[Mkguild] The Last Tale of Yajakali - Epilogue

[C. Matthias]

Make sure you read Chapter 75 first. ;-)

Metamor Keep: The Last Tale of Yajakali
By Charles Matthias

Epilogue

         Laurence lowered his head and closed his 
eyes. “And that,” he said, voice quiet, but still 
rich with the dramatic landscape he’d painted, 
“is where this, the last tale of Yajakali, comes to a close.”
         Around his legs the many ratlings slept 
soundly, little whiskers, paws and tails 
twitching in dream.  Even some of the adults sat 
with drooping eyes and chins ready to slide from 
paws and knees.  Erick reclined, eyes weary but 
open, with Lise’s head resting against his chest 
and her tail entwining his.  He nudged her 
gently, and she stifled a yawn as she sat back 
up.  He took a deep breath and glanced at the 
clock.  Only a few hours until dawn.  His uncle 
had been at story for nearly a full day without rest!
         Erick glanced at his children, then up 
at his uncle who quietly glared at his sleepy 
audience. “I would applaud,” the Lord of the 
Narrows said softly, “but I don’t want to wake 
the children.  That was an astonishing tale.  You 
are right.  I have never heard the like!”
         “Nor I,” King Albert said.  The 
long-eared stallion rubbed his exhaustion from 
one eye and stretched his back.  A faint rippling 
crack ran up his spine. “You have exceeded yourself, Master Laurence.”
         The elder rat smiled, whiskers twitching 
in delight, and bowed to his King.  His long 
scaly tail rose behind him as he swept one arm 
over his back. “It has been a great pleasure 
regaling you with so momentous a work.”  He 
stood, took a deep breath that swelled his chest 
and doublet, and then deflated with a slow 
shoulder slump. “It has taken me years to cobble 
all of these pieces together.  Truly this has been my life’s work.”
         “And you will be commended for it more 
formally than this,” the regal horse said with 
firm diction, the last vestiges of sleep vanished 
from his comportment. “But not until after we’ve all had some sleep.”
         Laurence stifled a yawn and clasped his 
paws over his belly. “A very wise decision, your majesty.”
         Lise woke the servants and together they 
collected the children who woke only long enough 
to see who it was who picked them off the 
carpeted pile.  Their whiskers and ears twitched 
as their dreams resumed.  Erick’s wife carried 
their eldest boy in her arms and offered him a 
meaningful glance. “I trust you will be joining me in bed soon?”
         Erick nodded and stretched as he rose. 
“Very soon.  I don’t think I can stay awake much longer.”
         “Me neither,” Timothy said.  His cousin 
was sprawled on the steps of the depression with 
his flop hat slid over his eyes.  Erick had 
thought it might be to hide a nap, but he’d never 
heard his younger cousin snore.  Timothy pushed 
the flop hat back over his ears and rolled his 
shoulders in circles. “I still cannot believe you 
would end us on that note.  What of their return voyage to Metamor?”
         Laurence lifted one claw and smiled to 
his nephew. “Ah, you forget that this was a tale 
of Yajakali.  He is now dead, and so what comes 
after should only be enough to assure us that all 
are safe and will be home soon.”
         “Not all of them,” Father Rouse said as 
he stood on his gangly legs.  The bright 
yellowish-green tree frog flexed his fingers and 
jaws. “If I’m not mistaken, I caught the 
beginnings of many more tales sown in your conclusion.”
         Laurence favoured the Questioner with a 
satisfied glint in his eyes. “And just what tales would those be?”
         Rouse’s red eyes met the impish jongleur 
and betrayed none of his exhaustion. “The 
founding of the Sisters of the Holy Mother’s 
Sacred Heart, the arrival of the first Questioner 
to be stationed in Metamor, St. Elvmere’s long 
journey back into the Ecclesia, all of the 
political manoeuvring surrounding the 
establishment of a diocese in the Northern 
Midlands, not to mention the fireworks that 
Father Akaleth’s visit to Marigund will bring.  I 
know of these events only through history, and 
I’d be very interested if you know those tales as well.”
         Laurence smiled to the frog and lowered 
his eyelids until he gazed through his lashes. 
“Many of them I do know, but now is not the time 
to hear of them.  It is very late, and they deserve their own day to tell.”
         “Not to mention the birth of Thomas and 
Alberta’s first child,” King Albert put in.
         “Or the elevation of Grandpa Charles to 
the nobility after returning to the tragedy of 
his family and the journey he undertook,” Erick 
added, his whiskers twitching in delight at the 
thought of the founder of their family’s subsequent adventures.
         Laurence snorted, “As if you haven’t 
heard me tell you those stories many times before.”
         Erick shrugged.  He was too tired to 
argue with his uncle.  He glanced at his many 
guests, watching them rise one by one and stretch 
the fatigue from their muscles.  Kalder, the 
ambassador from Vysehrad, had his eyes closed in 
thought as he lifted his feet up and down to wake 
them.  Beside him, Count Floran adjusted his blue 
sash, an unsettled moue on his lips.  Sitting 
behind them, legs crossed, her vibrant eyes no 
less astute than they’d been in the morning, 
Sinhåsa el-Abarei, the Åelvish ambassador, 
cradled her ivory handled sword in her lap and 
watched the others rise.  In the other corner, 
Prime Minister Ryman Ertham rubbed his eyes with 
the backs of his paws, long frazzled tail 
flitting back and forth and nearly striking 
Father Rouse in its erratic circuit.  Captain 
Demetrius of Whales sat with stiff-back and alert 
eyes through the entire performance, and now stood with equal poise.
         On Erick’s side of the room, he noticed 
the ram, Lord Arister Dupré, rising and muttering 
something to himself, clearly disturbed by what 
he’d heard.   Nearby, Andre the red dragon 
reclined with his wife, the russet brown gryphon 
named Tessa, and his cousin Scyllia, the ferret 
mage who dressed more colourfully than anyone 
else Erick knew, leaning against him on either 
side.  For a moment, Andre’s long snout looked 
ready to fall into his lap, when it snapped up 
and he snorted with fierce pride, “What a joy it 
was to hear that my ancestor Kayla was the one to 
strike down that foul Marquis!  Ah, what a gripping climax, Master Laurence!”
         Scyllia nodded as she pushed off his 
heavy, crimson scaled arm, “Oh it was.  I’m so 
happy for her!  She got to free her lover from 
the cards!  And I was so happy to see Wessex help 
Jessica one last time.  That was so 
touching!  But oh,” the ferret’s face fell and 
her enthusiasm turned to melancholy, “poor 
Lindsey and Habakkuk.  I was wondering why they 
didn’t have any descendants here to listen.”
         “I am confused,” Rouse admitted with a 
narrowing of his red eyes, “why the last 
Felikaush appeared to St. Elvmere.  He had no 
children.  The new line of prophets emerged in 
Sil...” Rouse stopped, blinked, and then laughed. 
“Now you must tell me that story if you know it!”
         Laurence waved one paw at the frog as he 
walked from the centre of the room to where King 
Albert sat. “I told you, Father, another day 
perhaps.” His eyes lit upon the horse lord and he 
bowed. “Your majesty, I am very tired, and beg 
your leave to find a bed on which to rest my weary head.”
         “You may.  I suggest we all retire for 
the night.” King Albert rose and tottered on his 
hooves for a moment. “If I cannot find my bed, 
then like my ancestor, a pile of hay would suit me at this hour.”
         There were a few weary chuckles at 
Albert’s bit of levity, but most failed to grasp 
the humour.  One by one they all made it to their 
feet and shuffled toward the chamber’s 
exits.  But before Laurence could leave, Count 
Floran stepped in his way with a deep frown. 
“Master Laurence, I must know something.”
         Laurence looked up at the southerner and 
twitched his greying whiskers. “What is it?”
         “You say that Duke Verdane sent William 
Dupré to Metamor because of a messenger from the 
Åelf.  Yet I have never heard such a thing in all 
my years at the Kelewairan court, nor in any of 
the histories of that time.  How come you to say 
such a thing that has no evidence for it?”
         The rat took a deep breath and gestured 
to the pearl-grey skinned woman with pointed ears 
and exotic armour. “Sinhåsa el-Abarei is five 
hundred years old.  She saw and remembers Grandpa 
Charles and the rest arrive in Ava-shavåis.  It 
is from her predecessor here at Metamor that I came by such knowledge.”
         “And I have spoken with Tyliå-nou,” 
Sinhåsa said in silvery tones. “He admits to 
bringing the letter as he was asked.  It is also 
the last time he has spoken your tongue.”
         Count Floran’s glare weakened but did 
not entirely fall from his face. “And what of him 
now?  Does he care that his name is passed around in tales?”
         “He is in seclusion aiding Andares-es-sebashou.”
         Timothy squeaked in surprise, “Andares is still alive?”
         “And serves as Lord of Colours for Ava-shavåis.”
         Laurence waved them to silence with one 
paw. “Does that satisfy you, Count Floran?”
         Floran took a deep breath, eyes scanning 
the room briefly, then settled on the rat. “It 
does.  Thank you and good night.”
         Erick exchanged a quick look with King 
Albert, and then both of them, feeling intense 
relief, left the chambers to find their beds.  No 
more was said as all of them stumbled to where 
they’d been promised sleep.  The grumbling 
shuffle of boots, paws, and hooves echoed down the empty corridors.

         It was sometime well past midmorning 
when Lord Erick Matthias climbed from his bed to 
attend to his many guests.  At Lise’s suggestion, 
he had Robert bring them when they woke to his 
morning room to break their fast.  His wife, 
still exhausted from Laurence’s long tale, 
nevertheless felt it her duty to make sure that 
the children received their lessons and spent 
some time out of doors after four days clustering 
at the paws of the master jongleur.
         Erick personally went to the kitchens 
and instructed his staff to bring a wide 
selection of pastries, eggs, and juice to his 
solar.  That task done, he made his sore muscles 
climb the steps to the east-facing room with wide 
windows over looking the Narrows.  Magical 
artifice had provided them with large panes of 
glass free of whorls and other impurities, so the 
view was nearly as pristine as if the window were 
open.  Yet this way, even in the winter months 
the Matthias clan could enjoy a lovely sight 
without freezing.  The engineers had assured his 
grandfather when they built the room that no 
trebuchet could reach them so far from the outer 
walls, and Erick hoped they would never need test that pronouncement.
         A couch lined the wall beneath the 
window, with a lacquered table that came to his 
chest spread the length of the couch.  Erick 
often liked to bring books to read here in the 
quiet mornings when he could afford such 
leisure.  Now, all the ornamental decorations 
were pushed aside and plates were arrayed for all of them.
         Laurence was there already, soaking the 
sun into his grey-whiskered snout. “Good morning, Nephew.”
         “Good morning, Uncle,” Erick 
replied.  He slid onto the cushions and leaned 
against the pane of glass.  His tail curled 
around and rested in his lap where the sun 
shone.  Every bit of him struck by the light felt 
a rich warmth suffuse throughout. “I cannot get 
my head around this story of yours.  Did 
everything truly come together at the last moment?”
         “It did,” Laurence replied. “Little 
evidence remains that time stopped for all not in 
Marzac, but how would you leave evidence of 
stopped time?  It is only from the diaries of 
Duke Thomas Hassan V that I even learned of what he saw that night.”
         Erick pondered that as he enjoyed the 
sun. “Just how long have you been working on this tale?”
         “Most of my life,” Laurence replied. 
“Oh, the stories of Grandpa Charles have been 
passed down through our family, but never in such 
detail.  Grandpa Charles wrote most of this down, 
and it made for entertaining reading.  The rest 
I’ve found in diaries and ledgers and treatises 
of all stripes.  But it wasn’t until I found that 
snippet from Duke Thomas’s diary that I began to 
understand just what had really happened all 
those years ago.  And also how fortunate that makes us.”
         “We wouldn’t have been if they’d failed.  Is that what you’re saying?”
         Laurence shook his head. “It is worse 
than that.  Although they would not discern it 
for many years, the mages of Marigund, in 
cooperation with those of Boreaux, were able to 
determine what would have happened if Yajakali 
succeeded.” He paused and let his eyes stare past 
the glass to the distant mountains resplendent in 
their summer coat of green.  Towers and towns 
pockmarked the valley, all radiant in the sun’s midday light.
         Erick tapped his claws on the lacquered 
wood. “Uncle, you aren’t at story anymore.  You can tell me.”
         Laurence chuckled to himself, whiskers 
drooping. “It is frightening to think about, 
Nephew, what could have been.  Or rather, what 
wouldn’t have been.  To undo his mistake, 
Yajakali sought to bend time backward.  He smote 
Vigoreaux in order to unhitch time.  That is, to 
break the current moment in time from the ever 
forward moving stream of time.  And he smote Sir 
Autrefois in order to loop time.”
         Erick shook his head. “I’m not seeing this.”
         Laurence plucked at a loose thread from 
his tunic sleeve. “Just a moment and I can 
demonstrate.” He lowered hiss out to his sleeve 
and bit the thread loose.  The strand extended 
the width of his paw with fingers 
outstretched.  He held the ends in either paw and 
gently pulled it taut. “Imagine that the end of 
the string in my right paw is the past, and that 
of my left paw is the future.  The present is 
somewhere in the middle ever moving toward my left paw.  Do you follow?”
         “This sounds suspiciously like my philosophy lessons.”
         “Then if you paid attention you should 
understand.  Normally time is straight like you 
see here.  What Yajakali did was concentrate 
enough magical power in the same place after 
weakening the veils between the worlds with his 
multiple wars and death that he made the time 
line break free.  He unhitched the time line so 
that it didn’t have to be straight anymore.  And 
then he looped it, by taking the present moment 
and sending it to the past.  Like this.”
         Laurence lifted the end in his left paw 
and set it down in the middle making a loop one 
end of the thread.  Erick nodded. “So when they 
moved forward in time, they’d be moving through the past?”
         “And stuck in a loop,” Laurence added. 
“Yajakali didn’t want that either.  And had he 
killed Jessica, he would have loosed time.  That 
is, he would have pulled the loop in time free.” 
Laurence lifted the thread to his teeth and 
severed it.  Now he held two pieces, one a thread 
dangling from his right paw, the other still held 
in a loop. “Yajakali and all he drew over would 
remake time anew in this thread,” he waved the 
strand in his right paw. “While all time in this 
loop would be forever trapped.”
         “How could time stay like that?” Erick 
asked, blinking and suddenly wishing he’d stayed 
in bed.  Not even the sun’s warmth could make his 
brain move fast enough to follow his uncle.
         “Ah, and there is the final nightmare 
that our ancestors avoided!” Laurence waved the 
loop of string in the air as if it were evidence 
of a great crime. “To answer your question, it 
couldn’t.  Time couldn’t stay like this.  The 
loop would have broken free, and in so doing, the 
magical backlash would have destroyed 
Yajakali.  The magical backlash that did occur 
when the loop broke was enough to destroy the World Bell.”
         Erick shook his head, ears folding 
back.  He could hear the distant sound of boots 
and hooves coming up the servant’s stairs.  The 
scent of pastries struck his snout a moment 
later. “Sp how was Yajakali going to prevent this?”
         “That is why he sought alliance with the 
Underworld.  It swallows all magic.  Everything 
in that time loop would have been loosed to the 
Underworld.  All eleven thousand years of time 
would have been the Underworld’s to feast upon.”
         Laurence dropped the thread as the doors 
to the servant’s passage opened and the first 
trays of pastries and cheeses were brought into 
the solar.  Erick tried to smile to them, but his 
mind kept poring over his uncle’s words.  The 
servants were long used to his distracted moments 
and quietly set about their tasks.  They arranged 
the platter of pastries, rich breads glazed with 
cream and fruit, while various fresh cheeses were 
arrayed on another platter.  Erick took a small 
wedge of a rather sharp cheddar and nibbled on 
the end.  He would have to thank them later.
         Once they’d left, Erick turned to his 
uncle and whispered, “Listening to you tell the 
tale, I could tell that Yajakali had become 
evil.  But until this moment, I never really 
understood how much.  That’s... inconceivably 
profane.  It’s... I don’t know what words to use to describe it.”
         “A failure, praise Eli,” Laurence supplied.
         Erick’s ears turned as the voices of 
some of his guests echoed up the hallway. “Aye, a 
failure.  Thank you for telling me, Uncle.”
         Laurence patted him on the shoulder in a 
way only family could do and nodded, his smile 
warmer than the sun. “It is a pleasure.  Besides, 
it is as you say, I am no longer at story, and can give away things now!  Hah!”
         The momentary fear passed form his heart 
and both rats laughed together as the first of their friends joined them.

         It was well past noon when one by one 
his guests began to depart for their 
homes.  Captain Demetrius of Whales was the first 
to leave, but not after complimenting Erick 
Matthias on a fine home and Laurence on a 
marvellous tale.  The stalwart captain offered 
Scyllia a ride back south, but she declined 
preferring to spend a little more time with her cousin and his wife.
         King Albert and his retinue slipped away 
before Erick and Lise could arrange a fanfare to 
send them on their way.  Much to the rat’s 
chagrin, Albert had his Prime Minister keep them 
both occupied while he arranged his 
departure.  Father Rouse and Sinhåsa el-Abarei 
accompanied him as before, and before they knew 
it, their liege was bidding them farewell.
         After the excitement of the tale’s 
conclusion, watching his guests depart left Erick 
feeling nostalgic.  And it reminded him of the 
many tasks he had to attend to as Lord of the 
Narrows.  He’d spent four days listening to 
Laurence.  He couldn’t put off his duties any longer.
         Still, he enjoyed every last minute he 
could with his guests.  After breaking their fast 
in his solar, he led what guests remained on a 
tour of his castle and grounds, helping each of 
them to work out the soreness in their legs from 
sitting too long.  The day was warm with a bright 
sun and only a few clouds to mar the saintly blue 
of the sky.  And to all their surprise, another 
set of stormclouds broke and dispersed.
         While Erick was describing the watch 
posts high up the mountain ridge, Arister Dupré, 
who had been uncharacteristically quiet since the 
conclusion of the story, turned to Count Floran 
and announced, “Count Floran, I apologize to you 
and the house of Verdane.  I and my family have 
born them ill will for so long, I never thought 
it possible there could be another truth.  But 
Duke Verdane only wished to protect his people, 
and it was my forebear that brought them to 
harm.  Forgive me my wroth words of last night 
and all the enmity I have born these many years!”
         Floran’s frown turned into a long sigh. 
“If Master Laurence is to be believed, and I 
don’t see why he shouldn’t, then I owe you an 
apology too for what I have said.  I always 
believer your house to be founded by a traitor to 
Kelewair.  But it seems that it was just one more 
consequence of evil that swept men along.”
         Arister’s snout spread in a firm 
grin.  The older ram crossed to Floran’s side and 
extended a woolly arm. “I may not agree with on 
policy for the kingdom, but on this we can 
agree.  There is no reason to bear a grudge 
against our ancestors or each other.”
         Floran hesitated as he stared at the 
hoof-like hand for only a moment.  Then he 
smiled, faint but sure, and they clasped hands. 
“Yes, on that we can at least agree.”
         While the two enemies shook, Erick’s ear 
caught Laurence’s words muttered under his 
breath, “Finally!  Thank Eli!” Erick smiled but kept his muzzle shut.

         By midafternoon, Erick was left 
wandering his grounds by himself.  Andre and 
Tessa flew back with Scyllia riding between her 
cousin’s wings.  Arister Dupré promised to drag 
Timothy to the Wall again before he 
left.  Timothy swore he’d flee to Midtown first 
before begging leave to return to Metamor and his 
family.  Even Ambassador Kalder had to return to Metamor.
         Laurence didn’t leave the Matthias Keep 
but he did excuse himself once the other guests 
had all left.  Erick didn’t blame him for his 
desire to sleep.  He’d been surprised to see him 
up at all.  But, it meant that Erick was alone in 
wandering the grounds.  All about him was silence apart from the wind.
         Erick wandered over terrazzo and natural 
stone as he wended back between the 
mountains.  The land fell into soft shadow, and 
ivy cascaded from the high walls like running 
goats.  Erick trailed his paws through the ivy 
and wondered what it had been like for his 
ancestor to have ivy grow from his flesh.
         The ground sloped upward as it narrowed 
between the pass.  Eventually, it gave way to a 
twin set of stairs, one on either side of the 
pass.  The ivy clung to the steps, but his family 
kept them clean.  This was a task that the 
Matthias clan always performed for 
themselves.  No place was more special to them 
than this.  Between the sets of stairs a 
mausoleum stood.  Its facade was simple and only 
bore a depiction of the Yew beneath of which on 
bended knee genuflected a rat.  The vault 
descended deep into the earth, but it was not there that Erick sought.
         It was to the garden.
         At the top of the staircase hid a 
reclusive garden.  The sun only directly struck 
the garden for a few hours a day; but with it and 
the light reflected from the snowy peaks it was 
enough that simple plant life prospered during 
the Summer.  Trees lines the exterior, with a 
circular terrazzo walkway surrounding a central 
section of smaller bushes and flowers.  A long 
wall stood at the western edge overlooking the 
sudden drop.  While only a few hundred feet, it 
looked as if the mountains had been sheared with 
a knife.  It was the reason that they had never 
feared attack from the mountains.
         But what truly made the garden special 
was the statuary.  A dozen statues of rats stood, 
sat, or reclined in various positions about the 
garden.  Plaques were set beside them that all 
Matthias family members could come here and 
remember them.  The most recent was only ten 
years old.  Laurence’s eldest brother, now a 
statue of firm granite, polished with loving care 
by his family, leaned against the western wall 
peering over the edge, long tail curling around an iron post for safety’s sake.
         Erick rubbed one paw over his uncle’s 
back before moving to the central 
figure.  Standing with snout lifted toward the 
heavens was his Grandpa Charles.  A black 
handprint covered his right eye and cheek.  The 
eyes were faceted obsidian.  He wore doublet and 
hose with the Narrows heraldry, with a Sondeckis 
robe draped over one arm.  Crawling over his back 
and chest was an ivy which burrowed into his back above his long tail.
         The living rat reached out a paw to 
touch the granite corpus of his progenitor.  He 
smiled softly and half imagined that heavenly 
gaze smiled in return. “Well, here I am 
again.  So, tell me, Grandpa.  What happens 
next?” And in the silence that followed, Lord 
Erick Matthias almost thought he heard the stony 
remains of his ancestor regale him with the next tale.

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

Charles Matthias