[Mkguild] Faithful Battles (1/7)

[C. Matthias]

I just finished this new story for Metamor 
Keep.  There just always seemed to be 'one more 
scene' in this and so it's taken me half a year 
to write it.  I was not going to let it drag into 
2019, so I spent the last few hours wrapping it 
up this morning.  I really hope I can manage more 
than two stories in 2019, but we'll see.

Metamor Keep: Faithful Battles
By Charles Matthias

June 28, 708 CR

The burrows buzzed with frightened squeaks and 
cries bouncing from the limestone walls as 
townmice scampered in panic, marshaling soldiers 
toward the surface tunnels while the women and 
pups scrounged for a safe place to hide together. 
Father Felsah had been enjoying a steaming cup of 
coffee with Mahmoud at the cafe when the alarm 
bells clanged. Seconds later he hopped like a 
fool pup over heads and ears toward the church in 
the middle of the Follower district.

A compliment of soldiers rushed through one of 
the larger avenues, curved swords bouncing 
against their backs, round shields brushing the 
stone street as they scampered on all fours. 
Felsah paused in his headlong rush only long 
enough for them to pass. There would be more on 
the way. He hurried through the street and into the Follower district.

Close-packed homes squeezed between the narrow 
crack in the limestone. Felsah had to slow down 
to avoid hitting his head. The flow of frightened 
mice led deeper into the cleft. In moments every 
home would be empty as all who lived in this 
corner of the burrows sought shelter within the 
church. Felsah rounded a corner and nearly 
toppled over a widow mouse propped under one arm 
by her young son. Their eyes bulged from their 
heads and the young mouse squeaked. “Father! Is it the Ghans?”

Felsah slipped to the other side of the old widow 
and clasped her paw to steady her. Where her 
son's eyes were wild and danced with each brazen 
peal of the tocsin, hers were a deep well, the 
bottom of which he could not glimpse. There was 
more surprise in them at nearly being jumped upon 
by their priest than there was at the thought of 
raiders from the northern mountains come to ravage their burrow town.

“Perhaps,” Felsah replied as together they 
continued down the limestone road. “Let us make 
sure every one is safe in the church. The Saries 
will guard the tunnels. If it is a raid then it will be safe by morning.”

The young mouse bounced his tail tuft and spread 
wife his ears. “If it is not a raid, Father? What then?”

“Then we wait and pray for the Shah's soldiers to join the battle.”

“Arash,” the widow said in a soft voice, “trouble 
not your heart. Ghans or Kyrgs, what does it 
matter. We jerboa have lived in these tunnels 
since the time before the Shahs. If Eli wills it, 
so shall your children's children.”

“Aye, Madar,” Arash said, his whiskers and tail still dancing.

Together they walked down the sloping passage 
into the wide depression at the center of the 
Follower district. Homes were painted with murals 
of Yahshua, the Blessed Mother, and several 
saints. Taller buildings framed with wide pillars 
stretched from floor to ceiling, and in the midst 
of them was the church, carved from a solid 
column of limestone. The interior was paneled 
with cedar upon which scenes from the Canticles 
were painted. Thronging the church were the 
Follower townmice, packed so close Felsah, Arash, 
and the widow almost couldn't squeeze in. But on 
seeing their priest all of the mice made room. He 
first made sure Arash and his mother had a place 
to rest, and then he began to move through the huddled crowd.

The tocsin continued to ring, and with each clang 
the stone vibrated beneath their toes and tails. 
He put paws on shoulders, heads, and paws as he 
passed the frightened mice. He squeaked words of 
encouragement to each, made sure those who were 
ill and infirm had a place to recline, and sent 
any grown male among them out to fetch all the 
supplies they would need in case of a siege. Step 
by step he made his way toward the altar, 
tabernacle, and yew, bringing comfort and 
strength to his flock one mouse at a time.

One voice began to sing a hymn, and hundreds of 
ears lifted as one. Felsah's voice joined a 
moment later in the familiar song, and soon the 
little church thronged with their voices. The 
very air warmed with the sudden burst of courage. 
Stooped backs straightened as all turned toward 
the glimmering altar. Felsah still the jittery 
hop and walked through the ranks of mice, young 
and old, healthy and infirm, fear banished by the 
song. They were small but they were many. And 
they were here for each other always.

His courage did not flag, even as Felsah felt a 
strange dislocation. Faces which had at once been 
so clear now seemed harder to place. Words he'd 
understood a moment before, even those coming 
from his own tongue, were unfamiliar. Names of 
other mice he'd known all his life were ephemeral 
and he felt an alarm and unnatural chill brush 
through his fur. His eyes lifted once more to the 
altar, tail tucking so close he clasped it in his 
paws. All fell away giving him a clear path. He hopped forward.

A brilliant light seemed to emanate from behind 
the yew, and the closer Felsah approached, the 
fainter the sound of the bell became. Even the 
voices of his fellow jerboa seemed to dwindle as 
his hopping steps carried him closer and closer. 
So many to steel and yet now he found they were 
impossible to reach, with either tongue or paw. 
Faces so familiar and yet suddenly so strange 
slipped into the recesses of the cedar walls, 
becoming nothing more than additional paintings to admire and tend.

For a moment he recalled the widow's advice to 
her son, and then Felsah stepped into the bath of 
light and fell upward. Something yanked on his tail.

----------

Father Felsah opened his eyes to the tuft of his 
tail between his teeth. He blinked, amused, and 
scratched behind an ear with his foot before 
stretching and pushing himself off the pallet. 
Mornings in Metamor always seemed to be cold, and 
so he could not help but shiver and tuck his 
large ears close to his back where his 
dust-colored fur was still warm. He shimmied into 
his black robes as soon as he could find where 
he'd left them and then made the sign of the yew.

After offering a quiet prayer for the day, he 
hopped to the small table where he kept his 
Canticles and breviary, parchment, quill, and 
ink, one of Akabaieth's journals, and the letter 
from Troud. He carefully lit a single candle – 
his eyes needed nothing more – and jotted down 
what details he remembered of the dream. It was 
the fourth time now he had dreamed of the jerboa 
village living beneath the rocks near a desert 
oasis. The first time he had met Troud the 
protector of the Tened. None of the others since 
had featured interlopers from the real world but 
the details and the other mice felt so real the 
Questioner could not help but wonder if these 
dreams held some greater significance.

Of the many mysteries he sought to uncover this 
was by far the most enjoyable. Usually.

This time there was little joy in it. There had 
been times in his youth when raiders attacked 
their village and many families hid together in 
safe places beneath the rocks. He had not thought 
on it in years and wondered why the jerboa village should suffer so.

His notes complete he took the breviary in his 
paws and hopped from his quarters next to Fr 
Hough's and down the short hall into the 
sanctuary proper. The robe bounced up and down 
against his back, but after shortening it so it 
only came down to his knees he no longer feared 
stumbling over it with each hop. While he could 
force his hips and legs to walk one by one as he 
had done before his change it required the jerboa 
priest to concentrate on each step. So when not 
serving the Liturgy and when it would not 
otherwise be disruptive he hopped everywhere he 
went. The springing of his legs, the bouncing of 
his tail, and the constant up and down of his head felt natural.

As he genuflected toward the altar Felsah was 
grateful for the hopping, the enormous ears, the 
tufted tail, and all the other little signs of 
his change. If not for them he could never have 
come to appreciate all the difficulties the 
Followers of Metamor and all the others who lived 
here had come through in the last eight years. In 
time he might even prefer the shape of a desert 
mouse as many Keepers did with their own transformations.

The Cathedral was similar to many he'd seen in 
his journeys, with a cruciform design, clerestory 
windows to catch the light and illustrate key 
events in the Canticles and from the life of 
Yahshua, and vaulted walls to capture a huge 
vertical space. Statuary of saints and angels 
lined both sides while stone columns and wood 
panels provided alcoves for side altars and the 
confessional. A balcony overhung the rear of the 
Cathedral, and lofts were positioned in the arm 
of the cross for opposing schola. And at the 
front was the altar, resplendent with white, 
gold, and green, framing the tabernacle between 
ranks of candles and a gold-leaf inlay copy of 
the Canticles – a precious gift to Father Hough 
from Bishop Verdane – all beneath a baldacchino 
of Mother Yanlin cradling the Holy Infant and framed by singing angels.

What was different was many of the images in the 
windows and in the artwork – according to Hough 
provided by the Keep itself – featured creatures 
who were, like they, partly animal. They mingled 
with humans in the scenes of crowds witnessing a 
miracle, they marveled as Yahshua restored their 
sight, they bowed low in adoration at His birth, 
and they comforted the Holy Mother at His death. 
Felsah had been uncomfortable the first time he'd 
stepped foot into Metamor's sanctuary, but now 
treading upon it with hopping paws and lashing tail, he was grateful for it.

There were also images showing children engaged 
in roles meant for adults, and women where a man 
would have been expected, but these were more 
subtle and easily missed. Felsah knew the many 
beauties of this sacred place were still waiting to be discovered.

His whiskers and nose twitched with the dry scent 
of a reptile and the familiar scent of another 
mouse. His eyes found them a second later, 
kneeling before the altar in the lee of the 
statue of Mother Yanlin. The chameleon Patric, 
one month now a Deacon, was chanting under his 
breath the Matins with Richard holding the 
breviary open before him. Felsah, in those few 
minutes he'd taken to write down his dream, had 
missed the beginning. He knelt where he was and 
opened the breviary to where the chameleon prayed and joined him.

With a tongue much longer and thinner, and with a 
pair of incisors and jowls where short teeth and 
lips had once been, forming words of any sort had 
been a challenge in his first few days as a 
Keeper. His change had been quick; he'd woken one 
morning as a man while visiting Lorland and newly 
installed Father Purvis, laid down to rest after 
Terce with what felt like a stomach ailment, and 
after much tossing and turning awoke to discover 
the jerboa he'd become. Purvis, whose enlargement 
into a hippopatomus was taking much longer, 
allowed him to stay in the makeshift rectory in 
the main town outside the dilapidated castle 
while he worked out how to speak again.

Because of his short stature his voice was high 
pitched and there was nothing he could do about 
it. But the Keep was full of many others whose 
voices belied their maturity and after three 
months it, like the hopping, huge ears, and tufted tail, suited him.

“Sed in lege Dómini volúntas eius, et in lege 
eius meditábitur die ac nocte. Et erit tamquam 
lignum, quod plantátum est secus decúrsus 
aquárum, quod fructum suum dabit in témpore suo...”

Had he not been so intent on the prayers, he 
would have heard or smelled the dog creeping up 
on him. Its cold nose nudged his side mid-prayer 
and he flicked up his large ears to catch the 
whine. He turned, one hand resting on the stone 
floor, and chuffed at the sight of the 
sandy-furred Rakka staring plaintively with his brown eyes.

“Very well, Rakka, I guess it's my turn.” He 
stuck the breviary under his other arm and 
gripping the dog by his scruff, did his best to 
walk with him out the Cathedral.

----------

By the time he had seen to Rakka's needs and left 
the dog happily gnawing on a bone in the common 
room for the seminarians, Matins had come to an 
end and both Patric and Richard were preparing 
the altar for the morning liturgy. Felsah noted a 
handful of the faithful had come to pray and did 
his best not to disturb them as he hopped past. 
Patric noticed him first and put down the bells 
to walk with large head bowed and both eyes focused.

His voice, dry and raspy with a subtle clicking 
intonation, was reverential and whispered. “Good 
morning, Father Felsah. We did not see you at Matins... are you well?”

“I am well, merely delayed. And then Rakka 
decided I had more important affairs to tend to.”

Richard scampered down from the other side of the 
altar, genuflected, and chittered an apology. “I 
know it was my turn to tend him. But he was 
sleeping so peacefully when we woke... I just...”

Felsah patted the mouse on the shoulder and 
offered a quiet chitter of amusement. “No need to 
apologize, he knows me well and I don't mind. I 
brought him here. Now, finish preparing the 
altar. When Liturgy is over I want you to join me in the sacristy.”


The boy priest Father Hough had departed 
yesterday afternoon for a two week sojourn at 
Iron Mine; he'd taken three of his seminarians, 
including the two newest, with him. From what 
they knew, all of the refugees from Bradanes had 
completed their dangerous journey. Due to the 
plague besetting Metamor at the end of Winter, 
the last of them had clustered in Lorland and 
Iron Mine. At Lorland there was ample space for 
them to live, though they were city folk learning 
to adjust to tending farmlands; Father Purvis 
worked beside them in tilling fields when he 
wasn't negotiating which lands they could work 
and live upon with Lord Mayor Macaban. To help 
tend the flock Hough had sent Purvis two of his seminarians.

Iron Mine presented different challenges. Nestled 
in rocky terrain and burrowing into the 
mountains, there was little space for the many 
who came seeking work. Those of Bradanes had 
created their homes with whatever they could in 
the cracks between walls through every alley they 
could find. Baron Christopher was at his wits end 
attempting to keep them fed let alone make room 
for them. Father Hough was not sure what he could 
accomplish but knew they needed the encouragement 
of a priest, especially since they were the only Followers living in Iron Mine.

And while Father Malvin in Lake Barnhardt had no 
pressing needs and only a small number of 
refugees from Bradanes had ventured so far north, 
Ramad, who was a season away from being ordained 
a deacon, had been sent there to finish the last 
of his liturgical instruction. This meant Father 
Felsah was left in charge of the Keeptowne parish 
with only a newly ordained deacon and one other 
seminarian to assist him. For two weeks. Right 
after one of the most boisterous and riotous celebrations of the year.

Felsah took a loaf of bread and broke off morsels 
for each of them. “Thank you for leading Matins, 
Patric. You did well with what I could see. And 
you did an excellent job chanting the psalm during Liturgy.”

The chameleon turned both of his eyes toward the 
bread and stood a bit taller, his tail curling 
into itself. “Thank you, Father. It is exciting 
to be able to offer the prayers now. Do you wish me to do any more this day?”

Felsah tore a small chunk free with his incisors 
and chewed as he listened. After swallowing, he 
favored the reptile with a whiskery smile. “I 
believe I will, but first ... tell me... what 
else does Father Hough normally do each day?”

“You have been with us for three months now,” 
Patric reminded him, one eye turning to Richard 
who had gnawed a hole into his bread and who 
lifted his ears at the question. “Are you testing us?”

“I am a Questioner; I have never been in charge 
of a parish before. Though, aye, as you imply, I 
have observed how Father Hough tends to the needs 
of the parish and to your own instruction.” He 
leaned back on his long legs and tapped the end 
of his snout with the bread. “I still would like 
to know what you have come to expect as this is 
your home for much longer than it is mine. I 
suppose it is a test in a small way, but I doubt either of you could fail it!”

Patric bobbed his head and curled his long 
fingers around the portion of bread and opened 
his triangular jaws. Like many of the reptilian 
Keepers he did not speak as humans did by moving 
lips, but from the back of his throat with only 
the occasional turn of the tongue to add 
inflection or timbre. “Father Hough offers 
Liturgy in the morning and then we would spend 
four candlemarks under his instruction, usually 
in reading the Canticles or the writings of the 
Saints. We then pray Terce before heading through 
the Keep or into Keeptowne to visit with some of 
the Ecclesia families. Father always makes a list 
on Sunday of families he wants to visit each 
week, either those he has not seen come to 
Liturgy, those he knows are in need or sick, and 
those who he hopes will help charitably. 
Sometimes we go with him, and sometimes he sends 
us to visit the families he cannot reach. We do 
this until Sext when we return, if we can, for 
prayers and our midday meal, before we tend to 
chores here or visit additional families or run 
errands in Keeptowne. Father tries to spend time 
in the Confessional before and after None most 
days, and then he will either visit any more 
families he wishes to see or spend a little time 
with his ciders before the evening meal and 
Vespers. And then we talk of each of our days and 
he leads us in an examination of conscience before Compline and sleep.”

Richard spent most of the recitation nodding his 
head and nibbling. Felsah found he did much the 
same as his fellow mouse; it was the simplest way 
of eating anything when the only teeth they had 
in the front of their snouts were a pair of 
incisors. Each morsel, like each phrase offered 
by the chameleon for the hours of the boy 
priest's day, was worn down by the incisors and 
then ground to a pulp by the rubbing of tongue 
and gnashing of molars before being swallowed. By 
the time Patric was finished neither rodent had any bread left.

Felsah licked a crumb from his paws and leaned 
back on his haunches. “Very good. As a Questioner 
I would spend more of my days in prayer or study. 
I am not used to visiting families to maintain a 
parish! But Father Hough did not leave me any 
list and so I ask, did he tell either of you who 
he would have gone to see this week had he not journeyed to Iron Mine?”

Patric had taken a moment to stuff half of his 
bread into his mouth and so Richard squeaked in 
reply, “Nay, he did not tell me, Father. Are there any you wish to visit?”

“There are a few. I have been taking note of 
which families have young children. I have been 
talking with Mother Wilfrida about opening a 
little school for them to better train them in 
our ways. But first we will need supplies and... 
students. If Father Hough has not asked us to 
visit any, and there are no sick to tend, then 
after your instruction is complete, we can begin 
paying each family a visit to make our offer.”

Patric swallowed and turned one eye about. “And 
seek the supplies you will need, Father?”

“Aye. I have a list prepared but I am not yet 
sure how to fill it. I hope you can help or know who can.”

All three turned their heads at the distant 
tolling of a bell. Felsah's ears cast a breeze 
about as they moved first up and then back down 
toward his back. “Enough of this for now. The day 
presses. Let us turn to your lessons.”

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

Charles Matthias