Chapter 84. The Choice

is last memory of sunlight was the morning he had been led out in chains to watch the lighting of his sister’s funeral pyre. No one spoke to him; no one would even look upon him. The wood was stacked up to shoulder height and adorned with prayer ribbons and pale blossoms. Teleri lay upon her back, hands folded upon her breast and her golden hair braided as it was on her wedding day. As if asleep, her pale visage was at peace and her thin frame was clad in angelic white.

He wept to see her now, his little sister, the one he had vowed to protect until the end of his days. All he had brought her was grief and misery in the end. Brioc lit the pyre, a duty that should have gone to Pendaran. The rite had been delayed until tradition dictated that Teleri must be sent to her rest and mourning must commence. There were mutterings in the crowd that Pendaran might soon follow her to the Mists.

Through his tears he saw Mabane fighting to his mother’s side, held back from the flames by strangers. Orphaned, the boy collapsed to his knees and keened, his voice thin and filled with agony. To his shame he felt Master Bei’s dark eyes boring into him and felt the man’s hatred and disdain. Morisedd knew then that he was damned. However much he wept and knew regret, what awaited him beyond the Mists would not be his deceased loved ones or the mercy of the gods.

He had visited his greatest tragedy upon his nephew and Pendaran. He had driven Teleri from sadness into despair. His cruelty equated to murder. He did not fight his captors when they drew him away from the palpable grief of the mourners and returned him to his cell. Morisedd welcomed the darkness to hide from his shame.

Hoary with filth and unshorn hair he awaited judgment, but it never came. Summer heat gave way to the mellow coolness of autumn and still he endured. Lemony came to visit him every few days to offer prayers and speak of the opportunity to redeem himself while he drew breath. Her words lacked conviction. She came out of duty and compassion, perhaps because she believed Uriel would have asked it of her.

They never spoke to each other. Morisedd knelt before her and Sister Lemony uttered prayers. Her goddess was the mother, she pronounced without passion, and all were her children. The wretched and the sinful were enfolded by her merciful wings. Ironic, he thought, that Dwayna’s shining example, her sweetest servant, could not believe those words.

“Is Pendaran alive?” he asked that morning when Lemony finished her prayers and put away her incense and candles. The little monk was more pensive than usual and had not even attempted a smile for him when she entered.

“By a thread,” Lemony whispered, clearly not wishing to discuss it with him. He realized she had come partly out of obligation but also to put aside her grief.

“You don’t believe he’ll live,” Morisedd replied, “The gods have failed him in the end.”

Lemony glared at him. The faint light of morning issuing through one of the high windows glinted upon the tears standing in her eyes.

“I do not pretend to know their plans,” she said, parroting one of the tired phrases he had heard the devout utter in the past.

“You probably wonder why he’s going to die and I still have the nerve to draw breath.”

“The only thing I wonder is how I failed you as a friend.”

He looked down at his knees, unable to respond. Her words pierced his heart. Did she actually feel responsible for his behavior after all this time?

“You didn’t fail, Lem…”

“No, do not speak,” Lemony said quietly, sniffling, “May the gods forgive you. I cannot.”

The door slammed behind her followed by the grinding of keys. For a long time he did not stir from his place on the cold stones. Morisedd realized that he would end his days there, contained where he could do no further harm. They would not execute him; they would wear him down with pity and regret. He wept as he had not since his sister’s funeral, envying her for being dead and at peace.

“Do not envy me, my brother.”

His skin pricked and an unearthly cold curled over his bony frame. Raising his head, he made a small croaking sound of alarm at the sight of the druid hunched before him. Its glowing form nearly filled the rest of the round chamber and its moon-pale eyes gazed down at him sadly.

“Who… who are you?” he stuttered. Was this Aramathxes come to haunt him, enraged that he had betrayed her one time lover?

“I am all that remains of Teleri,” it sighed sadly, “Her grief and love bind her here, bind her to you. She sees across the Mists and knows you will not enter there. She feels the life of her beloved fading and mourns that her sacrifice was for naught. Her children are alone in the world and now she cannot find peace.”

He curled into a miserable ball before the shimmering form, sobbing now.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If I could undo it. Gods, if I could only undo it.”

“You would undo it?” the druid breathed quietly.

“Yes.”

“No matter the cost? Even were you to enter Torment with no hope of release?”

“Is that not what awaits me now?” Morisedd wept.

The druid gazed upon him impassively and titled its massive head.

"No, you will neither pass through the Mists, nor go to Torment, you will become a ghost."

“Why do you tell me this?” Morisedd asked.

“If you choose without knowing the consequences, then it is no choice at all and choice is the greatest magic.”

Morisedd gazed up at the creature, saw its sadness and regret.

“Teleri failed?”

“She did not fail, neither was her choice the one you must make. If you are true, if you choose knowing that you will go to Torment and take Haodrim with you, then perhaps the bindings can be broken.”

Morisedd did not respond, only wept to remember the horrors of the place where Uriel had died. For a long time he mourned for what he had done and for his poor sister. On some level he owed her this. He could do something she truly needed for once and be the good brother she had always needed. But Torment. Forever. As horrible as it was to contemplate remaining on this plane in misery as a ghost, it was still better than that hideous bloated sun, the blatant evil and hatred that permeated every stone and breath of air.

And it all rested on a single choice, just as it had in the beginning. His choice to betray Pendaran had lead to this final horrible choice. He gazed up at the druid, trembling as he laid a hand upon a translucent limb. It was warm to his touch and an odor of fresh forest loam emanated from its flat nostrils.

“I became the evil that was done to me,” Morisedd whispered, “I could have chosen a different path; I could have loved and forgiven more freely. I could have seen my hurt was one small piece of all the sorrow in the world and accepted it as my duty to attend to what was given to me instead of creating more.”

The druid said nothing, only silently regarded him, awaiting his final decision. It would not make his choice easier; it would not try to dissuade him one way or the other.

“If I accept Torment, will it undo a small piece of what I have done?” Morisedd asked.

“Nothing is certain,” the druid replied, “only that you will go to Torment. Only that you may choose or not.”

“But Pendaran will live if I choose to take Haodrim?”

“Yes.”

“And Teleri will find peace?”

“Yes.”