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When Morton awoke he was freezing cold. He had not been cold in years, not since the Rikkies had traversed the ice lands. It was a sensation which he had entirely forgotten and which he was not glad to feel again. If he had known he could feel cold here, he would not sleep in the ceremonial cave, but in the village around the grand fire. He tried to roll over in the large fur blanket he slept on, to wrap it around himself.
It was the skin of a species of monkey very renowned in the monkey culture, which a human had procured and gifted to Morton as a sign of respect. A sign of respect. From a human. Morton had been quite respected by them, quite spoiled. And yet…
Regardless of how cold he was, he did not feel hungry at all, because he had been satisfied by a dinner consisting of one human, who had left the village and wandered near to the camp. Humans often did such a thing when they wanted assistance from the Rikkies, but Morton had discussed with his council the way this custom disgusted him. The relationship which the humans had with the Rikkies was parasitic, and it had to end soon, or it would go on forever.
Morton reached out a paw to pull the blanket tighter, and that was when he saw it. The paw which he reached with was not a paw at all, but a human hand, long and boney and the colour of sand. He dropped the blanket immediately and looked down at the rest of his body. A nightmare. He was having a nightmare. His heart beginning to pound and his mouth grew dry, he stumbled on all fours towards his golden basin of water. He had to compose himself a moment before leaning over the water and taking in the– the instant he saw the awful human face staring up at him, his hands flew to cover his face, as if by instinct, as if he would die if he saw it.
A thin nose, strangely shaped eyes, straight dull teeth and a bowed lip. He remembered the way a neck like this felt between his powerful jaws. His skin the colour of sand…his long white hair was the only thing that connected him to his previous form, but its texture differed greatly from what it had been. There was nothing, no part of this face or body, that he recognized as himself. The shaking of his hands felt so pathetic, and he dropped his face into the basin to try to wake himself up from this nightmare, but all that changed was he became even colder. His eyes started to leak salty water, which he had never felt before, and his throat became thick as if he were choking, and he became so frightened and disturbed that his long awful fingers began to dig their nails into his face.
Everything about him was unfamiliar, he was a stranger to his own body, he was a stranger to every sense which he used to perceive the fact that he was Wrong.
The feeling of his nails against this face comforted him, made him feel in control. He dragged his nails harshly over his face, so that blood welled up and began to pour down his face and coat his hands. The pain was so much that he bit down on his other hand to keep himself from screaming, but that only drew more blood. Morton tried to calm himself but eventually he simply collapsed onto the floor, whining and trembling.
The blood was pouring onto the ground around him, and the only thing that gave Morton solace was the fact that no one could see him, ugly and other, crying like an infant in the depths of his adorned cave.
He supposed that he could run away before anyone saw him. He would run as fast and far as he could with these strange new legs, and take refuge in some human village and never see a Rikki again. He would leave Angacetus, and that sounded terrible, but in truth Morton was not vehemently opposed, other than as a token of memory of a beautiful queen, his young son did not hold promise of much merit.
Morton grabbed the fur blanket that had wrapped him as he slept, and he pulled it over his shoulders –for warmth, and to obscure some of this shameful form. And he set off, creeping out of the cave, stopping in his tracks every time he heard the slightest noise.
And then, he heard a scream. Forgetting all his inhibitions and remembering only his royal duty, he rushed towards the sound, and he found, in the camp where his subjects slept, a human woman, wrapped in a fur blanket much like his own, staring down at her hands and wailing. Morton feared for an instant that someone in the camp had taken after him and dragged a human to eat into the settlement. There were sounds of stirring all around, as every Rikki in the camp was startled by the screaming, and yet, the bodies that crawled out of the tents with neighbourly concern…were human. Suddenly, everything clicked into place, and Morton felt he would be sick. His hands trembled and he held them out to the crying woman, but she shrieked and skittered away from his arms.
He had done this. To his people.
Someone ran up behind him and knocked him to the ground, biting his shoulder and scratching at his chest. Morton could not see who it was, but he could see a woman in front of him creep towards him on all fours, growling animalistically.
“We take infiltration as an act of war!” yelled a voice he could not see.
And then more panicked screaming, from several different tents.
The assailer scratching and biting at Morton dropped him, and began to wail himself. Morton’s face landed in the dirt, which dug into his fresh wounds and would surely infect. He felt it scratching and burning, but the unbearable thing was not what he felt but what he heard; all of the screaming in the camp, and howling coming from mouths that could not howl. He stumbled up, still clutching his fur blanket, and tried to look dignified: “Rikkies!” He shouted, “This is not an infiltration, and this is not war. I am your king!” Every tent was empty of its inhabitants, and the expressions of these witnesses raged from tears to wonder. “There has been some curse laid upon us this day,” he paused, unsure if he should continue, and if he should, “I consumed human flesh, as we had decided together was our right…and now…it envelops me, and you all…” the word sorry hung in his mouth, but he chose not to speak it. He chose not to be weak.
The crying and wailing persisted, but it was quieter. A young boy with white hair and blue eyes wandered forward, looking up at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. He looked more confused than anything else, and Morton saw the way his brow furrowed at the blood covering Morton’s face. “Angacetus,” Morton looked down on the boy in horror.
Angacetus recognized him, and the boy tried to draw close and embrace him, before Morton stepped back and scoffed. It was the look of pity and sympathy in the boy’s eyes which made him angry. A child should never feel sympathy for his father.
“What do we do?” Yelled someone in obvious desperation.
“Did the humans do this to us?”
“They’ll kill us all like this!”
And then one, quieter and more distant than the others, “Why would you bring this upon us?” Morton wished he had his jaws back, his jaws that could bite straight through a human, so that he could make an example of this Rikki, this mutinous dissident. He scanned the crowd for the one who had spoken. His eyes fell upon a thin, dark-haired man with pale skin and bright glaring green eyes.
“You should leave us,” Morton said. “Find solace among the humans, you have no loyalty.”
The man raised a fist and yelled, “I am loyal to just kings! You have let a curse befall your innocent people!”
“Make yourself scarce,” Morton looked the man coldly in the eyes, “I want no quarrel with you, I have enough blood in my nails.”
The man held his gaze for a minute more, before he seemed to shrink, and he stood up, shaking on his new legs like a foal, and began to stumble away from the camp. Morton turned back to the crowd, whose gaze remained fixed on the man walking away. “Let this be a lesson in loyalty,” Morton said, “We go forth, because there is nothing else we can do. I am your king and I will be your king until you are all dead. If anyone questions my rule, I will not send you away as kindly as him.”
No one uttered a challenge. All crying had subsided. Angacetus still stared.
“We should be gone from here by sunrise,” Morton said. “We will go to the desert, where nothing else lives and no one can take advantage of our inexperience. We will use these new hands to build, and you will use your new ears to listen.” The one who had left them had now disappeared entirely into the forest. “If someone would procure me some armour, and a mask to obscure this disgusting configuration, they would be rewarded handsomely. That is all I have to say to you all.”