[Mkguild] Faithful Battles (3/7)

[C. Matthias]

Part 3

Metamor Keep: Faithful Battles
By Charles Matthias


“I thought I might find you here, Father.”

Felsah flicked his whiskers but stirred neither 
head nor ears toward the chameleon. Rather he 
drew his narrow, sharp-clawed fingers across the 
ancient runes inscribed upon the slab of stone 
resting in the middle of the floor in the main 
storeroom for the Follower Cathedral. His dark 
eyes were filled with the blue-metal lettering 
both fresh and ancient to his fingers and the 
message they conveyed in more languages than any could speak.

The visit to the Convent had taken longer than 
he'd suspected. They'd hurried back to the 
Cathedral in time for the midday prayers and 
taken a small meal together. While Patric and 
Richard were still eating, Felsah had slipped 
away for a precious few minutes to himself. After 
having one of his special dreams there was no other place he could go.

“Am I so predictable in my habits?”

Deacon Patric sauntered to the opposite side of 
the slab, one eye fixed on the jerboa, the other 
on the covenant stone. “If you are not in prayer 
before the Tabernacle and not in your cell then you are here. Usually.”

“How long have you been looking for me?”

“Not long, Father.” Patric folded his 
long-fingered hands one atop the other over the 
slab as he reclined against one side, long tail 
bracing him. “You did want to hear Confessions after Sext.”

Felsah's ears rose. “Are there penitents waiting?”

“None I saw. I asked Richard to find us should any arrive.”

“Good.” He leaned forward over the stone, awash 
in awe and uncertainty. He almost trembled as he 
touched the slab. “Do you believe this to be a message from Eli?”

The chameleon cracked his jaw and shifted his 
head forward in what Felsah had come to know was 
a reptilian smile. “I do.” He anticipated the 
next question and without pausing added, “There 
are so many reasons to believe it, Father. It was 
written by the same hand in many different 
languages, and all of them stating the same 
promise. It speaks of a people of Feather and 
Scale which can only mean those of us who were 
made reptiles or birds here at Metamor. It speaks 
of a people who were faithful unto death. You 
said as much of the Tened! And when I read this 
message I feel as if Yahshua Himself were 
speaking from the Yew straight to me. I can hear 
it in His voice, Father. I can hear His love. I 
even hear love in it for those who sought our 
betrayal and who posed as gods in defiance of 
Him. Father, of course I believe it and I wish 
you would let me share this with the rest of the 
Fellowship. I know they would embrace it and all come to the Yew.”

“Do you think I am too hesitant because I wish to 
wait for the judgment of Yesulam?”

Patric lowered both of his eyes and traced 
fingers across the letters as delicately and with 
as much reverence as Felsah had seen other 
priests treat the Canticles. “I know you don't 
want to make a mistake with something this 
momentous. But I also believe you believe this to 
be from Eli. You recognized Jacob and his family 
as Tened; nobody else did, Father, only you. I 
know you believe this to be true.”

“Did I not pass on what I received to Father 
Akaleth and through him to the Grand Questioner 
and the Patriarch? Will not this testimony weigh 
heavily in favor of this divine message?” Even 
with a rodent's face and mannerisms, the mask was 
natural to him and he offered none of the 
amusement he felt at the earnest reptile's 
consternation. Instead he bent down and scratched 
behind his left ear with his foot.

“Aye, Father, you did. And I hope it does make a 
difference. But I want to share this with the 
Fellowship! It will give the Followers among them 
renewed fortitude and it may even bring some of 
the Lothanasi to the truth. Already all who have 
seen Jacob and his family know deep in their 
hearts there is something different about them in 
a way even Metamor's Curses cannot explain. All 
of this is ordained by Eli and we must be 
shouting it from the rooftops not hiding it under 
a basket.” As he spoke, Patric's voice grew 
louder and his eyes more animated as they 
swiveled back and forth. Even his tail thumped 
from side to side in his agitation. Felsah felt a 
mouse's anxiety flutter in his heart but his training held it back.

“How are Jacob and his family? Have Rebecca's 
eggs hatched? Is Davin still covered in downy 
feathers or has he begun to fledge?”

Patric visibly slumped at the diversion, and he 
lifted one arm, fingers curling in the air as if 
to suggest distance. “Their eggs are still eggs 
and Rebecca is even more protective of them than 
she was when they arrived. She almost took poor 
Tabitha's head off when she tried to turn one – 
Tabitha is one of the caretakers of the eggs we 
keep in our hall, you remember her, the Steward's 
cousin.” An image of a lizard with a frilled neck 
sprung to mind, but the flash was brief. “Davin 
is still covered in downy feathers and probably 
will be for a few years more. Jacob is doing his 
best to find work as a tinker, and one of the 
Fellowship has offered him space in Keeptowne to 
work out of his shop for now. But...”

Felsah blinked as he listened and offered a faint 
smile, a slight widening of his eyes, turning of 
his jowls and lifting of his whiskers. Patric 
caught the glance and continued. “They have all 
changed... they visited the Standing Stone north 
of Metamor; it is an ancient Tened relic and it 
has survived all the elements and conquests in 
the valley these many centuries. I did not see 
what happened, but after their return they are 
different. Davin is unable to understand our 
tongue and only speaks in fluting cries, almost 
birdsong, along with some screeches and hisses 
only Jacob and Rebecca understand. Emily says he 
is speaking as a Tened would. Rebecca speaks of 
ancient wisdom and custom as if the distant past 
were but yesterday and there is something 
unsettling in her eyes when she sees humans... 
contempt I think, but it's despite herself. And 
Jacob cannot seem to count aright anymore... he 
uses strange words for many numbers, and when he 
says 'ten' he does not mean it as we know it, but 
as sixteen! Emily tells me it is how the Tened 
reckoned numbers. They have become, as far as I 
can tell, more as the ancient Tened were, more 
Tened, than they are human. It is as if their 
very natures and minds and wills have been remade.”

Felsah could feel Patric's uneasiness and he 
shared it. Was this Troud's doing? How he wished 
he could see the ancient Tened guardian again and 
speak with him another dream night to better know 
the twists and turns of Eli's acts. But even he 
likely would not understand the grand design 
their creator had weaved. He twitched his 
whiskers and rested a paw on the vibrant blue 
letters at the top of the slab; the curious 
scratches were the language of the Tened, the one 
race of the many Eli filled the world with who had remained faithful to Him.

“How much time have you spent with them?”

“I visit as often as I can. I would see them more 
often but Father Hough does not want me only 
ministering to the Fellowship, and I understand 
why... and I agree with him. We are all Yahshua's 
children, children of the Yew, no matter if we 
are human still, or covered in scale, feather, or fur.”

Felsah nodded and let his smile widen. “Very true 
and yet, if this message were more widely known, 
how might those who grew fur see it? Would they 
not wonder why they are not offered this 
protection? Would not envy strike their hearts? 
Do we not teach of Yahshua who makes no 
distinction between man and women or of any race in His call to follow Him?”

Patric thumped his tail and leaned forward along 
the slab, longing eyes unable to leave the 
letters. “Aye, I suppose. He makes no distinction 
in His call, but He does not offer us all the 
same gifts in the same measure. This is no 
different. And perhaps there will be another such 
covenant offered for those – like you, Father – 
who have grown fur instead of feathers or scales. 
Perhaps even a better one. I don't know. I just 
know this is real and this is a beautiful message 
it pains me not to be able to deliver to my kind. 
I...” The chameleon stopped, lifted both his eyes 
and struck his chest with fingers curled as close 
to a fist as their length would allow. “I did it again, Father, forgive me.”

Be gentle. “What did you do?”

“I said 'my kind'. I fell into what too many of 
the Fellowship believe. I know we were both men 
before Metamor's Curses reshaped us. Yet, after 
so many years as a chameleon I find how mammals 
act sometimes confuses me, and I know how I act 
must confuse you! It is so easy to think of 
ourselves as different in kind and not just in 
appearance. I know it is wrong and I'm sorry.”

“Do you then see why prudence demands we be 
patient and learn all we can before we teach this 
message? Were we not told to test any spirit who 
speaks to ensure they speak true?”

Patric let out a long breath before lowering his 
gaze. “Aye, Father. I suppose you are right. I 
just... it is hard to explain how much hope this 
gives me. I wish you knew what we of the Fellowship know.”

“Do you wish I had become a lizard or bird?”

“Well, I had not thought of it, I guess, Father, 
when you first arrived. Knowing you better now I 
suppose I would be gladdened had you been, but... 
it is hard to think of you as anything but a jerboa.”

“Not even a fennec fox?”

Patric swiveled one eye to the Questioner and his 
voice sounded bemused. “Maybe. You and your 
questions are clever like one. And... wait, 
Father, have you done nothing but ask me questions since I arrived?”

“Does it upset you if I have?”

“Father!”

“Was not Yahshua asking questions when Mother Yanlin found Him in the Temple?”

“Well, aye, but He also taught in parables and in 
direct commands. What is wrong with giving answers every now and again?”

Felsah nodded and he let the mask drop so his 
smile filled his entire snout. “Ah, Patric, 
forgive me. I am a Questioner and asking 
questions comes naturally to me. But for now I 
will give you answers as you seek.”

The jerboa leaned forward and delicately traced 
the ancient Tened runes with his claws. His tail 
tuft danced behind him as he pulled his hopping 
legs beneath him and gave a light kick to the 
Questioner robe to keep from stepping on its hem. 
He lifted his ears as a sign offering this young 
chameleon all of his attention. “I do believe 
this slab is real and a covenant offered from 
Eli. Yet it was offered in such a mysterious way 
it leaves me unsettled. I want to understand a 
little better and I want to submit my judgment to 
wise counsel first before I proclaim it. Although 
you may not understand, as I do not, but the 
reason I spend so much time here is because I am 
connected to it as well. It calls me and I feel 
as if I am a guard standing watch over a gate, a 
gate I hold open for those called to go in, even 
if I am not. This may not be a covenant made for 
Keepers like yourself and the Fellowship. It may 
be a covenant made with the reborn Tened and for 
their spiritual steward Troud. There are so many 
reasons to believe it to be true, but so many 
more reasons to be patient and learn more. And 
perhaps, as is the way with Eli, He will reveal 
His intentions for us as His witnesses through 
mysterious interventions and interlopers!”

Patric seemed to relax at the answer. “I do wish 
you could have been like me, Father. I know there 
are some who have found ways to take other shapes 
for a time. Perhaps there is a way which is not sin to do so.”

“Perhaps, but there is danger on the path you suggest, Deacon.”

“I know, and forgive me for thinking it. My heart ran away with my head.”

“Forgiven. Yahshua became a man for many reasons, 
one being we would not be afraid of Him as He 
became one of our kind. Not all of us can be 
reptiles or birds, and even those who have, are 
still the same kind as we who remain mammals. 
Perhaps part of the reason I am as I am, even 
though I feel a call toward your Fellowship, is 
because of the mistake even you have fallen prey 
to. Even if not, it is worth contemplating in prayer.”

“Aye, I suppose it could be,” Patric took a deep 
breath and then both his eyes fixed upon the 
slab. “Still, this also calls me. This is from 
Eli, Father, and we cannot keep it hidden here forever.”

“And we won't. I'm sure eventually one of those 
involved in bringing it here will let slip a 
careless word and rumor will begin to spread. 
Hopefully we will hear from Yesulam first. We...” 
He stopped and lifted his ears and then his head 
toward the doorway from the storeroom.

Patric followed his gaze and a moment later 
Richard scampered into the room with a look of 
mild exasperation. Felsah drew the canvas 
covering the slab back across the blue letters 
and Patric pulled the edge taught. The mouse knew 
of the slab, but Felsah heard the sound of a pair 
of cloven hooves not far behind him.

“Forgive me, Father, but Patrol Sergeant Wolfram is here to see you.”

“The black ram?” Felsah flicked his whiskers in 
surprise. He had not seen Wolfram or his company 
since his friend Father Akaleth had left two 
months ago. “Of course I will see him. Richard, 
let him know while I finish here.”

The mouse bowed his head and scampered back out, 
almost falling to all fours in his haste.

“I suppose I should tend to my duties then,” 
Patric offered. He cast one last glance at the 
slab, and trailed his fingers and claws across 
the canvas as he stood. “With your permission, I 
would like to see how this Elsie daughter of 
Lidaman is doing and whether the Sisters have 
been able to help; I will try to return by None, but...”

“Tend to the sick, Deacon.” Felsah smiled as he 
hopped toward the door. “And pray with us as you work.”

----------

The hoof-falls he'd heard from the storeroom had 
not been as close as he'd imagined. Sounds near 
the altar echoed better in the Cathedral and it 
was this he had heard. Felsah found the 
black-wool ram kneeling before the altar, still 
dressed in his patrol-gear of blue tabard with 
issuant horse atop chain mail. Two months ago his 
right horn had been smoothed down almost to the 
skull; it had regrown into a respectable nub but 
it might never again match its brother on the left.

Behind him the kharrakhaz also knelt, the three 
horns of his massive head pointing toward the 
tabernacle atop the altar. His mottled green and 
brown hide were drab compared to Patric's bright 
green, so the first color his eyes saw on him was 
also the blue tabard of the patrol. Neither man 
was armed with weapon or shield but the jerboa 
still felt a momentary urge to hide against a 
wall and hop in the other direction. Every Keeper was so large next to him!

Felsah did not don the Questioner mask, but he 
did marshal his instincts, reminding himself of 
the way Zachary had protected him on his first 
day in Metamor, and how Wolfram's entire patrol 
had stood guard outside the Cathedral during 
Father Akaleth's visit. Both had stood between 
Akaleth and Misha Brightleaf – an offense the fox 
later atoned for with several charitable repairs 
around the Cathedral – despite knowing if it came 
to a fight they would lose. These were good men 
and no little mouse like he was in danger from them.

He hopped across the distance and twitched his 
whiskers and jowls into a mouse's smile. He said 
nothing, casting his gaze after a moment toward 
the altar, tabernacle, baldacchino and 
surmounting Yew, heart and thoughts drawn upwards 
with each step. Yahshua, guide us. Help me bear these burdens.

“Father,” Wolfram whispered after making the sign of the Yew.

“Sergeant,” Felsah replied. He gestured with the 
wave of a paw toward the front of the Cathedral. 
Ram nodded, stood, and rested a two-fingered hand 
on Zachary's shoulder. The reptile opened his 
eyes, creased his beak in what smile his face 
could offer, and lumbered to his heavy feet. 
Together they walked as quiet as they could with claws and hooves and girth.

When they reached the front, Felsah guided them 
through a wide arched door on the northern wall 
and up a set of steps. The Schola practiced there 
in the evenings and sometimes during the day when 
they could. The members were all tradesmen, 
merchants, and soldiers at the Keep and so the 
evening was often the only time they could 
assemble. This made the room a perfect place 
within the Cathedral to carry on a quiet 
conversation without disturbing the faithful come to pray.

The main part of the room was filled with a trio 
of wooden platforms each higher than the one in 
front of it. Atop this Wolfram lounged, sitting 
upon the middle plank and propping his hooves on 
the first. Zachary eyed the wood for a moment 
before settling on the stone before the 
platforms. His thick tail ground against the 
stone wall behind him and Felsah could see some 
of the paint chip. Felsah waited until both were 
seated before straddling the middle platform, 
neither leg reaching the supports beneath it.

“I am very grateful to see you both again. I 
think the last time we had a chance to talk this is where we were, Sergeant.”

Wolfram glanced around for a moment and blinked. 
“I think you're right, Father. I'm sorry it has 
been two months, but we of the patrol do not have 
many choices when we're needed. Zachary and I 
come to Liturgy as often as we can.”

“We've been attending in Lorland, Father,” 
Zachary put in before the jerboa could ask.

“Excellent. I have been meaning to travel there 
and see how Father Purvis is managing.” The last 
time he had seen the priest assigned to Lorland 
had been even longer ago, not long after both of 
them had succumbed to the Curses of Metamor. 
Whereas Felsah had shrunk, Purvis had grown into 
the bulky shape of a hippopotamus. He bore it 
well and with good humor, even if none of his 
clothes could even fit half of him anymore.

“He seems to be a good man,” Wolfram said. “Often 
confused about how things have been done in 
Metamor since the Curses, but he's trying. Always 
has a smile, though if you've seen his teeth, it's a weird one!”

Felsah realized he'd taken his chewstick and 
started gnawing. He gave his sore incisors a few 
more seconds before putting the stick down. “Have 
the people of Lorland made him a complete set of vestments yet?”

“Not complete, no, but enough until Advent season 
starts. I'm sure before Autumn is done they'll have the rest made for him.”

Zachary cracked his gray beak in a reptilian 
grin. “He does take advantage of his new 
strength, Father. Last week he and I lifted the 
frame for a new home all by ourselves!”

Wolfram nodded, “On a dare, even! I knew you 
could do it, but I didn't know Purvis would try it too! Hah!”

Felsah lifted the stick again, but before putting 
it to his incisors asked, “So he's helping build homes in Lorland?”

“Aye,” Wolfram replied. The ram scratched at the 
wool around the growing nub of horn. “The 
farmlands there are rich and doing much better 
than they ever did under Loriod, or so they all 
said. While Metamor was under quarantine, most of 
the refugees from Bradanes settled in Lorland. 
They have the land but not the homes.” Felsah 
nodded as he listened, remembering the many 
rag-covered folk seeking a place to stay while 
they waited for the Curses to cure them. It tore 
his heart to see so many reduced to such 
desperation, but the hope in their voices, and 
the confidence and bravery they had to accept 
whatever change would come had healed the tear.

“So now Father Purvis has organized the newcomers 
from Bradanes, almost all of whom are Followers, 
into teams to help build new homes. The native 
folks who remember Loriod were still not sure 
whose lands were whose so they are making room 
for them as best they can. There have been 
fights, but not many, or so we were told.”

Felsah lowered his chewstick and offered the pair 
a pleased squeak. “I am delighted to hear of 
this. Thank you. I hope I can see these new homes 
for myself sometime soon. And so your patrol has returned to Metamor now?”

“For a short rest, aye,” Wolfram said, briefly 
casting his gaze toward the walls as if expecting 
to see something there. Or rather beyond them. 
“Then we're off to Mycransburg for a month to 
help patrol there. It's what being in the Patrol 
is about; you never stay home for long, Father. 
But it is good work and I love it. I get to make 
new homes and friends everywhere in the valley. 
This will be our first time in Mycransburg and I'm looking forward to it...”

There was a sudden hesitancy in his voice and 
Felsah noted a glance toward the kharrakhaz 
sitting on the floor in front of them. “But something is amiss?”

“Not for me, but...” Wolfram gestured toward his 
friend, but the reptile remained silent, his beak 
grinding shut. “Zachary, it is you who insisted 
we come see a priest this morning.”

Felsah shifted on his haunches, lifting both his 
ears to their full height. “Zachary?”

Zachary heaved a long sigh ruffling their fur. 
Eyes narrowed, he reached a hand to his head and 
rubbed at the base of his left horn as if it 
pained him. His beak cracked, and his voice, 
rumbled across his tongue. “Something has 
unsettled me, Father. I could not pray my beads 
this morning. Foreign thoughts, strange fears, 
kept intruding and distracting me. And not the 
normal distractions, Father. Those I can pray 
through. These... I have not been thwarted like 
this since before our waters were poisoned. I fear something evil comes.”

Felsah had never met Zachary before the curses of 
Metamor transformed him into a massive 
mottled-brown and green reptile with three horns 
and a wide frill crowning his head. It was easy 
to forget at one time he had been as a leper 
covered in rags to hide the disfigurement done to 
all the people of Bradanes. But he had seen many 
of them in the Spring on their arrival, the last 
of a desolate band hanging on the twisted healing 
wrought by tangled magic, and felt an involuntary 
shudder race down his spine and tail.

He stilled the mouse inside him and turned to his 
potent tool. “What sort of thoughts and fears? 
Are these the same you faced back in Bradanes?”

Zachary shook his head, closed his eyes, and 
murmured as best his transformed body allowed 
him. “They are not the same, Father. In Bradanes 
I remember fearing for my family. I didn't see 
anything happen to them, but I just had a dread 
every time I picked up my beads, a terrible dread 
they were in trouble. And myself, Father. A few 
days later the sores started appearing. What 
happened this morning was different. I kept hearing voices.”

“Voices? Did you recognize them? What did they say?”

“It was a language I did not know. I would not 
have thought it a language if I were not of 
Metamor now. It seemed the growling of wild 
beasts to me, yet I could hear in them the 
suggestions of terrible things. I cannot remember 
them now, but I felt their threat. Against my 
friends most of all. And I even thought I heard 
laughter in their voices. It kept me from 
praying, Father. I could not even find the words 
to the Pater Noster. Something evil is coming, Father.”

Felsah took a deep breath and flicked his tail 
from side to side. He'd gnawed a good chunk from 
his stick while the three-horn spoke. He had seen 
many strange and terrifying things in just the 
last two years. Three years ago he would have 
been skeptical of Zachary's claims. Now...

“Have you any idea what these voices breaking 
your prayers might mean? Do you know what might be coming?”

“No, Father,” Zachary admitted, with what seemed 
like frustration. Wolfram grimaced, clearly also 
disturbed by what he heard and by his inability 
to help the soldier under his command. “I hoped 
you might know something, and perhaps help stop it.”

Felsah shook his head. “I am sorry, my son. But I 
know no better than you what these voices might 
mean. I will offer Liturgy for you and your men, 
Sergeant, and I will bless your weapons and your 
shields before you leave for Mycransburg. If 
these fears are of the spirit then it will be 
mighty protection indeed. At the very least, I 
can help armor your souls against whatever evil is coming.”

Zachary's eyes regained their former confidence 
with his offer. “Thank you, Father. Aye, I will 
laugh back at them if they come again!”

Felsah turned to the ram and offered a slight nod 
of his head. “I will bless the weapons and armor 
of your entire command, Sergeant Wolfram, if they 
will permit me. I know they are not Followers; 
please extend my offer to them out of love for yourself and for Zachary.”

“I will let them know, Father. Thank you.” 
Wolfram took a deep breath, shifted in his seat, 
then put his hooves down and pushed himself up. 
“We'll be back before Vespers, Father, even if it just us.”

Zachary grunted as he also stood. “We will wait 
for you at the front of the Sanctuary, Father. We 
would not bring our weapons inside.”

Felsah flicked his tail as hopped to his feet. “I 
know you won't, Zachary. Now, I want you to tell 
me if you continue to have these distractions 
during your prayers. And if you wish to pray with 
me in the morning, you are both welcome to do so. 
At least as long as you are here in Metamor.”

This offer considerably brightened the reptile's 
demeanor as his gray beak cracked in a wide grin. 
Felsah could even see the rows of teeth along 
either cheek inside. “Thank you, Father. I will come. If I am permitted.”

Wolfram patted Zachary on the upper arm, as high 
as he could reach. “Of course you can. We are 
resting this week. If it helps you, then you 
should come. I might too, but I doubt I'll get the chance, Father.”

Felsah nodded, even as he gestured toward the 
door back into the Sanctuary. “I understand. Is 
there anything else I can do for you good men?”

“Nay, Father, you have done what we hoped and 
more,” Wolfram replied. “Are you hearing Confessions today?”

“Aye, it is what I was going to start when you arrived.”

“Then you'll have your first two penitents in a 
moment, Father!” Felsah flicked his whiskers into 
a pleased smile as the ram erupted into a boisterous laugh.

----------

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

Charles Matthias