The pathway outside the cave was quiet, just as Morrigan liked it. She could feel the negative emotions behind her, but it was just as well. He deserved to feel bad. How dare he spring such an imposition on her? Morrigan told him she was on a mission of the utmost importance and he volunteered her as a nursemaid? Detestable.

  The boy looked at Morrigan with such bright, wide eyes—it left Morrigan befuddled at first, but no longer. His eyes were the same as anyone else’s after all. She could feel the fear at her back; unwelcomed, but familiar.

  After some time spent moving downhill from the mountain trail, the trio was underneath the miasma that passed for a sky in the offscape. The offscape was a thief in the night, robbing its denizens of their memories, but this was only true for those fresh to its creeping grip. For regular residents of the unnatural planes, the offscape eventually released its mental hostages. The boy didn’t seem to be sure as to how long he’d been in the offscape, but his lack of mental clarity told Morrigan all she needed to know about his experience in the planes. Whereas the pet he walked alongside had likely been in the offscape for all of her existence: her eyes certainly conveyed the lack of light common in offscape residents.

  The notion of an inhabitant of the offscape was ludicrous in and of itself. The offscape was no home to settle into—it had no fertile soil to plant one’s roots in and foster a life. No, the offscape was the remnant of a failed attempt to excise the Malokith from Kativazch. It was a graveyard of mistakes and poor decisions all orchestrated from heroes of the past. Morrigan’s comrades gave their lives to provide her another chance to right the wrongs that spawned the offscape in the first place. She owed everything to them, so why couldn’t she remember them even a little bit? Not a face, a name, or even a word bubbled up at will. She’d wandered the offscape for ages, her mind had crumbled to dust and came to life once again, so why couldn’t she recall her loved ones? When would the offscape finally relinquish her memories? When could she dream again?

  “Morrigan.”

  Hm? The boy. He’d called her name, perhaps not even the first time he’d done so. How long was she in her own head? It was unlike her. Or maybe it wasn’t? The offscape left her doubtful of her own character. Why was she wandering the wastes? Why was she encased in a tomb of metal and cloth?

  “Morrigan.”

  “Tsk, speak.”

  “Where exactly are we going?”

  Ridinr?, had he already forgotten? They’d discussed this already and he deigned to have her repeat herself? It would be more appropriate for her to strike him for the offense.

  “You were told: we follow a trail of fētis. The trail will—”

  “Right, but where exactly?”

  Another offense. Morrigan gripped his tunic and pulled him close, their noses touching as her stare eclipsed his.

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  “Go ahead.”

  “What?” He stammered, sensing he’d made a mistake. He was right.

  “No, by all means." She said through gritted teeth. "You saw fit to strike my voice down so yours could be heard. So go ahead. Speak. I await your words.”

  “I-I didn’t mean—”

  “Never do that again." She hissed. "I will not apprise you twice. Am I understood? Is my voice heard?”

  She could feel his heartbeat beneath the tunic she gripped: fear. She cursed herself for knowing no other way to address others, but it was always reliable. A better hero wouldn’t have to reassert themselves, but assertiveness was one of Morrigan’s strengths, so she’d make do.

  “Speak.”

  “I understand.”

  He closed his mouth and she released him accordingly. His eyes continued speaking, however: resentment, a language he seemed fluent in.

  He regretted following her, forming the pact, and meeting her at all. He hated her. Why wouldn’t he? Morrigan was many a positive thing, but likable wasn’t on the list in her head. Moreover, something inside told her quite the opposite, that she was oft despised.

  It should have been you.

  The voice again, the sweet one from before, but haggard and remorseful. Like she needed a voice in her head telling her she should be dead: asinine. Even with her limited recollection, Morrigan could surmise any of her compatriots would’ve been better suited to the task at hand. They likely would’ve handled the labyrinth diplomatically, garnered the boy’s assistance through inspiration, and properly conveyed their thoughts every step of the way. Law, long hair is a death sentence in the wastes and Morrigan couldn’t be everywhere. If that petulant brat died on the way, the boy wouldn’t be in any condition to aid Morrigan when the time came. What good would a tool be if it couldn’t do its designated job? With tools on her mind, Morrigan pulled a familiar tethered compass from her cloak pocket, eyeing it carefully.

  “That’s…” The boy dropped his sentence as quickly as he’d picked it up. Morrigan smirked to herself as she walked; so he could be taught.

  “Speak,” she permitted.

  “That’s the thing Mogrim had, right?" He asked. "The t?l?vazch, was it?”

  “Correct.”

  She could feel his next question on the precipice of his lips, waiting for him to have the courage to ask it. To her surprise, he did.

  “He gave it to you?”

  “I felt it would be of better use in my hands." She smirked. "He agreed.”

  No response. His silence wasn’t surprising to her, but it did leave her without a full assessment of his take on her words. Did he believe her? Did it matter? The child was silent—then again, Morrigan doubted she’d be speaking up any time soon. Good. She fed the t?l?vazch some vi, sighing in relief when it held the capacity without issue: the scum of a trader hadn’t taken good care of the instrument, she wasn’t even sure if it would work properly.

  “How does it work?” The boy asked.

  Always tinkering, observing, desperate to pull things apart and put them back together.

  “It matters not: I shall be the charter, not you.” Morrigan retorted.

  More welcomed silence.

  Explaining the t?l?vazch would mean explaining the wastes of the offscape and perhaps even explaining the offscape itself, and none of this was necessary for the mission.

  “How long do you think—”

  “Hush. Walk.”

  Ridinr?.