[Mkguild] Felsah's Little School (4/7)

[C. Matthias]

Metamor Keep: Felsah's Little School
by Charles Matthias

Part 4



While they had all been told to remain in the 
cathedral during their stay and he was more than 
willing to sleep in one of the little rooms that 
they kept for seminarians and visiting priests, 
there was just far too much about the place that 
unsettled his Rebuilder soul. Hugo had been rapt 
with the beauty of the stained-glass windows, the 
clerestory, the mighty organ, and even the 
stations showing many scenes of Yahshua's torment 
on the way to the execution tree. But the 
statuary that filled the place, especially of 
Yanlin which was given so prominent a place above 
the altar, the image of Yahshua upon the yew, and 
of course, the tabernacle itself, all of this 
bothered him in a way he could not define and so 
he begged the seminarian whose room he was 
sharing if he might following him out into the city that day.

The seminarian, a mouse named Richard who was 
Boots junior by five years, was tasked with 
visiting several Follower families to learn their 
needs that month, to pray with them, and to bring 
a blessing from Father Hough for them and their 
household. He chose a narrow passage hidden back 
behind stacks of altar candles in the main 
storage room for the cathedral that led out to 
the gardens, a passage that brought them outside 
the castle without having to pass through the 
Cathedral entrance. And it was also a passage 
whose exit could not be detected from the 
exterior. Hugo was amazed that they would show 
him such a secret escape, but Richard explained 
that Father Akaleth had requested it, and Hough had concurred.

How did he come to deserve such compassion from Ecclesiast priests?

Hugo was afraid even that subterfuge would come 
to naught when they reached the gates from the 
Keep grounds to Keeptowne, but none of the guards 
standing watch said anything as they passed.

Once through they stood in the smelly streets of 
Metamor with looming houses on either side, 
brightly colored tapestries hanging from high 
windows and little pinions flapping from the 
ramparts behind them. The sounds of voices, horse 
hooves, claws and Keeper hooves, wagon wheels, 
carriages, carts, children, a smithy, and more 
shopkeepers than he could count filled his ears. 
The typical scents of refuse and perfume tickled 
his nose, but he was also overwhelmed by the 
powerful animal musks that thronged the air. Hugo 
nearly fell to his knees as he tried to absorb 
everything at once. He hadn't realized how much 
he had missed riding in the carriage yesterday.

Richard's whiskers twitched in a faint chuckle. 
“If you think this is bad, imagine how it smells 
and sounds to me!” He pointed to his pink nose 
and large ears. He even flicked the pink flesh of 
his ears with his claws as if they were drums. 
“You get used to it. I'm going to meet Patric at 
the convent a little before None. You can meet me 
there. It's easy to find, don't worry. Everybody knows where it is.”

It took him a moment to remember which hour of 
the day None was. Spending the last month in 
Father Akaleth's company had taught him many 
things about the Ecclesiasts that he had never 
known, such as the way they kept time. A regular 
schedule of special prayers throughout the day 
struck him as a ritualized affair without heart, 
but he had to admit that the devotion he'd seen 
in Akaleth and Kashin's faces as they'd prayed, 
and even Czestadt's, had made him wonder if it 
really was just a barren ritual of men. And there 
did seem to be a great deal of wisdom in spending 
a bit of time in prayer each day; he just 
couldn't believe that the Ecclesiasts might 
actually have stumbled onto a good idea.

After agreeing to the mouse's suggestion they 
parted ways with the mouse seminarian heading 
down one of the narrow alleys past shopkeepers 
and toward the Inns and homes on the eastern side 
of the city. Hugo followed a similar alley toward 
the west, and then proceeded south along a wider 
track between the tightly clustered buildings 
that paralleled the main thoroughfare. There 
would be more soldiers patrolling the main road 
and there might be one that would recognize him; 
it was best to stay where he wasn't as likely to be noticed.

He wandered for a while, admiring the beauty of 
the landscape surrounding the city, the variety 
of shapes every Keeper came in – many of whom 
were species of animal that he'd never seen 
before and most of which made Boots a little 
nervous – and noting how pervasive the magical 
flows were in this land. They were so strong that 
he felt as if he were walking through cobwebs 
every way he went, the tendrils of magical force 
brushing across him and sometimes clinging to him 
for a moment before snapping back into place.

But more than the magic, the beastly shapes, the 
children acting like adults, and the buxom women 
and impressive men, there was an air of 
friendliness and unity that was entirely missing 
from his home of Marigund. In Marigund the only 
thing that unified them all was that they were 
born there and that patriotism for their homeland 
was instilled in each generation with martial 
discipline. There was division amongst the 
Keepers based on faith, though unlike Marigund 
where the Lothanasi, Ecclesiasts, and Rebuilders 
had roughly the same numbers, here the majority 
were Lothanasi and the Rebuilders were so few in 
number as to be nearly invisible. Yet, there 
didn't seem to be any divisions, as he saw 
Lothanasi symbols hanging in the windows of one 
home, while the next featured a yew over its 
transom. And while he could tell when he ventured 
from the merchant's district to the laborer's 
district, there was never a sense of a Lothanasi 
or Ecclesiast district, nor even of a beast, or 
children's district as he might have expected 
from the Curses. The unity of the people of 
Metamor was even more beautiful than the 
mountains, the variety of their shapes, or even 
the abundance of magic flowing through their land.

Hugo eventually migrated to the market square 
where he purchased a small loaf of bread and a 
small wedge of cheese, little portions of which 
he shared with Boots who kept hidden within a 
deep and wide pocket inside his cloak. The sky 
was filled with clouds but if there was a threat 
of rain it did not seem to alarm any of the Keepers.

The square was filled with stalls selling food of 
every kind, from spiced and salted meats, to 
several different breads, cheeses, eggs, fruits, 
beans, lentils, spices, potatoes, celery, a 
variety of noodles, and even bundles of flavored 
grass and oats for those Keepers who had become 
ruminants. There were also merchants selling 
jewelry of mediocre quality, weapons so dull that 
they would need a week of sharpening to pierce a 
soap bubble, clothing promised to be tailored to 
any shape or size, with as many number of 
appendages as that Keeper possessed, wines 
claiming to be of older vintage than they really 
were, perfumes ranging from a sweet fruitiness to 
an astringent aroma so powerful that even Hugo 
wanted to gag when he caught a whiff, and several 
who sold trinkets of questionable value featuring 
a variety of animal designs that always seemed to 
catch a Keeper's eye. Hugo found a corner in 
which he could sit and share his food with Boots 
and watched it all with wonder and a bit of jealousy.

He could not help but wonder what it would be 
like to have fur and a tail like the beastly 
Keepers. He took the time to study those who came 
close, watching the way their misshapen legs 
moved, as well as the tails, some of which seemed 
ornamental, while others appeared necessary for 
the Keeper to remain standing upright. His eyes 
noted the way that their ears moved and turned at 
each noise that echoed around the market; 
rotating, laying flat, perking upright, and 
sticking straight out, all of them common to 
animals but so strange to see on men and women. 
Fur, fangs, hooves, horns, paws, claws, scales, 
tails, and feathers all were sported by one 
Keeper after another in such an array that it 
seemed amazing that each and everyone of them 
could have once been a human man or woman like 
him. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness 
expressed by one type of beast Keeper to another. 
Unity existed between them even in the starkest difference in shape.

Boots cowered in his coat pocket most of the 
time, overwhelmed by the scents of so many 
predators about, though from time to time he did 
poke his black-furred and pink-nosed snout from 
behind Hugo's cloak to look at the creatures his 
master marveled at. He took no delight in them, 
admitting with a worrying squeak that he did not 
like this place and hoped that they would be leaving soon.

If we stay, I could become just as they are, half man and half animal, Boots.

No, Master!

The simple objection of his familiar was 
endearing and made his heart swell with 
compassion. He had briefly thought to tease him 
with the possibility of becoming some type of cat 
or dog, but now he knew he could never do that. 
It would hurt his little friend far too much to hear of such a thing.

Wouldn't you like it if I became a rat like you, Boots?

He felt a sense of curiosity in the midst of his 
little friend's fears. Like me, Master?

That's right, Boots. A rat just like you. Wouldn't you like that?

Just like me? Would you still be my master or would we both have a new master?

The question caught Hugo off-guard. The image of 
himself as a familiar was far too hilarious not 
to burst into a warm laughter. Boots was far 
smarter than any normal rat; almost twenty years 
as a familiar could not help but give his friend 
insight into things that ought to be beyond him. 
He gently stroked Boot's little head inside his 
cloak and gave him another morsel of cheese. 
Boots devoured it gratefully, his fears forgotten.

I will always be your master and you will always be my Boots.

The answer almost satisfied his friend. Would I 
still be able to ride in your pocket?

Of course, because I would be a really big rat, almost as big as I am now.

But bigger animals are scary!

I wouldn't be.

And that was all it took for Boots to be comforted again.

He resumed watching the various Keepers from his 
vantage point on a small stone railing that kept 
the back of each merchant's stall protected from 
thieves. Any man trying to step over it would be 
visible to everyone in the market, especially the 
soldiers stationed throughout who kept a wary eye 
on the comings and goings that thronged around 
them. Still, they couldn't see everything. As 
Hugo watched, a creature with dusty reddish fur, 
a long, thick tail, with black rings around his 
eyes and tipping each finger, and a wiry body 
that was no more than nine hands high, slipped on 
top of the wall and laid completely flat. His 
little paws darted out and snatched a pair of 
fruits from the nearest table, each of which was 
deftly stuffed into the pockets of his baggy 
clothes. He then slid right off the stone wall 
and darted back out of the marketplace.

Hugo was so dumbstruck by the brazenness of it 
that he didn't cry out for the guards. Instead he 
got to his feet and chased after the little 
fellow. The creature saw him running after him 
and tried to dart down the nearby alleys, but 
Hugo's legs were much longer and after two turns 
he'd snagged the lithe fellow by the arm. “Little 
thief!” Hugo snapped, giving the young boy a 
shake. “You're going to take those apples right back.”

“Lemme go! Didna' steal anything!” The boy 
complained, tugging on his arm, and then opening 
wide his jaws to reveal lots of little teeth. He 
tried to bite down on Hugo's hand, but the mage 
bopped him on the forehead with his other hand.

“And don't try that either!”

“Ow!” The boy shook his head and slapped his long 
tail on the ground several times. “Jus' hungry. Nobody gives me anything.”

Hugo, now holding the boy, could smell that 
neither the boy nor his clothes had been washed 
in days, and that there were several holes in 
both tunic and breeches from wear. It looked as 
if the boy had been on the streets for a while, 
an urchin. But why was he already cursed. He 
didn't seem big enough to be old enough to be 
cursed. Then again, Hugo wasn't quite sure what 
the boy was so there was no way of knowing if he 
was the right size. But he was acting like a 
child much younger than a boy on the cusp of manhood.

Hugo was about to study the child magically when 
a whoosh of feathers overhead made them both look 
up. A plume of black feathers fell from a nearby 
roof to land on the other side of the boy, 
growing within a few seconds into a tall hawk in 
a human shape. “Oh, Kuna, what have you gotten 
yourself into this time,” the hawk asked, its voice decidedly feminine.

“I caught him stealing fruit,” Hugo explained, as 
he let go of the boy's arm. The child immediately 
fell to the ground and rubbed his arm back and 
forth, giving him a many fanged glare. “Are you his mother?”

“No,” the hawk replied. “I caught him trying to 
steal from me as well. I have been trying to keep an eye on him since.”

“Where are his, Kuna's, parents?”

“Sadly, they died many years ago. Kuna has been 
on the streets for many years now, haven't you, 
Kuna?” The hawk stared down at the child who 
flinched a bit at the steely golden gaze. The 
animal boy swallowed and then nodded his head up and down.

Inside his cloak he could feel Boots cowering in 
terror, though he tried to comfort the rat with a 
gentle pat to the head. Hugo could feel a 
peculiar tang in the air, like a wind springing 
up from nowhere. “Are there no orphanages that can take care of him?”

“Oh, there is, but Kuna prefers to live like an 
urchin, don't you Kuna?” Again the fierce avian 
stare followed by the little mammal's nodding. 
“Nothing but a little child and here I am having 
to take care of you. I'm practically your auntie 
now. Be good for your auntie and return those apples you stole.”

Kuna swallowed and rolled both apples out of his 
pockets and hefted them in his small paws. “I will, Auntie.”

“Thank you for stopping him,” the black-feathered 
hawk said to him, her gaze no longer quite as 
hard, but still very intense. There was just 
something about a bird-of-prey's eyes that 
unnerved Hugo. “One day I'm sure I will be able 
to get him to stay at the orphanage where he will 
be taken care of and taught proper manners and 
behavior. I do the best I can until then.”

“I don't quite understand,” Hugo admitted, 
standing in the boy's way. Kuna rubbed his 
fingers over the apples and stared at his legs 
and the street beyond with a resigned duty. “I 
didn't think the Curse affected children.”

“Children born to those already cursed, if the 
curses are the same, can be born with the same 
curse already. And that's what happened to you, 
Kuna, isn't it?” The boy nodded again, tail and head drooping.

Curious, Hugo tried to see into the realm of 
magic. He had already determined that the Curse 
of Metamor showed itself as a black mass that was 
attached to each and every Keeper, a mass that 
was so nebulous in shape and design that it was 
next to impossible to see any pattern in its 
structure, or any pattern between the type of 
curse received. And so it was with Kuna, though 
there seemed to be a hint of magic being pressed 
against him now, several threads working through 
him in little bursts like pulses of candlelight 
through a narrow slit of wood. It didn't seem to 
come from the hawk which was a surprise because 
he could tell immediately she was a fellow mage and a powerful one at that.

“What is he? I've never seen an animal that looks like him before.”

“A meerkat. They are found on the savannahs of 
northern Kitchelande. I have never been there 
myself but there are a few here who have seen that strange land.”

Hugo laughed, though he still felt a strange 
unease that he couldn't explain. “Strange land? 
That is ironic to hear from the beak of a 
black-feathered hawk. How did you come by black 
feathers? That isn't a natural color for hawks.”

She lowered her beak and quickly preened one of 
her wings arms before looking up at him and 
nodded. She lifted her left leg and pointed a 
talon at him. “You are very perceptive for a 
stranger to this land. I see you are a mage and 
that you have a familiar in your cloak. You may 
assure him that I would never harm a creature as 
loyal to his master as your rat.” Hugo blinked in 
surprise but the hawk continued to speak before 
he could ask her how she knew about Boots. “As 
for my feathers, they were once red like any 
other hawk. I fought a terrible battle against an 
evil sorceress and though I won that battle, it 
stained my feathers black and they have been that 
way ever since. Even new feathers grow in black! But I like it.”

She glanced up at the sky and her eyes narrowed. 
“I would love to speak with you more. You seem a 
very interesting visitor to Metamor and I hope 
that you enjoy your stay and that you find time 
to see all that our beautiful city has to offer; 
before the Curses make you a resident that is! I 
have so much to do, and keeping watch over this 
little one is just one of them. Now Kuna, hurry 
up and return those apples for your Auntie!”

The meerkat child bobbed his head up and down and 
then darted around Hugo, weaving past his legs 
with a flexibility impossible for even a human 
child. Another moment and he was gone around the 
corner, only the faint clicking of his claws and 
thumping of his tail betraying that he still ran toward the market.

A loud flapping of wings erupted behind him, and 
Hugo turned again to see the hawk returned to an 
animal shape and flying up between the buildings. 
A moment later and she too vanished from his 
sight. Hugo blinked and took several deep 
breaths. He wasn't sure how he knew it, but he 
was absolutely certain that something deeper than 
the schooling of an urchin child had just taken 
place. He shivered in the cool wind that filled 
the alley and stepped very lightly back into one of the larger streets.

He decided to take the hawk's advice and kept on 
walking, intent on seeing as much of the city as 
he could before the house of None arrived and 
with it his rendezvous with Richard at the 
convent. In his cloak pocket little Boots 
shivered, mind still frightened that the hawk 
might come back and snatch him away. Hugo stroked 
the top of the rat's head with one finger as he walked.

----------

It had not been ten minutes after the ram had 
finished telling his tale before Akaleth was 
interrupted in his prayers again. It had taken 
Wolfram longer than expected to detail all of the 
events where he believed the daedra had played a 
hand in his friend's unfortunate fate. Both 
Felsah and Akaleth stopped him repeatedly to ask 
questions to probe his memory and to try to draw 
some threads of consistency between the events. 
There was much there that could not be easily 
explained but that there was diabolic hands at 
work could not be denied by any right-thinking man.

Midday came upon them and passed before Wolfram 
admitted that he couldn't think of anything else. 
The two Questioners tried to suggest things that 
Wolfram could do for himself should he see 
anything like this happening to him or to any of 
his other friends, but most of them ended up 
becoming some variant of alert the nearest 
priest. They did caution him that such malignant 
spiritual beings were known to revisit places and 
people they had tormented before, and Felsah 
promised Wolfram that if he ever came to him with 
some suspicion he would investigate it 
immediately, even promising to go with him to 
look over those places where the daedra caused 
accidents and especially where his friend had 
disappeared with that daedra lord.

Wolfram thanked them both profusely and offered 
to bring them both more food later that evening. 
Akaleth gratefully accepted the offer and after 
giving the ram a blessing, left the schola 
practice room to attend to his midday prayers. On 
his tenth Pater Noster his nose twitched with a 
particularly potent pungent aroma coming from 
behind him. A moment later he could hear the 
click of claws on stone nearing him. He swallowed 
his breath and lifted his eyes to the Yew to 
recenter his thoughts, but a woman's voice with 
an audible churr beneath it interrupted him. “I'm 
sorry for intruding, but are you Father Akaleth?”

He made the sign of the yew and then turned to 
face the woman. She was modestly dressed in a 
warm tunic and breeches with a blue cloak over 
her shoulders that was split in the back to make 
room for her very long and thick tail. Her fur 
was a glossy black with a white stripe down the 
middle of her head, back and tail. Soft, round 
ears were twisted toward him, while warm green 
eyes regarded him with intense curiosity. It took 
a moment for the name of the animal to come to 
him, but there was no mistaking her genus as anything other than a skunk.

“I am Father Akaleth,” he replied as he stood and 
rubbed at his knees from habit. “And who are you my child?”

“My name is Kayla,” she said, bowing her head 
slightly. She had no dress to curtsy and Akaleth 
suspected that she would not have done so anyway 
even if she had been clad in a dress. “Misha told 
me that you and I have something in common.”

That piqued his curiosity. He allowed his lips to 
form a slight smile. “What is it that we have in common, milady Kayla?”

The honorific seemed to embarrass her. “It is 
just Kayla. He says that you have seen something 
that I have seen. A sword made of gold with a nine sided pommel.”

Akaleth almost buckled to the ground, and he 
reached out for anything to steady himself, but 
there was nothing but the skunk in reach. She 
grabbed his hand in her own, and he felt the 
tough pads in her palm and along the bottom of 
her fingers, as well as the short, sharp claws 
the Curse had bestowed on her. He could not 
recall clasping the paw of any Keeper other than 
Felsah; the grip was strange, with some of the 
quality of holding Rakka's paw when he offered 
it, but shaped more like a man's hand. But their 
touch was brief, for as soon as she had steadied 
him, she let go and nodded her head, breathing in awe. “You have seen it.”

“The Sword of Yajakali,” Akaleth replied in the 
barest whisper. “How did you come to know of it?”

“A group of us from Metamor and some others went 
to the Chateau Marzac and faced Yajakali himself. 
We saw the sword there. How did you know of it?”

“It was in Yesulam. I first saw it in July of 
last year. I saw it... do things.” Akaleth shook 
his head. “The memory is very horrible for me as 
I'm sure it must be for you. Did you wish to 
discuss what you saw and what you endured 
travailing against that evil? Do you want to hear what I saw and did?”

“Aye, I do. To both. There are so few of us who 
have seen and faced it that I just want to know 
everyone who helped. Sometimes I feel so alone. 
Sometimes I feel as if I'm the only one who 
carried that great weight, even if I know I wasn't. Does that make sense?”

Akaleth nodded, even if he did not feel quite so 
encumbered as she. “We aren't made to bear a 
burden alone. Come, let us go someplace where we 
will not disturb others with our voices.”

----------

The wooden platform in the schola practice room 
was still warm where he'd sat for most of the 
morning. He took his old place again, while Kayla 
sat a few feet from him, her tail dangling over 
the side, the tip swaying back and forth like a 
boy on a swing. Akaleth found it odd that a woman 
would be involved in something as horrifying as 
the desolation of Yajakali, but there could be no 
doubt she knew of the blade and that meant there 
were depths to her he did not even suspect. He admired her.

“How many of you were there who left Metamor to 
face this monster?” Akaleth asked after they were both comfortable.

“There were eight of us at first. Zhypar 
Habakkuk, Lindsey, James, Jessica, Charles, and 
myself were the Metamorians, while a Binoq named 
Abafouq and a Nauh-kaee named Guernef guided us into the Barrier mountains.”

Akaleth raised one hand and narrowed his eyes. “A 
Binoq? A Nauh-kaee? I have never heard of such creatures. What are they?”

Kayla explained and Akaleth could only sit back 
and marvel as her story unfolded. He did not 
recognize the woman who chased them through the 
mountains and was grateful for it. His heart 
hungered in awe at the description of the sky 
vessel Nak-Tegehki and then the ancient cities of 
Qorfuu and Ava-shavåis. His jaw gaped when told 
of the mighty Rheh Talaran and their flight 
across the Steppe and the eastern half of 
Pyralia. His curiosity became a ravenous beast 
that he fought every second to keep in check, 
otherwise her tale would never be completed and 
he might miss the most important details.

When Kayla described their attackers in the woods 
near the Breckarin river, he could no longer hold 
the monstrous hunger at bay. “The man in black... describe him again will you?”

Kayla nodded and steepled her fingers beneath her 
chin as she thought. “He had black hair, dark 
eyes whose color I never could tell, and a 
southern complexion. He was both broad shouldered 
and lithe, and he moved faster than almost any 
man I have ever known. His black robe covered him 
from shoulder to feet, and it featured the 
heraldry of his order on his left breast. A 
shield with a white palm and red sword inscribed.”

Akaleth nodded as he remembered the days of his 
torturing in that subterranean temple. “Was his name Krenek Zagrosek?”

“You know him?” Kayla leaped forward and almost 
put her paws on his knees in her excitement. That 
long tail lifted over her head quivering as if it 
were another listener eager to know.

“In the most unpleasant way,” Akaleth replied. “I 
do not know how long it was, a few days to a 
week, I'm not sure. But for that time at the end 
of July last year, I was that man's prisoner, and 
I spent every waking moment either being beaten 
by that man, or healing from the crushing wounds 
he'd given me. Even after I escaped it took me a 
month to be able to do anything more than walk 
across the room without exhausting myself in agony.”

The priest lowered his head and waved on hand. 
“But that was before you saw him in Breckaris. 
Please, tell me what happened next. Everything 
you speak of now is after the last time I saw him. Please continue, Kayla.”

And she did. And very quickly Akaleth felt a 
sickening gratitude that he had never met the 
Marquis du Tournemire whose tortures were so vile 
that it made him want to vomit. He slipped his 
hand into his sleeve and grabbed the inside of 
his robe, curling his fingers tighter and tighter 
until they hurt. He relaxed at the news of their 
rescue and the defeat of that woman mage who had 
hunted them in the mountains. His heart wept at 
the wounding of the northern woman, and then his 
jaw fell agape again when he learned that she was 
here at Metamor amongst the nuns. He resolved 
right then to chastise Felsah for not telling him these things.

Kayla sketched very briefly the horrors they 
faced in the swamp, and then because she wasn't 
there to see, had to also briefly sketch the 
manner in which Zagrosek was slain. “Crushed by a 
carillon? I commend this James on his cleverness 
and keeping his wits about him. And you say he 
begged for prayers at his death?”

“That's what Charles told me. They were dearest friends.”

“Ah yes, I remember that about Charles Matthias. 
I've seen what the corruption of Marzac can do. 
It does not yet relieve me to hear this, but I 
know in time I will be very grateful to hear that 
Zagrosek sought redemption with his dying breath. 
It hadn't occurred to me that he could be as much 
a victim of Marzac as so many others were.”

Kayla's face turned dour, eyes darkening with 
some secret she had not and did not dare reveal. 
“I think every one of us who crossed the path of 
Yajakali in any way were his victims.”

“Wisely said. What happened next?”

Kayla described the ritual in the Hall of 
Unearthly Light but the magical terms were a 
dizzying morass to the Questioner. All he could 
focus on was the terrible reality of that blade 
and its companion pieces as the ritual unfolded. 
And then miraculously failed. “Wait, could you 
describe that sword you said came through the card?”

“It was a black blade with a silver tang down the 
middle. I had never seen the like.”

“I have,” Akaleth replied with a long exhalation 
and then, despite himself, a long and hearty 
burst of laughter. Kayla gazed at him with an 
unreadable beast's expression while he gained 
control of his immense sense of relief and awe. 
“Oh, Eli! How great and mysterious are Your ways! 
How great indeed! 'Twas Nemgas that swung that 
blade to thwart Yajakali again. I know it!”

“Nemgas?” Kayla asked.

“In a moment,” Akaleth assured her, unable to 
hide his delight behind the mask he usually bore. 
“Finish telling your tale and then you will understand when I tell you mine.”

There was not much left for the skunk to reveal. 
Once the mountain came through the card they fled 
back up the stairs and out of the Chateau. After 
the explosion they were rescued by the rabbit 
prince of Whales and started their voyage home. 
“We still need to beware the corruption of 
Marzac, but so far it has failed all attempts at 
returning. The sword, the censer, and the dais 
are all gone forever. We saw them melt into slag 
before we fled. But... that was the only time we ever saw the sword.”

Akaleth took a deep breath and let his mirth die 
with the next words from his throat. “Just as I 
am grateful that I did not have to endure the 
many horrors you faced from the Marquis, 
Yajakali, Agathe, and the rest, you may be 
grateful that you never experienced the cry of 
the little souls snuffed by that blade, and the 
gleeful giggling of the man who wielded it.”

Kayla listened far more patiently than he did, or 
so it seemed. Her fur seemed to rise like a dog's 
hackles at some points, while at others she 
seemed on the verge of tears. Akaleth did not 
have the heart to mention how many children he 
had seen the Sword consume, nor did he describe 
it in any detail both to spare her that 
heart-rending image and to keep himself from 
breaking down in tears as he had nearly done in 
Marigund. But what he did describe was enough to set both of them on edge.

In fact she asked no questions until he described 
how he stumbled upon the Magyars hiding in the 
sewers beneath Yesulam during his escape. It was 
not about the light he created that she asked, 
nor even how he was able to move a body battered 
and broken as his had been. Instead she asked, 
“Is that the Nemgas you spoke of before?”

Akaleth could not help but like and admire this 
skunk lady. She was perceptive and a quick 
thinker. Her questions, few as they were, always 
seemed to anticipate his answers. “Aye, this is 
Nemgas. He carried the sword you saw, the sword 
known as Caur-Merripen. An ancient blade once 
wielded by the great Pelain of Cheskych.”

“Pelain? I've heard that name,” Kayla noted. She 
pondered it for a moment and then shook her head. “I cannot recall where.”

“He lived over a thousand years ago. He was a 
Suielman noble who traveled east to the Vysehrad 
mountains. He climbed Mount Cenziga and was split 
in twain. And then after building the city of 
Cheskych, he was slain while killing a dragon 
corrupted by Marzac... Vissarion was the name.”

Kayla gasped and then clasped both paws over her 
snout. Akaleth regarded her with a level gaze. 
One by one she put her paws back into her lap and 
then let out a long slow breath, eyes dropping to 
fix upon the wooden platform beneath her. “I know 
that name. I... met that dragon. It is... too 
complicated to explain now. Please, continue.”

“Truly the connections between these events, the 
ones you and I have both witnessed, are greater 
than we expected when first we began. After 
Nemgas nursed me back to health, I joined him in 
following Czestadt back down to that foul altar 
where Bishop Jothay was performing a terrible 
ritual with the sword.” Akaleth did not describe 
the battle that followed in much detail except to 
say that Zagrosek escaped, the Blood Bound were 
defeated, Nemgas and Kashin were split, and 
Jothay died when the sword literally turned on 
him and skewered him into the altar.

Kayla shook her head at the mass of details. “Now 
I have to know a few things. Nemgas and Kashin 
were split? What does that mean?”

“It has something to do with Cenziga. If you are 
curious for a first hand account, Kashin is here 
now with us praying in the cathedral. You may ask 
him. I am cannot explain it better.”

She grimaced but nodded. “I will have to. What 
happened when the sword killed Jothay? That couldn't have been the end of it.”

“Nay, it was not.” Reluctantly, Akaleth continued 
his recitation with the appearance of the 
Shrieker but did not say how it was defeated, 
only that it was smitten, and at its death the 
entire chamber began to sink further into the 
earth. Kayla did not pry any further, but shook 
her head in wonder at the tale's conclusion.

“And you never saw the sword after that?”

“Never.”

Kayla sat thinking for nearly a minute, her face 
and eyes turned inward as she poured over the 
evidence that Akaleth had given her. She tapped 
her claws together a few times as if counting 
with them. Her tail settled down behind her, the 
end lazily drifting back and forth across the 
platform. And then she lifted her green eyes, the 
eyes of a beast that showed more intelligence and 
compassion than many men he knew, and met his 
gaze without any sign of weakness. “Do you know a Dazheen?”

It took Akaleth a moment to recall the name, but 
after several seconds pondering he began to nod. 
“Nemgas and the other Magyars mentioned her. She was the seer for their tribe.”

“The Marquis said something like, 'Now let me 
introduce you to my dear friend Dazheen' just 
before he showed his final card, the one that you 
said your Nemgas struck through with that other 
sword... Caur-Merripen. Yes, that is it. What do you make of that?”

Now it was Akaleth's turn to ponder the elements 
of the tale and determine what each of them 
meant. He sought some deep significance at first, 
but finding none, turned toward simpler 
explanations. The answer came to him like a stone 
rippling a pond. “It means that Nemgas and the 
other Magyars found their way back to their 
wagons. And they went to Cenziga again. This 
Cenziga was the opposite of Marzac in some 
strange way. The only weapon the sword couldn't 
destroy was Caur-Merripen, and Caur-Merripen had 
been twinned by that forbidding mountain. And 
that mountain closed whatever infernal hole was 
made at Jagoduun. It is... unimaginable. I 
suddenly feel like an ant dodging sandals on a busy street.”

“That's how I felt most of the time we were on 
our way there. Every time I started to feel like 
we had the strength to win the battle something 
vaster and more malevolent would sweep it all 
away.” Kayla then began to smile and a long sign 
escaped her chest. “I'm just glad to meet 
somebody else who was involved. I always knew we 
weren't the only ones contending with Marzac. I 
just never thought I would meet another.”

“Father Felsah was also involved. He knows some 
things I do not and I know he would be delighted 
in hearing your side of the struggle. Both Kashin 
and Czestadt were involved as well and they know 
many things I can only guess at. What of the 
others who accompanied you? Where are they?”

“Charles and James are in Glen Avery where they 
live. Lindsey went north to Arabarb to free his 
homeland from the loathsome Baron Calephas. 
Jerome went north into the Giantdowns two months 
ago and nobody has seen or heard from him since. 
I worry about him. Jessica is here at Metamor 
now, and married too; it was such a lovely 
wedding and they make a handsome couple! Oh! 
Abafouq and Guernef returned to the Barrier 
range, and we haven't heard from them again 
either. Andares went back to his people too. 
Again, we haven't heard from him. I wish I knew 
how they all were doing. I miss them.”

“Would you believe that there are days when I miss the Magyars?”

Kayla's snout seemed to scrunch in on itself for 
a moment before she began nodding. “You're human, 
and they were you're friends, even if only for a 
little while. Of course you would miss them.”

“It is a shame that we cannot know each other 
better, Kayla. We have struggled to win the same 
fight and yet, this is probably the only chance 
we will ever have to see each other. And I 
confess, I would love to meet your friends as 
well. I have long desired to meet this Charles 
Matthias and it seems I have missed him again! 
Such is the ways of Eli, we will never receive 
all that we desire, nor should we. Ah, thank you, 
Kayla. Thank you for finding me here and telling me of what we have shared.”

“Thank you, Father Akaleth.” Kayla smiled to him 
but did not come closer. “I don't feel quite so alone anymore.”

Akaleth surprised her and himself by reaching forward and hugging the skunk.


----------


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

Charles Matthias
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