I just finished this new story for Metamor
Keep. There just always seemed to be 'one more
scene' in this and so it's taken me half a year
to write it. I was not going to let it drag into
2019, so I spent the last few hours wrapping it
up this morning. I really hope I can manage more
than two stories in 2019, but we'll see.
Metamor Keep: Faithful Battles
By Charles Matthias
June 28, 708 CR
The burrows buzzed with frightened squeaks and
cries bouncing from the limestone walls as
townmice scampered in panic, marshaling soldiers
toward the surface tunnels while the women and
pups scrounged for a safe place to hide together.
Father Felsah had been enjoying a steaming cup of
coffee with Mahmoud at the cafe when the alarm
bells clanged. Seconds later he hopped like a
fool pup over heads and ears toward the church in
the middle of the Follower district.
A compliment of soldiers rushed through one of
the larger avenues, curved swords bouncing
against their backs, round shields brushing the
stone street as they scampered on all fours.
Felsah paused in his headlong rush only long
enough for them to pass. There would be more on
the way. He hurried through the street and into the Follower district.
Close-packed homes squeezed between the narrow
crack in the limestone. Felsah had to slow down
to avoid hitting his head. The flow of frightened
mice led deeper into the cleft. In moments every
home would be empty as all who lived in this
corner of the burrows sought shelter within the
church. Felsah rounded a corner and nearly
toppled over a widow mouse propped under one arm
by her young son. Their eyes bulged from their
heads and the young mouse squeaked. Father! Is it the Ghans?
Felsah slipped to the other side of the old widow
and clasped her paw to steady her. Where her
son's eyes were wild and danced with each brazen
peal of the tocsin, hers were a deep well, the
bottom of which he could not glimpse. There was
more surprise in them at nearly being jumped upon
by their priest than there was at the thought of
raiders from the northern mountains come to ravage their burrow town.
Perhaps, Felsah replied as together they
continued down the limestone road. Let us make
sure every one is safe in the church. The Saries
will guard the tunnels. If it is a raid then it will be safe by morning.
The young mouse bounced his tail tuft and spread
wife his ears. If it is not a raid, Father? What then?
Then we wait and pray for the Shah's soldiers to join the battle.
Arash, the widow said in a soft voice, trouble
not your heart. Ghans or Kyrgs, what does it
matter. We jerboa have lived in these tunnels
since the time before the Shahs. If Eli wills it,
so shall your children's children.
Aye, Madar, Arash said, his whiskers and tail still dancing.
Together they walked down the sloping passage
into the wide depression at the center of the
Follower district. Homes were painted with murals
of Yahshua, the Blessed Mother, and several
saints. Taller buildings framed with wide pillars
stretched from floor to ceiling, and in the midst
of them was the church, carved from a solid
column of limestone. The interior was paneled
with cedar upon which scenes from the Canticles
were painted. Thronging the church were the
Follower townmice, packed so close Felsah, Arash,
and the widow almost couldn't squeeze in. But on
seeing their priest all of the mice made room. He
first made sure Arash and his mother had a place
to rest, and then he began to move through the huddled crowd.
The tocsin continued to ring, and with each clang
the stone vibrated beneath their toes and tails.
He put paws on shoulders, heads, and paws as he
passed the frightened mice. He squeaked words of
encouragement to each, made sure those who were
ill and infirm had a place to recline, and sent
any grown male among them out to fetch all the
supplies they would need in case of a siege. Step
by step he made his way toward the altar,
tabernacle, and yew, bringing comfort and
strength to his flock one mouse at a time.
One voice began to sing a hymn, and hundreds of
ears lifted as one. Felsah's voice joined a
moment later in the familiar song, and soon the
little church thronged with their voices. The
very air warmed with the sudden burst of courage.
Stooped backs straightened as all turned toward
the glimmering altar. Felsah still the jittery
hop and walked through the ranks of mice, young
and old, healthy and infirm, fear banished by the
song. They were small but they were many. And
they were here for each other always.
His courage did not flag, even as Felsah felt a
strange dislocation. Faces which had at once been
so clear now seemed harder to place. Words he'd
understood a moment before, even those coming
from his own tongue, were unfamiliar. Names of
other mice he'd known all his life were ephemeral
and he felt an alarm and unnatural chill brush
through his fur. His eyes lifted once more to the
altar, tail tucking so close he clasped it in his
paws. All fell away giving him a clear path. He hopped forward.
A brilliant light seemed to emanate from behind
the yew, and the closer Felsah approached, the
fainter the sound of the bell became. Even the
voices of his fellow jerboa seemed to dwindle as
his hopping steps carried him closer and closer.
So many to steel and yet now he found they were
impossible to reach, with either tongue or paw.
Faces so familiar and yet suddenly so strange
slipped into the recesses of the cedar walls,
becoming nothing more than additional paintings to admire and tend.
For a moment he recalled the widow's advice to
her son, and then Felsah stepped into the bath of
light and fell upward. Something yanked on his tail.
----------
Father Felsah opened his eyes to the tuft of his
tail between his teeth. He blinked, amused, and
scratched behind an ear with his foot before
stretching and pushing himself off the pallet.
Mornings in Metamor always seemed to be cold, and
so he could not help but shiver and tuck his
large ears close to his back where his
dust-colored fur was still warm. He shimmied into
his black robes as soon as he could find where
he'd left them and then made the sign of the yew.
After offering a quiet prayer for the day, he
hopped to the small table where he kept his
Canticles and breviary, parchment, quill, and
ink, one of Akabaieth's journals, and the letter
from Troud. He carefully lit a single candle
his eyes needed nothing more and jotted down
what details he remembered of the dream. It was
the fourth time now he had dreamed of the jerboa
village living beneath the rocks near a desert
oasis. The first time he had met Troud the
protector of the Tened. None of the others since
had featured interlopers from the real world but
the details and the other mice felt so real the
Questioner could not help but wonder if these
dreams held some greater significance.
Of the many mysteries he sought to uncover this
was by far the most enjoyable. Usually.
This time there was little joy in it. There had
been times in his youth when raiders attacked
their village and many families hid together in
safe places beneath the rocks. He had not thought
on it in years and wondered why the jerboa village should suffer so.
His notes complete he took the breviary in his
paws and hopped from his quarters next to Fr
Hough's and down the short hall into the
sanctuary proper. The robe bounced up and down
against his back, but after shortening it so it
only came down to his knees he no longer feared
stumbling over it with each hop. While he could
force his hips and legs to walk one by one as he
had done before his change it required the jerboa
priest to concentrate on each step. So when not
serving the Liturgy and when it would not
otherwise be disruptive he hopped everywhere he
went. The springing of his legs, the bouncing of
his tail, and the constant up and down of his head felt natural.
As he genuflected toward the altar Felsah was
grateful for the hopping, the enormous ears, the
tufted tail, and all the other little signs of
his change. If not for them he could never have
come to appreciate all the difficulties the
Followers of Metamor and all the others who lived
here had come through in the last eight years. In
time he might even prefer the shape of a desert
mouse as many Keepers did with their own transformations.
The Cathedral was similar to many he'd seen in
his journeys, with a cruciform design, clerestory
windows to catch the light and illustrate key
events in the Canticles and from the life of
Yahshua, and vaulted walls to capture a huge
vertical space. Statuary of saints and angels
lined both sides while stone columns and wood
panels provided alcoves for side altars and the
confessional. A balcony overhung the rear of the
Cathedral, and lofts were positioned in the arm
of the cross for opposing schola. And at the
front was the altar, resplendent with white,
gold, and green, framing the tabernacle between
ranks of candles and a gold-leaf inlay copy of
the Canticles a precious gift to Father Hough
from Bishop Verdane all beneath a baldacchino
of Mother Yanlin cradling the Holy Infant and framed by singing angels.
What was different was many of the images in the
windows and in the artwork according to Hough
provided by the Keep itself featured creatures
who were, like they, partly animal. They mingled
with humans in the scenes of crowds witnessing a
miracle, they marveled as Yahshua restored their
sight, they bowed low in adoration at His birth,
and they comforted the Holy Mother at His death.
Felsah had been uncomfortable the first time he'd
stepped foot into Metamor's sanctuary, but now
treading upon it with hopping paws and lashing tail, he was grateful for it.
There were also images showing children engaged
in roles meant for adults, and women where a man
would have been expected, but these were more
subtle and easily missed. Felsah knew the many
beauties of this sacred place were still waiting to be discovered.
His whiskers and nose twitched with the dry scent
of a reptile and the familiar scent of another
mouse. His eyes found them a second later,
kneeling before the altar in the lee of the
statue of Mother Yanlin. The chameleon Patric,
one month now a Deacon, was chanting under his
breath the Matins with Richard holding the
breviary open before him. Felsah, in those few
minutes he'd taken to write down his dream, had
missed the beginning. He knelt where he was and
opened the breviary to where the chameleon prayed and joined him.
With a tongue much longer and thinner, and with a
pair of incisors and jowls where short teeth and
lips had once been, forming words of any sort had
been a challenge in his first few days as a
Keeper. His change had been quick; he'd woken one
morning as a man while visiting Lorland and newly
installed Father Purvis, laid down to rest after
Terce with what felt like a stomach ailment, and
after much tossing and turning awoke to discover
the jerboa he'd become. Purvis, whose enlargement
into a hippopatomus was taking much longer,
allowed him to stay in the makeshift rectory in
the main town outside the dilapidated castle
while he worked out how to speak again.
Because of his short stature his voice was high
pitched and there was nothing he could do about
it. But the Keep was full of many others whose
voices belied their maturity and after three
months it, like the hopping, huge ears, and tufted tail, suited him.
Sed in lege Dómini volúntas eius, et in lege
eius meditábitur die ac nocte. Et erit tamquam
lignum, quod plantátum est secus decúrsus
aquárum, quod fructum suum dabit in témpore suo...
Had he not been so intent on the prayers, he
would have heard or smelled the dog creeping up
on him. Its cold nose nudged his side mid-prayer
and he flicked up his large ears to catch the
whine. He turned, one hand resting on the stone
floor, and chuffed at the sight of the
sandy-furred Rakka staring plaintively with his brown eyes.
Very well, Rakka, I guess it's my turn. He
stuck the breviary under his other arm and
gripping the dog by his scruff, did his best to
walk with him out the Cathedral.
----------
By the time he had seen to Rakka's needs and left
the dog happily gnawing on a bone in the common
room for the seminarians, Matins had come to an
end and both Patric and Richard were preparing
the altar for the morning liturgy. Felsah noted a
handful of the faithful had come to pray and did
his best not to disturb them as he hopped past.
Patric noticed him first and put down the bells
to walk with large head bowed and both eyes focused.
His voice, dry and raspy with a subtle clicking
intonation, was reverential and whispered. Good
morning, Father Felsah. We did not see you at Matins... are you well?
I am well, merely delayed. And then Rakka
decided I had more important affairs to tend to.
Richard scampered down from the other side of the
altar, genuflected, and chittered an apology. I
know it was my turn to tend him. But he was
sleeping so peacefully when we woke... I just...
Felsah patted the mouse on the shoulder and
offered a quiet chitter of amusement. No need to
apologize, he knows me well and I don't mind. I
brought him here. Now, finish preparing the
altar. When Liturgy is over I want you to join me in the sacristy.
The boy priest Father Hough had departed
yesterday afternoon for a two week sojourn at
Iron Mine; he'd taken three of his seminarians,
including the two newest, with him. From what
they knew, all of the refugees from Bradanes had
completed their dangerous journey. Due to the
plague besetting Metamor at the end of Winter,
the last of them had clustered in Lorland and
Iron Mine. At Lorland there was ample space for
them to live, though they were city folk learning
to adjust to tending farmlands; Father Purvis
worked beside them in tilling fields when he
wasn't negotiating which lands they could work
and live upon with Lord Mayor Macaban. To help
tend the flock Hough had sent Purvis two of his seminarians.
Iron Mine presented different challenges. Nestled
in rocky terrain and burrowing into the
mountains, there was little space for the many
who came seeking work. Those of Bradanes had
created their homes with whatever they could in
the cracks between walls through every alley they
could find. Baron Christopher was at his wits end
attempting to keep them fed let alone make room
for them. Father Hough was not sure what he could
accomplish but knew they needed the encouragement
of a priest, especially since they were the only Followers living in Iron Mine.
And while Father Malvin in Lake Barnhardt had no
pressing needs and only a small number of
refugees from Bradanes had ventured so far north,
Ramad, who was a season away from being ordained
a deacon, had been sent there to finish the last
of his liturgical instruction. This meant Father
Felsah was left in charge of the Keeptowne parish
with only a newly ordained deacon and one other
seminarian to assist him. For two weeks. Right
after one of the most boisterous and riotous celebrations of the year.
Felsah took a loaf of bread and broke off morsels
for each of them. Thank you for leading Matins,
Patric. You did well with what I could see. And
you did an excellent job chanting the psalm during Liturgy.
The chameleon turned both of his eyes toward the
bread and stood a bit taller, his tail curling
into itself. Thank you, Father. It is exciting
to be able to offer the prayers now. Do you wish me to do any more this day?
Felsah tore a small chunk free with his incisors
and chewed as he listened. After swallowing, he
favored the reptile with a whiskery smile. I
believe I will, but first ... tell me... what
else does Father Hough normally do each day?
You have been with us for three months now,
Patric reminded him, one eye turning to Richard
who had gnawed a hole into his bread and who
lifted his ears at the question. Are you testing us?
I am a Questioner; I have never been in charge
of a parish before. Though, aye, as you imply, I
have observed how Father Hough tends to the needs
of the parish and to your own instruction. He
leaned back on his long legs and tapped the end
of his snout with the bread. I still would like
to know what you have come to expect as this is
your home for much longer than it is mine. I
suppose it is a test in a small way, but I doubt either of you could fail it!
Patric bobbed his head and curled his long
fingers around the portion of bread and opened
his triangular jaws. Like many of the reptilian
Keepers he did not speak as humans did by moving
lips, but from the back of his throat with only
the occasional turn of the tongue to add
inflection or timbre. Father Hough offers
Liturgy in the morning and then we would spend
four candlemarks under his instruction, usually
in reading the Canticles or the writings of the
Saints. We then pray Terce before heading through
the Keep or into Keeptowne to visit with some of
the Ecclesia families. Father always makes a list
on Sunday of families he wants to visit each
week, either those he has not seen come to
Liturgy, those he knows are in need or sick, and
those who he hopes will help charitably.
Sometimes we go with him, and sometimes he sends
us to visit the families he cannot reach. We do
this until Sext when we return, if we can, for
prayers and our midday meal, before we tend to
chores here or visit additional families or run
errands in Keeptowne. Father tries to spend time
in the Confessional before and after None most
days, and then he will either visit any more
families he wishes to see or spend a little time
with his ciders before the evening meal and
Vespers. And then we talk of each of our days and
he leads us in an examination of conscience before Compline and sleep.
Richard spent most of the recitation nodding his
head and nibbling. Felsah found he did much the
same as his fellow mouse; it was the simplest way
of eating anything when the only teeth they had
in the front of their snouts were a pair of
incisors. Each morsel, like each phrase offered
by the chameleon for the hours of the boy
priest's day, was worn down by the incisors and
then ground to a pulp by the rubbing of tongue
and gnashing of molars before being swallowed. By
the time Patric was finished neither rodent had any bread left.
Felsah licked a crumb from his paws and leaned
back on his haunches. Very good. As a Questioner
I would spend more of my days in prayer or study.
I am not used to visiting families to maintain a
parish! But Father Hough did not leave me any
list and so I ask, did he tell either of you who
he would have gone to see this week had he not journeyed to Iron Mine?
Patric had taken a moment to stuff half of his
bread into his mouth and so Richard squeaked in
reply, Nay, he did not tell me, Father. Are there any you wish to visit?
There are a few. I have been taking note of
which families have young children. I have been
talking with Mother Wilfrida about opening a
little school for them to better train them in
our ways. But first we will need supplies and...
students. If Father Hough has not asked us to
visit any, and there are no sick to tend, then
after your instruction is complete, we can begin
paying each family a visit to make our offer.
Patric swallowed and turned one eye about. And
seek the supplies you will need, Father?
Aye. I have a list prepared but I am not yet
sure how to fill it. I hope you can help or know who can.
All three turned their heads at the distant
tolling of a bell. Felsah's ears cast a breeze
about as they moved first up and then back down
toward his back. Enough of this for now. The day
presses. Let us turn to your lessons.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
_______________________________________________
MKGuild mailing list
[email protected]
http://lists.integral.org/listinfo/mkguild
