[Mkguild] Felsah's Little School (6/7)

[C. Matthias]

Metamor Keep: Felsah's Little School
by Charles Matthias

Part 6


They parted ways only a few minutes later after 
walking down more of the hall together, Alberta 
delaying that final goodbye as long as she could 
before her duties forced her. Kashin assured her 
that they would not leave without morning Liturgy 
so there would be another chance. No matter how 
much joy Alberta took in her new life, Kashin 
could see that there was a part of her that 
missed the life of a Yesulam knight. There was 
nothing that could be done now, although Kashin 
wondered if the Patriarch might consider writing 
some special blessing for her in recognition of 
her service. He would have to remember to mention 
it to him when they returned to Yesulam.

His walk back to the Cathedral was uneventful. 
The few Keepers he passed in the gray, stone 
halls either did not recognize him, or were in 
too much of a hurry to stop. Those few that did 
pause, were often overcome with awe so that all 
they could do was bow to him and offer some 
praise of Eli for men like him before continuing 
on their way. Nobody even seemed to worry about 
an army of Questioners come to drag them all to 
fiery pits or the headsman's axe. Father Felsah's 
gentle presence was already bearing good fruit.

When he neared the Cathedral his muscles tensed 
with the sound of sword fighting. He moved 
quickly, feet padding silently along the soft 
carpeting until he turned the final corner and 
saw the source of the commotion. He chortled and 
relaxed. Czestadt had assured him that the 
raccoon was likely to come by and request a bout. 
Several Keepers had gathered to watch as the 
Yesbearn knight and Kankoran raccoon danced 
around each other with flying swords and acrobatic legerdemain.

Kashin enjoyed the bout, though he was a little 
disappointed to see his friend Sir Czestadt 
narrowly lose. The raccoon was crafty and very 
skilled. And not afraid to show his beast-side 
given the way he'd snarled bloody jowls like 
that. The Keepers who'd gathered there before 
Kashin all began to disperse while the raccoon dressed himself again.

He couldn't quite say why, but seeing the fight, 
and the faint nostalgia for a time past he had 
heard in Alberta's voice, inspired him to step a 
little closer and say, “Don't put those away just yet. I'd like a turn.”

The raccoon turned, both eastern blades still in 
his paws. Green eyes in the shape of a beasts's 
regarded him in surprise, quickly taking in his 
Yeshuel tunic, missing left arm, and buckler with 
no sword. He did not bring the golden Cenziga 
blade with him anymore, and Caur-Merripen more 
properly belonged to Nemgas anyway. To his 
relief, it was the lack of sword, not the lack of 
an arm that the raccoon noted. “You have no sword 
to fight me with, Kashin of the Yeshuel. I would 
never accept a challenge from an unarm... from a man with no blade.”

“He may use mine,” Wolfram announced. The ram 
strode forward, hooves making a soft whump in the 
carpet with each step. He drew his blade and held 
it out, laying it flat in his hands as he 
approached the Yeshuel. “I would be honored if you used my blade, Kashin.”

Kashin could see Czestadt nod in approval from 
the other end of the hall so he knew that the 
craftsmanship would be exquisite. He smiled to 
the ram and bowed his head respectfully. “I will 
treat your weapon with the honor it deserves. I 
thank you and salute you for your generosity.” So 
saying he wrapped his hand about the hilt and 
lifted it from the ram's hoof-like hands. The 
weight was steady and after only a moment it felt 
comfortable in his grip. As Wolfram backed off, 
he took a few experimental swings, savored the 
gasp of air as it swept past, and then he turned back to the raccoon.

“I have a blade now. Do you accept my challenge?”

Rickkter chuckled and nodded. “I have heard it 
said that Yeshuel train from birth.”

“Near enough,” Kashin admitted as he and the 
raccoon moved into the center of the hall. 
Czestadt joined Wolfram's troops against the far 
wall, while more Keepers clustered nearby to 
watch. “Much of our training is in prayer and the 
doing of good deeds. We usually do not fight with swords.”

“But you know how,” Rickkter added as he swept 
out his arms, the katana over his head and the 
wakizashi at his middle. “I can see it in the way you hold that blade.”

Kashin stood with his right leg and side forward, 
showing as little of his body as possible. The 
sword angled out ahead of him. “Aye, I know how to use a sword.”

“The same stakes as before then? First blood from the torso?”

“That is fair. I agree.”

Rickkter smiled, a little bit of blood still 
flecking his jowls. “Then let us begin.”

The raccoon wasted no time with a sudden leap 
forward, driving both blades in a quick 
succession of arcs, one aimed at Kashin's head 
and the other at his gut. Kashin bent at his 
ankles until his knees kissed the carpet with a 
most gentle caress, while his upper body bent 
backward, his chest sucking inward to avoid the 
slash from the wakizashi, and his head tilting 
back to slip beneath the blow from the katana. He 
then turned on his ankles, sliding to Rickkter's 
right, bringing forward his right arm and the sword at its end.

The raccoon's green eyes went wide and he tried 
to drive his right leg down to push himself to 
the left to avoid the blow. But Kashin pressed 
the stump of his left arm around the raccoon's 
back, holding him in place for just a split 
second longer. The blade's edge ripped along the 
front of Rickkter's tunic, and then both of them 
spun apart to stand where the other had only 
moments before. Kashin held out the ram's blade 
so that the glint of red along one edge was 
visible to all. “The battle is won.”

Rickkter blinked in disbelief and dabbed his 
fingers at his chest where his tunic sagged where 
the cloth had been sheared in twain. A line of 
red peered through his flesh like a dragon's eye 
contemplating a return to use after a century's 
slumber. His jaw opened once without sound, and 
then it opened again in a barking laugh, the sort 
that only a man who cannot believe the testimony 
of his eyes would use. “The battle is won,” he 
repeated in the midst of much headshaking and even more laughter.

“How did you do that?” Wolfram exclaimed in 
wonder as he came forward to reclaim his blade. 
“I saw it but... I do not know how you did that!”

Kashin offered him the blade by its hilt and 
bowed his head low. “You have a very fine blade, 
Captain Wolfram. It is no secret. Bend. Bend like 
a reed in the wind. If you can do that, you can find your way.”

“Some reed,” Rickkter muttered as he tried to 
stop the bleeding with his tunic. “No reed has ever drawn my blood before.”

“Of course I'd find the men playing with their 
swords,” a new beastly voice said with mock 
derision from the end of the hall facing the 
Cathedral doors. Rickkter's ears perked and his 
head turned faster than all the rest. Standing 
with paws on hips in warm brown tunic and 
breeches with a blue cloak about her shoulders 
was a lady skunk. She tapped a booted foot like a mother scolding children.

“Kayla!” Rickkter exclaimed with a bright smile, 
his wound forgotten. He stepped swiftly to her 
side, sliding an arm along her back and guiding 
her forward. “Why my old friend Sir Czestadt and 
I were just showing Captain Wolfram and his men 
the finer points of swordsmanship. And Kashin 
here was showing even me a thing or two.”

“Don't touch me,” Kayla pushed him away, though 
there was an audible churr in her voice that 
seemed the beginnings of a laugh. “You'll get blood all over my new cloak.”

He leaned in closer and nearly stuck his snout in 
her ear. “Perhaps you can help me tend to my terrible wound?”

She laughed and shook her head. “I have to check 
on Andwyn. You can fix that trifle yourself. It 
doesn't look nearly as bad as what that mighty 
warrior did to you yesterday, or so Misha claims.”

Rickkter growled, even as a few of Wolfram's 
soldiers began laughing behind their hands and 
paws. “Remind me to put spiderwort in his next 
batch of muffins.” It wouldn't hurt the fox of 
course, but it would keep him very close to his chamberpot for a day or two.

Kayla laughed and kissed him on the nose. “You 
boys have your fun. I will see you again soon.”

The kiss was all it took for the raccoon's mood 
to improve considerably. He tried to follow 
Kayla, but the skunk shook her head as she headed 
off down the other corridor adjacent to the 
Cathedral entrance. Rickkter watched her go for a 
moment, before turning back to Kashin and 
Czestadt. He shrugged his shoulders and patted 
his chest which had already stopped bleeding. “So, shall we try that again?”

----------

After his engaging and much needed talk with 
Kayla the skunk, Akaleth returned to Felsah's 
chambers to find the jerboa priest scouring 
several sheets of parchment on which his 
scrawling letters could be seen. He had even 
drawn several diagrams – and a few pictures of 
Madog – linking various ideas together as he 
sorted through Akabaieth's journals. The 
newly-made rodent offered to share more of the 
details on what he'd found, but Akaleth shook his head.

“I just spoke with a skunk named Kayla. She saw the sword of Yajakali.”

“Aye, she's one of the ones Metamor sent to 
Marzac. I had the opportunity to hear the story 
from Sir Charles Matthias when I first arrived.” 
Felsah's long tail flicked from side to side as 
he turned in his stool and bobbed his head. “Astonishing! Truly astonishing.”

Akaleth nodded and then sniffed at the air. “Is that coffee?”

Felsah turned back on his stool and lifted a 
small mug in his paws. “It is! I found a shop in 
the market that usually sells the beans to inns 
and to the wealthier merchants. To my good 
fortune I learned that the shopkeeper is a 
Follower and he has given me a small supply. The 
coffee helps me keep awake during the day.”

“It is already midafternoon,” Akaleth objected 
with a mild reproach. “Does your new body keep you awake at night too?”

“It has,” Felsah admitted with a shrug before 
lapping up a tongueful of the black brew. “But 
not always. I am trying not to have too much, but 
with your visit I didn't want to fall asleep while we spoke.”

“Have you fallen asleep during prayers?”

Felsah grimaced around his jowls and nodded. “A 
few times, though only when I've been praying by 
myself. Would you care for some?”

“Thank you, but I will decline for now. Perhaps 
tomorrow morning. I expect that I will have to 
leave then. There does not seem to be all that much I can do here.”

“I understand. It is best to leave soon. Any 
delay risks you suffering the Curse.”

“I confess I wonder what it would make of me.”

Felsah chuckled and took another sip. His 
whiskers thrummed with each drop. “I have not 
given it much thought, but if I had to guess, 
possibly a horse or donkey. I don't quite know 
why either. You seem to make the strangest of 
friends, and so do they at times. I don't know if that makes any sense.”

“As much as sense as you being a desert mouse.”

Felsah smiled and then took another sip of his 
coffee. “What will greet you when you return to Yesulam?”

“Father Kehthaek most likely. He is encouraging 
me to start a discipline for Questioners, much as 
he has one of his own. There are many tasks of 
administration and pedagogy that he is involved 
in and into which he has brought me.”

“I remember,” Felsah said with a nod. “I was 
enjoying teaching those little classes to my fellow Questioners.”

“Why not continue here?” Akaleth suggested as he 
settled down on the pallet and stretched his 
legs. “You said yourself that many Followers here 
at the Keep have a deplorable sense of what is 
and is not permitted for Followers. Teach them.”

“Father Hough tries that at every Liturgy. Many 
have listened and it has profited them greatly. Many do not.”

“So it is with every generation. How is the care 
for the young of the parish? Does Father Hough 
have time to prepare them for Immersion and Confirmation?”

“He has done a well as he could, but it is a 
need. There are two other priests in the valley 
now and so that will help some.”

“Three new priests,” Akaleth pointed out with a 
wave of a finger. “Do not forget yourself.”

“But I am trying to help Vinsah!”

“You will not always be studying these journals. 
You need to make sure that the next generation of 
Followers that grow up here at Metamor are more 
faithful in their observance of our ways. They 
have been given a great deal of latitude because 
of these curses, but that cannot be an excuse 
forever. It isn't even a good one now.”

Felsah nodded thoughtfully and in silence he took 
another sip of his coffee. He stared out the 
window at the dwindling light of the afternoon 
for a moment before taking a second sip and 
nodding again. “It is worth trying. I will speak 
with Father Hough about in the morning after you 
have left. For now, there is one other thing you 
must see before we take our evening meal. I 
promised you I would show you something when Patric returned from his rounds.”

“You did,” Akaleth replied. “Has he returned yet?”

“He is about to knock at my door,” Felsah smiled 
and then tapped one of his large ears. Akaleth 
almost laughed in surprise as a pair of feet 
slapped outside and a knock struck the 
Questioner's door just as he had predicted. “Please come in.”

The door swung open and in stepped a figure 
standing only a couple of hands higher than 
Felsah. He was covered in bright green scales 
from head to toe and tail tip; the only garment 
he had on was a brown cassock modified for his 
reptilian body and long tail. His eyes seemed to 
jut out of his boxy head at the end of little 
cones that swiveled in different directions. The 
impression was disorienting to Akaleth, but he 
kept this to himself, focusing his attention on the nearest eye only.

“Father Felsah,” he nodded his head to the mouse 
and then toward the human. “Father Akaleth. I 
hope you have had an enjoyable day in our home.”

“It has been very edifying,” Akaleth replied with 
a warm smile. He found it easier and easier to 
let the mask of the Questioner down, at least 
when he really wanted to smile. “There is much 
beauty hidden here that the world does not know.”

“Patric, I wanted you with us now because I wish 
to show Father Akaleth the slab,” Felsah said as 
he rose to his hind paws and finished the last of 
his coffee. He set the cup aside and rubbed his 
paws together, then wiped them back over his whiskers to groom his face.

“The covenant slab?” Patric asked in surprise. 
“Of course. It's only been with us a few weeks 
now. There's still far too much we do not know, 
but if you'll follow me I'll show you where we keep it.”

“The covenant slab?” Akaleth asked as he rose to 
his feet, towering over both jerboa and lizard. “What is this?”

“It is easier to explain once you have seen it. 
You'll understand why I waited until Patric could 
be with us to show you as well.” Felsah offered 
as he hopped out the door nearly landing on the 
seminarian's tail. Once they were in the hall 
leading past several other small cells used by 
the seminarians, the two of them could walk side 
by side with Akaleth trailing after.

Akaleth said nothing as they moved down the hall 
away from the sanctuary proper. The walls were 
fashioned from the same speckled gray granite 
that the rest of the Keep appeared to be made 
from. Doors to the cells were on their right, 
while at their left little braziers burned to 
give light, and to illuminate the wooden carvings 
positioned between them. Akaleth noted with 
approval that each highlighted some scene from 
salvation history. They formed a Resurrection 
homily in miniature, and that was always a good 
message to keep before the eyes and the heart. He 
would have to suggest something similar to Father 
Kehthaek for the Questioner Temple when he returned.

The hallway turned to the left at the end, and 
then opened into a wide storage area with a high 
sloping ceiling. If there were any geometric 
consistency within the Keep, then they were 
standing on the other side of the high altar in a 
room as long as the sanctuary was wide. It was 
clearly a storage area for devotional and 
liturgical pieces as he recognized several sets 
of seven-tiered and four-tiered candelabra, 
statues of various saints not currently on 
display, chests nearly bursting with vestments 
for the various seasons, numerous thurifers, a 
shelf filled with jars of holy oil, and boxes 
stuffed with so many candles and incense that the 
entire room was permeated with the odor of wax, frankincense and myrrh.

All of this he observed with a quick glance. And 
once done his eyes fixed resolutely on the 
enormous slab of rock laying in the center of the 
room beneath a blue cloth. Patric rested one hand 
on the blue cloth, spreading long fingers and 
staring with some reverence, both of his eyes 
fixed upon the slab. Felsah hopped to the other 
side and beckoned Akaleth to come closer.

“This is the covenant slab,” Felsah announced 
with a sweep of one paw. “It was found in the 
Holy Land a few days journey from Yesulam. Do you 
remember the night when that wave of light washed 
across the land only a few hours before the dawn?”

“I remember that. Only a few days before the Nativity.”

“On that night, the man, his wife, and their 
seven year old son who had found this slab were 
all transformed into a race of creatures that 
have been dead for millennia. They became Tened. 
How I wish they were in Metamor now so that I 
could introduce you to them, but... that is not to be.”

“The Tened? I have never of them. What are they?”

“A feathered race that have munch in common with 
reptiles as well as birds,” Felsah said as he 
glanced once at Patric who nodded and began 
folding the blue cloth back from the slab. “I 
have a few sketches of them that I can show you 
in my quarters. But first, please examine this slab.”

Together, Felsah and Patric folded the cloth one 
section at a time until the cold stone monolith 
was revealed. Several different types of scripts 
were chiseled into the surface, each letter 
inlaid with some vibrant blue metal that he did 
not recognize. Akaleth stepped closer and studied 
the text, noting the very strange letters, most 
of which looked nothing like letters and more 
like glorified scratches, until he recognized the 
lowest set as Galendish. He read the words out 
loud, “In memory of the Tened, who wouldst not be 
parted from the Truth, even to preserve their 
lives, I Who Am make this everlasting covenant 
with the Peoples of Scale and Feather. For so 
long as thou hast no dealings with those who 
wouldst name themselves gods in defiance of 
Truth, I shalt shield thee from their false agency.”

He glanced at both Felsah and Patric who had 
finished unveiling the slab and were folding the 
cloth one last time. “Is this a real message from Eli?”

“We don't know,” Felsah said with a quick glance 
at Patric. The chameleon looked ready to 
disagree, but then shut his mouth and nodded to 
the Questioner. “There are a few facts in its 
favor. It was found in a bed of flowers near 
Yesulam and those who found it were quickly 
turned into Tened, a race that has long been 
dead. That they are Tened has been confirmed by 
three sources. The script is made out of a metal 
not even the alchemist Pascal recognizes, though 
we only allowed her a brief glance; she is... not 
the sort to keep any secret, and she would likely 
destroy anything we lent her in order to learn what it is.”

Akaleth frowned and pursed his lips. “We 
certainly do not wish any part of this destroyed.”

“Another fact is that there are twelve different 
languages used on this slab. Most of them are not 
human languages. We have identified three human 
languages, the Tened language, the Binoq script, 
the script of the Åelves, and even a Lutin 
dialect. We believe that another of thee scripts 
belongs to the dragons but few of them are small 
enough to enter this chamber, or friendly enough 
to Followers to care to enter here.”

“And these scripts, are they all the same message?”

Felsah nodded, hopping along the length of the 
slab and resting his paw on one of the human 
tongues. Akaleth glanced at it and saw that it 
was Suielish, the language the Ecclesia used. 
Even a quick read of that proved his fellow 
priest right. “Every one of them that we can read 
says the same thing,” Felsah said as he ran one 
claw along the inside of a letter. “If this was a 
forgery, then it is the work of scholars from a 
variety of disciplines. No one scholar would know 
twelve languages when those languages include the 
tongues of dragons, Åelves, Lutins, and Tened. 
Plus they would have to know alchemy to create 
this metal as well as have some logistical 
support to take it to Yesulam. And where did the 
flowers come from? And how did Jacob and his 
family become Tened? These and a few other 
reasons are why many believe this to be genuine of Eli.”

Akaleth ran his fingers along thew script and 
almost shivered as he touched the cold metal. If 
it were possible it felt chillier than the stone. 
“How did you learn what language these are? I've 
heard of the Binoq only in legend, and I've never 
heard that Lutins were the sort to write anything down.”

“They have a primitive script,” Patric piped up 
from the other side of the slab. “They use it 
more to track elk herds, bear migrations, various 
tribe squabbles, and occasional wisdom of their 
ancestors. There are even rumors of magic 
incantations, but that's just what I've heard the 
scouts who've gone north of the valley say.”

“The three human scripts I recognized,” Felsah 
pointed out, and then gestured to the Galendish 
at the bottom, the Suielish closer to the top, 
and another script that used similar letters with 
very different strings of consonants. “The last 
should be familiar to you as well.”

“The common tongue of Sonngefilde and 
Kitchlande,” Akaleth mused as he deciphered it. 
He wasn't as familiar with it, but having spent 
so much time in the company of Sir Czestadt it 
had become almost second-nature to him. “Aye, it 
says the same thing. But what of the others?”

“Both Emily and Jon recognized the top-most 
script as that of the Tened,” Felsah pointed with 
one claw at the far end of the slab, and then 
returned his gaze to the human priest. “They know 
more about the Tened than anyone else in the 
valley; Jon has been collecting their artifacts 
for several years now. And last week when Sir 
Matthias visited Metamor to gather with some of 
his friends, I asked him to come and take a look 
at this and tell me what he thought. He 
recognized the Binoq script and the Åelf script, 
but he couldn't read them. Nobody knows how to 
read them! But at least we know what they are.”

“And the children of scale and feather would be 
those like Patric?” Akaleth asked, glancing 
between the jerboa and the chameleon, still 
trying to grasp the significance of this slab 
being an authentic message from Eli.

“I believe that is what it means,” Patric said 
with a click of his tongue. “Who else could it refer to?”

Akaleth frowned and glanced back at the stone and 
its arresting message. “And these who name 
themselves gods in defiance of Truth... does it 
mean the Lightbringers... the aedra and daedra?”

“It would seem so,” Felsah said with a slight 
shrug of his shoulders. “There's no way to be 
certain, but I suspect it would include any supposed god who is not Eli.”

“Who else knows of this?”

“Those who helped us bring it here of course. 
Father Hough bid them keep silent about it for 
now, and so far no one has said anything. It is 
only a matter of time. Jacob and his family are 
unusual, even for Metamor. There is something... 
different about them that I think other Keepers 
can sense, even if they cannot name it.”

Akaleth exhaled and then let the familiar 
sensation of the mask settle over his features. 
He ran his fingers across the letters, noting 
each word, pondering the bright blue metal, and 
the message written in the languages of many 
races. Scale and Feather. Tened. Truth. I Who Am. Could it be real?

His eyes settled on the first phrase and a doubt 
began to arise in his heart. “What do we know of 
the Tened? Were they true to Eli? Did they even know of Eli?”

Felsah chittered under his breath and then turned 
to the chameleon. “Patric, please make sure the 
slab is covered again. There are some things I 
must show Father Akaleth. They are for his eyes 
and ears alone. Do you understand?”

Patric's eye cones both seemed to lower even as 
his long fingers grabbed the blue cloth and began 
dragging it back over the slab. “I understand, 
Father. I will tell Father Hough where you two are when I see him.”

“Thank you,” Felsah swung his head back to the 
human priest and almost squeaked. “If you would come back to my cell?”

----------

Father Akaleth listened with both wonder and 
doubt as he the jerboa regaled him with a tale of 
a dream, a land of desert, oasis, and a burrow 
town of other jerboa. And in that dream a strange 
creature visited him by the still waters of the 
oasis, a creature covered in feathers, with sharp 
teeth instead of a beak, and scales along his 
feet, face, and hands. His plumage had been 
bright and his tongue sharp but gentle. And in 
his soul a deep bitterness that poured forth in a 
confession whose duration could not be measured 
by hours or days, perhaps not even by years.

“Dare I ask what you gave him as penance?” 
Akaleth asked, half in hopes that his friend 
would laugh, and half in hopes that he wouldn't. 
Felsah smiled, an expression which made all his 
whiskers bend back along his face and then angle 
upwards so that he seemed to have a ridiculous mustache.

“It is hard to credence,” Felsah admitted as he 
hopped from the pallet over to his small writing 
deck. He lifted the lid and withdrew a small 
folded piece of parchment. “But when I rose the 
next morning I found this letter and two others. 
This was meant for me. Read and tell me what you think.”

Akaleth took the little folded bit of parchment 
from the jerboa's small, slender paws. The very 
first words made him nearly drop the letter. “To 
My Confessor...” Akaleth swallowed and stared 
over the parchment at his friend. “He wrote you a letter? This Troud?”

“I believe he wrote three letters. This one was 
for me so that I would believe that it was more 
than just a dream. It was... real in a way.”

“Even that jerboa village?”

Felsah scratched behind his ear and finally let 
out a small chuckle. “Well, perhaps not that part.”

Akaleth was grateful for the mote of levity and 
resumed reading the letter. It was brief and a 
moment later he set it down and took a deep 
breath. “Have you shown this to anyone else?”

“You are the first to see it.”

“Which means either something is going to great 
lengths to tempt the people of scale and feather 
here at Metamor, and they are using you to do it, 
or this is genuine. And why would they tempt them 
into a deeper faith in Eli? That does not make 
sense. This... Troud... does not seem to be 
interested in them for his own sake.” Akaleth 
folded the letter and offered it back to Felsah. 
The jerboa took it very gently in his paws and returned it to his writing desk.

They sat in silence for nearly a full minute, 
both of them lost in their thoughts. Finally, 
Akaleth knew there was only one question that 
could settle the matter for himself. He folded 
his hands, sliding his fingers together before 
tapping his knuckles to his chin a few times. 
Dark eyes found the desert mouse who had picked 
up a short stick as was gnawing at the end. “Do you believe it?”

Felsah continued to gnaw on the stick for a 
moment before lowering it and spitting out a few 
splinters. “Forgive me that habit... it is 
something I must do to keep my teeth from aching 
and from growing too long. As to all of this, the 
slab, the letter, the dream.” His eyes, wholly 
dark from one lid to the other, seemed 
nevertheless to turn inwards as he resumed 
gnawing on the stick. And like that he sat for 
several long seconds, his claws digging into the 
wood to hold it in place as his jaws worked and 
his teeth scraped at the end of the solid oak branch.

And then a small knot in the branch cracked 
beneath his fangs and Felsah picked it out with 
his fingers. He held it aloft between a thumb and 
finger, little claws just touching the chewed 
wood as he turned it over in the late afternoon 
light filtering through the window. “After our 
dear friend Vinsah, that is the other thing I 
have spent most of my thoughts upon. Do I believe 
all of that about the Tened and the children of 
Scale and Feather. Do I? Oh, Father, oh my 
friend, oh Akaleth, aye. Aye I do believe it.

“I know it is so strange and so unlikely, but I 
know it must be true. I cannot prove it, I cannot 
even prove it to many of those garbed in scales 
and feathers, but I know it deep down in my 
heart. I know that Troud exists and that he was 
created by Eli as a guardian and guide for the 
Tened race, and that his sojourn in the darkness 
of misery came to an end with his confession and 
repentance. I know that Jacob and his family's 
finding of that slab, and their change into Tened 
was the act of providence And I know that promise is from Eli.

“All I could think of the entire time we spoke 
with Wolfram was that it was a shame he and his 
friend were mammals. Had they been birds or 
lizards, then from here to eternity they would 
never have needed to fear Revonos or any of the 
Pretender's minions. And yet I could say nothing 
because I don't know what to do, nor how better 
to help them. Perhaps this is the first spark of 
a renewal in these lands, lands once the 
ancestral home to the Lightbringers. Perhaps here 
Eli means to bring up a people who will be 
faithful to Him. And through them, the rest of 
Galendor that does not acknowledge His name will 
finally see how great He truly is.”

Felsah lowered his snout and tossed the knot of 
wood into a small iron pail. “Maybe my hopes are 
just running away with me. I haven't been here 
for two months yet and I already love this place 
and her people dearly. Do you know that some of 
those who have become like Patric cannot even 
stand being in the presence of mammals anymore? 
They are overcome with panic and fear that we are 
going to steal their eggs and hunt them down. 
Their eggs. Aye, they lay eggs now. Ah, I am 
carrying on like an old fool. Aye, I believe the 
slab, the letters, all of it are real, Father. I believe it!”

Akaleth put his hands on his knees and nodded his 
head, smiling for his friend's sake. “If you 
believe it, then I believe it too. The only 
question that remains is this: how will we 
convince the Patriarch and the Council of Bishops that this is true?”

Felsah put his chewstick down and stuck his head 
and arms beneath the lid of his writing desk. He 
searched for only a moment before emerging with 
two sealed letters. He hopped to Akaleth's side 
and offered them to him. “When I woke from my 
dream, there were three letters on my desk. The 
first you've read. These are the other two. One 
of them is for Patriarch Geshter, and the other 
is for Father Kehthaek. I do not know what they 
contain. But the only way I can be sure they will 
arrive is if I give them to you.”

Akaleth turned the letters over in his hands, saw 
the names written in a very careful script on the 
side opposite the seal, and nodded. “I will 
deliver them personally as soon as I can. And I 
will tell them both what you have told me. But 
there is one thing more we should have so that 
they can see for themselves. We need to make a 
rubbing of the Covenant Stone. If there is 
anything there that would show this is not real, 
it will be there and someone in Yesulam will see 
it. And if it is real, they will see that too... in time.”

He tapped the letters on his knee once, and then 
furrowed his brow. “Why haven't you mentioned 
this to Hough or Patric? Or even this Emily, the 
one you say guides the people of Scale and Feather here in their unique way?”

“Because I'm not one of them, and yet I've been 
brought into whatever is happening here. I didn't 
want them taking my dream and these letters the 
wrong way. Until Yesulam speaks, we must be prudent. That and...”

“What?”

“I fear that they do not wholly trust me yet. 
There is still some fear that I am that strange 
Questioner. I want to do right by them... aye, I 
worry too much. I've never been responsible for 
any soul but my own and those I question. Forgive me.”

Akaleth set the letters to one side, near to his 
other personal things so that he would not forget 
them. “There is nothing to forgive. Let us go 
make that rubbing, and then we can worry about 
Vespers instead. And then something to eat. I'm 
beginning to feel famished, my friend.”

Felsah bobbed his head up and down, eyes warming 
and his whiskers stilling their anxious wiggling. 
“I'll find some charcoal. There should be plenty 
of parchment in that chest behind you. And to 
eat, well, I'll ask Wolfram and his men to fetch us something suitable.”

“A little fruit and a little meat would suit me.” 
And with that, the two priests began collecting 
what they would need. Akaleth was delighted to 
discover that his hands only trembled a few times 
as he gathered sufficient parchment.

----------


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

Charles Matthias
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