[Mkguild] Dream's Aria: Repudiation (2 of 4)

[Ryx]

            “Step aside.” He snorted furiously, “I will speak with him 
directly.”  Coe did not move from the door and blocked Egland’s reach for the 
latch with a return glare up at the elk.  Egland drew his hand back as if to 
deliver a forceful backhand blow to the healer but did not strike.
            Incensed Coe snarled and poked a single finger at the center of 
Egland’s chest.  The finger was tipped with a stout and sharp claw that dimpled 
both tabard and fur to dig with painful intensity at the muscle of the elk’s 
chest.  “Lower your hand, boy!” Coe snarled, his voice pitched in a low hiss, 
showing his sharp white teeth.  “You will raise no hand of violence in this 
house of healing, knight or no as some undisciplined child having a tantrum!” 
Coe’s finger drove another grinding poke into Egland’s chest forcing him back a 
step.  “This is my realm and I rule here, you will heed my word as the Duke’s 
own.”  Another poke and another grudging step back.  Egland’s hand fell to his 
side in ignominious defeat.  “If that does not suit your knightly self so be 
it.  You are free to remove yourself at any time.”
            Coe stopped in the center of the infirmary common room with his 
hands upon his hips glaring angrily at the elk a pace away.  Jutting from the 
back of his robes the raccoon’s thick tail lashed back and forth in his anger 
with the striped fur abush.
            Egland stood numbly, taken aback by his own unexpected burst of 
pointless anger and the master physician’s response.  His emotions were in 
complete turmoil that outpaced his ability to rein them in.  For several moments 
he stared dumbly at the irked raccoon wondering how fickle fate could ever be to 
throw his life athwart such tumultuous shores.  How it could bring him, a Holy 
Knight in the peak of his life and in the company of the most august of peoples 
of all the world, to such extremes that he would find himself arguing with an 
animal.  Or that he would be an animal, himself, as well.  It seemed like the 
most vile of dark nightmares.
            Unable to find his voice for fear of the sound that might escape his 
muzzle, be it helpless beastial bleat or blasphemous tirade, Egland at length 
nodded his head woodenly.  He turned away from the animal garbed in healers’ 
robes and walked slowly to the door.  The heavy iron-banded wooden portal closed 
behind him with a weighty thud of finality.
 
            Egland walked the corridors blindly, emotions and thoughts thrown 
into chaos by the sudden unexpected turn of fates.  Never would he have expected 
to be turned away by his own so callously, the last and only family he knew.  
Then to be likewise repudiated and cast out by the healer was salt upon a fresh 
wound.  And upon that he had nearly lost himself by almost striking the unarmed 
healer for doing nothing more than holding to the well being of his patient.  
Egland had heedlessly assaulted the hapless serving woman with harsh words and 
manner in a state of anger the likes of which he had not experienced off the 
battlefield in years.  Those two alone were crimes against his discipline and 
principal and frightened him greatly.
            What was this change sweeping over him eroding his self-discipline 
and careful balance of calm?  Was the fey magic of the curse affecting his mind 
as dramatically as his body or was the trauma of so many dire circumstances 
tearing at the foundations of his being?  Father Hough had tried to assure him 
that the Curse did not affect the mind; that sameness of self creating much of 
the problems faced by the physically changed.  Sir Saulius however, while also 
concurring with Hough’s assurances, cautioned that the Curse was fey and fickle 
in its touch; or that in some the spirit was weak and with change of body came a 
change of spirit.  Saulius explained that he had suffered something of that but 
in time recovered himself and came to accept what he had become.  But he had not 
done so alone, he’d had others changed in ways like him, rats all, to help him 
return.  The Whalish prince, Phil, had similar problems but, again, had many 
friends to help him.
            Who did Egland have?  Who to call trulyfriendas Bryonoth and his 
fellow knights had been?
            Father Hough?  The boy-priest had become his spiritual healer and 
confessor during Egland’s recovery, but was he a friend?  Egland had to ponder 
that as he crossed along a battlement wall ripped by cool autumn wind and felt 
that to not really be the case.  Hough was compassionate and wise but the young 
knight felt him to be his superior, both spiritually and in his position of rank 
within the local Diocese.  He would hear Egland’s confessions but as a Priest 
before a Friend.
            Sir Saulius?  Egland felt less of connection with the elder rodent 
knight than he did with the boy-priest.  Saulius was a Steppelander and had 
connected more with Bryonoth than Egland.  True to his sense of camaraderie and 
honor Saulius had come to the infirmary a couple of times to assure Egland that 
his mount, and Bryonoth’s, had survived and were well cared for in the Duke’s 
stables.  As well the elk knight’s now largely unusable armor, those parts not 
crushed in the tumble which shattered Egland’s legs, was in good hands.  But, 
good intentions aside, Saulius was a transitory companion acting with honor 
toward a fellow Knight.  Egland did not feel a connection of friendship there.
            He found himself in a small courtyard crowded with fancifully 
sculpted topiary so densely that it felt more forest than fortress.  Narrow 
paths wound through the artfully arranged living sculptures interspersed with 
small fountains.  From a gargoyle spout above a cascade of water tumbled onto a 
series of slate terraces into a pool in which lazy golden carp circled.  Egland, 
weary from his aimless wandering, settled on the stone lip of that largest pool 
to watch the fish.  Around him the green sentinels stood watch concealing all 
but the top of the surrounding wall and slate roof tops.  The fish clustered at 
the surface of the pool waiting for handouts he could not provide.  Golden 
bodies shimmered dully in the shadowed depths.  Even they had their companions, 
Egland observed ruefully, golden coins in a watery purse.
            What of the one person who had come unbidden to Egland’s bedside in 
the infirmary with nothing more than that one thing to offer; friendship.  
Beyond an impromptu duet at a tavern weeks before the musician had no need to 
seek out the stricken knight but had done so out of his own accord.  And that 
was before either of them had known of their mutual connection through a shared 
love lost.  Such were the convolutions of cold fate that served naught but to 
confuse simple mortal minds.
            The odd minstrel, so different in outlook and manner than either 
Hough or Saulius, had come to him to share music and then to help him learn once 
more how to make his own music but they had shared more than Egland had 
expected.  In secluded darkness the minstrel’s compassion and simple offer of 
friendship had sundered the vaulted secrets of Egland’s innermost heart.  And he 
had listened and accepted them without rancor or judgment, had accepted those 
things about Egland that the young knight was not yet sure to accept about 
himself.  That voicing of the unvoiced depths had allowed Egland a freedom he 
had never thought possible since the loss of Namir.
            Like this minstrel Namir had been one who listened for the mere sake 
of listening, without judging. Egland sighed at the memories and felt the burn 
of tears kindled afresh in his eyes.
            Ahh, Namir, how I am falling apart, Egland thought morosely, I wish 
you were here.
            He could almost hear the laughter of his lost love.  But I am, 
D’ahshan.  Listen.  So Egland listened.  Wind moaned and topiary sentinels 
whispered sibilant secrets while water rushed and burbled merrily like gossips 
across a fence.  Interwoven with those sounds Egland began to hear music and 
realized that he had been hearing music all along.  It took the admonishment of 
memory to bring him to listen.
            The elk’s ears twitched seeking out the source of the quiet music.  
It took him but a moment to understand both the instrument, a hammered dulcimer, 
and the type of music; a hymnus typical of Ecclesiastic services.  While he was 
hearing variations upon an underlying theme he was soon able to name the musical 
score as The Wedding at Kheni, typical to most Follower marriage ceremonies.
            Memory and grief seized Egland’s heart anew at the familiar music.  
He used to play it upon his viola as it was one of Namir’s most favored musical 
compositions.  During Mass or at the occasional exchange of vows he would also 
sing it to Egland’s accompaniment.
            After Namir was sent to the distant east Egland had never again 
played that piece.
            The music stopped and after a brief pause began afresh.  Egland 
gathered up his cane and stood to follow that music.  He slowly wound his way 
through the labyrinthine convolutions of the topiary garden until he found 
himself standing before a door.  The solemn tempo of Yashua’s Wine came through 
the wood while the unseen musician continued to practice beyond.
            Instead of the typical iron-banded dark hardwood of which most doors 
were built at the Keep this door was pale ash and heavily worked with intricate 
carving where most were unadorned.  The carvings depicted forest trees and vines 
surrounding a clearing in which two figures stood frozen in mid-dance.  The 
frame and lintel were similarly carven pale white marble.  To either side stood 
artfully sculpted topiary dancers, both of which appeared to be animal-morphs 
due to tall ears and animal legs.  As to exactly what they were intended to 
depict Egland could not identify.
            The music faded away to silence while Egland regarded the door and 
contemplated disturbing the denizen given such an opulent entry.  Who did he 
expect to reside behind such opulence but some noble who would be wroth with the 
intrusion of a lowly elk garbed in nothing more than an ill fitting tabard, even 
if that tabard depicted the white-on-green heraldry of the Order of Yashua.  
During his hesitation the music began once more from the opening movement, 
paused on a missed note and then started again.
            Where else had he to go, he thought, but here for whatever aid or 
ill became of it.  He raised his hand and rapped upon the second closed door 
presented to him that day.  The music trailed away at his knock and a few 
moments passed before Egland heard the bolt being drawn and the latch raised.  
The door opened not a cautious crack but bravely wide to frame the interrupted 
musician in a spill of warm light.
            “Sir Egland?” Dream chuffed with a smile of pleased surprise.  “Come 
in, ts’amut, come in, if you please.  Jae kusae jhu kusae.”  He stepped back and 
bowed his head in a gesture of summons for Egland to enter.  He was wearing a 
light night-robe of black silk embroidered with white satin birds that shimmered 
in the afternoon light.  The robe had been hastily donned if the loose black 
sash and need to hold it about himself with one hand were any indicator.  At the 
ritual Steppes greeting, ‘my tent is your tent’ Egland bowed his antlered head 
solemnly.  He stepped through the doorway that Dream drew fully open.
            Due to the angle of the afternoon sun and tall windows of Dream’s 
receiving room facing west it was brighter within than without.  Egland blinked 
at the sunlight shining brightly in his face and paused just within the 
threshold.  The door latch rattled as Dream closed it and then shot the bolt. 
 “Welcome to my home within the Keep, Egland.  It’s not many who come to pay me 
audience here.” Egland felt the gentle touch at the small of his back urging him 
forward and guiding him toward the center of the opulent receiving room.  “Sit, 
ts’amut, make yourself at home.  My door is ever open to you.”


      

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