Chương 34: Vol 1. An Amiable Conversation: Part 1

As the servants kindled the fireplace, the chamber slowly filled with the smell of burning pine and dry wood. The fire crackled and popped, smoke billowing up the chimney. The guards remained nearby, but with their swords fully returned to their scabbards. When the servant arrived with the kettle, cups, and green tea, Korra shooed her away. The servant obliged. Then Korra requested that the guards wait outside and said that she would call if she needed anything. They all bowed with reverence for their master.

Korra made a couple of hand gestures that Morton did not understand, and then the guards exited the room in an orderly fashion. The door closed behind the last guard with a heavy thud. Morton glanced towards the closed door, then back at Korra. If her decision surprised him, his face didn't show it. The daylight was almost fully gone now. Firelight waltzed across Morton's weathered face, slithering deep into the lines around his eyes and catching against the grey in his beard.

The flames reflected in Korra's remaining amber eye, giving it a molten glow. Morton was about to reach for the kettle, but Korra put her hand up.

"Let me," Korra said. She poured the hot water into each of the cups and let the leaves soak. The smell of green tea joined the other aromas in the room. Morton tried to reach for the cup.

"It is not ready." Morton pulled his arm back.

"Right." They sat quietly for a moment, listening to the crackles and pops of the fire. Then, when Korra decided it was ready, she handed Morton the little porcelain cup. Korra held her cup delicately between both paws. Morton wrapped one hand around his, completely disregarding any form of etiquette.

"Sir Christian, I have a question."

"And what would that be, ma'am?"

"Are you of high birth amongst your people?"

"Lord, no," Morton scoffed.

"I'm as close to royalty as the Chicago Cubs were to winning."

"I am unsure what that means, but, assuming you are saying you are of the peasantry, then I have a request of you. You must fulfil this request before I will let you leave my estate and before you can tell me why it is you have entered my estate in the first place."

"Sounds complicated," Morton said.

"But what the kid wants is kind of a large request, so shoot your shot."

"The kid… you mean Tahir?"

"Yeah."

"He is certainly young-looking, but… you know he is, if my knowledge is to be trusted, almost in his twenties, right?"

"Yeah, kid." Korra looked at him.

"Sir Christian, how old are you?"

"Forty-eight, unfortunately." Korra flicked her ears. Her tail went rigid.

"Are you playing with me?"

"I wish. Nope, I'm forty-eight." Korra thought for a moment.

"And how long do your people usually live?"

"About… well, before all… that happened, you could get to a hundred if you didn't drink any beer or smoke. Me…" He patted his stomach jocularly.

"I ain't livin' to a hundred."

"That makes a lot more sense." Korra did the math in her head, then smiled.

"You're closer to him in age than you think," she said, taking a sip of tea.

"A Kharani of nineteen has lived through nearly the same proportion of his natural life as a human in his forties." Morton paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. His brows drew together as he attempted the same calculation.

"Still a kid," he decided.

"But yes, I have a request of you." If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"And what is it?" Korra set her cup down carefully. The soft clink of porcelain against the saucer sounded unusually loud in the quiet chamber. All playfulness, whatever little there had been, had fully dissipated from her expression.

"To put it simply, I do not trust you; I do not trust House Orien or anyone else besides my beloved. That is how I operate."

"Hell, that is valid," Morton said.

"A LOT of untrustworthy people in the world."

"Indeed," Korra agreed.

"And so, I have one condition for you leaving here with your life: you will need to make me trust you." Morton scoffed.

"And how do you propose I go 'bout that?"

"Sir Christian, are you a man of religion?" Korra asked evenly. Morton thought carefully for a moment.

"S'ppose I am," he said.

"I do believe in the Lord above and his Good Book, but I ain't very good at followin' it."

"The… Male-Lady?" Korra asked.

"A bit hard to explain, I reckon. I ain't no pastor. What about you? Are ya' religious? Do you believe in that Seroth guy?"

"Yes," Korra said. She got up and started walking towards the accent table.

"I will not tell you that I am at the cathedral every fifthday."

"My daddy used to say somethin' similar."

"My father was the opposite," Korra said.

"Pious little guy, he was. I am nowhere near as devout as he was; I consistently break the teachings of Seroth, but I do like to think I am an honourable woman who lives in accordance with the prophet Kaelreth the War-Seer."

"Who now?" Morton said.

"Perhaps we can go into more detail about both our faiths." She opened the drawer.

"Sir Christian, if you are not an elf, then what are you? What tribe or realm or whatever do you belong to?"

"I'm a human, born and raised in Texas."

"I cannot say I have heard of either. Are you an island nation beyond the Zereth Ocean?"

"I got no clue what those are."

"I see… interesting." Korra pulled out a worn leather-bound book, then set it on the table between the couch and the chair. On its cover were the words The Codex of the Prophets. Its brown leather cover was heavily cracked with age, its corners rubbed pale by generations of paws, and the pages themselves looked just as worn.

A faded image had been pressed into the centre: Kaelreth the War-Seer, a sinewy, grey-furred, bare-breasted woman standing upon a mound of broken swords, one paw raising a brilliantly glowing sword towards the Dual-Gods. Several narrow strips of coloured cloth protruded from between the pages. Korra smiled nostalgically at the little markings.

"You know," she said, "my father used to make me study the prophets as a girl. I hated it then, but now they make for good memories, if I do say so myself. He was a good man—a wonderful husband to my mother."

"What happened to him?" Morton asked.

"Dead, most likely," Korra said bluntly.

"Died when I was eleven. Got caught in an alleyway while out. My mother warned him not to go out among the peasantry alone, but he did not listen, and you know what? He paid the price. Probably got trafficked as a sex slave." Morton wrinkled his nose in disgust. Then his expression softened, and he said, "I am sorry to hear that."

"I will be honest with you: I do not fully believe that; I still do not trust you."

"And once again, how do you expect me to make ya' trust me, miss?" Korra crossed her legs.

"If you are a man of faith—and one who takes pride in his honour—then I propose this: I wish to simply have an amicable conversation between the two of us. No formalities, no holding back, no niceties; we will say what we truly think, and if I think you are holding back at any point, I will not let you leave this estate alive. I am sure the prince would hate to see that. He seems to like you." Morton squinted his eyes and growled.

"I do not think you should try to kill me. If I am so much as wounded, my guards have been ordered to execute you."

"You dismissed the guards earlier." Korra let out a little chuckle.

"Do you not think I prepare for these things? I have non-vocal strategies for communicating things throughout the estate. Every guard in this place will soon catch wind that if they do not see me, then they must chase after the weird furless person in an odd hat. And these girls, oh, these girls—they are loyal to the bitter end. It makes me proud."

"You're real somethin'," Morton said.

"That's the spirit!" Korra said with a slight smirk. She put her hand on the book.

"Now, I will swear to the Dual-Gods that I shall keep my word, that I will not trick you with my tongue, and I will allow you to do the same before your Male-Lady. You know, an old husbands' tale says that if you break an oath made upon a Codex, you are condemned to eternal suffering with no chance of forgiveness." Morton studied the book without touching it.

He did not recognize the lettering or the warrior stamped onto its cover, but he saw clear reverence in the way Korra handled it, oh-so similar to how his father would handle a Bible when Morton was a kid. Whatever gods she worshipped, the book and her faith clearly meant a lot to her. That made the threat behind her proposal feel like more than just theatrics: she truly believed they would go to hell if they broke their oath. Morton couldn't disagree.

He supposed it was time he followed the Good Book and told the truth. Morton placed his hand upon the book. They both said their own small prayers. Korra's prayer was brief but loud and martial, asking the Dual-Gods to strip her of all her honour should even one false or deceitful utterance slip from her tongue. Morton's was quieter. He bowed his head reverently and murmured the Lord's Prayer, followed by something about truth, mercy, and forgiveness. They took their hands off the book and sat back.

"Good," Korra said.

"Let us begin, then. We will go question for question. I will even let you ask the first question because I am just that generous."