The Conquest of Mytheyr

Morgan hated the desert during the day. But it wasn’t so bad at night. The sky was clear, and thousands of stars shone brightly, illuminating the night. The air had cooled, and Morgan even shivered sometimes. She sat in the sand at the edge of their hastily made camp, plucking thoughtfully on a guitar. Morgan did not know the constellations of this world, so she created her own, tracing the shapes with her eyes. She began to sing softly, changing the melody she played on her instrument to better match the words.

She was afraid to sleep. Her dreams had taken a toll on her magic, twisting its threads into knots and ugly snarls. She had developed a seemingly permanent mental lethargy that made it hard to concentrate; she had to force herself to focus on anything. She had done a good job hiding it from Vath, but they had only been in another’s company three days. He was bound to notice soon. Teren, who seemed to be more perceptive, had already been giving her concerned looks. Morgan knew exactly how Raven would react when they reached her. She would see what was wrong immediately, and she would tell Morgan off. Then she’d get Marine on her side, and Marine would scold her like a mother.

Morgan shook the thoughts from her head and threw herself into the song, pouring all her soul and emotions into the notes of the guitar and the rise and fall of her voice. Unknown to her, Vath was pretending to be on guard duty on the other side of camp, looking up at the constellation he knew to be called the Rider. A camp with twenty-eight people isn’t that big, especially an elvish camp composed of three tents that were magically altered to be bigger than they looked to be on the outside, so of course he heard Morgan’s singing. He couldn’t see her from where he was, as she was behind the tent farthest from him. He didn’t know why, but he made his way over, until he stood behind her, just listening to her sing.

Morgan heard the sand shift under his weight, and she turned around to see who it was. Vath was somehow almost disappointed when her song stopped.

“Hey,” she said, barely audibly.

“Can’t sleep?” Vath asked, and she shrugged in way of answer. “Can I… sit with you?” he asked sheepishly.

“Sure.” Morgan nodded. Vath came over and sat cross-legged beside her. He turned his head up to the sky, and Morgan watched the expression of his face awhile, playing a scale absentmindedly. His face was smooth, his eyes open in a peaceful, reminiscent state of mind.

“So what’s your story?” Morgan asked, silencing the stings and leaning forward to look at him.

“What?” Vath said, pulling himself out of his thoughts, and processing her question. “What story?”

“You know how to soul read, right? Or you at least have an idea what it is.” Morgan looked at him expectantly, and he realized she was waiting for an answer.

“Uh… yeah. My dad told me about it. He said… it was… no, it was that all Elves could see it, but it was about knowing how to read it.” Vath said, trying to remember what his father said. Morgan nodded.

“That’s exactly what it is. Well, in your eyes, I see someone who had something life changing happen to them, but it only happened once. Otherwise, nothing else has happened since. Like you’re waiting for the world to find you. I think that it probably explains why you wander alone in the desert instead of living in a town with friends and family.”

There was a long period of silence, until Morgan leaned back and began strumming cords again.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Oh, I…” Vath said awkwardly, mentally kicking himself for his obliviousness. “No, it’s alright. I mean…” he tripped over his words, realizing she had just said that. “It’s not much of a story. My town isn’t big or well known or anything. I uh, had a human friend, who died in the first years of the plague, but he was like, eighty at the time so… and um, it’s not really that the Burntbushes died out, but there weren’t many of us to begin with. We were a mostly human family, only a few pure elves, like my dad, me and a few aunts and uncles. But, most of my cousins died. Only the ones who were mostly Elf survived. Well, I guess that means we did die out. Anyway, I wasn’t really… close… to any of them. I spent too much time trying to be like my dad to get to know them.”

“What about your dad?” Morgan asked, her voice making it seem like an innocent question, though her motive was slightly less so.

“He was a Ranger. Always told the best stories. I learned all the legends from him. One day he got bit by a sand snake, and he died. I took Bas and left. I haven’t been back since.”

Morgan pondered this information a bit, and asked one last question.

“What about your mother?”

“She died,” Vath said, “but Dad would never tell me how. I never knew her.”

Morgan nodded silently. A Canteior was only created when the mother died before the child was born. The only other Canteior she knew of was a prince whose mother died of an illness even magic couldn’t cure. The child had to be cut out and kept alive with magic for two weeks. Morgan herself had done this.

“You know…” Vath started, unsure of how to finish, “you didn’t have to stop. I like your singing.” Morgan laughed softly and started the song over again. The breeze tugged at the stray hairs of her braid, and her face seemed to light up as she sang. Vath looked at her, and thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.

Realizing what had just passed through his head, he quickly looked away. He just focused on the music, and tried to block everything else out.

As the song ended, she allowed the last chord to keep ringing until it died out. Silence crept in, creating a somber mood.

“That song was a little sad,” Vath said, trying to break the quiet. “Especially the part about the ones who were left behind.”

“Well, it’s not an elvish song,” Morgan said, her voice faraway, “But I always imagined that part to be about the Forgotten Elves. You ever hear about the worlds who forget the nature of magic? There’s this one race of High Elves who became downright cruel. Their immortality fades, and their lifespan shortens until they only live a few hundred years. They think they’re so superior to the humans, but they have no idea what they once were.”

Vath nodded, not really knowing what to say, but not wanting to end the conversation. Morgan, however, stood up and dusted sand off her tunic. Her instrument turned to liquid silver and became a bracelet, settling on her wrist.

“I should at least try to sleep a little.” she said. “Night, Vath.”

“Good night.” he said, strangely disappointed.

Morgan tossed in her cot all night, still afraid to sleep. She finally gave up at the crack of dawn, just as the sun began to show itself. She rummaged in her satchel, and found what any 21st century citizen would recognize as a permanent marker. She uncapped it and drew the glyph for the Dark element on her left wrist, then switching hands so she could draw the glyph for Light on her right. On the base of her throat, she drew the glyph symbolizing the magic that only dragons used, muttering in Draconic to compete the spell. She pulled up her collar to hide the mark, and went out to rejoin the others.