Burning Chains

Summary

After years of confinement alone in the sewers, Mohg gets a cellmate.

Chapter 1

Today the air in the tunnels seemed different. It was almost like there was a chill wind blowing into Mohgs cell. His guards spoke in low whispers, careful that the young omen could not hear. A new prisoner was coming to join Mohg and Morgott in the high security block. Mohg had heard snatches from his guards about it, but he could scarcely believe it. The other omens confined down here in the sewers were allowed to move relatively freely. They could not leave the sewers of course, but they were not bound the same way Mohg and Morgott were. The seals that held Mohg in place forced him into a kneel with their weight, rendering him utterly unable to move until they were released. He’d tried to stand before while they were active, only managing to make craters in the stone floor of his cell, which he was of course punished for. Mohg knew why of course. It was far more important for himself and Morgott to remain here than any of the other prisoners confined to the sewers. After all it couldn’t be made public knowledge that the Queen Eternal herself had birthed two graceless sons. However that begged the question, what on earth had warranted his new cell mate’s confinement?

Mohg knew the new prisoner would be kept with him and not Morgott, blindfolded smiths had been brought to his cell to install a series of four iron loops in the walls, ceilings, and floors. However, other than that he knew nothing. Perhaps they had gained another cursed sibling? Or maybe his grace given brother had turned against their parents? That was too much to hope for. Mohg had been given regular news of his younger brother’s accomplishments as a way of “motivating him to return to grace”. How he could return to something that he had never had was far beyond him though. It was also possible this new prisoner wasn’t a sibling at all. Maybe it was just someone else that required the same level of scrutiny.

Though Mohg was a prisoner here, there were still some among his guards that pitied him, or even secretly attempted to gain his favor. Despite their appearances Mohg and Morgott were still Demigod princes. Were something to happen to their mother or younger brother, Morgott would be rightful king of Leyndell. Some of their guards had quietly brought them both contraband codecs of incantations, or merely looked the other way as they both quietly studied the art. Some went as far as quietly referring to Mohg as his preferred name and gender when out of earshot of the others. However, most often the boon they offered him was knowledge of the goings on in the outside world. Recently he had been quietly informed of a rumor, his mother had apprehended an empyrean. Not one born of their golden line, but one that had emerged from the peasantry. It was not unheard of. The gloam eyed queen Marika had done battle with before he was born was one such empyrean. Though what god claimed this one as their vessel, no one seemed to know.

An ear piercing screech of metal on stone echoed through the tunnels. Mohg clapped his hands over his ears trying to block out the awful noise as it became louder and louder. Then it finally came into view, a massive iron box dragged by two trolls. Both of them bent down before Mohg’s cell and allowed themselves to be blindfolded by his guards. Then the guards unlocked the iron box, each of the four grabbing the end of a chain. “Move, girl, do not make this harder on thyself.” Mohg saw the chain tighten as if whoever was on the other end was fighting them, before the four guards yanked the prisoner out of the box. They wore manacles designed to completely cover their hands and feet which Mohg could not imagine were easy to walk in. Their face was covered entirely by an iron mask, with only a small hole left for their mouth, allowing them to eat and drink. They were a human, smaller than his guards with gangly limbs that suggested that they couldn’t be much older than Mohg. “Put her with the girl,” The chief warden commanded, raising the hair on the back of Mohg’s neck. They dragged the prisoner into his cell. Attaching the chains of their manacles to the hooks on the wall ceiling and floor, forcing them to stand with their arms out and their feet spread, barely touching the ground. As the chief warden attached the chain connected to the back of the prisoner’s iron mask they spat in his face. Mohg managed to hide his snicker with a cough. The guard’s face reddened in anger and he wound back and clubbed the side of the prisoner’s helmet. “Don’t get any ideas princess,” the chief warden sneered, looking down at Mohg. He only growled in response as the door to his cell was locked again.

For a long time Mohg just stared at his new cell mate, too wary to say anything after the guards’ obvious pronouncement that he was a girl. He wasn’t a girl. Mohg may have been born without a cock but he was a boy. There was every chance of course that his cellmate would not understand. Though, now that he thought about it, what could they do if they didn’t? They were bound just as securely as he was. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could his cellmate had already begun to talk.

“Hey uh, you can’t see me right? Because they definitely put me in the wrong cell. I wouldn’t want a girl to have to see me half naked like this.” He was wearing a tattered dress, Mohg could see the shape of breasts underneath the cloth.

“I can see you.” Mohg said, deepening his voice as much as he could.

“Oh well uh then.” His muscles tensed, tightening his chains.

“I’m not a girl either.” The prisoner relaxed a little bit.

“Oh, thank M-“ he choked on the Queen Eternal’s name. The prisoner had just recently come in contact with her of course. He was used to seeing her as a benevolent goddess, not the thing of terror that had bound him here.

“You shouldn’t say her name down here,” Mohg said. “Few have very much fondness for her.”

“Blasphemers all,” Morgott butted in from his cell. “We ought not fall to the sin of abandoning our god when Her grace is the only force that may redeem us, brother. Offer thy thanks to her, penitent. Perhaps she will see fit to restore thee to grace.”

“Ignore my brother,” Mohg whispered so that Morgott could not hear. “He still believes that Marika herself may one day come to release him, should his faith remain unwavering.”

“Hey, uh sorry this isn’t the first thing I asked, but who are you?” The prisoner shifted in his chains. “Well, I mean, I kind of know why I’m here…”

“And you want to know what I could have done to be considered an equal threat?”

“Don’t you dare!” Morgott shouted from his own cell. “We are here so that we might take the secret of our sin to the grave!”

“And who will he tell?! The rats?!” Mohg fired back before speaking. “I am Mohg, second son of Queen Marika the Eternal and Lord Godfrey the Golden, confined here now for sixteen years on the charge of sins against the golden order. Who do I address?” The other prisoner remained silent for a moment.

“Gareth, son of no one of note.” He paused a long time before speaking again. “I’m not being jailed for arson then, am I.”

“They burn arsonists don’t they?” Morgott grumbled from the other side of the wall.

“I thought maybe I’d been given leniency due to my age?”

“Mother isn’t one to be lenient.” Mohg scoffed.

“Do not speak of her like that!” Morgott shot back.

“I refuse to have this argument with you right now, Morgott!” Mohg turned again to his cellmate. “You are guilty of a far worse crime than arson if she has deemed it necessary for you to be kept here.”

“I don’t understand.” Gareth pulled at his chains “There was that one prank I pulled on the village priest but I’ve never committed out and out blasphemy.”

“‘Tis not a difficult task.” Mohg kept quiet about his suspicions. If Gareth did not know he was an empyrean he would wait until he had a better understanding of the boy before letting anything slip. Of course he could also be attempting to hide the fact from Mohg, or there was even the possibility his mother had made a mistake. Either way Mohg knew he had to play his cards carefully. If this boy truly was an empyrean, perhaps he could be of use to him in planning his escape.

That had been Mohg’s singular goal throughout the sixteen long years he had been trapped here. Get out and build himself an army. He had some allies here, gained through guile and silvered words, but no one that could free him or wage war on his behalf. He was, after all, still a prisoner. If his escape attempt failed, any of his allies caught helping him would be promptly dealt with. Losing the few guards he had managed to compel into his service would make his confinement completely and utterly unbearable. He needed to be pragmatic about his situation, he would have to break out with as little help as possible and establish a base of operations somewhere before he could count on any support from former servants of Marika. A fellow criminal against the golden order however, that might just work.

“Regardless of your situation, I must selfishly admit I am glad to have your company.” Mohg spoke quietly, pretending to be overcome with shyness. Morgott was probably rolling his eyes in his own cell. “It has just been myself, my elder brother and our guards for the past sixteen years. It is not often I get to see a new face.”

“I’m afraid you’re out of luck there.” Gareth smiled shyly through his iron mask.

“How about you tell me what you look like then?” Mohg suggested. “So I may at least imagine what you look like when we converse.” The other prisoner shifted in his chains.

“I’m not much to look at. I have dark brown hair and brown eyes. There's a mole next to my nose and I’ve got pox scars on my cheeks. What about you?”

“I have golden eyes and black hair. My canine teeth are a little longer than most people's, such that my elder brother calls them fangs.” Mohg intentionally omitted the rest. Let him come to his own conclusions. Morgott remained mercifully silent in his own cell. Likely he thought the lie was acceptable if it hid the fact that the god queen had given birth to two omens.

“You sound handsome.” The omen prince hadn’t expected that. Never, even by his most ardent silent allies had he ever been called handsome or even beautiful. He had once been told he carried himself well despite his deformities, but he had never, ever been told he was handsome.

“I don’t know if you would still say so if you could see me.” He rushed to say. “I’m not so handsome in person as I may seem in description.”

“Well I’m no prize either.” Gareth grinned. “I don’t exactly have a right to complain.” At that Morgott burst out laughing from his own cell. The miserable bitter laugh that only came out when something happened that was too absurd to do anything else.

“Dost thou flirt with my brother, arsonist?” Mohg paid careful attention to the prisoner’s mouth desperately trying to gauge his reaction. The set of his grin changed a little, and Mohg could infer the rakish expression on his face from his tone of voice.

“Nothing wrong with being friendly.” Mohg felt his face grow hot. He was flirting with him. “I like your voice too,” Gareth whispered. “It’s sexy.” Now it was Mohg’s turn to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

This whole situation was becoming increasingly bizarre. Morgott was right, Garreth should’ve been burned at the stake for burning down his betrothed’s cottage. Not that he’d have regretted it any if he was. The man was a pig, and years older than him besides, but he owned the town mill, so of course his parents had agreed to the match. It was a good thing Gareth had just a touch of magical talent. He would never qualify to be a finger maiden or anything like that, he only had any real talent making fire, but it was there. He’d kept it a secret though, even from Patches, his best friend by virtue of being the second biggest scoundrel in their village (Gareth being ranked number one of course). The guiding voice in his head had always told him that was a bad idea, for a reason it was never able to supply. When Gareth had lit his betrothed’s cottage on fire, he’d expected to get away with it. No one had ever seen him wield flame before, they had no reason to suspect him.

That night, he was sick with rage. He hated his parents for forcing him into this marriage, he hated his betrothed for being a disgusting perverted old man, he hated his village for letting this farce happen, and he hated the body he was trapped in that had enabled all of this to happen. His hate sat white hot behind his eyes as he reached for his magic and then it burst from him, hot and yellow and bright as morning. He lit up the night as if he had become a new sun, a new star yet unbound by order. Then his flame went out and the screaming started and he knew he wasn’t getting away with it this time.

He had been dragged in a few days later by the queen’s personal guard and brought to her feet. That should have told him right then and there that something was wrong, but he was too frightened to think. Queen Marika was nothing like the statues in his village church. She was not kind eyed or gentle, holding her arms open to embrace him. She was tall and strong, carrying a stone war hammer in one hand and a golden sword in the other. Her golden eyes were cold, like metal more than flesh. She asked him a few questions, somehow always seeming to know when he lied and giving him a hard whack with her hammer every time he did or any time he refused to answer. Though her questions were all strange open ended seeming inquiries, sometimes nonsensical sounding, the guiding voice in his head always seemed to have an answer for the ones Gareth did not himself. Finally she asked him, “What is the nature of the five who now are two?”

He replied with the guiding voice in his mind “The traitorous two shall join the three once again, for half a hand can never hold what it has grasped.” She let her hammer hang at her side, both rage and triumph written on her face in equal measure. Then, with her golden sword she pointed at him and pronounced his sentence.

“Pitiful Flame that would defy my order, I shall lock thee back in the bowels of the earth where thee belong.”

Garreth still did not understand what that was supposed to mean, nor what it meant that his cell mate was her son, or even what half of what he had said himself during his questioning was supposed to mean. What he did know though, was that the guiding voice in his mind seemed oddly pleased. It didn’t speak in words exactly, more often sending feelings or impressions of concepts that Gareth had to interpret. What it sent to him now was tacit smugness. It felt as if it had out maneuvered Marika in some way, though Gareth couldn’t figure out how at all. He felt it try to explain itself, pulling words from his head. “Close.” It said, curling around his mind like a cat. “Primed.” It whispered, the feeling of hands ghosting over his eyes in the dark of his iron mask. Gareth shivered. That was new. “Soon, two one. Soon both free.” Gareth felt a hand hold his own within his manacles. Well he wasn’t sure how the voice in his head was supposed to help him get out of this, but it seemed like it was coming up with a plan at least.