[Mkguild] The Last Tale of Yajakali - Chapter XLIX

[C. Matthias]

And here we go again, with the next 
chapter!  This begins Book IV, which will be the final book in this mega-tome.

Metamor Keep: The Last Tale of Yajakali
By Charles Matthias

Book IV

A Tale of the
Mountain and the Cleft

Few things in this world so contrast each other, 
so compliment each other, stand as antipodes as 
stark as night and day, as a mountain and a 
chasm.  Before the first one gapes in awesome 
wonder, moved to marvel by the power and majesty 
of the peak that stretches upwards to the 
heavens.  And from the second one shrinks in 
fear, their heart tightening as they ponder the 
limitless depths that lay before them, yawning 
wide like a ravenous maw, each cliff face a 
thousand tearing teeth with root and rock 
exposed, sinking beneath all the catacombs of the 
world to reach into Hell itself.

– from That Which is Known of Galendor
Summa Terræ of Elvmere


Chapter XLIX

Dawn Tales

         For the first time in what seemed a 
lifetime, the first rays of the sun through the 
narrow window brought Kashin up from sleep.  He 
lifted his one hand, the right – his left arm 
ending just above the elbow where Yajakali’s 
blade had struck it five weeks past.  Five weeks 
past he’d woken from a night that had lasted even 
longer, one filled with dreams of colourful 
wagons, a curious hamlet nestled between the 
cliffs of Vysehrad, a mysterious city standing as 
high as the clouds, and a desert where nightmares came to life.
         Kashin blinked as he stared past his 
fingers at the ray of sunlight.  The shadows 
slanted across a bed of linens and wool.  The top 
cover was embroidered with pontifical heraldry, 
crown and keys with the stylized tree in the 
shape of a cross at their centre.  When he’d 
woken up from his dream in the catacombs, he’d 
known who and where he was in an instant.  Now he 
stared, blinking away the nighttime phantoms to comprehend what lay before him.
         As his eyes took in the rest of the 
chamber, his memories seeped back.  The chamber 
was of moderate size, with windows to the east 
and the west, though most of these had been 
covered by long draperies also bearing the 
pontifical gold embroidery.  Soft carpets 
stretched across the floor, though he glimpsed a 
few bare patches in which nestled an intricate 
pattern of coloured tiles.  He couldn’t see what picture they portrayed.
         On the other end of the room stood two 
more beds, and between them lay three 
pallets.  The pallets were of such a plain design 
that Kashin knew they had been placed here only 
last night.  But he recognized who slept in 
each.  In the two beds lay Sir Petriz and Sir 
Czestadt, knights of the Order of Driheli.  In 
the pallets slept the Questioners who had aided 
him, Fathers Kehthaek, Felsah, and Akaleth.
         They were sleeping in one of the Papal 
suites, special guests of Patriarch 
Geshter.  Yesterday, they had freed him from the evil taint of Marzac.
         After sleeping in the catacombs for the 
last five weeks, it felt strange to lay in a real 
bed, and to feel real sunshine calling him to the 
day.  Kashin smiled faintly, glancing over his 
hand.  It was now a little over a year past when 
Patriarch Akabaieth had been slain most foul 
outside of Metamor.  Now, what must he still do to finish the job he’d begun?
         “Good morning, Kashin,” the elder 
Questioner said softly.  Kashin lowered his hand 
and saw the priest turn on his side.  Kehthaek 
regarded him without smiling. “You appear troubled.”
         Out of the corner of his eye he noted 
Czestadt stirring; the Stuthgansk knight 
undoubtedly listened.  But the man who had once 
vowed to kill him was now his ally. “There is 
something,” Kashin admitted, returning his 
attention on Kehthaek. “We have broken the evil’s 
hold on His Holiness.  Yet I do not think our work is complete.”
         “And what do you think we have yet to accomplish?”
         “I do not know.  Surely those who allied 
with Jothay must be held accountable.” Kashin 
shifted himself into a sitting position.  His 
black mourning garments sat folded upon the floor 
next to the bed.  He took the shirt and pulled it 
over his head.  He wriggled both his arms into 
the sleeves, and then pinned the end of the left 
sleeve closed beneath his stump. “Do you really 
think it only Temasah and Rott?”
         “No,” Kehthaek replied.  The priest 
pushed himself into a sitting position and 
stretched his shoulders.  Kashin felt uneasy 
seeing the priest disrobed, as if witnessing a 
great tower revealed to be a ramshackle hut.  The 
priest’s darkened skin stretched taut over ragged 
bones, and numerous old sores and welts marred 
even the wrinkles. “And we may yet find more in 
Jothay’s letters, but I doubt we will need to.  Others can comb them now.”
         Kehthaek rose from the pallet and donned 
his priestly black cassock.  The red cross shone 
like a sombre fire alone in a moonless 
night.  Beside him Felsah and Akaleth 
stirred.  The latter had slept in his robes, and 
apart from the linens wrapped around his hand 
where Mizrahek’s whip had scoured the flesh, he was a thing of blackness.
         “Would you trust others after everything we’ve seen?”
         Kehthaek did not lift his hood, and so 
his slow smile made Kashin shudder. “Do you think we have any other choice?”
         “Right the priest is,” Czestadt grunted 
as he rose. “No choice we have.  Seen our swords 
are, them we cannot now sheath.”
         “True,” Kashin admitted.  He donned his 
breeches and stretched. “His Holiness should be saying Matins now.”
         “Or having a very long talk with his 
confessor,” Czestadt muttered in the southern 
tongue.  Sir Petriz gaped at him, then shook his head.
         “Either way, he will send for us when he 
is ready,” Kashin declared. “Until then, we should wait and prepare ourselves.”
         An hour later, a young Yeshuel who 
stammered in awe at the sight of Kashin, came and 
brought them to the Patriarch’s personal 
study.  As the Patriarch would often enjoy the 
company of learned theologians, visiting Bishops 
and other foreign dignitaries, as well as 
fortunate pilgrims grants the honour of a private 
audience with His Holiness, his study was 
furnished with sufficient chairs, lounges, and 
benches to seat two dozen men in comfort.  A 
personal library occupied a bookshelf on the 
interior wall, while wide windows overlooked the 
Yurdon river to the east.  Betwixt the windows 
sat an altar upon which rested golden 
reliquaries, above which hung Yahshua upon the 
crucifixion tree.  If necessary, this study could 
become a private chapel with only a slight rearranging of the furnishings.
         Patriarch Geshter sat in a high-backed 
chair with golden angels embroidered in red 
damask.  Before him several other chairs had been 
set.  Four Yeshuel stood guard inside the room, 
while the one who had summoned them took up 
position behind the Patriarch, eyes still heady with admiration for Kashin.
         Geshter smiled to them, and held out his 
hand. “Come forward, my children.  I have much to 
thank you for, and much more we need to discuss.” 
The Questioners each knelt before Geshter, 
kissing the ring upon his hand before taking 
seats upon the least comfortable of nearby 
benches.  Sir Czestadt and Sir Petriz did 
likewise, except they chose cushioned 
chairs.  Kashin was the last to kiss the Papal ring, but he remained kneeling.
         “Why do you not sit, my child?” Geshter 
asked kindly.  Could this be the same man he’d 
seen yesterday?  Where before there had been iron 
and poison in those venerable eyes, now he saw only gentleness.
         “I have spent over a year to see 
Patriarch Akabaieth avenged, your Holiness,” 
Kashin replied, his words tense. “I came so far 
as to even draw a blade upon the very office I 
swore to protect with my life.  Am I worthy to sit in your presence?”
         Geshter pursed his lips, while the 
Yeshuel at his side, no more than a boy newly 
given the green, trembled curiously.  Who among 
the Yeshuel had not heard of Kashin by now, and 
of the wonderful miracle performed at the 
Bishop’s Council with a sword of gold?  That same 
sword hung at his side now, eerily silent.
         “You did not draw your sword upon the 
office of the Patiarch, nor upon St. Kephas’s 
seat.  You drew it upon the evil that yearned to 
destroy the Ecclesia from within.  Yahshua has 
preserved it, through your courage, Kashin of the Yeshuel.”
         “I cannot be of the Yeshuel,” he 
replied, pain gripping his chest, “until all who 
conspired to kill Patriarch Akabaieth are brought to justice.”
         “Even if that requires the very last 
breath from your body, you are worthy of sitting 
in my presence this day.” Geshter lifted Kashin’s 
chin with one hand. “Please, take the seat I have offered you.”
         Kashin nodded and did so, running his 
fingers along his the sleeve tucked against his 
stump.  The Patriarch took a deep breath and laid 
his hands in his lap. “This is a most unusual 
day.  I have ordered all passages into and out of 
Yesulam blocked until matters have settled.  My 
ministers inform me that this has caused great 
unrest in the city, more so than the rumours 
themselves have created.  I hope to open the city 
soon, but I cannot do that until we are certain 
the guilty will not flee, nor will they bring in other conspirators.
         “The three principal actors, Bishops 
Rott and Temasah, and Grand Questioner Mizrahek, 
have been confined to their apartments, their 
retinues sent elsewhere.  I can provide you the 
protection of my residence for only a short 
time.  There are more matters in the world that 
require my attention, matters I have neglected or 
instigated while under the influence of 
Marzac.  It is my desire to leave the matter of 
seeing to the inquest to another not involved 
with either side.  That will not be easy to 
accomplish.  With at least two Bishops 
implicated, and with possibly more, we can hardly 
trust any on the Council to act impartially.  And 
the Questioners... I fear Mizrahek’s complicity, 
and your actions make that order suspect too.”
         None were surprised when Kehthaek spoke. 
“If I might be permitted to offer a suggestion, 
your Holiness.” Geshter nodded. “Impartiality is 
not a virtue.  Being able to recognize the truth 
is a virtue, one that an impartial man should 
possess.  You are loath to trust us with this 
inquest because you fear we may be too zealous in 
handing out punishments to those only guilty by 
inaction.  But there are two levels of evil that 
we seek; those whose hearts have turned against 
Eli of their own will, and those under the 
influence of an evil that turns them against 
their will.  For this second type we have a ready means of discovery.”
         “The sword,” Geshter said, eyeing the 
golden blade with narrowed eyes. “Will it show 
you those who are under that darkness?”
         “Aye, your Holiness,” Kashin 
replied.  He set his fingers on the pommel. “I 
struggled to keep it from the darkness in you 
yesterday; it wanted nothing more than to strike 
from the moment I picked up the blade.”
         “Thus,” Kehthaek concluded, “you have an 
impartial witness to this second form of 
darkness.  It may be with Eli’s grace that no 
more are so possessed.  Either way, it seems 
reasonable that the first action to take would be 
to bring this sword before every Bishop, and 
every member of the Questioner order, as well as 
any others who might be involved.”
         Geshter drummed his fingers across his 
knee. “What you say is true, and can be 
arranged.  How much time would you need?”
         Kashin drew the sword slowly, and looked 
at its golden surface.  It gleamed quietly, but 
gave no outward sign of its power. “I felt the 
pull as soon as I drew near you.  I’d need no more than a few seconds to know.”
         “Then this test can be accomplished 
quickly.  But that still does not help us with 
the greater problem of those who participated of their own accord.”
         “Pursue it as you would any other 
inquiry into heresy, with Questioners,” Kehthaek 
suggested. “A new Grand Questioner must be 
selected.  Once this is done, three new 
Questioners can be appointed who will lead the 
inquest, beginning with those already implicated.”
         “And if their sympathies lie with them?”
         Felsah gestured to the one-armed man. 
“Allow Kashin to oversee the Questioning.  His 
actions are above reproach in this matter, as he 
did precisely what a Yeshuel is supposed to 
do.  He is your surety that nothing untoward will 
occur.  The mandate for the Questioning can 
specify his presence, and the need for his 
concurrence before a judgement can be rendered.”
         Geshter leaned back and stroked his 
chin. “Yes, I think you have the right of 
it.  Very well, that is how we shall 
proceed.  But none of you three may participate in the Questioning.”
         Akaleth tensed and asked, “Why not?”
         “Your opinions are revealed.  You are too close to these events.”
         “Which makes us ideal to conduct the 
Questioning!” Akaleth snapped, though he tempered 
his voice when he realized who he spoke to.
         The Patriarch gave the youngest 
Questioner a firm stare, and then shook his head. 
“No, it does not.  But you must remember that a 
part of doing Eli’s work is submitting to the 
authority of the Ecclesia.  Your courage and 
dedicated cannot be doubted, but now you must 
demonstrate your willingness to let get and trust in Eli.”
         “But what would you have us do?” Felsah asked.
         “That I leave to the new Grand Questioner, whomever he may be.”
         “Thank you, your Holiness,” Kehthaek 
replied, his voice simple and face 
expressionless. “I believe that this solution is 
the best we can hope to achieve.”
         “Indeed,” Geshter replied. “May Eli 
grant us His grace and wisdom to see it through.” 
He turned to the two knights and frowned. “I do 
not see any role for either of you in these proceedings.”
         “Nor does there need to be,” Sir 
Czestadt replied in the southern tongue. “Your 
Holiness, I ask permission to return with Sir 
Petriz to Stuthgansk.  The Order of the Driheli 
needs our leadership to restore it to full 
strength, and what good we can achieve here has already been achieved.”
         “I agree,” Geshter replied, smiling 
fondly on them both. “I also wish to grant the 
Driheli more leeway in the manner in which they 
practice obedience, lest some other rogue Bishop lead them astray.”
         Czestadt frowned. “You should not make 
us independent of the Ecclesia, your 
Holiness.  Without the divine protection that the 
guidance of the Ecclesia offers us, the Order of 
the Driheli would quickly be corrupted by fallen man.”
         “That is not what I had in 
mind.  Rather, I wish the Driheli to answer only 
to the Patriarch.  Otherwise, you are to continue doing as you do now.”
         Czestadt and Petriz exchanged a quick 
glance, before the elder knight nodded. “I feel that is fair, your Holiness.”
         Geshter smiled and spread wide his 
hands. “I will have the alteration to your 
knightly Rule crafted in a few days.” He lowered 
his eyes thoughtfully, then stood so quickly they 
stumbled to rise to their feet. “Remain here 
another day more as my guests.  I will set in 
motion all that we have discussed.  The Ecclesia 
will need a great deal of time to fully heal.  I 
pray that Eli grants us the grace we need to see it through.”
         “He shall, your Holiness,” Kehthaek 
replied with his characteristic confidence. “He shall indeed.”

----------

         “Good morning, Elvmere,” a soft voice 
called to him.  The raccoon-man stirred, the tip 
of his tail brushing across his nose.  He blinked 
and looked up at the woman draped in simple blue 
robes.  She gazed down at him with an amused 
grin, noting the beastly pile in which he’d 
slept.  She had given him blankets for the pallet 
at the foot of her bed, and he had made a 
veritable next out of them in his sleep.
         “Good morning, Priestess,” he replied, 
pulling the nearest sheet over his chest.  The 
only light came from a lampstand in the centre of 
her bedroom, but it illuminated his bedraggled 
state.  Had his months of hiding in the Sondeckis 
hold made him more beast than man?  His 
appearance should have embarrassed him, but it 
did not.  Only modesty moved his paws.
         “I thought you would prefer being woken 
by me than by an acolyte,” she said, a gentle 
humour in her voice. “You may take your things 
through there to dress.  I will ask that a second 
portion of food be brought to break my fast.  Can you eat fruit and bread?”
         He nodded. “I prefer them.  When will your acolyte come?”
         “Soon.” A distant look filled her eyes. 
“The Lothanas prefers my participation with the 
daily rituals be confined to only the most 
important of occasions.  The acolytes see to my 
needs and allow me to act as leisure permits.”
         Elvmere knew there lay more behind those 
words, but he wouldn’t ask now.  He gathered his 
cloths and the precious journals and fled behind 
the door Priestess Nylene hin’Lofwine had 
suggested.  It proved no more than a prayer cell, 
marked with symbols for each Lothanasi deity with 
various coloured paints.  As he straightened out 
his garments he pondered them, knowing that each 
was more than a few scribbled lines.  They 
pointed to tangible, communicable powers each 
with independent spheres of influence.  Were they 
gods in the sense he understood Eli and 
Yahshua?  No.  But they were still powers capable of bringing aid to mankind.
         A few minutes later, the predicted 
acolyte, a young woman whose satisfied voice 
grated on the raccoon’s ears entered. “Good 
morning, Priestess.  Shall I see your arrangements this day?”
         “Thank you, Thelina, but I only require 
an extra serving with my morning meal.  I am very 
hungry today.” Where Nylene had been gracious and 
gentle, now he heard a note of tightness in her voice.
         “You will take your meal in your 
chambers of course?” Thelina asked, though 
Elvmere could tell is was not truly a question.
         “Of course.  Thank you for your 
consideration, Thelina.” With that the acolyte 
left.  Elvmere continued to wait, knowing she 
would return soon.  He took that time to arrange 
Akabaieth’s journals, making sure he had all of 
them still and that none were damaged.  They’d 
seen a hard road in the many months since he’d 
discovered them in the wreckage of a smashed 
wagon at the bottom of a hill near Metamor.  He’d 
only just joined Malger and Murikeer’s company 
then.  What would they think if they saw him now?
         More importantly, what had happened to 
them?  Had Murikeer found his father’s 
grave?  Had Malger returned to him homeland?  He 
missed the days of their journey together.
         Thelina’s return broke his reverie. 
“Your morning meal, Priestess.” Something in her 
voice struck him as wrong.  No servant spoke in 
so haughty a way to their superiors.
         “Thank you, Thelina.  I have no further 
need of you.  See to your morning prayers.” 
Gentle, but still the matronly word of command filled her voice.
         “But will you not need assistance with your own prayers, Priestess?”
         “No, I prefer solitude this day.  You 
should enjoy the company of your fellow acolytes today.”
         Elvmere wished he could see what 
transpired between the two.  He could well 
imagine the look of frustration on a young 
woman’s face that must even now reside with 
Thelina.  But the acolyte finally acceded to 
Nylene, a sombre irritation in her voice, “Of 
course, Priestess.  I shall return when you have 
need of me.” A moment later, the far door shut.
         “Elvmere, come join me.” Nylene stood 
next to a small knee-high table upon which rested 
a platter of fresh rye bread, a green apple, a 
stick of honey, and a ewer of milk.  She knelt 
down on one side, knees together, blue gown 
collecting around her feet. “Will it bother you 
to drink from the same cup as I?”
         The raccoon-man cautiously left the 
cell, glancing furtively to either side, and 
knelt opposite the priestess.  His tail curled 
atop his toes as he settled into an almost 
prayerful crouch. “If I am to learn your ways, 
will I not be drinking of the same cup as 
you?  Why should we begin any different?”
         Her smile brightened her face, banishing 
the darkness that Thelina’s intrusion had 
brought. “Then we shall begin your instruction 
with a prayer of thanks and blessing for our 
foot.” Elvmere watched as she held out her hands, 
palms upraised, before the platter.  He did 
likewise, revealing his sensitive black skin and 
short claws. “Great Kammaloth, king of the 
heavens, we thank you for this our morning meal.”
         Elvmere repeated her words, wondering 
how great this Kammaloth’s influence extended in 
the world.  Did he act in each and every event, 
or did his power manifest only for special 
favours?  This he would learn.  When Nylene 
finished, she did not make any symbol with her 
fingers, and Elvmere had to keep his paws from 
tracing the Yew.  That was denied him now.  He 
had to do his best where Akabaieth had sent him.
         Nylene tore the bread and handed him the 
heel.  He dipped it in the honey and ate the 
sweet morsel as slowly as he could.  His stomach 
complained ravenously, but he would not show 
himself to be a beast anymore than he already 
had. “I confess,” Nylene said, her grey-blue eyes 
meeting his visage without fear, “that I had not 
expected to see you again, and certainly not under these circumstances.”
         “Neither had I,” Elvmere replied.  A 
dollop of honey glistened on one claw and he 
licked it clean. “But I believed I would be 
vindicated not excommunicated, when I journeyed to Yesulam.”
         She tore more bread, turning it over in 
her fingers. “You do not sound bitter.”
         “Bitterness... only the proud, the self-exalted feel bitterness.”
         Nylene held the bread to her lips, 
eyeing him curiously. “You have no pride then?”
         “Enough to drown this city,” he replied, 
this time with a bit of anger. “But what is done is done.  Now I am here.”
         She sipped at the milk and dabbed her 
lip with the bread.  Every motion was so precise, 
as if each were its own ritual, its own prayer. 
“But why are you here?  Excommunication is not 
enough to drive a Bishop of the Ecclesia into the 
hands of the Lothanasi, a faith that teaches many 
things that Followers find repugnant.  Why not 
instead join one of the various Follower factions?”
         “Excommunication means that I am cut off 
from the community of Followers.  This community 
is the Body of Yahshua, so it is inappropriate to 
even pretend to fellowship with even rebellious 
Followers.  Nor would I grant them any 
legitimacy.  But,” he admitted with a sigh, “you 
are right.  It is not enough.  And believe me, 
Nylene, I came to this decision only after much 
agony.  But I know the Pantheon is real, all of 
them, and I believe this without a shred of proof.  How can I not be here?”
         The priestess brushed back her silvered 
hair and smiled thoughtfully.  She dipped the tip 
of an apple slice in the honey and chewed 
slowly.  After washing it down with a sip of 
milk, she asked in kindly tones,”So what would 
you have of me, Elvmere?  Last night you asked 
for instruction.  Though I did teach Malger many 
years past, he had not your appearance.  I cannot 
conceal you for more than a few days at best.” 
She frowned and added, “What became of your disguise?”
         He touched the pouch dangling from his 
waist. “Not only did the Patriarch excommunicate 
me, but he crushed my yew as well.  I have no 
more illusion, and no idea where Murikeer has 
gone.  At best I can masquerade as a normal 
raccoon, or I can wear a heavy cloak and hope.”
         “That will not do.  You know you cannot stay here.”
         “No.  Forgive me, but I must ask a 
second favour.  Can you see my safely to Metamor 
Valley?  It is the only place in the world I may walk openly.”
         Nylene finished the last of the bread 
and let out a sigh. “As you have no doubt 
guessed, I am a prisoner in all but name.  The 
Lothanas tolerates me because he does not wish to 
incur the wrath of the people of Silvassa.  He is 
involved in matters dark, but I cannot prove 
it.  Thelina is but one of his minions who keep 
watch over me.  I will do all I can to prevent 
them from you are here.  But as to this other...”
         Elvmere lapped up the rest of the milk 
and brushed his snout clean with the back of one 
paw. “You cannot leave the temple?”
         “Not without the permission of the 
Lothanas.  I do have some friends left in the 
temple.  I will ask his permission to go on a 
pilgrimage to Metamor.  It is the ancient centre 
of the Lothanasi faith, and he may see some 
advantage in having me gone from Silvassa for a 
time.” She pursed her lips for a moment, then 
smiled warmly to him.  He licked a bit of honey 
from his claws and smiled back. “I will ponder 
what I can do, but somehow, I will see you safely to Metamor, Elvmere.”
         “Thank you, Nylene.  I knew I could trust you.”
         “You may always trust me, Elvmere.  Always.”
         Her smile warmed him, and even his tail 
flicked across his toes in delight.

----------

         He dreamed of stone.
         The first time he had truly slept since 
the Summer’s Solstice, and still his mind fixed 
upon granite.  He saw himself returning to Glen 
Avery, to his home beneath the roots of the great 
redwood, where his wife, his children, and their 
wetnurse Baerle lived.  They greeted him with 
joy, and he hugged them tight.  For little 
Charles he gave a kiss upon the nose, to sweet 
Bernadette he stroked behind her ears, for noble 
Erick he patted him on the shoulder, for delicate 
Baerle he pinched her cheeks, and for strong 
Ladero he touched their Sondecks together.
         And then he turned to his wife, the Lady 
Kimberly, who wrapped her arms over his shoulder, 
their tails entwining, whiskers brushing and 
feeling the familiar touch of each other’s 
snouts, and their chests pressing firmly 
together.  He lifted her aloft and spun her in the air, laughing heartily.
         But suddenly they were no longer in the 
wooden confines of their home, but upon the crags 
of the mountains, reclining naked against one 
another and staring at the sky.  He ran his 
fingers through her fur, and she smiled back at 
him, eyes sparkling like jade.  And then they 
were jade, and her flesh hard granite.  He did 
not tremble, but felt the stone overtake his 
flesh.  Together they leaned into one another, 
faces slowly sliding through each other, until 
they sank within the mountain together, forever rock.
         “Charles!” the world echoed, trembling 
and shaking with the power of the world’s 
foundations.  Rubble cascaded down their slopes, 
and the trees buried in the soil shook so hard their leaves rained down.
         “Charles!” Suddenly, the mountain 
cracked in two, and the rat found himself flesh 
again.  Warmth surrounded him, and he blinked his 
eyes open.  A donkey’s snout loomed above 
him.  Dark eyes met his. “Finally, you’re 
awake!  We were beginning to wonder if you intended to sleep all day.”
         The rat blinked and saw that he lay in 
his blanket with his head on one of his many 
knapsacks.  A few of his friends were busy 
straightening theirs in the small chambers off 
the Ducal suite.  Charles ran his paws over his 
face, and felt the sensitive whiskers, soft fur, 
and tender ears all where he expected them.  What he didn’t feel was stone.
         “I’m still me,” he said aloud, smiling in sudden delight.
         “It’s so odd seeing you as you, Charles, 
and not as stone,” James admitted as he leaned 
back on his hooves and gave the rat some space. 
“You looked so peaceful to be sleeping, but dawn 
is already an hour behind, and Qan-af-årael says we must make ready to depart.”
         The rat nodded, and slipped from his 
blankets.  He reached into his knapsack for a set 
of clothes. “I haven’t slept in months, let alone 
dress myself or eat!  I hope our guide will allow 
us to break our fast before we leave?”
         “I hope so,” the donkey shrugged and 
attended to his gear. “I think the Duke wants to see us though.”
         “How is he?” Charles asked.  When they’d 
returned from the Tower of Theodoric last night, 
Duke Schanalein had thanked them and given them a 
room in which to sleep.  His grace had succumbed 
to weariness before he could apologize for the 
lack of suitable beds.  After months on the road, 
sleeping on the posh carpets was a luxury for 
them.  For Charles, it still amazed him that he could sleep again.
         “I don’t know,” James admitted.  The 
donkey tightened the straps on his travelling 
pack and set it against one wall.  Apart from a 
collection of stuffed heads, an ornate table 
pressed against the wall, a pair of tall 
cabinets, and a few chairs, the room had been 
emptied apart from them and their gear.  Doors 
stood in two walls, both of them closed.
         Charles snuggled into a loose-fitting 
tunic and breeches and then rolled his blanket 
up.  The others spoke quietly, weariness writ in 
their faces.  The rat glanced at Jessica and 
blinked at what he saw.  Where once her feathers 
had been brown banded with red tips, they had 
darkened almost to charcoal.  Her beak, fingers 
and feet still shone bright yellow, and her eyes 
a lustrous gold, but all else was stained black.
         “Jessica,” he gasped, catching the 
hawk’s gaze. “What happened to you?”
         The hawk held out her wings and curled 
her short fingers. “Did you not see this last 
night?”  The rat shook his head. “Too absorbed 
with your own change?”  He blushed and after a 
few moment’s reflection nodded.  He had marvelled 
at his flesh ever since the tower.  Not that 
they’d been awake for very long after Agathe had 
been defeated.  They’d seen to Tugal and returned 
to the Duke’s chambers, then retired for sleep in 
this one.  It had taken perhaps twenty minutes at best.
         Lindsey set filled knapsacks into the 
same corner where the soldiers had brought them 
last night. “It’s a bad sign,” he muttered. “Here 
we go to fight darkness, and you are touched by it, Jessica.  I don’t like it.”
         “It is not a sign,” Jessica protested, 
standing up taller. “And if it is, I fought 
something... something I... I don’t understand 
yet.  Evil... so evil.” She shook her head and 
held her wings over her face. “Please don’t ask me about it.”
         “You did not say much,” Habakkuk said 
softly where he stood near the two Åelf.  They 
sat with eyes closed, either meditating or 
praying, Charles couldn’t tell which. “Those were 
the Pillars of Ahdyojiak weren’t they?”
         Jessica nodded. “I killed Agathe there, 
and then I woke up in a strange place.  There 
were others there, the three whose deaths powered 
the Pillars back in January.  And another, a man named Pelain.”
         Habakkuk’s ears lifted and his eyes 
widened in genuine surprise. “Pelain?  Pelain of Cheskych?  You saw him?”
         “He spoke to me, and gave me gifts.” She 
bent down and rustled in her pack. “I did not 
speak of them last night.” She paused, and then 
resealed her pack. “I forgot, he sealed the spell in my mind.”
         “What spell?” Abafouq asked.  The Binoq 
ran a comb through Guernef’s leonine flank, while 
the Nauh-kaee studied the hawk with an intense gaze.
         “A spell to protect us as we travel 
through Marzac.  I will teach it to you when I 
can.” The black hawk closed her eyes and then 
sighed. “The other gift was a warning.  We cannot 
ride the Rheh through western Pyralis.  The 
Marquis has stationed troops there, knowing of 
our escape.  They have magic to thwart the 
Rheh.  If we are captured again, I don’t think we will escape.”
         Charles grunted. “Then how are we to reach Marzac in time?”
         “Maybe we can ask the Duke for aid?” Kayla suggested.
         “Speaking of which,” Habakkuk added, 
glancing towards one of the doors.  A moment 
later, somebody began to knock.  Lindsey opened 
it, and revealed the Duke’s son, Kurt. “Good 
morning, Kurt.  Is your father well?”
         “Aye, he is just sitting down to break 
his fast.  He asked me to invite you to join 
him.” A quartet of soldiers stood behind the 
ducal heir, who still dressed in the livery of a 
common soldier.  But where his face had been 
marred by a look of desperation, now it revelled in triumph.
         “How fares Tugal?” Kayla asked as she 
ran her paws over the hilts of the katana and 
wakizashi at her sides. “Will she live?”
         Kurt frowned, eyes lowering. “I looked 
in on her before coming here.  Her wound is deep, 
but my father’s physician says she will live.  He 
says it may be a long time before she has fully recovered, if she ever does.”
         Kayla lowered her eyes and tail. “Tell 
her she has our gratitude.  If there is any 
healing we can offer her, we will be glad to do so.”
         “Thank you.” Kurt gestured for them to 
follow him. “Come now.  My father will wonder 
what has happened if we do not hurry.”
         The Duke ate in a small dining hall with 
sufficient space for them to join him at the 
table.  Kurt took his place at the Duke’s right, 
while Qan-af-årael was granted the seat at his 
left.  Guernef deliberately took a place at the 
far end, where he pushed all of the chairs 
aside.  Abafouq sat next to him, his chin barely 
cresting the table’s edge.  The rest took places 
between, with Lindsey, the only human among them, at Kurt’s right.
         Haggard lines marred Duke Friedrich 
Schanalein’s face, though the tepidness in his 
cheeks had grown flush with sleep and food.  His 
stern eyes softened as he studied them. “Welcome, 
my friends.  I, and all of Breckaris owe you a 
debt of gratitude.  You have saved us from the 
ravages and intrigues of the treacherous du 
Tournemire, and rid us of one vile mage.  For 
that I salute you.” He stood and raised a goblet in toast.
         “And now, I hope the food I have had 
brought suits your needs.  If you require 
something else, simply speak and it will be 
done.” Before them he’d arrayed fruits, melons 
and breads, a meal that would satisfy even the 
mostly carnivorous hawk.  They ate heartily and gratefully.
         They said little during the meal, and 
nervous servants came in to refill plates that 
had been emptied.  The Duke watched them 
carefully; Charles and a few of the others 
returned the appraising stares, but never for 
more than a moment.  They were allies now, even 
if only because of the trying circumstances.
         When they had their fill, the Duke 
leaned back and smiled, goblet of juice in one 
hand. “I do not understand how such a strange 
group as yours has come to be.  And I am sure you 
could regale me with the tale of your adventures 
at length.  If time allows, I should very much 
like to hear it.  But first, we must decide what 
is to be done now.  Agathe is destroyed you tell 
me, and I now am free of du Tournemire’s control.  Bishop Hockmann too.”
         “Where is his grace?” Qan-af-årael asked in a quiet voice.
         “He is spending this day in 
prayer.  There is much he must do to repair the 
evil du Tournemire has made him commit.” 
Schanalein rubbed his chin with one hand. “I fear 
I will be a long time in Confession when this is 
done.  But your needs come first.  Though I will 
not ask you now for your story, you must at least 
tell me why you came to Breckaris, and where you will go.”
         “It was not our intent to set foot in 
Breckaris,” the ancient Åelf replied.  He spoke 
in a slow measured tone almost lyrical to their 
ears. “Only the intervention of our enemies 
brought us here, intervention that has proven 
fortuitous for you and Bishop Hockmann.  Our 
intent is to follow the man who once enslaved you 
both; follow him back to the very hole towards 
which even now he flees.  We must journey to the 
Chateau Marzac and put an end to the evil that lurks there.”
         Schanalein grimaced, but nodded. “I 
think you are foolish to do so.  All who have 
journeyed to Marzac have become its slaves.  This 
much I learned from du Tournemire.  How will you protect yourselves?”
         Jessica lifted her beak and said in a 
quiet voice, “I have a spell that offers us some 
protection.  Only by destroying the evil there will we be saved.”
         “So you risk yourselves to destroy 
something that cannot be defeated?” Schanalein 
shook his head, incredulous. “I think you make a 
grave mistake.  Surely there is some other way to fight them.”
         Qan-af-årael leaned his head back and 
steepled his fingers. “Do you know of the starfish?”
         “Yes, my ancestors used to use them for 
money.  The sailors still use them for decoration 
and food if they are desperate enough.”
         “Then you know that you cannot kill a 
starfish by severing one of its arms.”
         Schanalein nodded, brow furrowing. “That 
is true.  The arm will grow back in time.” He 
leaned forward, fingers closing tightly around 
his goblet. “Are you suggesting that Marzac is like a starfish?”
         “I am.  Only by striking the centre can 
a starfish die.  So too it is with Marzac.  Only 
by killing the source of the evil will it 
die.  If we only fought its emanations, it would 
in the end destroy us all.  And that end draws 
near.  You know something of this, do you not?”
         “Only what du Tournemire told me.  He 
liked to boast, but he did not speak vainly.  It 
is more from what his associates told him that I 
have learned what I know.” He glanced at his son, 
who watched and listened with keen interest. “I 
know that they succeeded with their mission in 
Yesulam, at least in all that mattered.  They 
lost their chief ally in the process, but 
whatever they intended was successful.”
         “The tying of the sword to Yesulam,” 
Jessica said. “And last night they lassoed Ahdyojiak.  Or so I was told.”
         Charles and the others glanced at 
Jessica in surprise.  Clearly there was more 
about her split second encounter with the 
Imbervand that she yet to declaim.  Schanalein 
frowned at the black hawk before nodding. “Yes, I 
remember hearing something about that.  I’ve 
never heard of this Ahdyojiak before — I can 
barely pronounce it!  Nor do I understand what 
you or he mean when you say ‘tying’ the sword or ‘lassoing’ that place.”
         “You aren’t the only one,” Lindsey said under his breath.
         “It means that Yajakali now can turn all 
of the magic contained in those places to his own 
ends,” Jessica replied. “Yajakali now has access 
to all the magical power in Metamor, Yesulam, 
Ahdyojiak, and everywhere else the artifacts have 
appeared.  And there is nothing we can do to 
untie them.  Only defeat him where he lives — Marzac.”
         “Very well.  You will go to 
Marzac.  Will you be riding your strange horses 
there?  They have been giving my ostlers fits since they arrived.”
         “The Rheh are well?” Kayla asked, eyes alight with hope.
         “From what they tell me,” Schanalein 
replied.  He leaned back, a half-smile gracing 
his lips. “Despite their contumacy, my ostlers 
have already fallen in love with your steeds.  Why do you call them Rheh?”
         “It is the name that we call them,” 
Qan-af-årael replied in his softly melodic voice. 
“But it is not their true name.  That only they 
know and will not reveal.  They are not mere 
horses for your men to dominate.  I hope that 
none of them has been so foolish as to employ a whip or crop to their backs?”
         Schanalein shook his head. “Only one 
dared threaten them, and he swears he will not 
return to the stables until they have left.  He 
didn’t say just what they did to him.”
         “We cannot ride them to Marzac.  The 
Marquis has set a trap for us in western 
Pyralis,” Jessica announced. “We have to find another way to the swamp.”
         “Could you lend us a ship?” Kayla asked, 
her long tail twitching, eyes alight with 
schemes. “We could sail down the coast, and 
disembark once past the Marquis’s armies.”
         “You want a ship?” Schanalein stared 
incredulously at the skunk, and then at the rest 
of the Keepers, all of whose eyes returned to 
him.  Charles felt a residual fear of the water, 
but that passed when he remembered that he 
wouldn’t immediately sink if he fell in.  Though 
the current would be against them, sailing down 
the coast was still a clever idea. “And a crew too I suppose?”
         “None of us here are sailors,” Kayla 
replied, leaning forward, confidence writ in her 
eyes. “Nor do we know the waters off the coast, 
let alone the harbors!  Think of it, your 
grace.  We’d be past the Marquis’s troops, and 
they would still be looking for us!  If we are 
ever to gain an advantage against them, this is the way.”
         Schanalein nodded, pondering her 
suggestion. “And you could bring those horses 
with you.  I certainly have ships in harbor that 
would suffice.  I do not think they would take 
well to carrying such a motley assortment as yourselves.”
         “You can vouch for our manners,” 
Habakkuk reminded him, even as one of his ears 
flopped to the side.  The kangaroo scratched at 
his cheek. “I’m sure the sailors would be 
delighted to receive extra wages for their sacrifice.”
         “Now you mean to rob me as well as steal a ship!”
         “Father!” Kurt objected, face flush with 
indignation. “They saved your life!”
         “And they will be rewarded for it.  But 
I will not throw away one of my ships on a fruitless gesture!”
         Qan-af-årael waved one hand and met the 
Duke with his golden eyes. “The price of failure 
in our journey is not merely the loss of our 
lives, though it will surely entail that.  All of 
the world will suffer for our failure; the 
Underworld will grant you no reprieve, and will 
torture you for all time.  Your screams will give 
birth to beasts that will devour worlds we have 
never heard of, nor can we ever see.”
         Schanalein glared at the Åelf and 
slammed his goblet into the table. “Enough!  Very 
well, I will find you a ship and a crew.  But 
know this, your venture will fail most assuredly, 
and not because of Marzac.  That entire area is 
being blockaded by the Whalish Navy.  Any ship 
attempting to slip past will be destroyed by the 
Fire.  I grant you a vessel only because you have 
saved my life.  I count it as a sacrifice, and do not expect to see it return.”
         Kayla smiled a bit, exposing the tips of 
her fangs. “We will do what we can to protect 
it.  We can journey at night, with all lights 
dimmed, something the Whalish Navy cannot do.  I 
know I would lend my eyes to the sailors to aid them.”
         “Perhaps that would work, but I remain doubtful.”
         “Doubt then,” Charles said.  The rat 
stretched his tail and arms. “I have seen the 
Whalish Navy in action, and I have seen their 
boats.  I’m confidant we can slip past any 
blockade.  But will you have room enough for us 
and the Rheh?  I do not wish to leave them behind.”
         “Of course.” Schanalein let out a deep 
breath, gazing at his son.  Finally, he sighed 
and shook his head. “Forgive my obstinate 
heart.  You have saved my life, and restored my 
son.  You deserve my cooperation, not my 
pessimism.  But after so long under du 
Tournemire’s control, I have a hard time 
believing he can be defeated.” He tapped the 
table with one finger and then smiled. “I will 
see about a vessel for you.  With luck you will 
have it this afternoon, though it may not be 
ready to sail until tomorrow.  And there is a bit 
of news I am sure you will be glad to hear.”
         “What is that?” Kayla asked.
         Schanalein bore the smile of a gracious 
host ready to give his guests a splendid gift. 
“An announcement that I received from your 
homeland in the days prior to your arrival.  It 
seems that your liege, Duke Thomas Hassan, is set to be married.”

----------

May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias