[Mkguild] The Last Tale of Yajakali - Chapter LVI

[C. Matthias]

Okay here's 56, and I hope to have the next one done in a couple days.

Metamor Keep: The Last Tale of Yajakali
By Charles Matthias

Chapter LVI

Silence and Death

         Beyond the Inn and nestled in a alcove 
with trees and rocks on every side was the 
graveyard for Glen Avery.  As the Lothanasi did 
not believe in burying the dead there were few 
graves, and what few reposed there were no more 
than fifteen years old.  The spot was chosen for 
its seclusion and inaccessibility except from the 
front.  On the other side of the trees and rocks 
stood sheer cliff faces that dropped at least 
thirty feet to the base of Mount Kalegris.
         Its remoteness and small size also 
prevented the Glenners from gathering there to 
pray little Ladero Matthias into the 
hereafter.  Instead they congregated in the 
commons where Father Hough gave a restrained 
service to a people who did not share his 
faith.  The youthful priest had only once been to 
Glen Avery when he’d come to baptise the 
children, and that visit had been all too 
brief.  If not for the seriousness of his task, 
he would have spent his few days there this time 
climbing the trees and cavorting with the other children.
         Lothanasa Raven had brought him message 
of the boy’s death.  She had offered to see to 
the boy’s remains, but Lady Kimberly had insisted 
upon an Ecclesia burial for her son.  And so 
after tending Garigan’s wounds, the wolf 
priestess had returned to Metamor and informed Hough of his unpleasant duty.
         Like any parish priest, Father Hough had 
performed many funerals.  But this one would be 
different.  After he’d first been made into a 
child by the Curse, Hough had been scared of even 
the presence of another man.  The now dead Lord 
Loriod had raped him and every time he’d seen 
another man, the image of that loathsome animal 
had returned to haunt him.  It had been Lady 
Kimberly who had seen to him and helped him 
overcome his fear.  Charles had come to help once 
or twice, but only when Hough was ready to face him.
         Now the woman who’d saved him from 
madness had lost a child.  What words of comfort could he give her?
         He hadn’t been alone in coming to Glen 
Avery.  All six rats living at Metamor had come, 
as had several members of the Writer’s 
Guild.  And of course, Misha Brightleaf and as 
many Longs as could be spared were 
there.  Kimberly had seen each of them in turn 
and let them offer what comfort they had.  The 
people of the Glen had already done so, and most 
still wore some token of black.
         Angus the badger dug the grave, while 
the headstone was inscribed by the rats.  One in 
particular, a rat named Hector whose paws had no 
thumbs, was very good at getting the others to 
draw out shapes from the stone.  The headstone 
was in the shape of a simple yew with a rat 
perched upon the central branch.  Sir Saulius 
chiselled Ladero’s name into the trunk.
         This was all done the day they 
arrived.  But on the next, Father Hough began his painful duty.
         The Glenners and the Keepers gathered on 
the Commons, each of them kneeling at Hough’s 
direction.  Behind him loomed the stone wall 
outside the brewery.  Two Glenners had brought a 
stone table and placed it against the wall, where 
Hough and his acolytes had placed candles, a yew, 
the Tabernacle, and the Canticles.  He’d blessed 
the makeshift altar with holy water, but it still felt inadequate for the task.
         In a small wooden casket lay the body of 
the poor boy.  Kneeling before it was a rat 
veiled in black.  Next to her was an opossum also 
in black, with four little rats who sat with 
confused expressions on their faces.  Though they 
aged faster than normal children, they still 
didn’t understand death.  They still didn’t know 
they would never see their brother again this side of Heaven.
         Hough turned towards the altar and 
knelt, staring up at the yew with the body of 
Yahshua contorted in agony.  His voice rang 
hollow through the Glen, words perhaps never 
uttered within that temple of trees. “Requiem 
aeternam dona eis Domine: et lux perpetua luceat eis.”
         That was all he needed to say.  Behind 
him he heard Lady Kimberly burst into racking 
sobs.  Hough swallowed and continued the 
prayer.  As the words left his tongue, his heart 
aching on every syllable, he heard more and more begin to cry.
         After completing the opening prayers, he 
rose and turned around, staring first at the 
coffin, and then at the throng assembled before 
him.  Somehow, despite his fear, the words came 
to him. “It is written that when Yahshua arrived 
at the house of Lazar, He wept.  Though Yahshua 
raised Lazar from the dead, He too understood and 
felt the sorrow of Lazar’s sisters and all his 
family.  So too does He understand the loss we 
feel today.  So too does He weep with us for our sorrow.”
         Hough licked his lips.  Kimberly still 
sobbed, her eyes fixed upon the coffin.  Her 
children clustered around her, scared by her 
sorrow.  The other rats sat nearby, Sir Saulius 
offering his hand to her back.  Misha was next to 
him, looking like he wanted to sweep her into his 
arms and hold her tight.  He’d done so already 
the night before and several times that morning.
         “So many of us know the pain of losing a 
child.  It is never easy, no matter how common it 
may seem.  Ladero Matthias did not deserve to 
die, nor did his family deserve to lose him.  You 
watched him grow, and then watched him slip 
away.  But he is not gone forever.  There are but 
two things we all have in common.  We are born, 
and we shall die.  We cannot escape this 
fate.  But death is merely the passage into the 
life to come.  We of the Ecclesia believe that 
after our death comes judgement for those who 
have rejected Eli, and mercy for those who have 
embraced His Son.  I am not here to tell you this 
day what to believe.  Only that this child is now 
in the loving arms of his creator, his Eli.  His 
last days were ones of suffering, but he will never suffer in Paradise.”
         Kimberly was looking at him now, her 
deep brown eyes brimming with more tears.  Hough 
met her gaze and felt himself go cold. “We can 
offer only this consolation.  He will love you 
and pray for you all his days in Paradise, until 
the hour in which you join him there.  He loves 
you now more than he ever could have in this life.”
         And with those words, Kimberly burst 
into fresh sobs and flung herself on the 
coffin.  She beat at it with her fists, even as 
Baerle, Misha, and Saulius tried to pull her 
back.  She shrugged them off one by one and poured her tears into the wood.
         Hough turned back to the altar, made the 
sign of the yew, and took the chalice of holy 
water.  He sprinkled it on the coffin, and on 
Kimberly who did not move.  With a weary heart he said, “And now we pray.”
         As Father Hough recited the remaining 
prayers, he could not help but wonder where her 
husband Charles had gone.  How would he take the 
news of his son’s death when he returned?  The 
child priest swallowed and continued the prayers 
to commend the boy’s soul to Eli.

----------

         The wreckage had long been cleared from 
the wharves and while the easternmost docks were 
still destroyed, Whales was no longer the cripple 
Marzac had tried to make them.  Ten ships berthed 
in the docks, most of them being refitted and 
supplied before they returned to the seas to 
patrol the Straits of Good Fortune.  Even more 
were out to sea or docked at other ports around the island.
         For the first time since that horrible 
night, Prince Phil of Whales felt some hope.
         The lapine toured the docks with 
Commodore Pythoreaus.  The elder seamen had been 
a constant advisor during the last few months, 
and though he stood twice Phil’s height, he never 
ceased being deferential towards his 
liege.  Under normal circumstances, Phil would 
have grated at it, but in a crisis such as this, 
it was exactly how he wanted his men to 
behave.  He wanted them to offer their advice and 
question his thoughts, but also to obey the 
orders he gave without question or hesitation.  Commodore Pythoreaus did both.
         “It is hard to believe that two months 
ago the wharves were nearly destroyed.  Two 
months ago the road from the castle was lined 
with men dying from the fire.  Two months ago we 
were in hell, and now look at us.” Phil gestured 
with his paws, ears erect and posture full of 
righteous pride. “The docks thrive once 
more!  Our Navy stands ready once more!”
         Pythoreaus nodded, then gestured to the 
battlements.  The barracks roof had been cleared, 
but the gaping hole let in all the rain.  The 
wall itself still bore the scars of the attack, 
as not one stone had been relaid. “There is much 
more to do, but you are right.  We have recovered 
enough that they will not be able to do that again.”
         Phil grimaced but nodded. “The rest of 
the repairs can wait until we have taken the 
battle to them, Commodore.  No army has ever 
breached the walls of Whales.  Even a sneak 
attack with our fire and they couldn’t do it!”
         “Are you sure we are prepared for a counteroffensive?”
         Phil ignored the question. Instead, he 
hopped over to a scarred man in a Captain’s 
uniform.  He stood on the quay and shouted orders 
to the men climbing the rigging of a ship that 
bore fire damage along the aft castle.  He turned 
when he saw the large rabbit hopping toward him. 
“Your highness,” he said, bowing at the waist. 
“What brings you here to the wharves?”
         “Inspection, Captain,” Phil replied.  He 
felt Pythoreaus walk in behind him.  The Captain 
had a scar crossing over one eye and along his 
arms.  Phil noted the man’s arms and asked, “Were you burned in the fire?”
         “Years past.  A bucket of sand saved my life.”
         Phil recalled the terrible moment during 
the Battle of Three Gates when his fire cannon 
had backfired on him.  The fire had covered his 
whole body, and for a few mind-searing seconds, 
he thoughts he would die from his country’s 
secret weapon.  He’d thought then that the gods 
he didn’t worship had chosen for him an ironic 
death, but the curses were laid in that moment, 
as well as the counter-curse, and changing into a rabbit saved his life.
         This man had been exceedingly lucky to 
have the fire only touch his arms. “You are most 
fortunate then.  Tell me, Captain...”
         “Ioannes, your highness.”
         “Captain Ioannes, was your ship damaged in the attack?”
         “Aye, but we have finished the 
repairs.  The hull could be painted, but we wear 
the scars as a sign of honour.”
         Phil rocked his ears and stood a bit 
taller. “Very good!  Very good!  Tell me, Captain 
Ioannes, when will your crew be ready to sail?”
         Ioannes grinned, eyes full of pride for 
his ship and his sailors. “This very hour if you 
wish it.  Give the order and we will set sail for Marzac itself.”
         “Nae, that is one order I will not 
give,” Phil replied. “But I may call upon you to 
fire on other ships of Whales, those same ships 
corrupted by Marzac.  Can you and your crew do 
that?  They are your brothers and your fellow countrymen.”
         “And I will pray for their souls as I launch the fire myself.”
         “Good man,” Pythoreaus said. “You are a credit to the Whalish Navy.”
         “The Commodore speaks true,” Phil added. 
“Continue readying your ship.  The day we strike back is close at hand.”
         Ioannes grinned, the scar on his face 
twisting his expression into a most gruesome 
mask.  Oh yes, he would launch the fire.  Phil was sure of that.

         An hour later, Phil and Pythoreaus 
returned to the castle.  The streets of the city 
were clear again.  Those who were still 
recovering had been put under the care of 
Lothanas Lycias.  The elder priest had cleared an 
area of the temple for them to be tended by the 
acolytes.  Only a few days past he assured Phil 
that all who still lived were beyond the danger 
of imminent death, though many would never sail 
again.  All those who would die from the attack 
had already done so and their bodies given to the sea.
         Phil invited Pythoreaus to accompany him 
to his study where he’d arrayed a large map of 
the Whales and the straits.  He had placed model 
ships all around the island, as well s a ring 
framing Marzac on either side.  The few reports 
they’d received from the blockade indicated that 
it was working and that no other ships had 
succumbed to Marzac’s corruption.  Still, far too 
many were now under that evil influence.  Several 
times the rogue fleet was seen near the straits, 
but never had they attempted to attack again.
         “Commodore Pythoreaus, I have been 
plotting a strategy this last month as more and 
more of our ships arrive.  I believe in the next 
two weeks enough ships will arrive that we can begin a counteroffensive.”
         Pythoreaus frowned and tapped the Marzac 
peninsula. “How can we attack when any ship we 
send turns against us as soon as they near the Chateau?”
         “We don’t attack Marzac itself,” Phil 
replied. “You’re right.  Any such attack is 
foolish.  I should have known better than to send 
in the few ships I did.  I fear I have condemned 
every one of them to death.” He hopped into his 
seat and sat his paws on the map. “Marzac is 
beyond our reach, but the ships they stole from us are not.”
         Pythoreaus rubbed his chin. “What do you have in mind?”
         “We lure them away.  Send in a small 
fleet close enough that it gets their attention, 
but not close enough to fall prey to the 
corruption.  The mage’s guild has been working on 
this problem since the attack, and they assure me 
they have a few spells that should help warn us of any danger.”
         “This is risky.  I have not heard of any 
tests being performed on their spells.”
         “No, they haven’t.  I want to send one 
ship out using this magic.  They will return as soon as they detect anything.”
         Pythoreaus drummed his fingers on the 
map. “They could still be corrupted and trying to trick us.”
         “Lothanas Lycias believes he can reveal the truth of that.”
         “And you believe him?”
         Phil lowered his ears. “I don’t know.  I 
hope.  It is all I have left.  If I’m wrong, 
another crew will be lost.  It is why I will only send one.”
         “What if that one is destroyed by the rogues?”
         “Then we will still know the extent of 
the corruption.  Further, we will know they will 
come for us if we send a small force between the 
straits.  We then lure them westward until our 
fleet from either strait can box them in and 
destroy them.  With nowhere to run, Marzac will lose its purloined navy.”
         Pythoreaus began to nod.  He said 
something more, but Phil’s ears turned to listen 
to the commotion outside his door.  Guards 
shouted in surprise, and he could hear Prime 
Minister Niacles crying in delight.  Phil turned 
just as the doors to his study swung open, and a 
man striding forward who a month ago he hadn’t 
believed he would ever again see on his feet.
         “Father!” Phil cried, as King Tenomides, 
dressed in his bed clothes with a robe over his 
shoulders for modesty and status, stalked into 
the room. “What are you doing up?”
         Behind him Niacles gushed with a look of 
purest delight.  The guards knelt, faces 
shaken.  Tenomides looked from Pythoreaus to 
Phil, and then smiled. “I am out of bed because I 
no longer need lie there.  The fever that claimed 
me for these last eleven months has finally broken.  I feel alive again.”
         It took all of Phil’s self-composure to 
keep himself from jumping off his chair and 
hugging his adoptive father’s leg in joy. 
“Father, I can scarcely believe it!  This is 
wonderful!  All of Whales will celebrate your return to health.”
         “They will,” Tenomides replied with a 
sure strength. “But I would rather them celebrate 
our victory over Marzac.  Niacles tells me that 
you and Commodore Pythoreaus have been planning 
something.  Tell me what it is you wish to do.”
         “Of course,” Phil motioned him closer 
and pointed excitedly at the map.  Now more than 
ever, he knew that this would work.  Phil would 
make sure that Marzac had corrupted its last soul!

----------

         On the first day after escaping the 
Whalish blockade, everyone kept a close eye on 
the sea and on the land.  Not a single one of 
them relaxed, apart from Qan-af-årael who seemed 
entirely too blasé for his companions 
taste.  Andares kept watch from the bow, while 
Jessica remained in the crow’s nest.  The hawk 
spared not a moment to preen her feathers as she 
watched the horizon for the return of either ship of Whales.
         But as the day wore on into the 
afternoon, Captain Tilly relaxed and his 
confidence spread to the sailors, and by 
nightfall to the Keepers and their 
friends.  Where the day had dawned with the ship 
silent but for the creaking of the wood and the 
ropes, by dusk it brimmed with laughter and 
bravado.  Rarely could sailors of any 
principality or nation make the boast that they 
had bested the Whalish Navy.  If they ever 
returned home to Breckaris, these sailors would 
tell this tale for the rest of their days in 
every tavern they could find and to any crowd that would listen.
         Charles and Jerome spent much of that 
day in the hold meditating and seeking out their 
calm.  After knowingly using their gift to bring 
harm to those who had not acted unjustly, neither 
of them felt the connection that kept their power 
in check.  They paused only to take a brief 
dinner, but were otherwise lost in their internal 
world soothing the wounds they’d inflicted upon themselves.
         Kayla resumed her game with the ancient 
Åelf who mystified her when he explained that the 
phase of the moon had changed and that the rules 
had followed suit.  Lindsey watched the poor 
skunk for a while, but eventually returned to the 
deck to watch the sailors and keep abreast of 
anything Captain Tilly had to say.  Abafouq and 
Guernef returned to making their pendants, while 
Habakkuk returned to his letters.  James kept a watch on the Rheh.
         When the sun set, Jessica left the 
crow’s nest to sleep, finally satisfied that 
they’d left the Whalish fleet behind.  His crew 
exhausted, Tilly found a small cove and dropped 
anchor for the night.  Charles and Jerome helped 
keep watch in turns with a handful of Tilly’s 
men.  But the coastline remained empty despite 
signs that a number of men had passed through 
recently.  All through the sand they saw small 
piles of ashes.  A few days past, a score or more 
men had made camp there, but there was no sign of where they’d gone.
         The second day after they’d escaped, 
they saw more and more signs of man.  The coast 
road was visible for long stretches, but the 
towns that flanked its sides seemed 
deserted.  Three of them they passed showed signs 
of attack.  Homes had been burned to the ground, 
while others had only a door left standing, or a 
rare metal post would remain where once a house 
had been.  And in those villages that had not 
been destroyed they still saw no sign of 
anyone.  Occasionally they would catch a glimpse 
of a face peering out from a window that gaped 
like a shark’s maw, but then they would look again and see nothing.
         After passing the third such village, 
Lindsey could stand it no longer and asked, 
“What’s happened here?  The ashes are still fresh.”
         Tilly grunted and kept his hands on the 
wheel. “War.  The Marquis du Tournemire once 
controlled all of Western Pyralis.  Rumour has it 
that the Sutt heir has returned to claim his demesnes.”
         “Who is the Sutt heir?” Lindsey asked.
         But Tilly only shrugged. “Nobody’s 
claimed to see him.  That whole line was thought 
dead years ago.  The old Sutt ruler tried to take 
control of everything with his armies.  Almost 
did too.  The Marquis brought in foreign allies 
and was able to defeat old Lord Sutt.”
         “I know of that,” Lindsey replied.  He 
didn’t mention that two of those allies were on 
board.  Charles had already told them the tale of 
how he’d first met the Marquis du Tournemire long 
before coming to Metamor. “But how can their be a 
Sutt heir if the line was destroyed?”
         “Apparently this one left Sutthaivasse 
before the tide turned against old Lord 
Sutt.  Some say he fled into Sathmore and became a heathen.”
         “A Lothanasi?”
         “Yeah, one of them.”
         “Isn’t Sutthaivasse on the western shore of Pyralis?”
         Tilly nodded. “The land of Pyralis is a 
land of many peoples.  They swear loyalty to the 
Lord nearest them, and have no desire to have any 
loyalty to any other.  Sutt learned this, and it 
looks as if the Marquis’s hold on the land has finally been broken.”
         Lindsey didn’t mention the other thought 
that came to him.  It might not be that the 
Marquis had lost control.  He might not need it anymore.
         As the second day drew on toward 
evening, the air became noticeably 
warmer.  Despite the lateness of the season, the 
sailors removed their shirts when they could, and 
even Tilly doffed his surcoat.  Lindsey found the 
heat an interesting novelty after living his 
entire life far to the north, but by the evening 
grumbled about it.  Tilly assured him that when 
they journeyed through the swamp it would be much worse.
         By dawn on the third day after their 
escape from the Whalish fleet, the Sondeckis 
ceased their meditation and assured their friends 
that they had healed themselves as much as they 
could.  Jerome replaced Lindsey on deck, while 
Jessica resumed her place in the crow’s 
nest.  The expanse of Western Pyralis stretched 
from north to south to the starboard, a wide 
swath of green pastures interspersed with small 
forests, farms, and villages.  In the distance 
they could see the spires of a city, but of the 
swamp itself, only the warmth in the air gave hint to its presence.
         Tilly took the Tserclaes away from shore 
as they neared the city.  The waters were calm 
and the sky clear, but every one of them began to 
feel unsettled.  The dolphins no longer followed 
them, nor could they see any other sign of marine 
life.  The laughter died away, and all eyes kept 
to their tasks.  Even Tilly appeared 
disturbed.  He gave the wheel to his first mate 
and paced back and forth on the aft deck.
         Jerome grew tired of watching him move 
back and forth and so gestured to the city on the 
horizon. “If I remember my geography of Pyralis 
correctly, that will be Old Tourne.  Am I right?”
         Tilly glanced at the city and nodded. 
“Aye.  Old Tourne, the old seat of the house of 
Tournemire.  At least a century past the family 
moved their household to the city that now bears 
their name.  Have you been there?”
         “Briefly,” Jerome replied. “I remember 
it being a city armed for war, filled with old 
monuments and statues whose faces had worn away.”
         “It has not much changed,” Tilly 
replied.  He stopped pacing and kicked the 
railing with one foot, shoulders hunched forward. 
“There is something in the air here.  Can you feel it?”
         “Aye.” Jerome tugged at his collar and 
gazed at the southern horizon.  For a moment, he 
felt as if something down there gazed back at 
him.  Uneasily, he averted his eyes. “I think we 
should land soon.  If we go much farther we risk 
exposing your crew to Marzac’s corruption.”
         “Isn’t that what yon fellow is supposed 
to be doing?” Tilly waved one arm at Andares who 
stood motionless in the bow. “He just stands 
there and lets the wind move through his 
hair.  If any of my sailors did such a thing, they would soon learn better!”
         Jerome wrapped his arms over his chest 
and stared at the Åelf.  Andares appeared lost in 
thought.  Did he sense anything at all? “I’m 
going to speak with him.  But I think we should 
make land south of Old Tourne.  Can we do so without being seen?”
         Tilly nodded. “If no one is using the 
road, we can land a two hours south.  That will 
put you midway between Old Tourne and 
Tournemire.  Are you sure you want to land 
there?  If any land is under the Marquis’s thumb, it is that.”
         “We won’t risk you to Marzac.  We must 
go, but you should not.  We’ll land wherever we 
must.” Tilly said nothing else, so Jerome left 
him and crossed the main deck.  Andares stood at 
the tip of the bow, pearl-grey hands resting on 
the railing with his eyes set to the south.  He 
did not turn as Jerome approached.
         “Andares,” the Sondecki called. 
“Andares!  Everyone is feeling something in the 
air.  Have we reached the corruption?”
         “No,” Andares replied, his lips barely 
moving to speak. “No, we have not reached the corruption.”
         “Then what are we feeling?”
         “The Marquis.” Andares finally turned 
and met his gaze. “His power has touched this 
sea.  He wants us to come to him.”
         Jerome tapped his knuckles together. 
“Then why send an army to capture us?”
         “A good question.  But he left us where 
we would be sure to escape, with a woman who 
herself sought to escape.  I think he meant for us to kill her.”
         “Is the Marquis at Tournemire?”
         Andares stared for a moment more and 
then shook his head. “I do not think so. This 
feels old, as if he’d laid it down a long time past.”
         “Are we arriving before him?”
         “I do not sense him behind us,” Andares 
replied and gestured to the north. “I fear he has 
used Zagrosek’s ability to pass through shadow to reach Marzac ahead of us.”
         Jerome remembered well what Charles had 
told him of what had become of their old friend, 
and of the power he had gained since going to 
Marzac.  Why only he had been gifted with 
shadow-walking, Jerome couldn’t say, but it had 
been enough.  How much anguish had Zagrosek 
caused with that one ability?  He couldn’t begin to imagine.
         “I told Captain Tilly we should land 
south of Old Tourne.  I don’t like the way the 
air feels, and neither does he nor his crew.  Do you think it wise?”
         Andares nodded. “The Rheh will make 
better time than the Tserclaes.  I do not sense 
an ambuscade.  I genuinely think the path is clear.”
         “I’ll tell Tilly, and then tell the rest.”
         “I will remain here until we land.”
         Jerome left the Åelf, unsure whether he 
felt any better knowing that it was not the 
corruption but the Marquis’s power bringing them closer that they all sensed.

         As Tilly promised, it was another few 
hours before he brought the Tserclaes to the 
shoreline. There were no wharves, but the cove 
was deep enough that they could lower the 
gangplanks and unload without having to jump into 
the water.  The cove stood at the edge of a low 
promontory covered in grass.  Remnants of an old 
farmer’s shack clung to the hillside, but the 
elements were quickly bringing it down.  Wild 
grasses and thistles infested what remained of 
the long dead farmer’s fields.  A mile inland 
amidst rolling hills and marshes they could see 
the coast road following a small ridge.  Not a 
soul travelled along it, and no birds flew in the sky.
         Charles, James and Lindsey led the Rheh 
onto grassy hillside, while Guernef simply leaped 
from the deck and flew across.  The others 
carried their things out, with Habakkuk helping 
Abafouq carry the pendants the Binoq had 
prepared.  The sailors helped them unload their 
cargo.  Within ten minutes, all of their gear was 
stacked in the grass or already positioned in saddlebags.
         Captain Tilly stood with his first mate 
at the end of the gangplank and surveyed them one 
last time.  Hie rubbed his pointed beard with one 
hand and a smile graced his lips. “I will say 
that I have never enjoyed a voyage more than I 
think I have this one.  You’ve been obstinate in 
a way I do not like, but you never stopped 
helping.  For that I thank you.  May Eli give speed to your quest.”
         “And what of you and your crew?” Kayla 
asked. “Where will you go?  We can’t help you 
evade the blockade a second time.”
         “There is that,” Tilly admitted with a 
laugh. “But you forget.  I know this coastline 
better than any.  I can find safe harbour until the first of the year.”
         “Will you have supplies enough until then?”
         “Oh, aye.” Tilly gestured to the ship 
and his grin broadened. “If we must, we’ll put in 
at Old Tourne.  I have friends in the city who owe me favours.”
         Qan-af-årael stepped forward and 
inclined his head towards the Captain.  He held 
out a small bit of folded cloth. “In return for 
your services on our behalf, I offer you this 
token.  It is taken from the city of 
Ava-shavåis.  You will never meet another man alive with one.”
         Tilly’s eyes widened, but he did accept 
the cloth.  He turned it over several times, frowning. “What is it?”
         “When you lay down to sleep this night, 
it will open.” Qan-af-årael favoured him with his 
enigmatic smile and said, “Thank you for your 
aid.  We must take our leave now.  Our road is very long still.”
         Tilly slipped the bit of cloth into his 
tunic and gestured for his first mate to board 
the ship. “Then I wish you all the luck in the 
world.  Elis’ blessing be with you.”
         “And with you,” Charles said softly as 
the Captain turned and climbed the 
gangplank.  Behind them, the Rheh snorted and 
pawed at the earth.  The Keepers stood watching 
as the Tserclaes drew in the gangplank and turned 
their sails.  Slowly, the ship turned back into the sea.
         “And it is time for us to depart,” 
Andares said.  He mounted his Rheh, and his whole 
body seemed to glow.  One by one they each 
mounted, and as they sat astride the golden 
horses again, they felt a renewed energy fill 
them.  The Rheh drew into a close circle so that 
all could see each other, allowing Guernef the 
space to squeeze in next to them.
         “Are those pendants ready yet?” Jessica 
asked in a raspy voice.  She perched unsteadily 
in a smaller, more beastly form, but as her 
talons sunk into the saddle she managed to right herself.
         Abafouq shook his head. “I have but one 
casting left.  I cannot do so while I am 
riding.  I am thinking after we make camp I will finish.”
         Jessica nodded her head. “Good.  It 
shouldn’t take us long to reach the swamp.  How much further do we have?”
         “What I know of this land, and what I 
remember of our trip across the Steppe, I would say two days,” Kayla replied.
         “That sounds right to me,” Charles 
added. “We’ll need to head inland first to avoid 
Tournemire.  Everything north may be ghostly, but 
that city will still have the Marquis’s troops.”
         “Then let us waste no more time,” 
Jessica said.  She nodded towards the west. “Let’s ride!”
         The Rheh spread out and began to gallop, 
ane each heard the familiar pounding crack the 
ground.  The air rushed past them, crisp and 
clear, as the sound of a thousand hooves 
reverberated in their ears.  Their hearts beat 
with that rhythm, the chant cascading off their 
tongues willing or not. “Rheh!  Rheh!  Rheh!” And 
as one, the golden steeds of Talaras leapt into 
the air.  Everything fell behind them, the grass, 
the road, the ramshackle hut, and even the 
Tserclaes, disappeared from sight within minutes.

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

Charles Matthias