2 October 2026
We return to the third book of our epic, The Morgle Unmasked, continuing with the conversation that shows the alterations to Klarissa’s character. . . . (14 March 2016) The full ebook version of this book is available for purchase from all ebook sellers. We remind all that the first book in this series, Chosen of the One, and the second book, Staff of Shigmar, are both free from Smashwords! Glossary links: Book 3, Book 2, Book 1
Chapter 3, Part 3
“Don’t ever leave me alone,” Klare implored, then her face flushed, “except, of course, at night,” she added, then bit her lower lip. “Oh, but I do not think I could ever sleep again: the nightmares are horrible!” she exclaimed, shuddering against him. “Sometimes I see my home destroyed, and all my family dead; other times I see purem leering at me, and laughing, and I realize that I am naked, and then I start to scream, from the pain, because they . . . they . . . ,” and she stopped speaking, burying her face in his shoulder. Her body shook violently, so Klaybear held her tighter, trying to quell the shaking and sobs. When the sobs and shaking had nearly stopped, she lifted her head, looking up at him. “They are dreams, aren’t they?” she asked, but before he could even think of how to reply, she went on. “But I feel sore,” her face flushed, “in certain places, where I should not feel sore, and at times, I feel sick, which is strange, since I have not eaten for days, it seems.” Then her face went white, and she pushed away, turning and doubling up, retching, but the heaves that wracked her body were dry. After several minutes of dry heaves, she wiped her mouth, then slowly stood and wrapped her arms around Klaybear.
“The first time I awakened,” Klare went on, “I felt filthy, so I got up and took a bath, and I found blood and . . . ,” she hesitated, searching for a word, “something else, as if it were that time, but it didn’t look right. So I washed, and I washed, and I discovered all my muscles were sore, especially my legs, so I stayed in the tub for a long time, and it was quite strange: the water never cooled,” she said, looking away. “Then, after I got out, dried, and dressed, Rokwolf found me, which was a surprise, since I thought he was in the desert, then he told me that I was mistaken, that it was more than a year later, and that you and I were married. He even showed me things that he claimed were ours, from our house, which upset me, and so he gave me a sleeping draft.” She looked toward Rokwolf, who was on his knees, pulling weeds.
Klaybear said nothing, troubled by her behavior; he now understood what his twin meant: Klare liked to talk, but she never babbled, and now, she was babbling like the proverbial fishwife.
“I can’t understand why I feel sick every time I wake up,” Klare began again, her face pale, “it would make more sense if it were the morning, and I were pregnant, but that is not possible,” she hesitated, looking up into Klaybear’s face, “unless Rokwolf was telling the truth, or the nightmare was real,” she paused, looking horrified, “but that would mean . . . ,” she started to say, then Klaybear cut her off.
“You’re not carrying the child of a puri,” Klaybear interrupted, “you’re carrying our child, and I saw him in a vision, or a dream, I had before waking. He told me . . . ,” he hesitated, trying to keep his voice level while holding back tears, “he told me to heal you, but so did my mother, and your mother,” he finished, his voice cracking.
Klare looked shocked. “No!” she exclaimed, “it cannot be true,” she faltered, and something inside changed, her face reflecting her realization. She sobbed and buried her face in Klaybear’s chest. Several minutes passed in silence before she lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “So I’ve lost more than a year of memories? How is this possible?” she asked, sounding stricken.
Klaybear sighed. “Something happened when the purem . . . ,” he paused, searching for a term that was less offensive, “captured you and Rokwolf.”
“Where were you?” Klare interrupted.
“In Shigmar’s tomb,” Klaybear replied, “retrieving this staff,” he pulled his left arm from holding her, to show her the glowing staff, “named breath-giver.”
“Why didn’t you take me with you?” Klare asked, again interrupting him.
“You had to stay in Kalbant, watching over your mother, who had been critically injured by the purem that attacked and destroyed the village,” Klaybear replied.
“You couldn’t have waited?” Klare asked, frowning.
“No, Shigmar was under attack by at least four legions of Gar’s forces,” Klaybear replied, trying to keep his voice level, which was difficult to do. “My master learned that this staff, Shigmar’s staff, was the only way to save the city.”
“Didn’t he send for help from the Fereghen?” Klare asked.
“As soon as he learned of the attack, but the seklesi legions sent were attacked near the Crossing of Reema, and did not arrive until after the walls were breached, and they lost half of their forces in a battle with a second army. So my master was right; the staff was the only way, but the cost . . . ,” Klaybear said the last to himself.
“What cost?” Klare asked.
Klaybear looked down at his wife, angered by her constant interruptions, intending on telling her to be silent, until he saw the confusion written on her face. This was more difficult than he could imagine; she had forgotten so much that he did not know where to begin, so he answered her question. “When I activated the staff, a wave of destruction moved outward, taking the life force of everything and everyone one in its path,” he replied, his voice dull. “Each and everyone passed before my face, I . . . ,” he stuttered at this point, “I saw all of their hopes and dreams, all that each lost by having his, or her, life ripped from each one at that moment. I saw them all, felt all the pain, anguish, suffering, anger, and all of their accusations, as each one was absorbed by the staff. For three days, I have relived those moments, seen them all imprisoned, heard their accusations, cries of pain and lost hope, staring up at me,” he stopped, unable to say all that he felt, even to his dearly beloved wife. He was surprised by her response.
Klare’s face had softened, filling with concern; she reached up and stroked his cheek, then his hair; she put her small hands on his face, kissed him gently. “My love, what can I do to help? You must not blame yourself; you did what you had to do, what was right.” She kissed him again then held him fiercely, her own problems forgotten for the moment, and Klaybear suddenly knew what he needed to do to help her: she was, after all, the best young healer in the school, so they needed to find a way to enter the school so that she could work her arts upon those who survived, losing herself in her work. He thought about it for a moment, trying to think of a way that would engage her without raising her suspicion.
“I think we should find a way back into the school,” Klaybear noted.
Klare looked puzzled. “But you said the city was destroyed,” she said, “so why would we want to do that?”
“To look for survivors,” Klaybear went on, “maybe they have gathered in the dry parts of the city, maybe in the school; I suspect that they will need healing. Besides, I’d like to try this staff,” he held it up, “to see how effective it is at healing. It is, after all, breath-giver.”
Next Monday we will share the conclusion of this chapter, learning more about the changes to Klare’s personality. Until then, we remind all that the first two books of this series, Chosen of the One and Staff of Shigmar, are free from Smashwords. Get this book, The Morgle Unmasked, from the links provided. Good reading!
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