemplative, and sad. The harpy wiped her eyes on her wing and took a deep breath.
“How do you feel when you get these nightmares, Morgan?”
“Fucking awful,” growled the princess. She met Renia’s patient golden eyes and sighed. “Scared, helpless. Guilty and ashamed.”
Renia nodded. “If I recall, aren’t these emotions you feel when you start thinking of yourself as a Monster?”
Morgan’s eyes flew open, her mouth dropping open. “Oh. Oh fuck. But I thought…I thought I changed. I’m better now. I know I’m not a Monster!”
“Morgan, it’s going to take some time for you to really feel that and to believe in yourself. You’ve taken a first and very significant step to healing, but it’s going to be a long process,” said Renia.
“Isn’t there some spell Frances could cast? Some spell her mother Edana knows? Some kind of cheering up spell or something?” Morgan stammered.
“If there was, Edana and Frances would have long used it on themselves, Morgan. I’m sorry.” Renia hopped over to Morgan, holding out a handkerchief with the harpy-troll grabbed to wipe her eyes.
“Shit. Shit.” Morgan croaked and winced. “I’m sorry. I’m trying not to swear.”
“That’s alright Morgan. I know you’re angry and sad at this. There are ways to try to get through it, though. I’ll teach you a few.” Renia slowly reached out and gently patted Morgan’s shoulder with her wing. “So, when you wake up from your nightmare, you’re usually feeling very panicked. There’s a breathing exercise to calm you down…”