[Mkguild] The Last Tale of Yajakali - Chapter LIII

[C. Matthias]

And another chapter for your reading pleasure!

Metamor Keep: The Last Tale of Yajakali
By Charles Matthias

Chapter LIII

Unsteady Seas

         At long last, the Magyars passed the 
northernmost reaches of the Vysehrad and turned 
their wagons south.  Before them stretched 
eastern extent of the mysterious Åelfwood, and 
with each passing mile, signs of human habitation 
dwindled until even the remnant of the road they 
had followed gave way to grass and 
scrub.  Hanaman charted the best course he could 
see through the growing wilderness, but at least 
once a day, a wheel would become stuck in mud, 
thistles, or a depression they hadn’t seen.
         In the two weeks since he’d spurned 
Bryone, Grastlako saw her only when she left the 
seer’s wagon to gather dinner for Dazheen.  He 
stayed away then, not wanting to see her.  His 
friends, Volay, Desko and Rabji all could tell he 
was upset about something, and did their best to 
cheer him up with tales of the Steppe and the 
many places they had seen, and of their 
misadventures, but these only filled him with a greater longing.
         Honour had compelled him to become a 
Magyar, to do what he knew was right.  And for a 
time, all seemed to be well.  He made friends 
quickly, and the other Magyars all treated him as 
one of their own.  But his eyes had ever strayed 
to the seer’s apprentice, the delicate and sweet 
Bryone, who never offered complaint or asked for 
anything for herself.  Like a caged nightingale, 
she waited for instruction, and every time he’d 
gone to see Dazheen, her faced had brightened as if with song.
         But Hanaman had made it abundantly clear 
that Grastalko was not to pursue her in 
anyway.  Only a mage could wed a seer without 
destroying her powers, and Grastalko was no 
mage.  With his crippled left arm, he couldn’t be 
much of a Magyar either.  Apart from startling 
people by making the shrivelled remains of his 
left hand catch flame, what tricks could he 
perform to delight the audience?  He had a role 
in the pageant, but other than that, what did he do?
         Well, once they found a town again, 
Hanaman assured him he would be thieving, but 
that prospect did not brighten his day.
         As the might trees loomed before them, 
Grastalko sat atop his wagon staring at them.  By 
tomorrow they would pass beneath those ancient 
boughs.  He looked forward to seeing this forest 
that the other Magyars all whispered about, if 
only because it would be a change of 
scenery.  Once they had left, he would spend the 
rest of his life on the Steppe as a Magyar, hated 
and despised by the townspeople, and not even 
admired for any of his talents.  He was a cripple 
now, and the one person he’d wanted to be with was closed to him.
         Grastalko beat his good fist against the 
wooden seat.  One of the Assingh turned its ears 
to listen as it plodded along through the mud and 
grass. “Nemgas, why didst thee do this to me?” It 
was his fault after all.  Nemgas had been the one 
to give him a choice with swords.  If he’d never 
touched the golden sword, his hand would never have been burned away.
         And then Nemgas just left them after 
doing this to him, taking Gamran and Pelgan and 
his other friends!  Grastalko hit the wooden seat 
again and again until his knuckles hurt.  How 
could he have done this to him?  Everything he 
thought mattered in his life had been turned on its head!
         The wagon door opened beneath him and 
the falsetto Adlemas poked his head out. “Dost 
thee be well, Grastalko?  We didst hear thy knocking.”
         He sighed and nodded. “All be well.  We 
shalt reach the Åelfwood tomorrow.”
         Adlemas stepped out the door and climbed 
to the top of the wagon next to him.  He stared 
at the trees not with longing but with dread. “A 
dangerous place.  Hanaman wouldst ne’er take us 
there if there wert another way.”
         “I heard that he didst ask Dazheen if 
there wert a way through Vysehrad, but she didst say no.”
         “‘Tis an ill-omened year.  Nemgas 
shouldst ne’er gone to the mountain.”
         Grastalko thought that an odd thing to 
say.  He seemed to recall Nemgas saying something 
about a mountain, but right then, he was too 
weary to try to remember. “What mountain?”
         Adlemas made a sign to ward off evil and 
whispered. “The ash mountain.  We didst warn him 
it couldst only bring ruin, yet he went anyway, 
and now we dost wander in foreign lands, and now 
we wilt enter a forest cursed for Magyars.”
         “Cursed?” This was interesting. “How be it cursed?”
         “This forest be the home of great 
spirits and strange people.  They art not like 
us, and wilt take terrible revenge upon those 
that come uninvited.  We shalt spend all evening 
storing wood, for we dare not take any whilst in the forest.”
         Grastalko drummed his fingers on the wagon top and asked, “Why not?”
         “Hast thou heard the tales of Shapurji, greatest of all Magyars?”
         He nodded. “I hath heard a few.  Didst he go into the Åelfwood?”
         “Do not speak its name!” Adlemas 
snapped, fear flickering through his eyes. “To 
speak a name be to summon the one named.  Thou 
dost not want the attention of this forest.  We 
must cross it quietly, secretly, and quickly.”
         Grastlako glanced at the forest, noting 
the boughs, many of whom had already lost their 
leaves, and the many pines that still stood tall, 
firm and green.  How could something so simple as 
a wood instill such fear?  What had happened to Shapurji?
         “So what didst Shapurji do?  Tell me the tale!”
         Adlemas grunted and shifted on the seat. 
“Thou shouldst listen well, young 
Grastalko.  There once wast a Magyar named 
Shapurji.  He wast a brave lad, and he hath a 
terrible pride in his bravery.  All the other 
Magyars admired him for there ne’er wast a thief 
as clever, or a fighter as skilled as wast 
Shapurji.  When one of the Assingh went lame, he 
took the ropes and pulled the wagon in its place, so strong wast he.”
         Grastalko found the lyricism of the 
words soothing.  His anger abated as he listened, 
imagining this great Magyar, and what he must have been like.
         Adlemas leaned back, his voice almost 
singing the words as they came. “One day, whilst 
travelling through the area of the Steppe, they 
ran out of wood for their fires.  Shapurji 
assured the elder that he would bring them 
warmth.  First he tried to rub his hands together 
fast enough to warm them, but he couldst not warm 
them all.  Then he tried to hunt down as many 
game nearby, to bring their skins back to warm 
the other Magyars, but he couldst not find enough game for them all.
         “Angered at his failure, Shapurji 
proclaimed that he would challenge the spirits 
themselves, and wouldst bring them enchanted wood 
which would burn always.  He wouldst bring down a 
mighty tree from the Åelfwood for the 
Magyars.  And so, Shapurji set out with four of 
his closest companions, Holbar, Roami, Khiakos, and Sorab.”
         Grastalko watched the Assingh as he 
listened.  The Steppeland donkeys continued to 
follow the wagons ahead as they passed beside a 
large hill surmounted by a stand of solitary 
trees.  The branches rattled in a wind he 
couldn’t feel, as if screaming for them to stop.
         Adlemas noticed them as well, but 
pressed on with the tale. “Holbar wast the 
strongest of them all, and Romai a runner as fast 
as the wind.  Khiakos wast the greatest of 
swimmers, this in the day when the Steppe had 
many lakes and many more rivers, while Sorab 
could steal a hawk’s eggs whilst she was upon the 
nest!  Surely no spirit could be a match for their cunning and skill.”
         He’d heard other stories featuring 
Shapurji and his companions, and they were often 
introduced with the same words.  Perhaps after 
this tale, he could convince Adlemas to tell 
another with a happier ending.  The look of fear 
in the falsetto’s eyes suggested that this one would not end well for Shapurji.
         “Shapurji lead them into the Åelfwood, 
intent on cutting down the biggest tree they 
shouldst find.  They left early in the morning, 
as they did fear what would become of them 
shouldst they still be within that wood at night. 
They searched and searched for many hours until 
they found a tree worthy of their people, a 
mighty pine as wide as all of them across.  With 
all of their skill, they brought down the tree, and began to carry it back.
         “But they became lost in the 
wood.  Nothing wast where it had been before, and 
so they went in circles for hours, before night 
fell, and they once more found themselves at the 
stump of the mighty oak they hath fell.  There 
they were set upon by an army of 
spirits.  Shapurji and his friends fought 
bravely, but for each spirit they struck, two 
would rise in its place.  And so at midnight’s 
hour, Shapurji and his friends were beaten and a 
powerful spirit punished them for what they had done.”
         Grastalko eyes the woods 
suspiciously.  Were those same spirits listening now?
         “Holbar, the strongest of them all, wast 
turned into a bear.  Roami, the fastest runner, 
wast made into a stag.  Khiakos, a swimmer the 
likes of which the Steppe will ne’er see again, 
wast made into an otter and banished to the 
rivers of the Åelfwood.  Sorab the clever thief 
wast turned into a raccoon.  But the worst would 
fall upon Shapurji, for it wast his pride that 
led them to enter that magical wood.
         “Shapurji wast placed upon the stump, 
and before his very eyes, his feet became roots, 
and his arms branches.  And then, he wast but a 
new oak, one that wouldst grow to replace the one 
he brought down.  The legend saith he wilt always 
stand, his face etched in sorrow upon the bark for his crime.”
         Grastalko whistled and rubbed his 
crippled arm.  The air had suddenly grown cold. 
“Hath thee ever seen this tree?”
         “Nay,” Adlemas replied with a visible 
shudder. “I hath ne’er ventured into the 
forbidden woods, and that ‘tis why!  For it hath 
strange magics and spirits that dost not wish to 
be disturbed by men.  Especially proud Magyars 
such as ourselves who might do them harm!”
         Grastalko didn’t think he was that proud 
of a Magyar, nor much of a Magyar at all despite 
his dress and speech.  Still, the story filled 
him with a curious dread.  Did Shapurji’s tree 
still stand in the woods, and would they ever see 
his face in the branches?  He glanced at the 
forest, but it was still too far for him to make 
out individual trees, nor could he tell if any were oaks.
         “How long wilt we be in the forest?”
         Adlemas shrugged, averting his eyes from 
what lay ahead. “I know not.  We hath ne’er 
attempted a crossing.  No Magyar in all our 
generations hath done such a thing.”
         Grastalko leaned back a bit, wrapping 
his arms over his chest. “Then shalt they tell stories of us one day?”
         “Aye,” the falsetto replied, his voice 
miserable. “And they shalt call us 
ill-favoured.  But aye, they wilt tell stories of us.”
         Grastalko stared at the forest, 
wondering if the trees dreamt.  But what would a 
tree even dream about?  He held tight to his 
curiosity, for it was the first thing that 
interested him in two weeks.  He hoped he would 
see Shapurji, and at the same time, he wondered what it was like to be a tree.

----------

         James swayed unsteadily on his hooves, 
arms outstretched and clutching the paddock doors 
on either side.  The donkey stepped back and 
forth, ears folded back, eyes dreary as the 
vessel rocked from side to side in the sea.  That 
he couldn’t see the sea only made it worse.  But 
after a week’s worth of sailing, he finally felt 
like he wasn’t going to throw up.
         “Why don’t you try sitting down again,” 
Jerome suggested for the fifth time in the last 
twenty minutes. “The hay bales help, trust me.  I 
spent my first trip over the sea like that, and I a Sondecki!”
         “How much longer before we land?”
         “The current is against us,” Charles 
replied, not looking up from where he brushed the 
comb through his Rheh’s tawny pelt.  The majestic 
horse snorted in agreement, long tail flicking 
from side to side with the hull’s motion. “As is 
the wind.  I heard Captain Tilly this morning 
speculate that we have no more than a week’s sail until we reach Tournemire.”
         James blanched, let go of one paddock, 
and clutched for dear life to the second. “Another week of this?  Ugh.”
         Jerome shook his head and gestured with 
one hand at the bales of hay stacked next to the 
paddocks.  The Rheh did not appreciate being 
stabled like common horses, but they consented 
for their sake.  Each of them spent a bit of time 
during the day tending to the steed that had 
chosen them, and that seemed to mollify them.
         “Just think of it this way,” Charles 
said, running the comb down his Rheh’s flank, 
“how many people in your family have ever done anything like this?”
         “Gotten seasick?” James asked. “Not 
bloody many.” He took a faltering step along the 
paddock.  The donkey’s Rheh, the one with the 
bell-shaped white spot on his golden brow, 
stepped forward and nudged James along his 
cheek.  Supple lips plied at one long ear, while 
James lifted his hand and brushed down the Rheh’s strong neck.
         Soft words seemed to echo in his ears, 
and the donkey listened to them, trying to pick 
out anything intelligible.  He closed his eyes, 
and as the voice rippled through him, the rocking 
of the ship seemed to fade, ebb into the 
background like a breeze stilled.  The hearty 
voice, strong yet delicate, calmed his anxious 
muscles, and his hand loosened its grip on the paddock wall.
         When James opened his eyes again, he 
felt the seesawing beneath him, but he also 
remembered the voice, and the words.  A large 
green eye met his, and he felt a strange kinship 
with the Rheh.  He lipped at the his steed’s 
cheek, and felt the soft tugging on his ear 
cease.  The head hugged him close over the 
shoulder, and James finally gave into a laughing bray.
         “Thank you,” he said, patting his equine 
friend on the neck. “I feel much better now.”
         “What was that?” Jerome asked.
         “Oh, my friend here helped me,” James 
said, petting the Rheh down his neck, thick 
fingers smoothing out the lush mane.
         “You don’t sound seasick anymore,” 
Charles said as he started currying the other flank.
         “No.  I can feel the boat rocking, but it doesn’t bother me anymore.”
         “Good,” Jerome said with a sarcastic 
grin. “Then we won’t have to hear your belly-aching.”
         “Or smell it,” Charles added with a laugh.
         James shook his head, chuckling under 
his breath as he petted his Rheh.  The noble 
beast nuzzled him and whinnied. “Let me get the 
curry,” the donkey assured him.  Jerome, who had 
finished currying his Rheh and had started 
cleaning his hooves, tossed him a brush.  James 
thanked him, opened the paddock door, and began 
to brush the curry through golden fur.
         “You know, you were right, 
Charles.  Nobody in my family has ever done anything like this.”
         “Sailing?” the rat asked.
         “More than that.  None of them ever left 
the Valley.  I’m the first in at least three or 
four generations to have gone beyond Metamor Valley.”
         “I’m sure they’re very proud of you,” Jerome said.
         “Maybe,” James added, a frown creasing 
his snout. “My father never had a kind word for 
me.  My mother tried her best, but there was only 
so much she could do.  My older brother was 
killed at the Battle of Three Gates, and my other siblings died as children.”
         “I’m sorry to hear that,” Charles said 
softly.  The rat slowed his brushing.  All the 
Rheh turned their ears to listen. “What of your 
parents?  Are they still alive?”
         “My father died a year after Three Gates 
— he fell off the roof and landed wrong.  Died in 
my mother’s arms.  I’d run for the Lightbringer, 
but I didn’t even make it to the Temple before he 
was gone.  My mother passed away a few years 
later in her sleep.  What I didn’t know was that 
she’d incurred several debts.  I’d spent the last 
three years trying to pay them all off, working 
whatever job I could.  Until Nasoj attacked last 
winter, I’d been working in a shop selling meats 
and vegetables.  It paid enough, and they let me 
sleep on a pallet in the back.  I’d managed to 
pay off the debts, and was beginning to save some 
money up when everything was destroyed...”
         Charles patted his Rheh on the neck and 
leaned against the paddock wall, chewing at its 
top a moment to sate his incisors.  When he’d 
finished, he said, “I’ve known you for nearly a 
year now, James.  I’ve watched you grow as a 
swordsman and you’ve become a good friend.  I 
never knew that about your family.  I’m sorry.”
         Jerome grunted and set a hoof down. “We 
never really knew our families.  The Sondeckis 
were our family.  Brothers, sisters, mothers, and 
fathers.  Well, mostly brothers and fathers as 
there aren’t many women in the Sondecki order.”
         “It’s just, I’ve always been a nobody my 
entire life,” James replied as he worked the 
curry through his Rheh’s hide. “It’s hard not to 
think of myself that way still.”
         “You shouldn’t,” Charles chided him. 
“You’ve killed a Shrieker.  You have journeyed 
through the Great Barrier Range.  You have seen 
the Binoq city of Qorfuu.  You’ve walked the 
Dwema-tåi road.  You’ve been in 
Ava-shavåis.  You’ve ridden a Rheh across the 
Flatlands.  And you have helped save the life of 
Duke Schanalein of Breckaris.  Apart from us, you 
will never be able to name another person who has 
done all of that, and I bet nobody else after us will do it either.”
         James smiled and stared into the green 
eyes of his steed.  The Rheh stared back, and 
that warm voice assured him it was 
true.  Finally, he nodded and continued brushing 
the magnificent horse. “Yes, I guess you’re both 
right.  It just... ah, thank you both.”
         Charles, who had started gnawing on the 
paddock wall again, laughed and spat out bits of 
wood. “Hey, we have a long way yet to go.  Who 
knows what else we’re going to face.”
         “True,” Jerome added. “We may yet all 
die.” The Rheh smacked the Sondecki in the back 
of the head with his snout.  Both the rat and donkey laughed.

         One person was sitting in the hay 
bales.  With his papers strewn around his large 
feet and tail, Habakkuk listened to his friends 
speak in the long pauses between the far briefer 
intervals when he would write on one of the 
sheets.  There was so much he still had to do, so 
many thoughts to sort out, he barely knew where to begin.
         He had nine manuscripts, most of them 
sporting only a handful of words.  Only one of 
them was even half full.  The kangaroo set that 
one aside and took one of the emptier ones, 
tickling his nose with the feather quill.  He 
snuffled, breathing in the long lost scent.  The 
quill had once belonged to a pheasant, but the 
Keeper gentleman gladly sold many sturdy 
feather’s to the Writer’s Guild each year.
         He closed his eyes, ears lifted and 
turned to warn him of anyone’s approach.  The 
Rheh shifted about with the rocking of the ship, 
the two Sondeckis and the donkey laughed and 
chatted of the wonders they had seen.  On the 
other side of the hull he could faintly hear the Binoq’s insistent chanting.
         But behind his eyelids he saw a vast 
emptiness stretching into the distance.  Lines of 
thought and action emerged from that darkness, 
streaks of red, yellow and green, intermingled 
with blue shapes that moved along those 
lines.  The jagged lines turned and twisted, 
sometimes branching in a bounteous profusion like 
wildflowers in a virgin field.  As they branched, 
the lights grew dimmer, indistinct, until Habakkuk couldn’t follow them at all.
         He swivelled his vision, and the lines 
became firm, bending in the distance as if 
wrapped about a great sphere of unutterable 
size.  Behind him, the lines and figures became 
firm, fixed like nails in a signpost.  There were 
no branches behind him, only intersections 
between the lines, and places where lines simply 
ceased.  Immutable and ever growing, the past 
held no secrets but those that passed beyond the 
horizon of his talent.  Or those, like the line 
of the Marquis and of all those touched by 
Marzac, that had been hidden from him.
         Habakkuk turned back around, staring at 
the future, reading it with a clarity that 
frightened even him.  All Felikaush of sufficient 
talent were trained to read the skein of 
history.  Usually little could be discerned from 
that tangled web, but Habakkuk had always been 
more gifted than most.  Not only did many visions 
come to him unwelcomed and unbidden, but he could 
produce visions if he so desired.
         But until now, those visions had always 
been fleeting, and he’d rarely understood 
them.  Only a year ago, the lines of the future 
had been a mass of phantasms, a swirling 
emptiness in which only some light shone.  Now, 
everything in the world grew clearer, more 
certain.  The future was never certain, unless 
events were unavoidable.  Only the most powerful 
and terrifying thing could direct the course of time.
         Staring into the future, a future that 
drew every single thread of life into a solitary 
vortex lurking at the edge of the horizon, scared 
Habakkuk so that he might never sleep again.
         Each of his friends passed into that 
future, and he could see their lines striving 
towards that nullity.  Beyond the nullity there 
was nothing.  No lines, no faint blue images, 
simply nothing.  Habakkuk pushed at the threads, 
knowing there was a way around this hideous 
future.  He’d seen it before, seen flashes where 
the threads of existence stretched and branched 
anew.  But not every time could he find his 
friends beyond.  One he knew would die, there 
seemed no way to avoid it.  But was there a path 
in time that could save the others?
         He pushed forward again, but that 
emptiness, that vortex of nothing, reached for 
him.  He screamed and tried to open his eyes.  A 
hideous laughter, one gone mad, seemed to echo 
endlessly back and forth.  Habakkuk thrashed from 
side to side, clawing at his eyes to open his 
lids.  Yanking backward, he screamed again, 
whipping back and forth with his tail.  The 
laughter ground him underneath like a mill grinding stones to dust.
         And then he fell off the hay bale and 
landed on his side.  Habakkuk groaned, rubbing at 
the soreness beneath.  The lines, images, and 
even the nullity were gone.  He stood up, waving 
a curious Jerome away, and straightened out his 
tunic.  He searched amongst his papers, found the 
right one, and with exquisite precision, wrote one more line.

         “I am thinking we have finished one,” 
Abafouq declared as he lowered the pendant into a 
small leather pouch. “Did you see any errors in the spell?”
         The Nauh-kaee crouched next to the 
Binoq, his black talons deftly drawing diagrams 
with coloured sands.  His beak opened, and in a 
soft voice he said, “The spell appears exactly as 
Jessica described it.  You are right, it is done.”
         “Now,” Abafouq said, running his fingers 
over every bit of decoration they’d been able to 
scrounge from their things and from Captain 
Tilly, “we need to make ten more.” Their stash 
included a several pendants of various designs, a 
few yew trees, and even a lady’s locket that 
Tilly had hinted once belonged to a woman of some 
importance.  If he’d hoped to pique Abafouq’s 
interest, he’d been mistaken, but both Kayla and Jessica had asked.
         He selected a pendant with a stylized 
fish — one of Tilly’s — and set it in the middle 
of the symphony of sands.  He rubbed his hands 
together, pondering all of the intricacies of the 
spell.  Jessica had told them all that she’d 
known, but she spent her days up in the crow’s 
nest keeping watch for the Whalish blockade.
         “The fish is a different shape, so I am 
thinking we need to modify the lines.  The hawk 
said everything should flow and all contours must be close together.”
         Guernef slid a talon through a line of 
yellow sand, spreading it closer to the pendant’s 
middle, but further at its ends.  Abafouq 
followed behind him, sweeping up the grains he’d missed.
         “I hope it be not taking as long to 
ensorcel the next ten as it did the first.”
         “It won’t,” Guernef replied.  Abafouq 
didn’t hear any confidence in his voice, but that 
was normal.  He never heard doubt there 
either.  Sometimes he wondered if the Nauh-kaee were capable of indecision.
         “Then let us begin.” While Guernef 
continued to rearrange the lines and curves of 
the symphony, the Binoq began a slow chant under 
his breath.  The fish pendant glowed a pale yellow.

         Captain Tilly’s quarters featured a 
dining table with enough room for six, a row of 
windows overlooking the sea behind them, a yew 
tree hung upon one wall, and pinons with the 
Breckaris colours and those of the Pyralian 
kingdoms.  For all that, his bed was cramped in 
one corner, and his personal larder of food and 
wine appeared to be used sparingly.
         None of these concerned Kayla the skunk 
and the ancient Åelf Qan-af-årael.  Sitting on 
opposite sides of the table with a game board 
between them, they studied the pieces and each 
other.  Kayla leaned forward, long, stripped tail 
curling behind her and over the top of the 
flat-backed chair.  The Åelf reclined with 
immeasurable dignity, his hand clasped loosely 
before him, the pearl-skin unsullied by the salt 
stains that slicked every bit of wood on board.
         “This is an interesting game,” she 
admitted, her brow furrowing in concentration. 
“There are ut so many rules, I’m having trouble 
deciding if the move I want to make is even legal 
or not.  I’ve never played a game where the rules 
depend on the phase of the moon.”
         Qan-af-årael smiled gently, an 
understanding smile of a grandfather to 
grandchild. “Do not the rules of the hunter and 
the hunted change during the nights when the moon 
is dark, and those when it is bright?  Do not 
your people know when to plant their crops by 
following the guide of the moon’s silvery 
gleam?  If our lives are shaped by the moon and 
its course, why should we exclude our games from its touch?”
         Kayla churred and touched one of the 
pieces with the tip of her claw.  She bent it 
forward slightly, and then let it settle back on 
the board. “Because it’s easier that way.”  She 
lifted her claw, and took the piece next to it, 
sliding it backwards a pace. “And not everything 
in our lives is ruled by the moon.”
         “Each part of our lives is touched by 
every other part.  Some of your people have a 
saying, ‘Do not let the left hand know what the 
right is doing.’  Is this not so?”
         The skunk nodded, sitting back some 
wondering whether she’d made a good move or not. 
“It’s from the Canticles of Eli.  It’s the Follower holy book.”
         “An allegorical statement, according to 
the interpretations I have heard.  And it must 
be, because the face is absurd.  Both the left 
hand and right are connected through the 
shoulders.  Their intent is connected through the 
mind.  To prevent the left hand from knowing what 
the right does would require one to be of two 
minds, distinct to the point that they know not 
what the other wills.  A person of two wills is 
not really a single person, is he?”
         “I suppose not,” Kayla replied.
         The Åelf took one of the smaller pieces 
— she thought of them as pawns — and slid it 
forward a single space. “In the same way, the 
moon not only directs a portion of our lives, she guides us at all times.”
         “You speak of the moon as if she were a 
goddess.  Not even the Lothanasi believe that.”
         Qan-af-årael shook his head with a faint 
smile. “No, I do not believe that either.  I do 
not need to believe something is divine to guide 
me.  Only that it was put in place by the divine 
for that purpose.  And hence, our games, which 
are meant to draw our minds closer to the true 
purpose of the world, change based on the phase 
of the moon.  A single game can last years, with 
strategies developed one day to be used two weeks 
hence when the moon’s phase has completely changed.”
         Kayla took one of the taller pieces and 
jumped it three spaces to the side. “I hope you 
weren’t planning to take so long with this game!”
         “No, this will merely be a diversion of 
hours.  As I said, these games are far more 
difficult than anything you would consider.”
         The skunk nodded, scratching one ear as 
she pondered the board.  The Åelf moved another 
one of his pawn-like pieces at a diagonal, this 
time backward. “I feel like a toddler playing 
chess.  It’ll take me years to learn the strategies of this game.”
         “Years?  It takes centuries amongst my kind.”
         “Well, how about this then,” she 
suggested. “After you demolish me in this game, 
perhaps I can teach you one of my own.”
         Qan-af-årael smiled, “I would be honoured to learn.”

         While they used his quarters, Captain 
Tilly stood on deck, warily watching two of the 
three passengers who insisted on being on 
deck.  The hawk was safely ensconced in the 
crow’s nest, but the young Åelf stood at the bow, 
hands planted upon the wooden railings on either 
side, and stared across the sea.  Sailors rushed 
behind him, keeping the sail aright as they 
forged into the wind, but he didn’t notice them.
         Beside the Captain was the northerner 
Lindsey.  Lindsey scratched his long red beard, 
and idly fingering his braids as he spoke with 
Tilly. “Those clouds to the south do not look friendly.”
         “By the time we reach them, they will 
have blown east,” Tilly replied with an air of 
confidence that Lindsey thought wholly 
inappropriate.  Their venture had never gone 
smoothly, so why should it start now? “We have no reason to fear them.”
         “But we’re headed straight for 
them.  Besides, I thought you said the wind was blowing north.”
         Tilly gestured at the sails snapping in 
the wind. “Northeast,” he replied, returning his 
hand to the tiller.  The sea was calm, but the 
current buffeted them constantly, slowing their 
progress.  To the west, a green line on the 
horizon spoke of western Pyralis, the very lands that Tournemire now dominated.
         “Northeast,” Lindsey said. “That won’t 
matter if we are caught out here in a storm and 
with the Whalish patrols.  The rain only makes their fire burn worse.”
         Tilly eyed him suspiciously. “Have you 
any experience with the Whalish fire?”
         “Well, for a number of years, the Prince 
of Whales served Metamor as part of our 
alliance.  He even made use of his fire during 
the Battle of Three Gates.  I have seen its 
effects, though I have never used it myself.”
         Tilly frowned and gestured to the Åelf. 
“I am trusting your friend when it comes to the 
weather, and your other friend when it comes to 
Whales.” Here he pointed at the crow’s nest. “If 
you do not believe me, will you believe them?”
         Lindsey grunted and nodded. “Forgive me, 
Captain.  But those clouds make me nervous.”
         Tilly gripped the wheel tight and pulled 
it ever so slightly to the right. “They make me 
nervous too.  But your friend Andares has not led 
me wrong yet.  I wish I could keep bring him for 
all my journeys!  Your friends down below 
frighten the men, but he gives them energy.  I do not understand it myself.”
         “Neither do we,” Lindsey admitted. 
“Sometimes I think they are the most fantastic 
thing about this whole adventure.  After seven 
years living with animal-men, you take them for 
granted.  At least inside they are still men like 
you and I.  The Åelf... they are altogether 
different.  They may look like men, but they are not.”
         Tilly grunted and kept his hands on the wheel.

         The crow’s nest was aptly named in 
Jessica’s opinion.  The interior where a man 
should stand was so cramped that it was better 
suited to a family of crows.  The man who did sit 
there had grease stains all over his clothes, a 
beard that appeared to have been trimmed by lice, 
and a tongue that enjoyed the vulgar.  He spent 
the entire time regaling the hawk with stories of his sexual exploits.
         That is until Jessica threatened to peck 
his eyes out.  He’d grown quiet after that.
         So while the man muttered to himself and 
half-dozed, the black-feathered hawk turned her 
golden eyes this way and that, scanning the 
horizon for any sign of other ships.  Somewhere 
out there the Whalish navy patrolled the 
seas.  Their intent was to keep any ships from 
nearing Marzac.  Normally she would have happily 
supported their efforts, but their need was 
greater.  They needed to pass through, and only 
her eyes were good enough to see the Whalish navy 
before they saw Captain Tilly’s vessel.
         Jessica let the hawk part of her brain 
focus on the horizon, while the rest of her 
pondered the many preparations still to be done 
before they dared enter Marzac.  She knew the 
swamp extended for at least a hundred leagues, a 
distance they would have difficulty covering if 
not for the Rheh.  Nor was the distance their 
only concern.  There were innumerable dangers in 
any swamp, at least, the books she had read had 
assured her of this.  The Marzac swamp was 
replete with every danger imaginable.
         And those were only the dangers to their 
physical bodies.  The corruption that festered in 
that swamp was the real danger.  The nearer they 
came to the Chateau Marzac, to the castle built 
atop the ruins of Jagoduun, the worse it would 
get.  It would try to claim their very souls, 
turning them into servants of an evil that 
yearned only for the destruction of this 
world.  She had felt that evil when she’d been 
lost in the Imbervand, nearly made its slave, but 
for the rescuing hand of Pelain of Cheskych.
         It still seemed so strange to have been 
rescued by a man dead for centuries.
         Jessica stretched her wings, remembering 
the talisman that Pelain had given her and only 
to her.  She kept it with her things for 
now.  She didn’t know why she alone had been so 
gifted, but there had been an admonition in his 
voice when he’d given it to her that she could 
not ignore.  Somehow, it would offer her 
protection in a way that the charms Abafouq and 
Guernef were busy making would not.  And those 
charms were made with a spell that Pelain had 
given her, a spell whose intricacies challenged 
even the most difficult of enchantments her 
master Wessex had attempted.  She was glad that 
the Binoq and the Nauh-kaee had volunteered for the task of learning it.
         The thought of her dead master filled 
her briefly with a sense of rage, but it faded 
almost immediately.  Agathe, the one who’d 
brutally slain Wessex was now dead herself, 
killed by her master’s final spells.  Jessica’s 
wings fluttered at the memory.  Though it had not 
even been a week ago, that event seemed to belong to another life entirely.
         Jessica snapped her wings back against 
her back, the human portion of her mind suddenly 
joined with the hawk.  There, on the distance, 
something that was neither waves nor land bobbed 
up and down on the horizon.  She focussed, 
staring closely for several long seconds as it 
grew closer.  Though it was miles away, she could 
see the mast, the sail, and the hull.  A ship, 
and out here, that could only mean one thing.
         She screeched loudly, flapping her wings 
in agitation.  Within seconds she had the 
attention of every man on the ship.  Even the 
loathsome sailor in the crow’s nest stirred from 
his slumber, took a seeing glass, and gazed at 
the horizon where Jessica pointed.  He gasped and 
shouted over the side, “Ship!  Due south!  It’s 
Whales!  It’s the Blockade!  Bearing due north for us, Captain!”

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

Charles Matthias