Part 4
Metamor Keep: Faithful Battles
By Charles Matthias
Dark curtains hung along three walls of the
Confessional filling it with a gloom even
Felsah's jerboa eyes found dim. Only the wall for
the confessor was visible in the tenebrous
chamber with its grill of tightly woven knots of
oak and ash, and even then only when the curtain
was cast aside for a sinner to enter or a saint
to leave. A single, sputtering candle besmirched
the darkness; it brought more shadow than light,
but the scent was pungent though not offensively
so and served to mask all but the most aromatic of Keepers.
Felsah found the bench and cushions Hough
preferred were ill-suited to his shape. After
some scrounging in the store rooms the same in
which the Covenant Stone reposed he fashioned a
seat he could take in and out of the booth wide
enough for him to sit on his haunches and tall
enough for his head to reach the grill. The
purple stole dangled across his neck as he
unconsciously leaned forward. His ears were ever
turned to the grill, be there a penitent or not.
With each opening and closing of the door the
curtain behind him would tremble, brushing across his tail and back.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
The familiar words were accompanied by the
scuffling of heavy hooves and the awkward
scratching of horns or antlers across the
doorway. A brief flash of light filled the grill,
but Felsah averted his gaze. The timbre of the
voice was familiar, though he could not say from
where. He did his best to put the inevitable
question of who the penitent was from his mind.
How long has it been since your last confession?
The figure opposite him stirred and he heard the
clatter of something hard against the wall above
the grill. Felsah's heart fluttered but he
stilled the mouse's anxiety. The large herbivore
on the other side of the wall, voice now quiet
and almost fluted, whispered, I do not remember,
Father. At least, I don't remember the last time
I confessed all of my sins. The last time I was
here I... did not say all. And the time before.
And stretching back for a very long time, Father.
I don't... I don't even know if I'm confessing my sins now.
The last hour had brought to the booth a dozen
Keepers, most of whom had only a few things they
wanted to confess. Felsah even recognized some of
them. Their sins were what he would expect of
Followers living in a large, complicated city
filled with magic. There were the greedy thoughts
and envies, the gossips and the liars, the
covetous desire nurtured and sometimes
accomplished, and the lustful wandering eye and
paw. Some admitted to using magic here and there.
Felsah gnawed as they spoke, asking questions
from time to time, but otherwise only listened
until the time came to offer the penance and absolution.
The souls he'd forgiven so far had stumbled on
the way to Yahshua. This one was lost.
Felsah tenderly set his chewstick on the bench
between his toes; he curled them atop the wood to
keep it from slipping and making a clatter. Why not, my son?
He heard a hoof scuffing across the floor and
heavy breathing; his chest tightened. Ears
lifted, timorous at first, determined the next.
Because I have lived most of my life convinced
the Ecclesia was wrong about this one thing. I
I have tried to serve and I have tried to be a
good Follower and to uphold all she teaches in
everything else. I have confessed all my lies, my
wrath, my impatience, the evil thoughts I've held
in my heart toward others. Father, I have
confessed every time I have struck another, man
or beast, in rage and when I was not acting to
defend the weak. I have confessed the ill words
I've spoken behind closed doors. I have confessed
my rage at the Curses of Metamor for hurting
those I love. I have even confessed anger I have
felt toward Eli for taking away my friends and
charge one fell night. But this one thing... this
one thing I have never confessed because I
refused to believe it was sin. I have refused...
Felsah held his breath, waiting to see if there
would be any more words. He could not completely
still the curious turning of his mind to
determine who the lost soul might be. A large
hoofed mammal with horns or antlers from the
sound of his body in the booth and from the
timbre of his voice. A soldier of some sort he
knew from the words shared. Names and faces
flashed before him but each time one started to
form he leaned toward the candle and breathed
deep of its acrid flavor. The image would skitter
away in pieces as his mind, eager to understand
the world through scent and sound, fixed upon the
peculiar blend of oils and pulpy pine mash.
Nothing more came. Felsah wrapped his hands
together, knobby fingers pulling tight against
each other. What is this one thing you have
refused to believe is sin? He could not help a
lost soul find its way until he knew where it was.
The figure on the other side of the grill, a mere
shadow whose shape was too indistinct to decipher
in the gloom, took a long deep breath, opened his
mouth so as to speak, and then closed it again to
draw another deep, grunting breath. Felsah could
almost feel the herbivore's teeth grinding on his
ears. Another five breaths, each longer and
quieter than the last, and Felsah chose to wait
no more. My son, does this weight still your tongue as well as your faith?
His ears strained to hear the whisper no louder
than a last breath. Aye. For a moment after
Felsah could not even hear the soldier's breath.
His own was clutched tighter than his heart,
tongue fixed to the back of his incisors, whiskers on edge.
And then there was a crash of hooves and scraping
against the ceiling, a bleating trumpet roaring
through the grill; Felsah jumped backward,
tangling into the heavy curtain and driving one
foot hard upon his tail and ripping free several
tufts of fur. The chewstick scattered away and
was lost in the darkness beneath him while the
bench nearly toppled over. Felsah cowered in the
furthest corner, quivering against the curtains
for several seconds before the herbivore's bellow was spent.
It weighs on me because I hate the Ecclesia for
making this a sin! I hate hiding it and living my
life behind closed doors. And I hate the lies and
the fear now living in my heart; the fear it is I
who is wrong, not the Ecclesia, and I have been
drowning myself and those I love in sin! And I cannot tell anyone! Anyone!
A heavy whump followed as the Keeper settled onto
the kneeler on the other side of the grill, a
moan escaping his throat. Felsah eased himself
forward, making sure his bench was steady with a
hand and a foot before scooting back on. He
thumped his tail against the curtain, ears
listening to the man's heavy breaths for several
seconds before he dared another question. What
is this sin, my son, torturing you so?
He heard heavy gusts of breath and felt them
through the grill, filled with the earthy musk of
a deer. Felsah put the name and face leaping
before him from his mind and steadied himself. In
the dark the mask of the Questioner fell across the jerboa's snout.
It is... not something I think you can
understand, Father. I had hoped... eh... I
suppose it is you I must... I must... Another
snort followed by a grunt and the soldier said,
All right, Father. It is Sodomy. I have lain
with men as with a woman. And I have loved them
dearly. And I still desire the one. Yet you and
the Ecclesia tell me it is wrong. I... I have
heard others show me from the Canticles different
ways of seeing the same words. And I believed
them all these years. And it was another priest
who taught me this, Father. A priest of the Ecclesia.
Felsah felt immense sorrow for the soldier, but
knew admitting it yet would only drive the man
away. But something has happened to make you
question whether this is in fact sin, hasn't it?
Heh... aye... since before you arrived. It's
taken me this long just to come here. If it is
any consolation to you, Father, I have refrained
all this time, as painful as it is to my squire. He doesn't understand.
In a Confession it was generally thought best not
to dig too deep into the details of the sins and
merely let the penitent describe them as they
wanted. But this was not an ordinary Confession.
What does he not understand? Is he with whom you have committed sodomy?
Aye. And before you ask, Father, I am not his
first. He had been with other men before me. None
has loved him for his own sake as I do. I hate
hurting him in any way. He does not understand
why I have become so distant and focused on his
training. He does not understand why I hold
myself back. But I... I am torn, Father.
Felsah allowed him a moment more to catch his
breath. The eruption of only moments before
seemed to be spent, and now only a bitter regret
filled the knight's voice. Physical fear was past
he hoped but Felsah knew his words mattered
even more than before. This was a soul dangling
off a precipice hanging by a thread. He had
climbed some, but could yet to decide to let go
and disappear into the abyss hungry beneath him.
And what of the squire? Was he also perched upon a ledge, unknowing?
I believe you, my son. I believe you do love
your squire. You want his true and fullest good, for such is love.
Thank you, Father.
Our true and ultimate good is not in this life,
my son. It is one reason many of the things the
Ecclesia teaches us our own hearts sometimes
rebel against. The allure of this world is
unfathomable. Yet we are not made for this world.
The teachings are often not what some of us
priests might even like. But pride, the chief of
all sins, leads us to believe we have greater
spiritual insight than those to whom Yahshua
entrusted His Ecclesia. I must submit even my own
judgment to her, difficult as I can find it at
times. And I make mistakes. In this we are no different.
The knight snorted, and a sudden distance seemed
to enter his voice. So it is my pride keeping me
from accepting what the Ecclesia teaches? Is it
not pride keeping the Ecclesia from questioning
itself? The Canticles tell us to question every
spirit and prophet to know if they are from Eli. Have you questioned this?
Felsah's heart tightened and his claws pressed
into his palms. On what foundation had this
knight's sin been laid? When it has been the
unanimous testimony of the saints and all who
have studied the Canticles for centuries, why
should I question it? The moral teachings of the
Ecclesia come not from the whims of men but the
Spirit Most Holy. We can only come to understand
them better; they do not change, for what is holy
and what is sin do not change; they are immutable
because they govern our relations to Eli who is immutable.
He paused for a few seconds, and he could hear
the knight's breathing grow louder. But I do not
know what you have been told, my son. You learned
this other way of seeing the Canticles from a priest?
Aye, Father, I did. And he is not the only one
who sees it. I know there are many more who do
not believe the Ecclesia has understood this
right. But if they speak, they will be cast out
and sent to die, so they keep silent.
Felsah wondered just how many there were. But of
them he could do little. Only this soul mattered.
Yet, my son, here you are. You are conflicted.
You do not wish it to be sin yet you fear it is.
You fear the sin you have committed and you fear
the harm you have brought to those you love. Do
you fear also the loves and places in this world
you will lose if you turn away from this sin?
The tension ebbed with a long sigh. The deer's
voice seemed to fade with each word. Aye, I fear.
Did the fear bring you here today?
Maybe. I don't know what I hoped for. I want to
stop being conflicted. I want to be able to love
Yahshua without secrets. I want to love my squire
and I want him to love Yahshua too. He's...
trying. I fear if I tell him our love is a sham
and what brought us together is sin and evil I
will push him away forever. And I fear the doubts
sowed in me now is the temptation, the evil, and
what the priest and others have told me is the
truth after all, and I would ruin everything by listening to them.
Delicate now. I cannot give you what you seek,
my son. Without true contrition for your sins I
cannot give you absolution. If I cannot give you
absolution your soul will remain in conflict. You
cannot live a life of sodomy with your squire and
not persist in secrets and lies. Even in Metamor.
Many probably already know and keep the secret to
spare your reputations. But aye, to return fully
to the arms of the Ecclesia you must risk pain
and anguish as far as your squire is concerned.
You cannot save his soul, just as I cannot save
yours. This task is his own; we can only help him
with prayers and fasting and our genuine love. It
must be a love seeking nothing for itself, but
only giving and seeking the good of the beloved.
This love cannot bring harm, cannot will harm,
cannot desire harm. Sin is harm, my son, the
gravest and most perilous of all harm. Suffering
is what our savior did in His long walk to the
Yew, bore down by the instruments of His
execution, the spits and jeers of the crowd, and
the sneering abuses of the Suielman soldiers. If
you wish to reach the Yew you are going to have
to endure the same, as will your squire. Not a
one of us can escape it, my son. We will all be
scarred. You have already been scarred, as have
I. You have lost many friends. I pray you do not
lose these. But I pray more fervently you will
listen, contemplate this in your heart, and seek
Yahshua before all else, accepting the wounds and
scars bravely, as you would in any other battle.
For this is the most harrowing and important
battle of your life. Not for country. Not for
honor. Not for riches. But for eternity.
There was silence on either side of the
confessional. Seconds trickled past with only the
muffled scrape of hoof and antler, the digging of
little claws into wood, and the mysterious
exhalations of breath and thought. Beyond Felsah
could hear the murmurings of other penitents come
for Confession, each retreated to the other side
of the Sanctuary to avoid hearing words meant
only for the sinner, the priest, and Eli. In his
heart many other questions fluttered how many
others had the knight committed sodomy with, the
priest perhaps, how long had he been tempted to
this sin, who else among the Ecclesia taught
these lies but he set them aside for now. For a
full accounting they would be needed but the
knight would be driven away if he asked them now.
Instead he leaned toward the candle and prayed. Eli, help this man. Have mercy.
He heard the knight shift and the sound of a hoof
pressing into wood. Father, I will contemplate.
I will fast and pray. But I make no other
promise. I ask of you one thing. If I show you in
the Canticles what I have learned, will you
contemplate, will you fast, and will you pray to
understand it and learn the truth?
Felsah did not let the sigh of relief escape his
lungs. I will, my son. I will. May Eli bless you, my son.
And you, Father. Without another word the deer
knight rose, antlers scraping the walls one more
time, and departed. The flash of light as the
penitent's door was opened hurt his eyes. It swung shut to emptiness.
Felsah exhaled and crumpled where he crouched.
----------
Another dozen penitents sought absolution, and
while a few confessed terrible sins, Felsah could
sense their genuine sorrow and provided each the
forgiveness they needed. When the last literally
slithered out of the confessional Felsah waited
another few minutes in silence. Only his heart
spoke and each word was a prayer for the
penitents, especially the deer knight. After no
other came he opened the door and searched the
floor for his fallen chewstick. This he stuck
sideways in his jaw behind his incisors while he
lifted his stool over his shoulders.
He blinked several times in the now bright light
of the sanctuary, flicking his ears in an attempt
to shadow them, but they would not bend forward
unless he yanked them. With the stool in his
right arm, he wrapped the fingers of his left
hand about the end of his left ear and tried to
pull it around. He took one hopping step and the
stool slipped and landed on his foot. He squeaked
and found himself hopping up and down while licking his toes.
When he realized what he was doing he forced
himself to stand still and set his stinging foot
down. He then picked up the chewstick he'd spat,
and righted the stool before taking his ears and
yanking them over his eyes again. He could just
wait until it didn't hurt to have them open.
Soft paws crept behind him. Do you need help, Father?
Ah, Richard, I could use another hand here.
I've some paws I can lend, this doesn't look too heavy for me.
My eyes are almost ready, I can help carry it.
Nonsense, where do you want it, Father?
Felsah chittered an amused sigh, wiggled his now
sore toes, and eased his ears back from his eyes
a finger's width. He squinted, but he could see
the stone and walls now. My cell will be fine, thank you, my son.
While Richard followed, Felsah hopped with the
chewstick stuck between his teeth and his hands
holding his ears close to his face. He fumbled
only a moment at the door to the side passage
leading back to their quarters. The light was
much easier on his eyes there and once safely
through he let go of his ears and they flopped
back behind his head. I must remember to ease
myself out next time. Or let more light in when I
hear Confessions. Jerboa eyes yearn for twilight.
As do mouse eyes, Richard noted. Felsah could
see the seminarian's whiskers twitching, ears
flat against the back of his head, and he hoisted
the stool over his arched back. It looked as
heavy and awkward for him as it had been for himself.
Here, hand me one side.
The two mice shifted the stool about so they each
carried half. Felsah did his best not to hop.
Richard bore an irritated moue weighing heavier than the wood.
When they finally set it down in the jerboa's
cell, Felsah patted the wood as he thumped his
tail tuft across the stone floor. I will need to
find a better way to do this; it takes a little
while becoming used to our new size, does it not?
Aye, Richard admitted while stretching. I've
been this small for three years now, Father. I
don't know if I'll ever be used to it.
You suffered the curses at thirteen?
The mouse nodded, fumbling at his side for
something but found nothing. I was the tallest
in my family. Now I'm shorter than my sister
who's stuck as a child. I'd wanted to be a
soldier, but even scouting is too hard; the
anxiety this mouse body gives me at every noise;
I just couldn't handle it, Father. And my family
are masons; I've no strength for it anymore. So
right after the Patriarch's visit they suggested
I become a priest too. And here I am.
Felsah nodded as he listened. Many priests had
come unwillingly; some became great saints.
Would you care to sit, my son? I am willing to
listen if this is something your heart needs to
share. And if Richard demured but still
complained, then in time he would demand it.
Richard scuffed his toes against Felsah's
sleeping mat and shrugged his shoulders. I'm not
sure what to say. I was strong and now I'm weak.
I never wanted to be a priest but here I am
studying to become one. I'm not sorry I'm here,
Father, and I don't mind being a priest, and most
days I am looking forward to it, but... I just
hate how the Curses took everything else from me.
And I hate being a scared little mouse all the time.
Felsah recalled Zachary's tale of going from a
small man with nimble fingers into the hulking
three-horned reptilian giant and the difficulties
he encountered every day because of his size.
There were many things he could say to Richard,
and many ways he could sympathize. He was a mouse
too, but also a jerboa with all of their
peculiarities. But Felsah was not going to offer
complaints in front of a seminarian, especially
one with such a good heart, even if it needed tempering.
You do attend the monthly Gnawer's group; have they helped?
Richard glanced at the stool and the shrugged. I
suppose. I don't feel quite as small and helpless
around them, or you, Father. But I'm a mouse. The
rats and the other rodents, especially the
beavers, are all larger than me. I know there are
supposed to be some Keepers who are smaller, but
I don't know of any. Maybe if I'd been a man like
you had been for a while before this it wouldn't
seem as bad. I just never had the chance and I know I never will.
There are many things we never have the chance
to know. His dream of the jerboa village came to
him and he allowed a smile to touch his snout.
But even mice have courage. Whether in large
numbers or by themselves, they can have courage
and so do you, Richard. At our new size we merely
have to find different ways to show it. Every
time we walk the streets we need it! How many
times were you afraid you would be crushed by
horse hooves or wagon wheels today?
Richard flicked his tail around and cradled the
end. One of them did nearly run over my tail.
And there are other ways, we can find them
together. I have not tried it myself, but I
understand we can take on the shape of the
natural animal with which the Curse has blended us. Have you done so?
Once or twice, curiosity and all, Richard admitted.
Perhaps we can do so together and explore. The
world may not seem so big and threatening after
we see if from an even smaller stature.
His fellow mouse offered a small squeak, whiskers
spreading in a smile. Well, there are a few
places I know here. But when could we?
We are nocturnal, my son. After Compline if
there is not time before. Not every night, we do
need our sleep, but Eli did not give us these
shapes without reason. Perhaps this was how He
chose to bring you here, and more, how He chose
for you to become a Saint. Part of this must be
understanding what these now bodies allow us to
do. We never know when we might just need it.
Richard laughed and nodded. Thank you, Father.
I'm actually looking forward to it. But I should
really go check on Rakka. He's probably finished his food by now.
Felsah laughed too. He'll be running in circles
if you don't. Take care of our friend and then
return for None prayers. I'll begin
preparations. He rested his hand on the stool
and scratched the top with his claws. And thank
you again for helping me with this. I must find a better way.
I know some parishioners in the carpenter's guild. Perhaps they can help?
Then we will be sure to ask for it tomorrow!
----------
Patric returned two candlemarks after the None
prayers and found the two mice in the common area
they shared their meals. Felsah and Richard were
deep in discussion over a repast of bread,
cheese, and potato; the sweet smell of Father
Hough's cider wafted from their cups. Between
them on the table was a set of parchments, quill,
and ink, on which Richard both practiced his
letters and noted their ideas for other
parishioners to visit during the week and for
those who might help them fashion the adjustments
to make life as a priestly mouse a little easier.
Beneath the table Rakka growled happily as he gnawed on a bone.
Felsah stood taller on the bench, careful his
Questioner robe did not slip forward and upset
his cup. Ah, Deacon, welcome back. There is
enough for you, and even some seasoned jerky. How
fare things at Master Lidaman's home?
One of Patric's eye strayed to the third plate of
food set at the table, while the other remained
on the jerboa. His long fingers cradled a sealed
letter. Sister Perpetua and Sister Mina are
still there, but Elsie is breathing much better
already. Master Lidaman bade me ask you, Father,
to pay them a visit this evening.
Felsah's ears lifted up. In sooth? Then I shall
pay him a visit. I will need either you or
Richard to guide me; I do not know where he lives.
We could both go, Richard suggested.
Patric flicked one eye toward the other mouse but
kept the first on the Questioner. Do you need one of us to stay?
I do not know yet. He gestured at what the
sealed letter. What do you have there, Patric?
The chameleon lifted it and held it out as he
walked to the table. I found one of the Keep
messengers waiting outside the Cathedral; they
had a letter for you. He stuck his tongue out.
I don't think he wanted to deliver it to you, Father.
Felsah tapped his thumb claws against the red
cross on his black cassock. I see. Well, take
your meal while I tend to this. Richard, why
don't you tell Patric what we have been working
on and see if he has any ideas or things he might like to see done.
Richard swallowed a morsel of cheese and flashed
an incisor-filled grin. I will, Father!
Father Felsah shut the door to his cell, set the
letter down on the small writing table the Keep
had given him, and then lit a tall candle. Once
the flame was steady he used it to light a small
oil lamp; he turned the brass knob to extend the
wick until a warm glow filled the cell. He blew
out the candle, then took lamp and letter and
settled down on his sleeping mat. He sat on his
haunches, tail curling around his long feet.
Hunching forward, he turned the letter over and
traced his claws across the seal. The wax was red
and the cross burned into it had been blackened by flame.
The Questioner's seal.
He lifted the letter to his snout and, turning it
over in his hands, sniffed for every morsel of
scent he could. The odor of horses were strong,
as well as dog likely the Keep messenger who
almost delivered it and more faintly he could
see the touch of trees, grass, mud, and even man
upon the vellum. But there was nothing of sand,
cedar, figs, or desert flower about it. Likely
not from Grand Master Kehthaek then. He felt a
pang of disappointment; he'd had no word from his
mentor and friend since he'd left Yesulam at
Advent for his journey to a new, and most likely
permanent, life of service at Metamor.
Which meant it was most likely from Akaleth who
should reach Yesulam in another few weeks at
worst; it was always harder to traverse the
marshes from Marilyth, climb the series of ridges
keeping the desert back, and then across the
hard-packed sand and jagged stone roads from
Korazin to Yesulam in the scorching heat of
Summer. He offered a quick prayer for their safe
passage, made the sign of the Yew, and broke the seal.
He felt both surprise and delight to see a very
tight script packing many words upon the three
pages folded together. He wondered how Akaleth had kept the ink from smearing.
Llarth, 28th of May, 708 Cristos Reckoning
Father Felsah, brother and friend, I write to you
now in hopes my message will renew your
confidence and give you hope for the future of
the mission lands to which you have been sent. In
some ways I wish I had been sent as well and have
confessed to an unreasonable amount of time
pondering just what the Curses might have done to
me. Sir Czestadt suggested `snake' and I am still
trying to understand what he means by it; I think
he may be jesting with me, but perhaps it is a
compliment as well the snakes of Stuthgansk are
not venomous and often welcomed on homesteads.
Still, I have not decided one way or the other
and Czestadt won't say more. He is a fierce
soldier and it is a rare moment when I can draw a
full answer from him; how humiliating for a
Questioner! Sir Kashin is even more reticent and
only chortled when I posed the question.
Hugo suggested `rat' and from him it is surely a
compliment. In the nearly three months now we
have been traveling together the Marigund mage
who I have taken on has healed from his physical
wounds and I believe is also starting to heal
from his spiritual ones. When he smiles during
our talks on our long journey, and when he
masters new words in Suielish, I can see it is
genuine. He still has his moments when he
retreats into a corner of himself, barely
speaking around our nightly meal and more often
than not campfire, or only speaking to his rat
Boots. But it is not as often as it once was. He
listens when I offer the Liturgy, but he does not
participate. All things in time.
Each of us remain in good health despite the
deprivations of a journey now spanning five
months. I was sent from Yesulam only a month
after you and we have perhaps another two months
before we reach home. I confess I enjoy the delay
as it has given all of us more time to come to
know each other and depend on each other. The
trials of Marzac were harrowing and changed all
of our lives, but in this journey Kashin,
Czestadt, and myself have a chance to know each
other when we are not in the midst of some
terrible eldritch horror seeking to devour the
world and cast it into perpetual darkness. The
introduction of Hugo Maclear into our company has
helped all of us turn past those events for we
rarely discuss them except to tell Hugo of them. Even his rat Boots listens.
I have taken to sharing my food with Boots; it is
strange to know Hugo and this animal can think to
each other, even stranger to know the rat thinks
at all, but he is friendly and very devoted, and
perhaps the magic Hugo used to bind them together
is the cause. Despite how we are accused of
having a blanket condemnation of all magic as sin
and how even a few of our order have embraced
such a misunderstanding I remain unconvinced
the act of binding a familiar as Hugo has done
with Boots is not sinful, but it is done and
cannot be undone save by death and so I say
nothing of it for now to him. His life and loss
are hard enough without my pestering him with
theological quandaries. Boots gives him comfort
and is a loyal pet and friend. It is enough.
I mentioned we have suffered a delay. Our road
was to journey south to Ellcaran from Metamor,
and then take the ridge road through the western
Midlands through Llarth and once we reached the
river charter a ship to carry us to Marilyth and
perhaps up the Yurdon. We may yet take the river
as it would save us a few weeks, but I begin to
wonder if perhaps we should continue across land.
This time together has been good for us, and
especially for Hugo. To be in the home so soon of
the Ecclesia, something he was taught to hate all
his life... I wish to give him more time to come
to grips with this, to see it come gradually and
to walk in the same places our Savior walked.
When we reach the river I will have to make a
decision, so I should have another two weeks to contemplate.
The delay we have already experienced was waiting
for us in Ellcaran. Emissaries from Bishop Tyrion
Verdane were waiting for us there and summoned us
to Kelewair. Word of our passage through all the
duchies of the Midlands reached his grace's ears
and naturally he wished an audience. As we had no
mandate to return direct to Yesulam we
accompanied the emissaries. The districts through
which we traveled were still recovering from the
civil war they endured in the last year, a war in
which our own order played a shameful role. We
rode direct through Mallow Horn and the demeanor
there is grim; Lady Anya Dupré hosted us two
nights and asked about all sorts of things,
seeking rumors and news from afar. Most
interesting though was in how she asked after her
exiled husband we had heard rumors he was sent
to Metamor but heard nothing of him while we were
there, you will want to look into him and learn
if he is well. He has a young daughter of eight
named Lydia and son of five named Timas who
enjoyed petting Boots and seeing the little
magics Hugo could do. The boy did not understand
right away when the subject of Metamor was
broached, but his sister did. She put it bluntly
what her mother would not they spoke of their
exiled father. At this the boy cried. The
servants and all of the courtiers at Mallow Horn
were torn. Lady Anya was most displeased at the outburst.
I mention this incident because Lydia came
unbidden to our rooms late into the night and
begged us to have word sent about their father.
If you can learn anything of him and how he
fares, and what the Curses of Metamor have done
to him, it will bring comfort to these children.
I am not sure how you can do so, but there ought
to be a way. I know this is one more challenge
upon a mountain already upon your shoulders, but
such is the blessed weight of the Yew. As you
know, I've never been very good with children,
but it is never too late to start.
Our time in Kelewair was not much longer. Duke
Verdane was more hospitable than Metamor's Duke,
but only because he feted us one night of the
four we stayed at Bishop Tyrion's request. We
briefly met the third Dupré child, Jory, though
he was introduced to us as Jory Verdane, not
Dupré. I wonder if Anya keeping her husband's
name is to assuage the people of Mallow Horn or
to spite her father. Duke Titian Verdane is cold
and distant and I had the impression he is a
ruler who believes the good of his lands is
driven by the good of his family; and his family
has suffered much in the last year and still
suffers. He keeps an empty seat at his table for
his captive son Jaime. And during our brief visit
he was quite explicit in describing the
contemptible actions of the Questioners during
their civil war. I think if he were in a stronger
political position he would have had all of them
executed and risked Yesulam's ire. Bishop Tyrion
keeps those who survived the war separated for
now, only a few have been allowed out of the monasteries since.
I do not condemn the choice especially given the
likelihood I would have gladly joined them before
the events of last year. As you know.
Bishop Tyrion is an interesting man and there is
much of his father in him, but being born with a
clubfoot and his time in the clergy has softened
the hardness. He was much interested in our visit
to Metamor and to hear of what we saw and our
thoughts of the land and its people. He also was
very interested in our visit to Marigund. We
described the reasons we were invited and the
struggle against Marzac, but we did not discuss
the vagaries of our treatment in the faith-riven
city. He was glad to hear of our report both you
and Father Hough passed on to us of conditions in
Metamor and what the two new priests have already accomplished.
I think he wanted some time to know us and judge
us before he told us the news I am now passing on
to you. I believe his grace's desire to tend to
the Follower souls of Metamor is genuine but
tempered by political concerns due to the
animosity between his house and the Hassan house.
Souls he wishes to save, aye, but his family's
honor and prestige still matter to him, and he
fights within himself against it. You already
told me of what happened during his visit to
Metamor, though he did not say it we heard
whispers his return to Kelewair caused an uproar from his father.
But not long after he returned he sent a missive
to Yesulam ahead of us, and gave us another copy
to ensure its safe arrival, advocating a new
diocese for the Northern Midlands and
recommending Father Hough as its first Bishop. I
leave it up to you if you wish to inform Father
Hough of this. Given Metamor's unique situation
it seems appropriate and he has been there longer
than anyone else. Having the authority to
consecrate priests on his own will do much to
expand your little community. You will have much
to contend with regarding some of the rather lax
morals and ignorance of Ecclesia teaching; this
is no different from any other Diocese, but those
areas of most concern to you and to Father Hough
are different. You've no need of me to remind you how.
I still bear in my possession the letters you
wished me to deliver to Yesulam. I insist you
allow Father Kehthaek to send you a Yesbearn
knight of your own if this Zachary fellow will
not consent to it. I will also work to have
additional reliable couriers established, even
one willing to brave Metamor's curses, so we may
correspond at need. We have nothing nearer than
Ellcaran so I can only hope and pray this letter
reaches you unmolested. Keep an eye on Father
Hough and help him understand all of the greater
challenges within the Midlands, especially if he
is named Bishop. If it does come to pass and he
begins to consecrate priests I am confidant
Father Kehthaek will want to assign a second or
third Questioner to assist you and he. Do not
expect any such help for years; none of the
others will have a magical metal fox to vouch for them.
I find it took such a voice to be one more of
Eli's great mysteries. I almost envy you the
field in which you have been given to sow. Still,
I'm not quite sure I wish to be a snake, even if
Czestadt truly thinks well of them!
Sir Kashin, Sir Czestadt, and Hugo Maclear send
their greetings as well. May Yahshua guide you
and bless you abundantly. I hope to return and see you again in a few years.
Your servant, Akaleth
His whiskers and tail twitched as he read.
Sometimes into a smile, other times into a moue.
The news was on the whole welcome and he wondered
whether he should tell Father Hough anything of
it. At the very least, with Hough away for two
weeks he had plenty of time to consider it.
Felsah lifted the letter to his snout to savor
the scents held tight, before he carefully folded
it and pressed down on the seal. The broken wax
would not hold it closed, but it would protect
the words until he had time to write a letter in
return. Akaleth was right they would need
dedicated couriers. He would need to learn from
Hough if there were any Followers he could trust with the task.
He closed his eyes, and with the letter pressed
between his hands, folded them in prayer.
Yahshua, watch over my friends. Bless them and
lead them safely home. Help us help all your people. Help us be unafraid.
Felsah made the sign of the Yew and pressed the
letter to his snout one last time to kiss it.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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