This was a recurring scene. Yew Rue stood, a puzzling discontent growing in his guts. Asking himself again, “Where had Morgan lived? No palace room of Morgan’s was ever found.” Yew Rue sat on a floor cushion and became trancelike as the Wise Old Man had taught him.
“I envision the corridors and rooms of the castle as if I were first a mouse and then an eagle,” said Yew Rue.
In his mind, he finally saw Morgan’s rooms tucked away and hidden. Morgan’s secret quarters were nearby but undiscovered. Walking briskly through the palace to the hallway where Somer Krest perished, Yew Rue approached an elaborately decorated panel. At his touch, the panel slid to one side revealing a half open door. At last! He had it!
“So these are the mystic quarters of Morgan, the Sea Dweller,” he said to himself.
Stepping into the dusty room unveiled the tiny living space of a lonely man. A small bed, one chair, one plate, one cup, everything in singles except a rack of dark clothing. No wealth, just ordinary things.
“This is an odd flask. For mixing potions, I’m sure,” said Yew.
Yew observed the small leather trunk. Its black color seemed to discharge iciness.
“This appears interesting,” said Yew as he opened the old trunk, “Seems Morgan had some treasure after all.” It was the box he had heard so much about, The Box of Power.
Yew stared into the collection of gentle hair.
“What is this? Nothing but tiny lockets of hair?”
He probed the little wreaths of hair with his fingers. A surge of power electrified his hands and arms. He pulled his hands back pondering the feeling.
“This is Morgan and Lamia’s power I sense. What magnificent evil have I discovered?”
Darkness fell across Yew’s mind. Black, dusky odor spun in the air. Were dark spirits guarding wanton power?
He slowly placed both hands upon the amulets of hair. There was no resistance to his intrusion. He was aware these small objects represented many sad deaths. A high pitched ringing formed in Yew’s ears proving to be a disembodied voice. It was the shrill voice of the deceased Morgan.
“You killed me once. You shall not destroy my energy source!” screeched the voice of Morgan, “You and I had a deal. I’d give you General Fang and Somer Krest and you’d let me escape with Lamia’s brain.”
“Morgan, the Sea Dweller, I changed my mind. You cannot stop me from handling or even destroying your collection of trophies,” said Yew with a shrug.
“This is disgraceful, blasphemous and irreverent. Those are my dead girls! How dare you stroke them as if they were liniment for aching joints,” said Morgan.
“Then tell me more, quickly, or I’ll destroy this thing with fire,” threaten Yew.
“Fine. Be slow to act. If you digest the hair you will have eternal life. One locket equals about 70 years of life,” replied Morgan.
“So, that’s how you remained alive,” Yew said eyeing the flask and paraphernalia, “What if I only touch a few hair pieces? Or all of them at once?”
“I won’t recommend that. Lamia described often such action as fatal and it destroys the amulets simultaneously. Wouldn’t want that would we?”
“But Lamia was a compulsive liar,” smiled Yew. He plunged both hands into the hair and clamped his eyes shut. The ringing in his ears subsided and died. A soothing pulse wormed up his nerve fibers winning residence over his blackening heart. He stared into the empty chest, all lockets were gone. Vanished.
Yew’s body was magically empowered. He stood glowing and invigorated.
“I call upon all my new powers to find the dead monsters and burn their black hearts to powder and cast their dust to the four winds,” Yew commanded with a low rumbling voice. He sensed the act was finished even as he spoke.
He felt relief and strength simultaneously. So many fears were gone. This was what he searched so long to find. It seemed the same peace Ungula possessed. Duplicating her peaceful countenance would be delight. Or was it a forgery? Yew wondered.
“Now empowered I choose using the Devourer’s power for good instead of evil.” That charity declaration seemed to deaden his stinging conscious a little, but he knew it was a lie.
After sealing the secret room, he returned to the sleeping Zingara. Her eyes slowly opened when he touched her leg.
“I’ve found something terrible and wonderful at the same moment,” he said.
“I feel a change in your touch,” she said. She wondered if this moment reflected the treacherous personality she had silently dreamt of over and over.
He smiled cautiously.
“I’ve discovered the powers of life and death coexist. My desire now is life unfettered by symbols of past evils. The intensity of my life is only as potent as destroying my past.”
“You defied the mystic dragon?” questioned Zingara.
“Yes,” said Yew Rue, “Life can never be the same. It will plainly be better.” He heard the hollowness of his own words.
Plainly better?, he thought, simple symbols yield focus, purpose, and reduced effort.
“An old way of existence is dead,” Yew said, “I am reborn. A new life waits before me.”
Nothing has really changed, he thought, who am I fooling?
Zingara looked closely at Yew’s features, then she said, “You have become more than Somer Krest, my father. You have become more than both the Devourer’s Morgan and Lamia. You are more than even yourself, Yew Rue, the Sorrowing One.”
She paused.
“I fear what you have become,” she said, a tear trickling down her face.
“It is as if I have rekindled my inner self. I conjure up no more from a hidden subconscious mind. I am self-aware of my inner thinking and deeper feelings,” said Yew.
“Sensitive and discerning?” whispered Zin.
Inside a sinister voice whispered, “Lies, deceptions, falsehoods. Gullible people!”
It was the laugh of Morgan.
“Man transcends when he achieves complete awareness of his potential,” quoted Yew Rue, a crooked glint in his eye. Morgan had tricked him again! He lived now inside Yew’s mind and body. Yew heard an imperceptible, “Checkmate!” ringing in his skull.