Eye of Darkness (Part Six)

That afternoon, and the day after that, saw many preparations. Substitutes were found to take care of Belmok’s classes, and the family lawyers were called to go over and tighten the conditions of certain contingencies in their documents. Gear and supplies were considered and purchased. The morning of the third day found Belmok and his mother once more sitting at the breakfast table. The burly, bearded Master was already dressed in dark brown travel clothes, half-covered with a surcoat of tough light leather armor riveted with black steel. For all this daunting outfit, he was still picking up his eggs and examining them, one at a time.

“What I don’t understand,” his mother sniffed, taking up her tea cup, “Is why you have to leave so soon. Surely a bit more care and planning wouldn’t be amiss.”

“It would accomplish very little but delay. As you always used to say when I was a lad, ‘Soonest begun is halfway done’.”

She frowned.

“I don’t remember ever saying that.”

“Oh? Then it was probably one of that succession of nurses you had in to raise Gortus and me. I understood that they were there in place of you actually having to deal with us, so I always imagined that what they told us was spoken by you, at one remove, as it were.”

The old Morgess looked at him, eyes glaring, muzzle screwed into a tighter frown.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Belmok,” she said quietly. “You’re trying to make me angry. So that … so that if anything happens to you …” She stopped, unable to go on. She took a sip of tea with trembling lips.

Belmok set down his egg.

“I should have known I couldn’t fool you, madra,” he smiled. “You’re far too wily an old bird.”

She grimaced through watery eyes.

“As if anything you could do would make it less hard …”

“I know, I know, madra,” he soothed. “But cheer up.” He picked up the egg and continued his scrutiny. “There is much to be gained from this journey. Status. Knowledge. Service to the realm. Perhaps even a measure of security for little old mothers everywhere.” He popped the egg in and started chewing.

“Besides,” he said through his mouthful. “There are many heartening factors. This wizard Dunwolf has promised a shortcut to the meeting with the Ivra. The ‘invisibility’ aspect is very encouraging. No heroics are being called for; just a little hardship. I don’t foresee any real problems. Ow!”

Belmok reached into his gritting teeth and probed around. He drew out his claws and gazed through his eyeglass, disbelieving, at the bit of eggshell laying wetly on his forefinger.

Notes

Madra: Morg word technically meaning “most respected lady”; all Morgs use it to refer to the closest female relation in their life, most often the matriarch. One does not use the word to refer to another’s madra.

MORA MADRA

The very old pages of ‘Ortha Lore’ mention the Fathers and Mothers of the Races. Mog Gammoth’s spouse is called Mora, and there is little more mentioned about her. I now feel I can say some more about Mora.

The odd fact is that, in Ortha, there are few written legends about her, not because of her insignificance, but because of her importance, and her living closeness in Morg lives. While Mog Gammoth is ‘everybody’s grampa’ (which is more or less the translation of ‘gammoth’), Mora’s full name and title is Mora Madra (which is closer in meaning to ‘mommy’ than the simply biological term ‘mother’).

Morgish reverence for Mora is an open secret, but seldom discussed. While kings (elected executives) among Morgs and the humbler office of witnesses are obvious stand-ins for Mog himself, they are mere underlings or substitutes and liable to criticism. Any and every Morgess who conceives shares directly in the ‘office’ and aura of Mora and has the title ‘Madra’. Mog Gammoth is seen as somewhat remote, if all-seeing; Mora is there, in some sense, in every mother.

This has led to a code or tradition among the Madra, more strictly enforced than any written law. It is only really understood by them. It concerns not only a kind of ‘pecking order’ and its rules, but also a balance between personal ambition for your family and the good of the realm. Whoever is the public face of the family, the Madra is the true head. In effect, the Madras of all the families are an unofficial but most effective Senate. Each Madra, of course, values her own family most highly, and will try to apply the rules to them as favorably as possible.

Among male Morgs, their ignorance of the precise parameters of this code has led to an excess of caution and counter-reaction. If worried that what they are doing might offend the Madras, they will stop, think, and proceed very cautiously before doing so, or try to lie about or hide such actions entirely. No Morg will insult another’s Madra, partially because that is to insult Mora and all Madras, even his own, and partially because it is a deadly insult that requires blood. No one will judge another who is following the dictates of his Madra.

Mora Madra herself shares somewhat in the nature of Orathil (Mother Ortha), but specifically and much more personally for the Morgish race. Orathil is the strict balance of nature, ‘red in tooth and claw’, mother of Ogres as well as Morgs, of storms and harvest. Mora is Mommy, standing between you and a rather stern grandmother, occasionally sneaking you a secret cookie. May she bless us all.