[Mkguild] Invigorating Faith (3/8)

[C. Matthias]

And Part 3

Metamor Keep: Invigorating Faith
By Charles Matthias

Feb 27, 708 CR

         The last time anyone other than Father 
Hough had been the celebrant at the Breaking of 
the Bread in Metamor it had been the late 
Patriarch himself.  Bishop Tyrion Verdane 
provided an equally intriguing spectacle, dressed 
in purple clerical garb with a mitre on his head, 
a crozier in his right hand, a large yew against 
his chest, and an obvious limp as he dragged his 
clubfoot with exquisite precision up the main aisle toward the altar.
         But the Bishop was the last in the 
procession that began the ancient liturgy.  First 
entered the six seminarians, with the newest 
holding aloft a brilliant cross-like yew on the 
top of a golden standard.  All six were dressed 
in the white robes of altar servers and they 
proceeded with slow reverent gait toward the 
altar coloured by the penitential purple and gray.
         Following them were the two young men 
who’d accompanied the Bishop and who had both 
been ordained a few months prior.  Fathers Malvin 
and Purvis kept their gaze forward as they passed 
amidst a throng of Keepers whose eyes, ears, and 
noses studied them.  They each bore a purple 
stole over their white albs, both fine of cloth 
and weave but simple in adornment.
         Behind them came the Questioner 
priest.  He alone was dressed in the black of his 
order, but the cowl was kept down, and a purple 
mantle draped his shoulders and chest, framing 
the blood red cross in his cloak’s 
centre.  Felsah’s baked skin also set him 
apart.  He was a lone sentinel of darkness in a procession of light.
         Holding aloft the Canticles was Father 
Hough who appeared so small in such a fine 
procession, yet in him was the trust and delight 
of the Followers of Metamor.  He too wore a white 
alb, but over this he’d donned a purple dalmatic 
depicting in three brief scenes the condemnation, 
the crucifixion, and the resurrection of 
Yahshua.  His eyes, often the habitation of 
weariness, were now host to an expectant hope 
that lifted the hearts of all in attendance.
         And last of all was Bishop Tyrion, who 
as the choirs chanted the morning hymn of 
greeting, turned his eyes from side to side to 
observe all that had come to celebrate.  It was a 
far larger congregation than was typical for 
Metamor.  Not a seat remained in the Cathedral, 
and quite a few stood along the clerestory walls 
or leaned against columns.  Though it was now a 
common sight for Lady Alberta the Duchess to be 
in attendance, that Steppe-born donkey who had 
won the heart of their duke and with it the heart 
of all Metamor, never before had Duke Thomas 
himself come.  And with him he brought his 
staff.  They sat near to the front, ears turned 
to catch the strains of music and the whispering 
of exuberant and gossipy Keepers.  Alberta glowed 
as she laid eyes on the procession, as did one of 
the two great scaly beasts with massive 
jaw.  Thomas remained a cypher.  The rest of his 
staff appeared respectful but suspicious.  Tyrion expected nothing less.
         The Liturgy proceeded in the same 
fashion that it always did.  After incensing the 
altar, and leading the congregation in opening 
prayers, confession of sins, and a blessing, 
Tyrion gratefully sat down.  Felsah assisted him 
with his mitre and crozier and remained close 
like a faithful shadow falling down at his feet 
to lay across the floor.  Hough sat nearby, while 
the altar servers kept their place just off the 
main altar space.  One by one, Father Malvin and 
Father Purvis gave the readings from the 
Canticles, both poised and confidant even in the 
face of a beastly congregation.
         But the time soon came for the Bishop to 
deliver his homily.  He rose, holding the crozier 
in one hand, and walked as straight as he could 
to the ambo.  Faces of man, woman, child, and 
creature regarded him, eyes brilliant and varied 
with all the majesty of creation and in all the 
variety of Eli’s pleasure.  He was nervous, but a 
simple prayer put him mostly at ease.
         “Good morning.  I am your Bishop. And it 
is a great honour and joy for me to be here now 
with you on this beautiful Sunday.  I have come 
to learn of you, your needs, your hopes, and to 
discern what is the proper action for me to take 
to see to your spiritual needs.  Father Hough has 
laboured with great zeal to ensure that all of 
you are able to participate fully in the life of 
the Ecclesia.  His hands may be small, but he has 
held you to his heart with such conviction that 
it should shame men like myself who have never 
before been made to endure the difficulties he has.”
         There were many smiles, some of them 
rather frightening in appearance, at his praise 
of their priest.  Duke Thomas and his aides 
remained unmoved but he knew that he would never 
gain their trust by mere words alone.
         Tyrion paused only a moment before 
continuing, his voice full of admiration. “And 
difficulties you have in abundance.  Twice in the 
last ten years you have sacrificed much to defeat 
an enemy from the North who sought to crush you 
and make you slaves.  Is there any among you who 
has never lost a loved one to such strife?  I 
doubt it.  And I am equally certain that there 
are many among you who are still waiting for 
those they love to return, never knowing if they 
are alive in some foul dungeon, chained as a 
slave, or tortured most cruelly, or whether or 
not they are already dead.  And many will never 
know.  These are the cruellest of torments and the heaviest of burdens.
         “That you’re very bodies have been 
warped by evil magic is no burden compared to the 
agonies of the heart.  For in these new bodies I 
can see already that you have found dignity and 
purpose, and most importantly, beauty.” He smiled 
as he said the last. “Those I have spoken with 
since my arrival last night have not gainsaid 
what has happened to them, but they embraced it 
and lived their lives as best they are able.  I 
understand that for many of you it is impossible 
to abstain from meat.  Father Hough has told me 
that he has given you dispensation from the 
penitential fast, and I do as well.  But I invite 
each of you to find in your hearts some little 
thing that you can give up, something you can 
deprive yourselves of in this time until we 
celebrate Yahshua’s Resurrection, to better unite 
yourselves to the suffering and purgation that 
Yahshua experienced in the desert.”
         Tyrion built from there on the themes of 
sacrifice from the Canticles, and the hope that 
each of them held, and of the importance to 
remain faithful and obedient to Yahshua through 
His Ecclesia.  Through it all the people listened 
more attentively that he was used to 
seeing.  This was gratifying, but also 
humbling.  These were people hungering for their 
faith, and also, people who still remembered the 
agony of Patriarch Akabaieth’s assassination on 
their lands.  Tyrion knew he could not heal them, but he hoped to help them.
         “Now I know that you are all very 
familiar with fortitude and long-suffering.  I 
too know something of this.  I was born deformed 
and weak.  Had my father not been a powerful man 
I would likely not have survived my 
childhood.  Nor would I have likely ever been 
appointed Bishop of so large a diocese as 
ours.  But those advantages could not take away 
my deformity and my weakness.  You have seen how 
I must walk.  What you do not see is the pain it 
gives me.  I have never run anywhere in my entire 
life and I never will.  But Eli supplies me the 
grace I need to endure.  I am told that if I stay 
here a week or two then I will no longer have to 
worry about my foot.  There was once a time when 
I might have accepted such an offer.  But now is not that time.
         “In a few shorts days I shall return to 
Kelewair and to tending my flock there, your 
brothers and sisters in faith.  In the time I am 
here I intend to journey from one end of this 
valley to the other to meet with our brothers and 
sisters.  When I am finished, when I have learned 
of you and of your needs, I will make sure that 
they are met.  I am prepared to ask a great deal 
of those who have given me their obedience 
because by that obedience they give glory to 
Yahshua who gave us the most sterling example of 
obedience to Eli that any could ever give.  You 
will not go hungry.  You will not wander 
lost.  You will not wonder when Father Hough will 
be able to come.  You will not linger in the 
bitter winter months waiting for the hope of the 
sacraments returned with the Spring.  This is my 
pledge to you.  As your Bishop, I will serve you.
         “Bear with me only a few days more that 
I may learn your needs for myself.  I will not 
keep you waiting any longer than that.  Now 
together let us profess our faith as our fathers 
and mothers did before us, and as our children will do after us.”
         The Liturgy continued as all the 
Followers were accustomed.  There was more 
ceremony out of necessity because of Tyrion’s 
office, but with five priests there was no lack 
of helping hands.  The sacrifices were offered, 
all were reverent, and then each crossed the 
railing to present the Eucharistic bread.  One by 
one the Followers came forward to receive while 
those who were not of the Ecclesia remained in 
the pews watching or praying.  Tyrion wondered 
how many were Rebuilders and how many Lothanasi.  Father Hough would know.
         It ended as it began, with choirs 
chanting and the procession leaving the same way 
it entered.  Only this time, where there had been 
a muted uncertainty in the Followers, Tyrion felt 
a sense of hopeful excitement.  As they walked 
past, he could see strange eyes looking to him 
and then away.  They didn’t know what to expect 
from him, but it was clear they hoped.  As Tyrion 
felt the weight of all thousand gazes he felt very small indeed.
         His bad leg ached once they left the 
nave the chant still ringing in their ears.  The 
crush of parishioners would be on them 
momentarily.  Tyrion felt twenty years older and 
gasped for relief he hadn’t realized he 
needed.  In a more timorous voice than he 
intended, he said, “Ready my carriage to head 
north.  I want to be on our way as quickly as possible.”
         “It will be as you say, your grace,” 
Father Hough replied with complete simplicity.

----------

         Thomas watched his wife enjoy a bowl of 
oats and syrup and told his heart to relax for 
the tenth time since leaving the Follower 
Cathedral.  There was no denying how he felt.  It 
wasn’t anything that Bishop Tyrion had said that 
set him on edge.  It was the young man 
himself.  He was not that many years younger than 
Thomas but he carried an authority that reached 
into his lands.  A cleric or not, Tyrion would 
never escape his father’s shadow.  And that made Thomas very, very anxious.
         “Thou dost not eat,” Alberta observed 
with a slight tilt to her long ears.
         “Nay,” he replied and spooned at his 
oats. “I don’t think I’m very hungry.”
         Alberta’s equine brow brightened with 
her love.  A bit of mirth crept into her voice. 
“I dost remember that once thou wouldst hath been 
overjoyed at a meal of simple oats.”
         The reminder of what he’d desired only a 
year past, the simple life of a horse, made him 
laugh.  A magical spell had compelled him, but 
the tenderness with which Alberta had fed him, 
combed him, and even spoke to him, had only 
contributed to the budding love in his heart.  He 
had no wish to be a beast anymore, nor did 
Alberta have any desire to make him as one, but 
they teased each other about it from time to 
time.  Oddly, it helped sooth their nerves.
         “It isn’t the oats,” Thomas replied with 
a smile he intended to be reassuring.  He lowered 
his snout before she could ask him what it was. 
“What did you think of his grace, Bishop Tyrion Verdane?”
         Alberta nodded gently, eyes straying 
past Thomas to the open windows and the cool air 
beyond.  A fire crackled in the hearth nearby 
keeping them warm, while the window brought a 
breeze and the scents of coming Spring.  Only the 
nearly invisible presence of a young page not yet 
under the Curse’s hold marred their privacy.
         “Bishop Tyrion didst seem young but very 
eager to demonstrate his concern for his 
flock.  ‘Tis my hope that he wilt be an able 
shepherd, kind and compassionate, gentle as a 
dove, but wise and clever as the serpent.  I dost 
believe he intends to bring more priests to 
Metamor, he only dost seek to learn how many he should.”
         “Aye, I agree there.” Thomas frowned and 
tapped his bowl with one hoof-like nail. “But he 
is still the son of Duke Titian Verdane, and that 
man has had ambitions on my southern fiefs for 
years.  If not for the Curse he’d have ambitions on this land.”
         Alberta frowned and swallowed her latest 
bite. “I thought that the civil war didst weaken him.”
         “It did.  He’d be a fool to try to take 
my lands by force.  But...” Thomas grunted and 
resisted the urge to smash the table with his 
fist. “I just worry what he might intend.  No 
scion of the Verdane line has set foot within 
this Valley in a hundred years.  And the last 
left with his head on a pike.  Tyrion may be the 
Bishop and it may be his right to inspect his 
flock, but this has me very, very nervous.”
         Alberta put a hand on his wrist and 
gently stroked his fetlock. “Hath Andwyn begun spying on him yet?”
         “Of course!”
         “Then he wilt tell thee, my dear 
husband, if there aught be any reason to fear.”
         There was such confidence in her voice 
and in her eyes that Thomas felt all the twisted 
angles in his heart line up.  He sighed and 
covered her hand with his.  Together, the two 
leaned their heads together and kissed with 
supple lips.  Thomas caught Alberta’s lower lip 
between his two and pulled playfully.  She brayed 
and drew back, shaking her head.  He whickered.
         “Oh, thou!  Eat thy oats!” Alberta 
brayed again, long tail lashing back and forth with her delight.
         Thomas, heart still tender but no longer 
troubled, did as his wife bade him.

----------

         Sir William Dupré had settled into life 
at Hareford as well as could be expected.  In the 
last two months he had familiarized himself with 
all of Hareford’s defences as well as those of 
the neighbouring villages.  The villages were 
small and would never survive an onslaught, but 
there was ample space behind Hareford’s curtain 
wall to house them should it come to a 
siege.  The outpost itself was well defended both 
in arms and in stone.  Its weaknesses were its 
small size and limited resources.  Neither of 
those were problems Dupré could solve on his own or in a short amount of time.
         So he did his best to learn the strength 
and abilities of the men (and women) under his 
command.  Most were hardened veterans who’d 
survived the northern assault the previous 
winter; these Dupré found highly skilled, 
competent, and watchful.  Some were fresh 
recruits just old enough to serve and he assigned 
each of them an older veteran to school 
them.  Others were refugees from Bradanes who 
were so thrilled not to be lepers that they 
happily embraced any duty given them.
         And then there were the six men that had 
escorted William to Metamor and stayed.  Of all 
those under his command only these six did he 
implicitly trust.  But the Keepers showed 
themselves worthy and none could gainsay their 
devotion to their land.  But until he learned who 
had been sent to spy on him he could trust none of them.
         Not even Nestorius the black lion mage 
who was titular ruler of this land.  He was fair, 
thoughtful, and as gracious a host as one could 
ask for in this cold and dangerous land.  But he 
was still Duke Thomas’s vassal, and as such, 
until Dupré felt trusted by the Duke there would 
always be a measure of distance between them even 
if it was as imperceptible as a soap bubble.
         Compared to all of the intrigue and 
danger he was now in, becoming a walking, talking ram was a blessing from Eli.
         His hooves clattered on the stonework, a 
sound he was now accustomed to.  He nodded to the 
guard standing watch outside Nestorius’s quarters 
who waved him through.  Inside he found the black 
lion bending over a map.  His office was usually 
cluttered with scrolls, old parchments, dusty 
tomes, lanterns that might be lit and just as 
often weren’t, as well as recently poured glasses 
of wine that had been half drunk before being 
forgotten.  Today was no exception.
         Nestorius’s manner was always a little 
detached, but he never failed to be appropriately 
gracious. “Ah, William, come in.  Can I get you something to drink?”
         “No, thank you,” the ram replied with a 
slight laugh. “It appears you have enough.”
         Nestorius’s yellow eyes scanned the 
three glasses sitting half-empty on various 
shelves and tables.  He chuckled at his own 
forgetfulness. “How do you feel about a little 
watch duty tonight?  I know you like to keep 
abreast of what all under your command must do so 
I thought I might interest you in this.”
         Dupré found the suggestion odd but not 
unappealing. “I’ve already watched from the 
battlements many nights.  You have been there with me for several.”
         “Here at Hareford, yes,” Nestorius 
agreed.  The ram’s eyes narrowed with interest. 
“I am speaking of the watchtower at the Dike.” 
The lion tapped the map with one claw and picked 
up the nearest wineglass with his other paw. 
“Here.  The westernmost tower.  We call it the 
Tower of the Eagle because you can see for miles 
north from there.  It’s built at the top of a 
steep defile so there’s little chance of being 
overrun, but there is always a risk.”
         “How well I know that!” Dupré pondered 
the suggestion with some delight.  With the snows 
melted he had been eager to get out of the castle 
again.  He wanted to feel grass beneath his 
hooves (and another part of him wanted to feel it 
on his tongue but he tried not to grant that much 
leeway). “Very well.  I will take a detachment of 
men and supplies for the night and ride to the 
Eagle Tower.  I will return tomorrow at this time.”
         Nestorius smiled broadly. “Very good.  I 
recommend you take the men you brought with you 
to Metamor.  They should have a chance to see it as well.”
         Dupré felt immediately suspicious and 
apart from his ears which turned upward, he kept 
his surprise from his face. “A reasonable 
suggestion.  I will gather them.” And leave 
behind at least one to try to learn why the 
crafty lion wanted him out of Hareford for the 
night.  He then shook his head, the points of his 
horns tracing little arcs in the air. “I fear I 
cannot take Alexander with me.  He’s still 
mending from that sortie last week.” The 
Rottweiler was impulsive but of good heart.  He’d 
understand and keep an eye, ear, and nostril open.
         The lion gulped down the remainder of 
the wine and nodded quickly. “I’ll see that he 
isn’t disturbed and gets his rest.”
         “Thank you.” Dupré bowed his head and 
took a clopping step back. “I will ready my men 
to depart at once.  Good day to you.” He took the 
nearest wine glass and emptied it.  He chuckled 
and grinned. “That is quite good.”
         Nestorius’s return smile had the decency 
of appearing somewhat guilty. “I wish you and 
your companions a swift ride and safe watch!”
         Dupré had no doubt that at least was true.

----------

         Charles spoke little to anyone on the 
journey from Metamor to Lake Barnhardt.  The day 
was fair with white clouds sliding north at a 
stately waltz while the carriage and knights made 
good time on the open and mostly dry roads.  On 
their leaving from Metamor a great throng of 
Followers had come out to see them on their 
way.  Many had been eager just to touch the 
barding of the horses or the wood of the carriage 
praying and hoping for relief or blessing.  But 
as the road left Euper and turned north along the 
river and the woods that clustered close like 
drooping eaves they paused and then dispersed back to their homes.
         The ride was pleasant, the cool of the 
early afternoon settling into their fur and 
keeping the exertion from taxing them.  The lead 
knight, a man of lithe frame and steely 
countenance, whom he’d hard one of the others 
call Nikolai, kept so a careful eye on the road, 
the quickly flowing river, the stones, the little 
crumbling walls along the roadside that marked 
where a village used to be, and every other 
detail of their passage that the rat was certain 
the man was aware of more than just the threat of 
ambush.  Charles wasn’t quite sure what to make 
of him, but he knew this Nikolai was not a friend to the Keep.
         Sir Saulius did try to engage him in 
conversation of a lighter nature, but he quickly 
saw that Charles wasn’t interested and so turned 
his attention to the road ahead.  Charles wanted 
very badly to turn to stone and deaden the sores 
Erick’s questions the night before had 
stirred.  But he knew poor Malicon’s back would 
not endure a few hundred pound stone rat and so 
suffered in silence.  He couldn’t even muster the will to seek his Calm.
         They reached Lake Barnhardt without 
incident.  The city nestled against the shore of 
a broad lake that was framed to the west by large 
hills.  The river flowed from its southern 
terminus.  Mills dotted the river’s western edge 
and beyond them sheep grazed before the hills 
disappeared beneath the blanket of pines pointing 
into the mountains.  High walls framed the main 
portion of the city including the modest 
castle.  A solitary tower rose up from the lake, 
ice still covering all but the nearest shores 
where fishermen plied their trade.
         The city gates opened to receive them 
and waiting beyond was a nobleman dressed in 
bright green brocade that masked his mud-coloured 
flesh, along with a company of soldiers and other 
dignitaries.  A servant carried a large basin of 
fresh water next to the nobleman.  Standing 
nearby was a familiar black-coloured 
hawk.  Charles’s heart lifted at the sight of her.
         The nobleman stepped forward followed by 
his water-bearer. “I am Lord Robern Barnhardt and 
I welcome his grace to Lake Barnhardt, my 
family’s ancestral home and the home of the first 
Ecclesia church in all the Valley.”
         Bishop Tyrion was helped from the 
carriage and he smiled to the man and the odd 
collection of attendants.  The trio of priests 
who’d come with him followed him out.  The 
knights dismounted including Charles and they 
brought their horses forward to frame the 
Bishop.  Tyrion awkwardly stepped through them 
and held out his hand with ring to the newt. “I 
am Bishop Tyrion Verdane.  Dominus vobiscum.”
         “Et cum spiritu tuo,” all replied with joyful obedience.
         The newt bent down on one knee and 
pressed the end of his muzzle to the ring.  He 
rose and taking a small cloth from the side of 
the basin, wiped down the Bishop’s hand. “Forgive 
me your grace, but I am afraid my shape is... well... slimy.”
         “We all have our burdens to bear,” 
Tyrion replied with some modicum of good humour 
as he rubbed his hand to rid it of the last of 
the slime. “Is that why you have a bowl of water here?”
         Lord Robern Barnhardt dipped the cloth 
into the water and then lathered it over his face 
and hands. “That is to keep my skin from drying 
out.  I am afraid I must spend most of my days in 
the water or I become very sick.  At the very 
least I can come outside in the winter to greet 
you, your grace.  My Steward waits inside the old 
church for us because he dare not go outside.”
         Tyrion frowned as he absorbed all of 
this news. “What has your good Steward become?”
         “He is a copperhead, your grace.” Tyrion 
visibly blanched at that. “Fear not he is a 
devout Follower who is anxious to meet you.”
         “Forgive me, but I have had a boyhood 
fear of snakes.  I will do my best not to recoil 
when I meet him.” Tyrion took a deep breath, 
glanced heavenward as if in prayer, and then 
asked, “Tell me, Lord Robern, why is it that you 
have no priests here?  You are the only one of 
all the nobility in Metamor Valley who is of the 
Ecclesia yet you have no priests.”
         “We use to have three,” Robern replied 
with much sadness in his voice. “When Nasoj 
struck eight years past, his armies breached our 
walls and laid waste the city.  Nearly all you 
see here has been rebuilt since then.  Our 
priests remained in the church to defend and 
protect the Sacred Hosts.  They were all cruelly 
slain and the Hosts desecrated.  Until Father 
Hough came to Metamor, we have had none and had 
to rely on hope in Yahshua’s mercy.”
         The faces of the Lakelanders all fell at 
the brief retelling of that sad tale.  Tyrion 
himself glowered with an inward fire. “If it has 
not already been done, I will reconsecrate the ground for your church.”
         “Father Hough has done this, but your 
blessing would be most welcome.” Robern dipped 
the cloth in the water basin and doused himself 
again. “Our church is modest but we have rebuilt 
it stone for stone.  Our people have gathered 
there to wait for us.  Come.  My soldiers will 
see that your steeds are given food to eat and water to drink.”
         Tyrion started after the newt and said, 
“My time is limited, do not overfeed them please.”
         A woman dressed in forest greens with a 
sword and bow approached the knights. “I am 
Captain Naomi.  If you would follow me I will 
show you where you can tend your horses.”
         Charles kept his gaze on the hawk for a 
moment more and then turned to Saulius. “Erick, I 
am going to talk with Jessica while we’re here.  Is that all right?”
         The other rat nodded, his whiskers 
twitching but his eyes betraying no thoughts. 
“Hand me thy reins and I shall tend to Malicon.”
         Charles did so, smiled to his knight who 
had already turned to follow Naomi and the other 
knights toward a building that smelled of horse, 
and then walked to where Jessica stood.  He 
didn’t see Weyden, but a giraffe, woman, and 
child who were with her paused before leaving to 
follow the Bishop.  Jessica cawed and wrapped the rat in her wings.
         “Oh, it’s good to see you again, Charles!  How are you holding up?”
         Charles hugged her back and felt a sense 
of relief begin to fill him. “It has been 
difficult,” he admitted and sighed. “It’s hard not thinking about my boy...”
         “I know,” She rested one wing on his 
shoulder and her long feathers tickled the backs 
of his ears. “But you’re home with Kimberly and 
your four other little children.  How are they?”
         He smiled a bit as he thought on 
them.  They were a source of light when the 
darkness in his heart reared. “They are well and 
happy to have my back.  I love them dearly and 
have spent every day with them since.  Well, 
until Sir Saulius was asked to serve as honour 
guard for his grace.  He seems a good man though 
he is the son of Duke Verdane.  I’m sure that has 
Duke Thomas fretting.” The thought of the horse 
lord stomping his hooves made him chuckle for 
some reason.  He looked up into the hawk’s golden 
eyes. “And what of you?  How are you?  I expected to see Weyden with you.”
         Jessica nodded and glanced at the sky. 
“He’s on patrol.  Volunteered for it.  I think he 
still feels a little guilty about becoming 
Lothanasi.  My poor hawk!  He is so strong and 
confidant most of the time, but he’s really quite 
tender and conscientious.  I think I love him 
even more for that.” She looked back down at the 
rat, tilting her head far to one side as only a 
bird could. “We are to be married in March when 
his tour here in Lake Barnhardt ends.  You will 
come for the wedding of course.”
         “Of course!  I’d never miss that!”
         The hawk’s plumage swelled. “Oh 
wonderful!  I have even been making some 
discoveries with magic, even for the Curse.”
         Curious, it was the rat’s turn to tilt his head to one side. “Oh?”
         “Oh yes!  I saw how it had touched 
Lindsey, and I was able to partially discover 
some of the secrets.  I’m still working on 
developing the power necessary to keep my spells 
active, but I’m growing a solution to that as we 
speak.” The vine twisted against his chest but 
she gushed with such excitement that the rat 
couldn’t interrupt. “I can touch people for a 
little while with one of the other two curses.  I 
have already made Maud into a giraffe a few 
times, and even made Larssen a little calf!  I 
could do the same for you quite easily if you want to see.”
         “You could do what to me?” Charles asked in a stammering squeak.
         Jessica drew him a bit closer with her 
wing and she squawked a laugh. “I could make a 
child out of you for an hour, or... a woman.”
         Charles stiffened and shook his head. 
“Uh, I don’t think I wish to experience that!”
         Jessica cawed and nudged the top of his 
head with her beak. “Perhaps you could understand 
Kimberly a little better that way.”
         “That’s perfectly fine, but no thank 
you.  I have a hard enough time contemplating 
what those like Lindsey or Walter feel.  I have 
no desire to know it for myself!  Just the thought makes my flesh creep!”
         She laughed and stepped back, letting 
the rat free from her feathers. “I didn’t think 
you would.  It’s okay.  But I can do this, but 
only for a short time.  I’m still 
practising.  But once I return to Metamor I may 
be able to do this for many others.  I could do a 
lot of good with this.  Husbands and wives 
separated by the Curse might be reunited in 
form.  And who knows, one day I may discover a 
way to undo the Curse entirely.  Oh listen to me 
go on.  I’ve discovered a new piece of magic and I just can’t let it go!”
         Charles smiled, feeling some of his old 
cheer returning at last. “It sounds remarkable, 
Jessica.  And it does sound like you.  At least 
something else good has come out of all this.” 
The rat took a deep breath and pushed back the 
sudden wave of misery he felt building. “I’ve 
never been to Lake Barnhardt before.  Do you 
think you could show me around while we wait for 
his grace to finish his inspection?”
         Jessica’s beak cracked in a wide grin. 
“Follow me, Charles.  It really is a lovely 
little city and I think you’ll like it.” Jessica 
led him toward the outer wall, wings pointing at 
buildings, her tongue clipping through 
descriptions of their history and purpose in such 
detail one might have guessed she’d lived there 
all her life.  Charles listened with relief.

----------

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

Charles Matthias


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