[Mkguild] Felsah's Little School (3/7)

[C. Matthias]

Metamor Keep: Felsah's Little School
by Charles Matthias

Part 3


April 19, 708 CR

When Father Hough woke the next morning he was 
greeted by a somber Thursday with a thick, cool 
mist filling the Valley so that the roofs of 
Keeptowne appeared like little flotsam and hoping 
stones in the froth of a river's eddy. He admired 
the vista out his chamber window while quietly 
intoning his morning prayers, with an extra 
petition that no Keeper blamed the sudden turn in 
weather on the Questioner's arrival. While many 
portentous events shook the skies and made 
thunder roll and the rain lash, he was beginning 
to tire of the way some of his fellow Keepers 
seemed to think this had to happen with every 
distinguished visitor to their enchanted land.

But there was no escaping the fact that Father 
Akaleth was a man who stirred deep passions on 
both sides. Even after Madog convinced Misha to 
abandon his attempts to incarcerate the 
Questioner, several of his parishioners had come 
to him in a fright that evening to ask him if the 
dreadful rumors were true. Given that he had 
greeted the news of the Questioners coming to 
Metamor last year with childish panic, he could 
not blame anyone for their fear, but he did his 
best to calm them and assure them that this new 
Questioner was just here to visit his friend.

Despite knowing all of this, he was still 
surprised to find Wolfram and his company all 
arrayed in their patrol gear standing guard 
outside the main doors to the Cathedral. Some of 
them, such as Kindle, were not even Followers, 
but they all were gathered with armor and 
weapons, as well as a few chairs for comfort, and 
a basket of fresh biscuits and pastries filled 
with cheese and meat. Hough was so shocked he could only stare in amazement.

“Good morning, Father,” Wolfrom said after 
swallowing a chunk of biscuit. He held the basket 
out in his left hand. “Would you care for one? Fresh from Gregor's.”

“I... I... What...” Hough stuttered before 
blinking and staring at the basket to see another 
half-dozen round biscuits with flaky folds of 
bread, warm and golden, with a buttery scent that 
made his stomach growl. “Oh... um... thank you.” 
He took one and bounced it back and forth in his 
hands until he managed to catch it with his sleeve. “Hot!”

Owain and Ross both laughed at that, while 
Wolfram ducked his head a bit in apology. “I'm 
sorry.” He held up his hooflet-tipped fingers. 
“My judgment of temperature isn't as good as 
yours, I think. Do you have it now?”

Hough nodded and blew on the biscuit a couple of 
times. “I think so... but... what are you all doing here?”

“Well,” Wolfram said with a snort, “if some think 
our guests are not welcome, we're going to make sure that nobody shows it!”

“We agreed last night to do this,” Kindle said as 
he picked a bit of cheese from his snout. “They seemed like good folk to me.”

“Very good folks,” Zachary rumbled from twice 
Hough's height. The kharrakhaz had his arms 
crossed, another basket of food clutched between 
two fingers. “Misha should know better.”

“I can't believe he did that,” Wolfram said as he 
looked into the basket and debated whether to 
have another biscuit or to wait a little bit.

“I can't believe that you stood up to both him, 
Rickkter, and half the Long Scouts!” Ross said 
with a bit of awe in his voice. Despite having 
become a man five years ago when the Curse had 
ended any possibility of his becoming a mother, 
there was still a faint feminine lightness that 
could be heard in his voice, especially when he 
was excited. “If it had come to it, I'd have backed you of course, but still!”

“Yeah,” Wolfram nodded, deciding on another 
biscuit after all. “And for one awful moment I 
thought either Misha or Rickkter would take me up 
on that challenge! Either way, whew!” He laughed 
the relieved laugh of a man who had courted 
certain death and saw death turn aside.

“You should not be neglecting your duties. Our 
guests are not in danger from anyone here,” Hough 
pointed out. He then, still holding it with his 
sleeve, sampled the biscuit and found it 
delicious and soft. “This is excellent!”

“We have permission from George,” Wolfram 
announced with a broad smile. “I spoke with the 
patrol master last night and he loved the idea.”

“He did?”

“Oh yes. He said it would serve Misha right for 
putting everyone in an uproar.” Owain and Ross 
laughed again at that, joined by Gweir and 
Burkhart as well. Only Zachary and Kindle kept 
silent, though Hough had never know the massive 
reptile to find humor in anything so frivolous as pique.

“Well, I cannot ask you to abandon your post but 
I am going to ask you to move it further away 
from the cathedral doors. We are going to have 
morning liturgy in an hour and I do not want you 
to scare any of our parishioners off!”

Wolfram at least, even through his black wool, looked embarrassed.

----------

Even as Father Hough was discovering Wolfram and 
his company's early morning vigil, one of their 
guests was waking to the coolness of the new 
dawn. Akaleth felt stiff and a soreness in his 
ribs, legs, and arms, as well as the usual ache 
that permeated his back. The wounds he'd suffered 
at the hands of his father and then those he 
suffered under the merciless care of Krenek 
Zagrosek always pained him when it was cold. And 
as he lived in the desert, it was a rare night that he didn't suffer.

His mind, as was its habit now, turned to the 
sufferings of Yahshua and especially His walk to 
the execution tree. He would offer no word of 
complaint, no groan of discomfort, and allow 
himself no desire for any relief; instead he 
would offer every mote of anguish to Eli as Father Kehthaek had taught him.

Of course he would accept any comfort offered by 
his host because that was the gracious and 
honorable thing to do. And so he had accepted the 
heavier quilts and softer pallet that night from 
both Felsah and Hough. There was just a twinge of 
regret at having to climb out of their warm embrace when he woke.

As quiet as he could, he slipped his legs out 
from beneath the covers, wriggled into his 
Questioner robe, and then walked the few steps 
toward the wall and the curtained window. He drew 
the curtain aside enough to let light in, and 
then propped it open with one of the journals. 
Turning he glanced at Felsah's pallet and saw his 
friend and fellow Questioner still asleep.

Felsah had curled up tail tuft to nose in his 
sleep, almost all four of his paws resting next 
to his snout. Akaleth noted the way his whiskers 
twitched and one of his large ears flicked as the 
light fell on him. He resembled more some 
aristocrat's exotic pet than he did a man and a priest.

But while this man had been a quiet and calming 
presence to all around him for years. He had 
volunteered to take the place of a condemned man 
and was nearly beaten to death because of it. On 
recovering his strength he plunged back into the 
work, unafraid and undeterred. Together they had 
faced the corruption poisoning the Ecclesia and, 
by the grace of Eli, seen its defeat. If Felsah 
could have accomplished all of that as a man, 
what could he do here in Metamor as a jerboa?

With one last look, Akaleth found his breviary and softly exited the cell.

----------

Even though as head of the Long Scouts he had 
many duties that awaited him each morning, Misha 
did not want to give any of them time to distract 
him from the one thing he wanted to make sure he 
accomplished that day. It was only inevitable 
that Duke Thomas would summon him to discuss his 
welcome of the Questioner and his party 
yesterday, a summons that could come any time, 
but he wanted to be sure that he knew as much as 
he could before that unpleasant hour came.

And so after grooming himself as hastily as he 
could manage and still look presentable to 
family, he threw the latch in his workshop, 
walked past the many projects with which he 
labored in love when not chained to duty, and 
carefully withdrew a blue gem small enough to fit 
in his curled fist from the cloth lined reliquary 
in which he kept it. Most of his worktable was 
either cluttered with gears, nails, and tools, or 
permanently stained with oil and grease. But one 
corner he kept clean when he needed to eat or when he needed to use this gem.

With far more care than he had given to his 
grooming – he had almost decided to use four legs 
that morning except it meant there would be a lot 
more fur to brush into some semblance of order – 
he placed the gem on that clean patch of his work 
table and stretched one paw across its cool 
surface. He closed his eyes and thought of his 
sister. He imagined her long brown hair flowing 
down her shoulders, clasped in place with a 
silver broach half way down her tresses. He 
imaged her oval face, creamy skin, and blue eyes. 
And after a few moments he wasn't imagining them anymore.

Seated at a large table beneath of which lay a 
sandy-colored greyhound was his sister. She was 
dressed in a warm woolen robe with silver lace 
beneath. On the balcony outside her chambers 
Misha could hear the constant patter of rain. His 
sister was busy composing a letter with a 
particularly aromatic ink that made Misha's nose 
twitch and his tongue begin to pant. Were those raspberries?

At his sudden panting, Elizabeth turned her head 
and a smile creased her face. “Misha! What a 
wonderful surprise! You don't usually project so 
early in the morning. Is something wrong?”

Misha smiled to his sister and then laughed. 
“Well, perhaps so. Some of it by my own paw 
perhaps, but I was hoping to learn from you if 
that is so. Ah, how are you doing, Sis?”

“Well enough. There is plenty of work to occupy 
my attention for months. Presently I've been 
trying to charter merchants to purchase large 
quantities of stibnite from east of the Vysehrad. 
To rebuild the world bell we need that and many 
other things. But to reach that land requires 
sailing around Rukilia and no one wishes to do 
that in Summer. The mosquitoes are larger than 
birds, or so I have been told.” Elizabeth smirked 
ever so slightly, her way of showing how little 
credence she gave to such tales. Misha recalled a 
few times she had used that same expression when 
he had made up some excuse for why he was covered 
from head to toe in dirt back when they had been children.

“The few we see here are big enough,” Misha 
replied with a very welcome laugh. “We have no 
stibnite here, or at least, not that I've heard.”

Elizabeth nodded and then reached out as to 
embrace him, though of course they could not feel 
anything more than the suggestion of presence. 
“Worry not about my mundane troubles. What brings 
you to see me so early on such a soggy morning as 
this?” Outside the sky rumbled with a distant 
peal of thunder as if groaning protest to so meek a characterization.

“Remember those three from Yesulam you told me 
about? The Questioner and the two warriors accompanying him?”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and nodded. “Aye, I 
remember them. I wanted to throttle the lot of 
them before we were done, but they did help us 
piece together one of the puzzles surrounding 
Marzac. And may that place ever be a charred and desolate ruin. What of them?”

“They're here at Metamor.”

“What?”

“They're here at Metamor. They arrived yesterday. 
Hugo Maclear was with them. We welcomed them with 
every Long Scout currently at the Keep and 
several of our finest warriors. But they were 
apparently expected by the Questioner already 
here at Metamor and so we let them stay at the 
Cathedral under Hough's charge. I'm... worried 
about them. That Questioner... Akaleth I think 
his name is... he did terrible things to the 
keepers he questioned last time he was here.”

“What did he do?” Elizabeth asked with a curious frown.

“He threatened to whip them and torture them if 
he could. The chief Questioner forbade him, but he didn't stop making threats.”

“Father Akaleth? That is hard to believe. 
Insufferable yes, but threatening? I didn't see that in him at all!”

Misha's one ear lifted in surprise. “What was he like?”

“Insufferable. Even in demanding mercy for Hugo 
he was insufferable. But... he did demand to 
receive the lashes meant for Hugo. And I mean 
demand! He ran into the square and stood between 
Hugo and the adjudicator and would not be moved. 
This after Hugo tried to have him killed. I do 
not know what to think of him, but he is a wholly 
genuine man. What he believes he believes with 
all his being. And he tries his best to live it 
too.” Elizabeth frowned and then snapped her head 
up, one lock of hair flying through Misha's 
illusory muzzle. “Just what are they doing in Metamor anyway?”

“I'm not really sure. They said that they were 
here to see Felsah, that other Questioner priest, 
the one Madog really likes.” Misha's ear lowered 
at that, a slight irritation touching his heart 
about how frequently Madog seemed to like the 
wrong people. He was more irritated that Madog 
was always right too, but the irritation was 
fleeting as any irritation the automaton caused him always seemed to be.

“You said they. Were the two warriors with them?”

“Aye, and I'm told one of them was a Kankoran Blademaster.”

Elizabeth lifted one hand to her face and brushed 
a lock of hair behind one ear. “That would be Sir 
Czestadt. His Galendish was poor but improving. 
He can manipulate blades without touching them, 
but as long as you do not threaten Father Akaleth 
he won't do anything. In fact none of them are 
likely to break your laws as long as they are left alone.”

“That is good to know,” Misha admitted with a 
sigh. “I'm probably going to need to apologize to 
them for how I welcomed them. But how does one 
man change so much in just a year? He was... evil when he came here before!”

Elizabeth pursed her lips and gazed at her 
brother with compassion and forgiveness. “Do you remember Krenek Zagrosek?”

The fox yipped. “How could I forget that man! I 
had nightmares for months after he injured Madog!”

“Those three Questioners continued their search 
for answers to Patriarch Akabaieth's murder even 
after they returned to Yesulam. Father Akaleth 
confided in the very man responsible, and was 
taken to a very dark place where he was beaten 
and tortured by Zagrosek for days, he doesn't 
know how many. And he had to watch children be 
murdered by the Sword of Yajakali. Akaleth is a 
man who has seen spiritual evil and it made him 
recognize just how evil he had become as well. 
Having to live and depend on Magyars for a couple 
of months helped soften his disposition as well. 
This doesn't mean he isn't insufferable still, 
just that you do not need to fear him doing anything unpleasant at Metamor.”

“I had heard from Felsah that they were tracking 
down the man responsible still. He might have 
mentioned something about Akaleth being tortured. 
I don't remember now.” Misha scuffed one paw 
across the floor and lowered his eyes. “I'm 
just... I'm torn, Sis. Did I overreact in 
welcoming them with armed soldiers and demanding 
to put him in the dungeon while he was here?”

“That priest didn't even get inside the gates of 
Marigund without having one of the Caial try to 
kill him.” She shook her head with a laugh. “Be 
very, very grateful he is not the man he once was. His power...”

Misha's one ear perked. Even the greyhound lifted 
his head to glance at Elizabeth curiously for a 
moment before laying it back down on the soft 
rug. “Rickkter said that staring at him was like staring into the sun.”

“I did not see that when I looked at him, but 
when he used his power... he nearly bore a hole 
through old Barty's head! He killed a Shrieker 
with his light. He killed a Shrieker, Misha. By 
himself. There is no other person alive or in legend who can make that claim.”

Misha took a deep breath, trying to reconcile his 
memory of the sneering priest always reaching 
into his sleeve to clutch at the whip hidden 
within with the heroic self-sacrificing man his 
sister described. How could they possibly be the same person?

“I'll just keep my distance then. Although I 
think somebody here at Metamor would be interested in seeing him.”

Another rolling bout of thunder crackled the sky. “Who?”

“Somebody else who has seen the Sword.”

----------

Father Akaleth was absorbed in prayer before the 
altar and tabernacle when something wet, warm, 
and long began lashing his face. He opened his 
eyes to the enthusiastic greeting of a 
golden-furred dog with wagging tail. He couldn't 
help but laugh and scratch the dog behind the 
ears, “And a good morning to you too, Rakka!”

The dog licked his face a few more times, before 
lowering his front and wagging his tail eagerly. 
Akaleth knew that this dog was asking for play. 
He thought to ignore him now that they had been 
introduced and return to his prayers, but another 
voice, a young man's voice, called Rakka's name 
in embarrassment as if through clenched teeth. It 
was the closest any would come to shouting in so 
holy a place as this, and it caught the Questioner's attention.

A young man of broad shoulder with dark hair and 
firm lines in his face rushed over, genuflected 
toward the altar, and then grabbed Rakka by the 
collar. “Do not disturb Father at prayers, Rakka. Now come.”

“It is all right,”Akaleth said with a faint 
laugh. He drew the sign of the Yew over his chest 
and regarded the youth dressed in a brown 
cassock. “Are you one of Father Hough's seminarians?”

“Ramad,” the young man replied. “I have been with 
him almost two years now. He says that by next 
year I will be ready for the diaconate.”

“And a year or two later for priesthood I 
expect.” Akaleth stood and glanced at the dog and 
then back to the young man. “How is it that you are tending this dog?”

“It was Father Felsah's idea. Each of us will be 
tending Rakka for a week at a time. When our week 
is done the next will care for him. This is my week.”

Akaleth nodded, then bent over and gently pet the 
dog who was now sitting on his haunches and 
panting. “Does he welcome everyone to the cathedral so joyfully?”

“No,” Ramad admitted a bit defensively. His 
muscles twitched as if he were eager to get away. 
“Normally he is quite well-behaved. Father Felsah trained him very well.”

“It was not Felsah who trained him, but he has 
been a good companion.” Akaleth kept his voice 
quiet so as not to disturb the other Followers at 
prayer. He could see Kashin praying farther back, 
his one fist pressed to his forehead as he 
murmured the words under his breath. Czestadt was 
at the rear of the sanctuary and counting beads. 
Only a few others lingered there that morning after Matins.

“He is friendly,” Ramad said with a nod, eyes 
narrowing and a smile creasing his lips as he 
looked down at the dog waiting patiently at his hip.

“Tell me, Ramad,” Akaleth continued, “you were not born a man were you?”

“Nay,” Ramad replied. “When I turned thirteen I 
became one by Metamor's curses.”

“So why elect to become a priest?”

Ramad glanced at the doorway through which he'd 
come, obviously interested in finding some 
graceful way to excuse himself. But there wasn't 
any graceful way to avoid answering the 
Questioner, and so he bit his lip for a second of 
thought and then replied, “I have always felt a 
call to the priesthood. I thought at first it 
must be to the Lothanasi because they allow women 
to be priests. But after speaking with them, 
something didn't feel right to me. After I became 
a man I understood what it was. I came here and 
learned of Eli and Yahshua and knew that it was 
here I was called to serve. It just took Metamor's curses to make it possible.”

“Do you think of yourself as a woman who has become a man?”

“Nay,” Ramad replied with a quick shake of his 
head. “I may have started out as a girl, but I'm 
a man now. That's what matters.”

“And a boy who becomes a woman, what would you 
say to such a one? Especially to such a one who wanted to be a priest?”

“Well, they're a woman now.” Ramad replied with a 
slight scowl. “Women cannot be priests. The nuns 
would be more than happy to take them and give 
them a way to serve and love our savior.”
Akaleth nodded and said nothing. He lowered one 
hand and stroked Rakka's ears again. The dog 
leaned his head into Akaleth's hand, pressing his 
nose within and pushing into it, goading the 
priest to pet him more. He obliged with a few 
quick strokes down the back of his neck, before 
returning his attention to the seminarian. “You 
do not need to be afraid of me, young Ramad.”

“I'm not...” Ramad started to object, then closed 
his mouth and lowered his eyes. “I heard about what you did here before.”

“I was a very evil man then,” Akaleth admitted 
without pause. “You would be justified in fearing 
such a man. But I am not that man anymore.”

“You aren't testing me?” Ramad asked in surprise.

“No. I am only trying to understand you. You say 
that you have been called to the priesthood. I 
accept your word. Metamor's curses have made you 
into a man. You are not a woman who has been 
dressed like a man, or even a woman who is 
wearing an elaborate disguise or one who has 
trained their voice to sound like a man. You are 
a man. You may have a better notion of how girls 
think, but that is all. Is there some bit of that 
girl, some desire, some sin, that persists with you now?”

Ramad looked uncomfortable now rather than 
worried. “I... I guess sometimes I get well... 
bad desires. I don't like them, Father.”

“Nor should you. The life of the priest is one 
that must be lived according to the highest 
virtues. We are called to be light for the whole 
world, Ramad. Light for the whole world. Think on 
that and marvel. We do not have the ability to do 
it alone, but the Spirit Most Holy, who lives 
within us and in the Ecclesia, gives us the 
ability and the wisdom we need, and the gentle 
promptings, and some not so gentle, that teach us 
to be that light and leads us ever closer and 
closer to Him who created us and knew us in the 
womb. He knew of the curses that would be placed 
at Metamor, and knew that you would become a man. 
He knew all of this and blessed you in a special 
way with your childhood as a girl. Do I know how 
this will help you as a priest? No. But I know that it is meant to do so.

“I was blessed in my childhood as well, even if I 
could not see it for He prepared me to keep 
silent at the moment when it was most needed. I 
did not learn how much of a blessing it was until 
far too late, and I have done terrible things 
because of it. But Eli's mercy is greater still 
and I have been blessed in more ways than I could 
ever count. Human justice, feeble and fickle as 
it is, would have seen me dead before I had a 
chance to repent in order to protect many from my 
grim predilections. I can only hope that those I 
have hurt will find the grace of love in their 
hearts to forgive me and forgive others who have caused them pain.”

Ramad blinked at the sudden homily but nodded as 
he listened. When nothing more came from the 
Questioner's tongue, he bent down and gave Rakka 
a quick scratch behind the ear. The dog panted 
and licked Ramad's other hand a few times, tail 
wagging and sweeping the stone tiles behind him. 
Akaleth allowed himself a smile at the sight.

When the young man stood back up he said in a 
voice even quieter than before. “Are you going to stay?”

“No. My home is where I am assigned and at 
present that is Yesulam. When I return I will 
have been away for more than six months, and that 
is a very long time for any Questioner to be on 
the road, even when we have been sent on a 
Questioning. But, who can say what the future holds? Do you wish me to stay?”

Ramad smiled lightly and nodded. “A moment ago I 
would have said no. But just now you said more to 
me in a few words than I've heard yet in any of 
Father Hough's homilies! How do you speak to the heart so well?”

“Through great pain,” Akaleth admitted with a 
long sigh and a glance toward the yew tree on 
which Yahshua hung. Though the wooden carving did 
not show all of the scars Yahshua must have 
received during His scourging and myriad 
humiliations, anyone contemplating His 
countenance would have seen the anguish borne 
with the greatest of love. “There are some who 
have suffered little who understand the depths of 
the heart with such intimacy that you would think 
they had lived your life as much as their own. 
The rest of us have to endure hardship to 
appreciate the way it forms a man just as beaten iron is formed by the smith.”

“But Father Hough has suffered greatly,” Ramad 
pointed out with a faint suggestion of shame at 
having, by comparison, spoken so lightly of her 
teacher. “He was... I cannot even bear to say it! 
But he has suffered terribly out of love.”

“And his words ring true in many hearts,” Akaleth 
replied, letting his hands wrap about one another 
in his voluminous sleeves. “But he didn't suffer 
the way you did, yearning to answer a call that 
was impossible for you in your youth.”

Ramad gazed at him skeptically. “And you did?”

“Aye, I did. No, do not pry further. It is best 
to let that time lie in peace. I am sure you have 
many duties and studies this day, not the least 
of which is this pleasant dog who is looking to 
you to see to his needs. And I fear one of his 
needs very soon will be to do something he should 
not do here in the cathedral.” Ramad looked down 
and saw that Rakka had gotten to all fours and 
was sniffing around the floor, turning about in 
circles. The young man's eyes went wide and he 
slapped his thigh and clicked his tongue. The dog 
obediently returned to his side, but those dark eyes kept looking around.

“Thank you, Father Akaleth,” Ramad said with a 
smile. “Even if you don't stay here, I very much 
hope you come back from time to time.”

“I would enjoy that. And I hope there is time for 
us later to speak again. I hope to meet your 
fellow seminarians as well. For now we do as we 
must. Obedience is the first step to true love, 
young Ramad. And as priests we are betrothed in 
an especial way to the truest lover there has 
ever been or ever will be.” He gestured with a 
nod of his head toward the Yew and then toward 
the gold tabernacle atop the marble altar beneath 
the baldacchino with the blessed mother. Ramad 
followed his gaze and then prostrated himself as 
his right hand traced the sign of the Yew over his breast.

“Thank you again. I will meditate on your words. 
Especially on light.” Ramad smiled to him and 
then patted Rakka on the back of the head. “Come, 
Rakka. Dominus tecum, Father.”

“Et cum spiritu tuo.”

With the faintest of smiles on his lips, but one 
more lively filling his eyes, Akaleth watched the 
young man walk down the central aisle while the 
golden-furred dog followed at his heels. It was 
always strange to see a dog in the sanctuary, but 
Rakka was very well-behaved. He recalled Felsah's 
attempt to teach some of the other Questioners 
humility by having them bring strays into the 
Questioner Temple and take care of them. A clever 
idea that did indeed teach humility, but had 
caused so much chaos and not a few acts of 
unintended desecration that Kehthaek had 
intervened after only a day and a half. The 
strays had all been offered to the merchants and 
aristocrats and each quickly found a new home. 
But those two days had been the most hectic to 
have ever passed within his home.

And even as he thought on that ill-fated plan, he 
saw its architect hopping toward him from the 
right side of the sanctuary near the altar rail. 
Felsah had a firm grip on his shortened robes 
with both hands and he held the hem of his robe 
up even higher so he wouldn't step on it with his 
large toes each time he landed and hopped again. 
The click of his claws on stone was a short 
tic-tic-tic like a woodpecker making a new home. 
His face was bright and his green eyes wide 
behind a bushel of whiskers as he came to a stop 
in front of his fellow Questioner.

“Akaleth! Have you finished your morning prayers then?”

“It seems that I have. When did you start having 
the seminarians look after Rakka?”

“Last week,” Felsah replied. “Patric was the 
first, and now Ramad. The others will each have 
their turn. It is better than trying to manage strays.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Felsah shook his head in mirth, his long tail 
flicking back and forth as if he were trying to 
wag it. “Have you broken your fast yet? Wolfram 
has brought some fresh biscuits and pastries with 
him and he would very much enjoy the chance to 
share them with us both. He also would like to 
talk with us. There is something I wanted to show 
you, but it is best to wait until Patric can be 
there; he is presently visiting the nuns and 
helping them build their convent, but he'll return after None.”

“If the noble captain in the guise of a ram 
wishes to speak with us, then let us not tarry. Where is he?”

“I've asked him to the room our schola uses to 
practice. Come, I will show you.”

Together they walked down the main aisle of the 
cathedral past rows of pews and even longer 
stretches without pews where the faithful could 
stand or kneel freely. They entered a wide arched 
door on the northern wall at the back of 
cathedral which took them up a broad set of steps 
to a wide room with a trio of wooden platforms, 
each one higher than the one in front of it, and 
a series of closets on either side. The peculiar 
scent of brass and oil filled the room. Windows 
on the eastern face bathed the room in a delicate 
light. Nine unlit lanterns hung from the ceiling, 
each within easy reach of the four foot long 
candle lighter with quenching bell at its end 
that was propped in one corner. Behind them the 
stairs continued upwards toward the loft at the rear of the cathedral.

Sitting on the middle platform with his hooves 
propped against the back of the lower platform 
was the black-wooled ram. His buckler was empty 
of both sword and shield. But he was still 
attired in the blue livery of a soldier of 
Metamor. Brown eyes saw them approach, and his 
tufted ears were turned toward them as they 
stepped into view. He rose and bowed his head 
low, affording Akaleth a good view of the 
smoothed stump of his right horn. There were 
suggestions of the jagged break, but the worst of 
them had long since been filed away.

“Good morning, Father Felsah, Father Akaleth,” he 
said with deep respect in tone and posture. “I 
brought some food for you both this morning if 
you'd like to share them with me.”

“Thank you, Captain Wolfram,” Akaleth replied 
with a nod of his head. “That is most gracious of 
you. We would be honored to join you in breaking our fast.”

They all sat down on the platforms. Felsah 
straddled the middle platform, his long tail 
stretched out behind him, while either leg 
dangled over the sides, toes not reaching the 
wooden supports between each platform. Akaleth 
sat opposite him with Wolfram between them. The 
ram had a small basket behind him that smelled of 
warm, fresh bread and some fruit that Akaleth 
couldn't identify. He handed each of them a loaf 
as big as their fists and Felsah said the 
blessing. Akaleth tore off little chunks and 
found it soft, pliable, a little sweet, but 
mostly a savory morning delight. He finished his 
loaf faster than he usually would eat his meals 
and found another placed into his hands by the 
ram who kept a beastly eye on him and a strange 
expression on his snout, one foreign to any sheep he'd ever seen.

“Do you like it, Father?”

“This is excellent,” Akaleth replied between bites. “Are these strawberries?”

“Oh yes. A fresh batch according to Brennar.”

“I thought strawberries ripen in early Summer.”

Wolfram shrugged. “I suppose. I think these come 
from D'Alimonte's greenhouse. The grasshopper 
always has something interesting growing there no matter the season.”

“Grasshopper?” Akaleth asked in surprise, but 
then shook his head. “No, do not tell me. I can 
barely conceive of what it must be like to have 
fur or wool. To become like a grasshopper is beyond my limited understanding.”

Wolfram laughed and smacked his knee with one 
hand. “I wasn't going to try to explain that! I 
don't understand it either! But if he can grow 
strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, and all 
sorts of other fruits any time of the year, he must be a good man.”

Akaleth almost corrected him by saying that it 
only meant this D'Alimonte was a master of 
horticulture, but kept the remark behind his 
tongue. This was the sort of uncharitable 
statement that he knew he was so prone to and 
that he had to defeat if he was to be a better 
priest and man. Instead, he took another bite of 
the juicy and savory pastry, chewed and 
swallowed, and then said, “And my compliments to your inventive baker.”

“Gregor makes the best bread in all the valley, 
even if he is a Lightbringer.” Wolfram licked one 
of his hoof-like nails of the last of the juice 
from his pastry and then balled his two-fingered 
hands into fists. “That's kind of what I wanted 
to ask you both about. Not the Lightbringers, but 
the gods that they worship... and the gods that they fear.”

“The diabolical Pantheon of the,” Akaleth 
couldn't help but snort at the name, “Lightbringers?”

“Aye, the, aedra and daedra lords as they call 
them. Why doesn't the Ecclesia teach us more 
about them and how to protect ourselves from them?”

Akaleth took his time chewing his next bite as he 
pondered the question. Felsah did as well, though 
the jerboa chewed a little faster. His piping 
voice squeaked as the first stirrings of an 
answer began to tumble from his long tongue. “In 
Yesulam where we both grew to maturity there was 
little need to discuss them because there is 
simply no one in all of the Holy Land who 
believes them to be gods to be worshiped. Many 
believe them to be demons to be feared and cast 
out. A few believe them to be spiritual beings of 
great power who are, unlike the demons, still 
capable of repentance for their sins and thus in 
even greater need of Yahshua the redeemer than 
we! But, since we do not deal with them 
ourselves, we do not hear of them much there.”

Wolfram nodded, his thin lips grimacing in 
disappointment. “But in many places Follower and 
Lightbringer cross paths; and in some like 
Metamor, there are far more Lightbringers than 
Followers like us. Surely there must be something 
that can be done to protect us from them.”

“It is the role of the priest to shepherd his 
flock and warn them to keep away from things that 
belong to the Lightbringers,” Felsah replied with 
an occasional agitated squeak. The jerboa's tail 
tuft was bouncing up and down on the wooden 
platform; Akaleth could not help but watch it as 
he pondered what more he could add.

“But what if you do all that and they still find you?”

Akaleth knew that there had to be some reason 
behind these questions and so he decided it was 
best not to waste any more time on hints and 
circumlocutions. “Something happened to you or 
somebody you care about. One of the aedra or 
daedra did something, did they not?”

Wolfram's expression looked as pleasant as a man 
contemplating child-birth. “My friend, the best 
and closest friend I have ever had. He... he was 
torn from this world by one of the daedra lords. 
And I think that he was being attacked by them 
for months before hand. Everything he did, every 
project he started, was sabotaged in some way 
that either set him back months or nearly killed 
him. Misha saw what happened in the end not two 
months ago. It... it pains and angers me still.” 
The ram's voice deepened and the bleating became 
a veritable growl. And between his clenched flat 
teeth, he described a dark fiery figure that 
laughed with a malice that turned the fiercest 
blood cold, a leash of chain, black as coal and 
red as a forge, and the screams for help from his 
doomed friend as he was dragged off into the 
midnight shade where only the echo of his screams 
and the daedra lord's laugh lingered.

Akaleth shivered, and Felsah had to fight to keep 
still. When Wolfram finished his tale, both 
Questioners made the sign of the yew to ward off 
the evil. Akaleth spoke, his voice measured and 
the mask of the Questioner firmly in place to 
hide his horror. “It seems that we should be 
doing more to fight such threats. I will be 
passing through Kelewair on my return journey and 
I will speak of this to Bishop Verdane. He will 
want to know immediately and he might have some 
ideas of his own; his diocese contains many 
Lightbringers and many who might serve the daedra 
too. I will also tell everything to my superiors 
on my return to Yesulam. Even the Patriarch will 
hear of this. Tell us everything you saw and 
heard, and now know that points to their dread 
influence in your friend's life. I will keep him in my prayers henceforth.”

Wolfram lowered his eyes, hooves scuffling 
against the wood beneath them. “There is much 
that is personal, Father. And a lot is just 
guesses. I don't know if they are even true.”

Felsah stretched out one paw and rested it on the 
ram's right arm. His short claws and small hands 
looked even smaller touching the well-muscled 
ram's forearm; they almost sank into his black 
wool and disappeared like a stone plunging into 
the sea. “The more we hear the better we will be 
to determine the truth; and the more likely we 
will be able to help your friend, and to keep 
what happened to him from happening to any other Followers.”

Nothing was said for several seconds as the ram 
soldier took a deep breath and then exhaled so 
slowly that he seemed a flower closing its petals 
at the fall of night. “All right. There is a lot 
to tell, Father. I hope you have the time.”

“I always have time for souls,” Akaleth assured 
him with a nod of his head. “Please, tell us what you know.”

“Well,” Wolfram said as he propped his hooves on 
the platform again, hands gripping the wood 
behind him for support. “It began about a year 
ago when my friend opened his tin smithy...”


----------


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

Charles Matthias
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