She hadn't intended to go on any sort of exploration. She'd woken that morning to find Miach gone and the rest of the company tucking in to a substantial breakfast. She would have eaten, and indeed she did try, but the blade troubled her so greatly that she found she couldn't. She picked at her food, then spent the morning pacing and trying to ignore the buzzing in her head. She'd wondered what had become of Miach, but she'd had trouble even holding onto that thought.
She'd even gone so far as to send a message to the king through one of the servants. The reply had been that the king was busy and would see her later.
She would have been satisfied with that, but the blade was definitely not.
Finally, as evening had approached, she had surrendered. She had walked over to her couch and laid out all her weapons. She suspected they would not be welcome if she managed to see the king. She had then emptied her pack onto Miach's bed. The ring had fallen out and landed with a clink on the marble floor. She had picked it up, then unwrapped the knife.
It had blazed with a sudden light.
Its song had burst forth as well, briefly, then subsided into a calmer, more pleasant hum. Morgan had stared at it, feeling as if her life were no longer under her control.
She had risen and made for the door. Her companions followed her, or so she thought, though she really couldn't have said. Her eyes were full of the blade, her head so full of its song, and her heart so desperate to be free of both that she hadn't really noticed anything else.
She decided to go look for the king. She would find his audience chamber and shove the bloody things under the door if she had to.
The sooner, the better.
She wondered if that was Paien calling her name, or the knife. She tried to look behind her to see who was following her, but found that she couldn't. She could no longer tell the difference between dreaming and waking. This dream was not evil, but it was powerful. She was not running through thick underbrush, she was walking through magnificent passageways.
But still she could not wake.
The souls filling the hallways increased, but Morgan pushed through them and past them without stopping to converse. They were richly dressed, some were carrying food, some were looking at her in surprise and dismay. She didn't stop to ask them why.
Another song had begun.
One not sung by her knife.
She had to find it before she went mad. She had never considered madness before, not truly, though she began to consider it now. Was this how it felt? Slowly losing contact with the world you knew, being drawn into a dream where songs were sung that only you could hear and blades glowed in a way that only you could see?
She found herself suddenly standing in front of a set of doors that reached far up into the darkness of the ceiling above. Guards stood there, blocking her entrance. Morgan struggled to catch her breath.
"Open them," she managed.
The guards only stared back, silent and watchful.
"Open them!" she shouted.
"Morgan," Paien began miserably from behind her.
Morgan spoke a spell of opening. She had no idea where the words had come from, but they were there on her tongue and ready for her use. The doors responded with a great creaking sound. Guards leaped away in surprise and fear.
She heard Paien curse. She thought she might have heard Camid squeak. She wanted to weep, but she couldn't. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her wrist, then walked into the great hall. She walked until she found herself standing in front of a large table on a raised dais. She drew her sleeve across her eyes again, wishing the fog would dissipate?
"Morgan!"
Morgan turned and saw through a mist of song and dream that Miach was standing just inside the massive doors.
"Morgan," he said again. "Let me help you."
She couldn't answer. That new song had grown louder. She turned away from Miach and looked toward the back of the hall.
There, above a massive fireplace, hung a sword.
Covered with a tracery of leaves and flowers, all the things that Queen Mehar loved…
Morgan sucked in air desperately. The blade was terribly loud. In time, Morgan realized her name figured in its song. The sword and the knife created a melody that wove itself around her, through her, in and out of her thoughts, until she lost all sense of who she was. She knew she walked around the long table until she was standing in front of the hearth, looking up. She slipped the ring off her finger and set it with a fumbling motion upon the table behind her. She set the knife down as well, though it seemed reluctant to leave her hand. But the blade above her shimmered with a light that was so bright, so lovely, so compelling that she could do nothing else but look at it.
The song swelled into a crescendo that continued on until she was tempted to put her hands over her ears so she didn't have to listen to it anymore. But the song was part of her and covering her ears would not help. So Morgan waited, wanting to cower but unable to, until the song reached its height.
