"Kren" Part 22: Just a Day's March Now, I Reckon

 

Kren gaped at him, staring eyes still wide with his vision, beard trembling on his chest over his racing heart.

“I,” he began, then gulped, throat dry. “I saw my mother dying.”

Koppa looked stricken and started to rise.

“Oh, I am sorry,” he began, voice concerned. “That spell was supposed to show the memory that you most wanted to see …”

“No, sit down, sit down,” Kren said, gesturing dismissively for silence, still distracted by his vison.  Koppa studied him worriedly while the Morg sat processing his thoughts, only his eyes moving as if watching it all over again. Eventually he raised a paw and began slowly stroking his beard.  He looked up at the youth, eyes gleaming under his deep brows.

“I think it was what I most wanted to see,” he said gruffly. “Or at least what my heart knew that I did. I had no memory of my mother’s face. Harrowing as it was, as horrible as it felt, I must thank you for that.”

“I’m so sorry,” Koppa repeated, still worried. “Look, I’m sure I could summon a more pleasant memory of her for you …”

Kren bowed his head and sighed deeply.

“No need, no need,” he said quietly. “She told me what I most needed to hear. That she loved me.”

He looked up, eyes firm with resolve.

“And that I must go to Morg City. When do you return there?”

Koppa was taken aback.

“Not for a long while, I’m afraid.” He hesitated. “I have far, and farther to journey, following the King’s business. But come spring I should pass through here again, and we might travel together then.”

Kren shook his head.

“Not soon enough. I’m late it is.” His set his jaw. “I’ll go alone if I must.”

Koppa stared at him, appalled.

“You mean you’d set out alone, on the spur of the moment, on the verge of winter, no less, and travel all the miles from here to Morg City, where you know no-one – because of a memory I showed you?”

Kren snorted.

“Why not? There’s nothing for me here except more long years to the grave, working for people who care nothing for me.” He smiled a twisted grin. “Besides, my mother told me to. She says I have people there.” The thought suddenly struck him.

“A family.” His voice was slow with wonder. “A real family, waiting for me.”

“Well, maybe,” Koppa began cautiously. “You must remember it’s been a few years, I guess, and we have had a war…” He snapped his mouth shut at Kren’s sudden glare. “But they might very well be there,” he went on. “What was your mother’s name? There are probably still Life Witness records that remember when she fled the City. That could put you in touch with your family.” He paused, curious. “What was her name?”

“Madra,” Kren said proudly.

“Oh, dear.” Koppa shook his head sadly.

“What’s the matter?  Have you heard of her?”

“No, Mr. Kren. It’s just that ‘Madra’ is simply the Morgish word for ‘mother’. You must have been very young when she died not to know that. You can’t go marching into Morg City basically asking for Mommy and get any useful answer.”

Kren was taken aback for a moment, then quickly rallied.

“I heard other names,” he snapped. “Pon. Ferrit. They travelled with her. Surely, I can triangulate her name by knowing them.”

Koppa grew thoughtful.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose you could.” He stroked his chin. “And if you left now and went fast enough, you just might catch a trade caravan heading for Morg City. Or at least hunker down in a nearer town until spring.” He looked at Kren. “Do you have any money?”

“I got some,” Kren replied cagily.

Koppa laughed.

“Well, you’ll need it, at least while travelling. Once you’re at Morg City, a good carpenter can always find a job. Even after five years, we’re still rebuilding. And if you can’t locate your old family, well, you can always start a new one.” He looked around humorously. “I don’t think you’ll find a wife here in Far Reach.”