The Arcana - Muriel Fanfics!

4. Morga

hey guys, hope y'all are coping with this crazy virus. Remember to stay safe and healthy! the idea for this chapter came from Kio018, thank you!!  happy reading, love you guys <3<3<3

Morga's dirty feet skid over cobbles, chubby fingers digging into the lamppost as she hauled herself around the corner. Her chest burned, fiery breaths searing her lungs. The stalls and shops were a blur of smells and sound and colour. Morga lept over a cart of fruit, the old peddler shrieking bad words she'd only heard Aunty Portia use. Mor desperately pawed sweat-drenched hair from her eyes as she sprinted, ploughing into knees and stepping on feet. 

Mor spied an upcoming side-alley, breaking her dash at the last second and throwing herself into it. Morga pressed against the wall, eyes wild, panting hard. The clamour of the market seemed to echo down the alley, which was darkened by sheets and tapestries stretch overhead. Stiffening, Mor held her breath as the woman stalked past, weaving through the crowds like a bird of prey. Morga pressed a grubby hand to her mouth, stubbornly determined not to make a sound. Quiet as a mouse, she'd be, although she didn't think mice were very quiet. Morga had caught plenty of field-mice in Portia's garden. 

The woman's robust frame was easily lost in the crowd, her short head peering around shoulders and under arms. Wiry hair barely restrained under her shawl, the woman's pouched face and small mouth was set in a scowl, and she clutched that wooden spoon more formidably than any sword. Morga inched further into the alley, a small smile pressing her chubby cheeks up. Mazelinka was probably one of her favourite people, grouchy as she may be. She always snuck Morga cookies with a wink, even started teaching her potions. Mor chewed her lip as she backed into the alley, the hustle of the market dimming. Her mother and father left her with Portia and Asra, and they'd left her with Mazelinka while they picked up ingredients, so she wouldn't get lost. Inevitably as could be expected of a six and half year old, Morga had lost herself anyway. 

Letting out a whoosh of air, Morga craned up to figure out where she was. Probably between the markets and town square. The old coliseum was near here, though it filled her with an icy feeling she couldn't place. Morga had asked her father about it, once. After that, she remembered to never ask again. The sky was a sunburned blue, whatever storms had been swelling long past. 

Morga kicked a stone as she tread down the narrow alley. She nearly kicked another, before she lept backwards with a start. 

"Oh! Sorry, mister mouse. I thought you were a stone," Morga said to the cobblestones, crouching down and holding out a hand. Emerging from the murky alley shadows had to be the strangest mouse Morga had ever seen, but she couldn't quite place why. Sniffing delicately with a little pink nose, it looked like a mouse: soft, overcast grey fur and a long, thin pink tail. Not like the field mice Morga was used to. But, Morga realised, it had mis-matched eyes. While its left eye was a strange, deep gold, the other was a milky, swirling silver. 

"Your eyes are very pretty," Morga said, nodding slightly. The mouse seemed to consider her, its nose twitching relentlessly. Mor remained crouching, fixed on the mouse. "Are you hungry?" The mouse tittered closer without any hesitation, only curiosity. Morga beckoned it forward,  secretly wanting to pet its little furry head. 

The mouse closed the distance, and she felt the fragile weight of it fill her palm. Its little paws tickled her skin, and she gently pulled it to her chest. Morga was entranced by its eyes, one as warm and raw as gold, the other as distant and cool as silver. She stared, wondering about the strange little creature, when it let out a soft, content squeak. 

"No, I'm not lost," Morga replied. "I'm with my friend, Mazelinka, and she's..." Morga stopped short, mouth dropping open. Her green eyes widened in surprise, gaping at the mouse. "You...you talked! How did you do that?" Morga dropped her voice to a hushed, excited whisper. "Can you understand me?" 

The mouse settled in her palm, staring up at her with those peculiar eyes, before squeaking indignantly. Morga gasped, nearly dropping the poor thing. She suddenly remembered her father's wolf, Inanna, who always licked her face and slept at the foot of her bed. Her father was always mumbling to the wolf, who seemed to understand without any problem. But was that because Inanna could understand him, or because he'd had her for a long time? Portia was always preening over Pepi, though Morga thought that was probably a crazy-cat lady thing.  Asra could talk to Faust, she realised, although Asra was magic. But...Mor's mother was magic, she realised, excitement unfurling in her chest, shooting tingly feelings down her arms. 

But as Mor stared at the mouse, the tingly feeling seemed to fill her up, spreading from her arms to her fingers to the tips of her dirty toes. A sudden draft blew down the alley, tugging on Mor's hair and sending leaves skittering across the cobblestones. The tapestries overhead flapped, and Mor almost didn't hear the mouse's squeaking as she clutched it to her chest. 

"What was that?" she asked, and the mouse twitched its little pink nose to her left. Morga turned, confused, before stumbling back into the wall, bewildered. 

In the opposite wall of the alley, something had opened up. A doorway of a sort, its edges ebbing with soft green light. Morga was sure it hadn't been there before, otherwise she'd have seen it. But something about it...Morga realised it wasn't a normal door. It seemed to call to her, the way the comforts of your own bed call to you after a long time away. And the smell! The sudden breeze carried the smell and set Morga salivating: it smelled of fresh strawberries and rich, creamy chocolate. Morga's grubby feet seemed to move with a mind of their own, until she stood before the little door, as wide and tall as she was (which  was to say, not very big at all). 

Morga felt the mouse stir in her hands, and held it up until it was level with her gaze. "Well?" she asked it. The mouse squeaked in encouragement, eyes twinkling like a sun and moon. "I agree. It smells delicious, and I'm sure we can find Mazelinka after." Tucking her new friend in close, Morga stepped up to the little doorway, tentatively pressing a hand to the surface, which was smooth and warm to the touch.

"I'm Morga, by the way, but you can just call me Mor," she said, peering down at the mouse. "Do you have a name?" The mouse gave a series of small squeaks. "Oh, that's ok. My baby brother doesn't have a name yet, either. But I have to call you something," Morga told it thoughtfully. "Are you a boy mouse, or a girl mouse? Or neither? I don't know mice things, I'm afraid." 

The mouse trilled and wriggled, confirming he was in fact, a boy. "Well, if you don't have a name, what about..." Mor scrunched up her face, wracking her brain. The door pulsed against her hand, calling her in. "What about 'Fisk?'" she asked. The mouse squeaked approval.

"Alright, Fisk. It's just you and me, and this funny little doorway." 

As if waiting for her confirmation, the doorway swung open. With a final glance towards the market, and an excited exchange with Fisk, Morga stepped into her gate.