[Mkguild] Faithful Battles (4/7)

[C. Matthias]

Part 4

Metamor Keep: Faithful Battles
By Charles Matthias


Dark curtains hung along three walls of the 
Confessional filling it with a gloom even 
Felsah's jerboa eyes found dim. Only the wall for 
the confessor was visible in the tenebrous 
chamber with its grill of tightly woven knots of 
oak and ash, and even then only when the curtain 
was cast aside for a sinner to enter or a saint 
to leave. A single, sputtering candle besmirched 
the darkness; it brought more shadow than light, 
but the scent was pungent though not offensively 
so and served to mask all but the most aromatic of Keepers.

Felsah found the bench and cushions Hough 
preferred were ill-suited to his shape. After 
some scrounging in the store rooms – the same in 
which the Covenant Stone reposed – he fashioned a 
seat he could take in and out of the booth wide 
enough for him to sit on his haunches and tall 
enough for his head to reach the grill. The 
purple stole dangled across his neck as he 
unconsciously leaned forward. His ears were ever 
turned to the grill, be there a penitent or not. 
With each opening and closing of the door the 
curtain behind him would tremble, brushing across his tail and back.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

The familiar words were accompanied by the 
scuffling of heavy hooves and the awkward 
scratching of horns or antlers across the 
doorway. A brief flash of light filled the grill, 
but Felsah averted his gaze. The timbre of the 
voice was familiar, though he could not say from 
where. He did his best to put the inevitable 
question of who the penitent was from his mind.

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

The figure opposite him stirred and he heard the 
clatter of something hard against the wall above 
the grill. Felsah's heart fluttered but he 
stilled the mouse's anxiety. The large herbivore 
on the other side of the wall, voice now quiet 
and almost fluted, whispered, “I do not remember, 
Father. At least, I don't remember the last time 
I confessed all of my sins. The last time I was 
here I... did not say all. And the time before. 
And stretching back for a very long time, Father. 
I don't... I don't even know if I'm confessing my sins now.”

The last hour had brought to the booth a dozen 
Keepers, most of whom had only a few things they 
wanted to confess. Felsah even recognized some of 
them. Their sins were what he would expect of 
Followers living in a large, complicated city 
filled with magic. There were the greedy thoughts 
and envies, the gossips and the liars, the 
covetous desire nurtured and sometimes 
accomplished, and the lustful wandering eye and 
paw. Some admitted to using magic here and there. 
Felsah gnawed as they spoke, asking questions 
from time to time, but otherwise only listened 
until the time came to offer the penance and absolution.

The souls he'd forgiven so far had stumbled on 
the way to Yahshua. This one was lost.

Felsah tenderly set his chewstick on the bench 
between his toes; he curled them atop the wood to 
keep it from slipping and making a clatter. “Why not, my son?”

He heard a hoof scuffing across the floor and 
heavy breathing; his chest tightened. Ears 
lifted, timorous at first, determined the next.

“Because I have lived most of my life convinced 
the Ecclesia was wrong about this one thing. I 
 
I have tried to serve and I have tried to be a 
good Follower and to uphold all she teaches in 
everything else. I have confessed all my lies, my 
wrath, my impatience, the evil thoughts I've held 
in my heart toward others. Father, I have 
confessed every time I have struck another, man 
or beast, in rage and when I was not acting to 
defend the weak. I have confessed the ill words 
I've spoken behind closed doors. I have confessed 
my rage at the Curses of Metamor for hurting 
those I love. I have even confessed anger I have 
felt toward Eli for taking away my friends and 
charge one fell night. But this one thing... this 
one thing I have never confessed because I 
refused to believe it was sin. I have refused...”

Felsah held his breath, waiting to see if there 
would be any more words. He could not completely 
still the curious turning of his mind to 
determine who the lost soul might be. A large 
hoofed mammal with horns or antlers from the 
sound of his body in the booth and from the 
timbre of his voice. A soldier of some sort he 
knew from the words shared. Names and faces 
flashed before him but each time one started to 
form he leaned toward the candle and breathed 
deep of its acrid flavor. The image would skitter 
away in pieces as his mind, eager to understand 
the world through scent and sound, fixed upon the 
peculiar blend of oils and pulpy pine mash.

Nothing more came. Felsah wrapped his hands 
together, knobby fingers pulling tight against 
each other. “What is this one thing you have 
refused to believe is sin?” He could not help a 
lost soul find its way until he knew where it was.

The figure on the other side of the grill, a mere 
shadow whose shape was too indistinct to decipher 
in the gloom, took a long deep breath, opened his 
mouth so as to speak, and then closed it again to 
draw another deep, grunting breath. Felsah could 
almost feel the herbivore's teeth grinding on his 
ears. Another five breaths, each longer and 
quieter than the last, and Felsah chose to wait 
no more. “My son, does this weight still your tongue as well as your faith?”

His ears strained to hear the whisper no louder 
than a last breath. “Aye.” For a moment after 
Felsah could not even hear the soldier's breath. 
His own was clutched tighter than his heart, 
tongue fixed to the back of his incisors, whiskers on edge.

And then there was a crash of hooves and scraping 
against the ceiling, a bleating trumpet roaring 
through the grill; Felsah jumped backward, 
tangling into the heavy curtain and driving one 
foot hard upon his tail and ripping free several 
tufts of fur. The chewstick scattered away and 
was lost in the darkness beneath him while the 
bench nearly toppled over. Felsah cowered in the 
furthest corner, quivering against the curtains 
for several seconds before the herbivore's bellow was spent.

“It weighs on me because I hate the Ecclesia for 
making this a sin! I hate hiding it and living my 
life behind closed doors. And I hate the lies and 
the fear now living in my heart; the fear it is I 
who is wrong, not the Ecclesia, and I have been 
drowning myself and those I love in sin! And I cannot tell anyone! Anyone!”

A heavy whump followed as the Keeper settled onto 
the kneeler on the other side of the grill, a 
moan escaping his throat. Felsah eased himself 
forward, making sure his bench was steady with a 
hand and a foot before scooting back on. He 
thumped his tail against the curtain, ears 
listening to the man's heavy breaths for several 
seconds before he dared another question. “What 
is this sin, my son, torturing you so?”

He heard heavy gusts of breath and felt them 
through the grill, filled with the earthy musk of 
a deer. Felsah put the name and face leaping 
before him from his mind and steadied himself. In 
the dark the mask of the Questioner fell across the jerboa's snout.

“It is... not something I think you can 
understand, Father. I had hoped... eh... I 
suppose it is you I must... I must...” Another 
snort followed by a grunt and the soldier said, 
“All right, Father. It is Sodomy. I have lain 
with men as with a woman. And I have loved them 
dearly. And I still desire the one. Yet you and 
the Ecclesia tell me it is wrong. I... I have 
heard others show me from the Canticles different 
ways of seeing the same words. And I believed 
them all these years. And it was another priest 
who taught me this, Father. A priest of the Ecclesia.”

Felsah felt immense sorrow for the soldier, but 
knew admitting it yet would only drive the man 
away. “But something has happened to make you 
question whether this is in fact sin, hasn't it?”

“Heh... aye... since before you arrived. It's 
taken me this long just to come here. If it is 
any consolation to you, Father, I have refrained 
all this time, as painful as it is to my squire. He doesn't understand.”

In a Confession it was generally thought best not 
to dig too deep into the details of the sins and 
merely let the penitent describe them as they 
wanted. But this was not an ordinary Confession. 
“What does he not understand? Is he with whom you have committed sodomy?”

“Aye. And before you ask, Father, I am not his 
first. He had been with other men before me. None 
has loved him for his own sake as I do. I hate 
hurting him in any way. He does not understand 
why I have become so distant and focused on his 
training. He does not understand why I hold 
myself back. But I... I am torn, Father.”

Felsah allowed him a moment more to catch his 
breath. The eruption of only moments before 
seemed to be spent, and now only a bitter regret 
filled the knight's voice. Physical fear was past 
– he hoped – but Felsah knew his words mattered 
even more than before. This was a soul dangling 
off a precipice hanging by a thread. He had 
climbed some, but could yet to decide to let go 
and disappear into the abyss hungry beneath him.

And what of the squire? Was he also perched upon a ledge, unknowing?

“I believe you, my son. I believe you do love 
your squire. You want his true and fullest good, for such is love.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Our true and ultimate good is not in this life, 
my son. It is one reason many of the things the 
Ecclesia teaches us our own hearts sometimes 
rebel against. The allure of this world is 
unfathomable. Yet we are not made for this world. 
The teachings are often not what some of us 
priests might even like. But pride, the chief of 
all sins, leads us to believe we have greater 
spiritual insight than those to whom Yahshua 
entrusted His Ecclesia. I must submit even my own 
judgment to her, difficult as I can find it at 
times. And I make mistakes. In this we are no different.”

The knight snorted, and a sudden distance seemed 
to enter his voice. “So it is my pride keeping me 
from accepting what the Ecclesia teaches? Is it 
not pride keeping the Ecclesia from questioning 
itself? The Canticles tell us to question every 
spirit and prophet to know if they are from Eli. Have you questioned this?”

Felsah's heart tightened and his claws pressed 
into his palms. On what foundation had this 
knight's sin been laid? “When it has been the 
unanimous testimony of the saints and all who 
have studied the Canticles for centuries, why 
should I question it? The moral teachings of the 
Ecclesia come not from the whims of men but the 
Spirit Most Holy. We can only come to understand 
them better; they do not change, for what is holy 
and what is sin do not change; they are immutable 
because they govern our relations to Eli who is immutable.”

He paused for a few seconds, and he could hear 
the knight's breathing grow louder. “But I do not 
know what you have been told, my son. You learned 
this other way of seeing the Canticles from a priest?”

“Aye, Father, I did. And he is not the only one 
who sees it. I know there are many more who do 
not believe the Ecclesia has understood this 
right. But if they speak, they will be cast out 
and sent to die, so they keep silent.”

Felsah wondered just how many there were. But of 
them he could do little. Only this soul mattered. 
“Yet, my son, here you are. You are conflicted. 
You do not wish it to be sin yet you fear it is. 
You fear the sin you have committed and you fear 
the harm you have brought to those you love. Do 
you fear also the loves and places in this world 
you will lose if you turn away from this sin?”

The tension ebbed with a long sigh. The deer's 
voice seemed to fade with each word. “Aye, I fear.”

“Did the fear bring you here today?”

“Maybe. I don't know what I hoped for. I want to 
stop being conflicted. I want to be able to love 
Yahshua without secrets. I want to love my squire 
and I want him to love Yahshua too. He's... 
trying. I fear if I tell him our love is a sham 
and what brought us together is sin and evil I 
will push him away forever. And I fear the doubts 
sowed in me now is the temptation, the evil, and 
what the priest and others have told me is the 
truth after all, and I would ruin everything by listening to them.”

Delicate now. “I cannot give you what you seek, 
my son. Without true contrition for your sins I 
cannot give you absolution. If I cannot give you 
absolution your soul will remain in conflict. You 
cannot live a life of sodomy with your squire and 
not persist in secrets and lies. Even in Metamor. 
Many probably already know and keep the secret to 
spare your reputations. But aye, to return fully 
to the arms of the Ecclesia you must risk pain 
and anguish as far as your squire is concerned. 
You cannot save his soul, just as I cannot save 
yours. This task is his own; we can only help him 
with prayers and fasting and our genuine love. It 
must be a love seeking nothing for itself, but 
only giving and seeking the good of the beloved. 
This love cannot bring harm, cannot will harm, 
cannot desire harm. Sin is harm, my son, the 
gravest and most perilous of all harm. Suffering 
is what our savior did in His long walk to the 
Yew, bore down by the instruments of His 
execution, the spits and jeers of the crowd, and 
the sneering abuses of the Suielman soldiers. If 
you wish to reach the Yew you are going to have 
to endure the same, as will your squire. Not a 
one of us can escape it, my son. We will all be 
scarred. You have already been scarred, as have 
I. You have lost many friends. I pray you do not 
lose these. But I pray more fervently you will 
listen, contemplate this in your heart, and seek 
Yahshua before all else, accepting the wounds and 
scars bravely, as you would in any other battle. 
For this is the most harrowing and important 
battle of your life. Not for country. Not for 
honor. Not for riches. But for eternity.”

There was silence on either side of the 
confessional. Seconds trickled past with only the 
muffled scrape of hoof and antler, the digging of 
little claws into wood, and the mysterious 
exhalations of breath and thought. Beyond Felsah 
could hear the murmurings of other penitents come 
for Confession, each retreated to the other side 
of the Sanctuary to avoid hearing words meant 
only for the sinner, the priest, and Eli. In his 
heart many other questions fluttered – how many 
others had the knight committed sodomy with, the 
priest perhaps, how long had he been tempted to 
this sin, who else among the Ecclesia taught 
these lies – but he set them aside for now. For a 
full accounting they would be needed but the 
knight would be driven away if he asked them now. 
Instead he leaned toward the candle and prayed. Eli, help this man. Have mercy.

He heard the knight shift and the sound of a hoof 
pressing into wood. “Father, I will contemplate. 
I will fast and pray. But I make no other 
promise. I ask of you one thing. If I show you in 
the Canticles what I have learned, will you 
contemplate, will you fast, and will you pray to 
understand it and learn the truth?”

Felsah did not let the sigh of relief escape his 
lungs. “I will, my son. I will. May Eli bless you, my son.”

“And you, Father.” Without another word the deer 
knight rose, antlers scraping the walls one more 
time, and departed. The flash of light as the 
penitent's door was opened hurt his eyes. It swung shut to emptiness.

Felsah exhaled and crumpled where he crouched.

----------

Another dozen penitents sought absolution, and 
while a few confessed terrible sins, Felsah could 
sense their genuine sorrow and provided each the 
forgiveness they needed. When the last literally 
slithered out of the confessional Felsah waited 
another few minutes in silence. Only his heart 
spoke and each word was a prayer for the 
penitents, especially the deer knight. After no 
other came he opened the door and searched the 
floor for his fallen chewstick. This he stuck 
sideways in his jaw behind his incisors while he 
lifted his stool over his shoulders.

He blinked several times in the now bright light 
of the sanctuary, flicking his ears in an attempt 
to shadow them, but they would not bend forward 
unless he yanked them. With the stool in his 
right arm, he wrapped the fingers of his left 
hand about the end of his left ear and tried to 
pull it around. He took one hopping step and the 
stool slipped and landed on his foot. He squeaked 
and found himself hopping up and down while licking his toes.

When he realized what he was doing he forced 
himself to stand still and set his stinging foot 
down. He then picked up the chewstick he'd spat, 
and righted the stool before taking his ears and 
yanking them over his eyes again. He could just 
wait until it didn't hurt to have them open.

Soft paws crept behind him. “Do you need help, Father?”

“Ah, Richard, I could use another hand here.”

“I've some paws I can lend, this doesn't look too heavy for me.”

“My eyes are almost ready, I can help carry it.”

“Nonsense, where do you want it, Father?”

Felsah chittered an amused sigh, wiggled his now 
sore toes, and eased his ears back from his eyes 
a finger's width. He squinted, but he could see 
the stone and walls now. “My cell will be fine, thank you, my son.”

While Richard followed, Felsah hopped with the 
chewstick stuck between his teeth and his hands 
holding his ears close to his face. He fumbled 
only a moment at the door to the side passage 
leading back to their quarters. The light was 
much easier on his eyes there and once safely 
through he let go of his ears and they flopped 
back behind his head. “I must remember to ease 
myself out next time. Or let more light in when I 
hear Confessions. Jerboa eyes yearn for twilight.”

“As do mouse eyes,” Richard noted. Felsah could 
see the seminarian's whiskers twitching, ears 
flat against the back of his head, and he hoisted 
the stool over his arched back. It looked as 
heavy and awkward for him as it had been for himself.

“Here, hand me one side.”

The two mice shifted the stool about so they each 
carried half. Felsah did his best not to hop. 
Richard bore an irritated moue weighing heavier than the wood.

When they finally set it down in the jerboa's 
cell, Felsah patted the wood as he thumped his 
tail tuft across the stone floor. “I will need to 
find a better way to do this; it takes a little 
while becoming used to our new size, does it not?”

“Aye,” Richard admitted while stretching. “I've 
been this small for three years now, Father. I 
don't know if I'll ever be used to it.”

“You suffered the curses at thirteen?”

The mouse nodded, fumbling at his side for 
something but found nothing. “I was the tallest 
in my family. Now I'm shorter than my sister 
who's stuck as a child. I'd wanted to be a 
soldier, but even scouting is too hard; the 
anxiety this mouse body gives me at every noise; 
I just couldn't handle it, Father. And my family 
are masons; I've no strength for it anymore. So 
right after the Patriarch's visit they suggested 
I become a priest too. And here I am.”

Felsah nodded as he listened. Many priests had 
come unwillingly; some became great saints. 
“Would you care to sit, my son? I am willing to 
listen if this is something your heart needs to 
share.” And if Richard demured but still 
complained, then in time he would demand it.

Richard scuffed his toes against Felsah's 
sleeping mat and shrugged his shoulders. “I'm not 
sure what to say. I was strong and now I'm weak. 
I never wanted to be a priest but here I am 
studying to become one. I'm not sorry I'm here, 
Father, and I don't mind being a priest, and most 
days I am looking forward to it, but... I just 
hate how the Curses took everything else from me. 
And I hate being a scared little mouse all the time.”

Felsah recalled Zachary's tale of going from a 
small man with nimble fingers into the hulking 
three-horned reptilian giant and the difficulties 
he encountered every day because of his size. 
There were many things he could say to Richard, 
and many ways he could sympathize. He was a mouse 
too, but also a jerboa with all of their 
peculiarities. But Felsah was not going to offer 
complaints in front of a seminarian, especially 
one with such a good heart, even if it needed tempering.

“You do attend the monthly Gnawer's group; have they helped?”

Richard glanced at the stool and the shrugged. “I 
suppose. I don't feel quite as small and helpless 
around them, or you, Father. But I'm a mouse. The 
rats and the other rodents, especially the 
beavers, are all larger than me. I know there are 
supposed to be some Keepers who are smaller, but 
I don't know of any. Maybe if I'd been a man like 
you had been for a while before this it wouldn't 
seem as bad. I just never had the chance and I know I never will.”

“There are many things we never have the chance 
to know.” His dream of the jerboa village came to 
him and he allowed a smile to touch his snout. 
“But even mice have courage. Whether in large 
numbers or by themselves, they can have courage 
and so do you, Richard. At our new size we merely 
have to find different ways to show it. Every 
time we walk the streets we need it! How many 
times were you afraid you would be crushed by 
horse hooves or wagon wheels today?”

Richard flicked his tail around and cradled the 
end. “One of them did nearly run over my tail.”

“And there are other ways, we can find them 
together. I have not tried it myself, but I 
understand we can take on the shape of the 
natural animal with which the Curse has blended us. Have you done so?”

“Once or twice, curiosity and all,” Richard admitted.

“Perhaps we can do so together and explore. The 
world may not seem so big and threatening after 
we see if from an even smaller stature.”

His fellow mouse offered a small squeak, whiskers 
spreading in a smile. “Well, there are a few 
places I know here. But when could we?”

“We are nocturnal, my son. After Compline if 
there is not time before. Not every night, we do 
need our sleep, but Eli did not give us these 
shapes without reason. Perhaps this was how He 
chose to bring you here, and more, how He chose 
for you to become a Saint. Part of this must be 
understanding what these now bodies allow us to 
do. We never know when we might just need it.”

Richard laughed and nodded. “Thank you, Father. 
I'm actually looking forward to it. But I should 
really go check on Rakka. He's probably finished his food by now.”

Felsah laughed too. “He'll be running in circles 
if you don't. Take care of our friend and then 
return for None prayers. I'll begin 
preparations.” He rested his hand on the stool 
and scratched the top with his claws. “And thank 
you again for helping me with this. I must find a better way.”

“I know some parishioners in the carpenter's guild. Perhaps they can help?”

“Then we will be sure to ask for it tomorrow!”

----------

Patric returned two candlemarks after the None 
prayers and found the two mice in the common area 
they shared their meals. Felsah and Richard were 
deep in discussion over a repast of bread, 
cheese, and potato; the sweet smell of Father 
Hough's cider wafted from their cups. Between 
them on the table was a set of parchments, quill, 
and ink, on which Richard both practiced his 
letters and noted their ideas for other 
parishioners to visit during the week and for 
those who might help them fashion the adjustments 
to make life as a priestly mouse a little easier. 
Beneath the table Rakka growled happily as he gnawed on a bone.

Felsah stood taller on the bench, careful his 
Questioner robe did not slip forward and upset 
his cup. “Ah, Deacon, welcome back. There is 
enough for you, and even some seasoned jerky. How 
fare things at Master Lidaman's home?”

One of Patric's eye strayed to the third plate of 
food set at the table, while the other remained 
on the jerboa. His long fingers cradled a sealed 
letter. “Sister Perpetua and Sister Mina are 
still there, but Elsie is breathing much better 
already. Master Lidaman bade me ask you, Father, 
to pay them a visit this evening.”

Felsah's ears lifted up. “In sooth? Then I shall 
pay him a visit. I will need either you or 
Richard to guide me; I do not know where he lives.”

“We could both go,” Richard suggested.

Patric flicked one eye toward the other mouse but 
kept the first on the Questioner. “Do you need one of us to stay?”

“I do not know yet.” He gestured at what the 
sealed letter. “What do you have there, Patric?”

The chameleon lifted it and held it out as he 
walked to the table. “I found one of the Keep 
messengers waiting outside the Cathedral; they 
had a letter for you.” He stuck his tongue out. 
“I don't think he wanted to deliver it to you, Father.”

Felsah tapped his thumb claws against the red 
cross on his black cassock. “I see. Well, take 
your meal while I tend to this. Richard, why 
don't you tell Patric what we have been working 
on and see if he has any ideas or things he might like to see done.”

Richard swallowed a morsel of cheese and flashed 
an incisor-filled grin. “I will, Father!”


Father Felsah shut the door to his cell, set the 
letter down on the small writing table the Keep 
had given him, and then lit a tall candle. Once 
the flame was steady he used it to light a small 
oil lamp; he turned the brass knob to extend the 
wick until a warm glow filled the cell. He blew 
out the candle, then took lamp and letter and 
settled down on his sleeping mat. He sat on his 
haunches, tail curling around his long feet.

Hunching forward, he turned the letter over and 
traced his claws across the seal. The wax was red 
and the cross burned into it had been blackened by flame.

The Questioner's seal.

He lifted the letter to his snout and, turning it 
over in his hands, sniffed for every morsel of 
scent he could. The odor of horses were strong, 
as well as dog – likely the Keep messenger who 
almost delivered it – and more faintly he could 
see the touch of trees, grass, mud, and even man 
upon the vellum. But there was nothing of sand, 
cedar, figs, or desert flower about it. Likely 
not from Grand Master Kehthaek then. He felt a 
pang of disappointment; he'd had no word from his 
mentor and friend since he'd left Yesulam at 
Advent for his journey to a new, and most likely 
permanent, life of service at Metamor.

Which meant it was most likely from Akaleth who 
should reach Yesulam in another few weeks at 
worst; it was always harder to traverse the 
marshes from Marilyth, climb the series of ridges 
keeping the desert back, and then across the 
hard-packed sand and jagged stone roads from 
Korazin to Yesulam in the scorching heat of 
Summer. He offered a quick prayer for their safe 
passage, made the sign of the Yew, and broke the seal.

He felt both surprise and delight to see a very 
tight script packing many words upon the three 
pages folded together. He wondered how Akaleth had kept the ink from smearing.

Llarth, 28th of May, 708 Cristos Reckoning


Father Felsah, brother and friend, I write to you 
now in hopes my message will renew your 
confidence and give you hope for the future of 
the mission lands to which you have been sent. In 
some ways I wish I had been sent as well and have 
confessed to an unreasonable amount of time 
pondering just what the Curses might have done to 
me. Sir Czestadt suggested `snake' and I am still 
trying to understand what he means by it; I think 
he may be jesting with me, but perhaps it is a 
compliment as well – the snakes of Stuthgansk are 
not venomous and often welcomed on homesteads. 
Still, I have not decided one way or the other 
and Czestadt won't say more. He is a fierce 
soldier and it is a rare moment when I can draw a 
full answer from him; how humiliating for a 
Questioner! Sir Kashin is even more reticent and 
only chortled when I posed the question.

Hugo suggested `rat' and from him it is surely a 
compliment. In the nearly three months now we 
have been traveling together the Marigund mage 
who I have taken on has healed from his physical 
wounds and I believe is also starting to heal 
from his spiritual ones. When he smiles during 
our talks on our long journey, and when he 
masters new words in Suielish, I can see it is 
genuine. He still has his moments when he 
retreats into a corner of himself, barely 
speaking around our nightly meal and more often 
than not campfire, or only speaking to his rat 
Boots. But it is not as often as it once was. He 
listens when I offer the Liturgy, but he does not 
participate. All things in time.

Each of us remain in good health despite the 
deprivations of a journey now spanning five 
months. I was sent from Yesulam only a month 
after you and we have perhaps another two months 
before we reach home. I confess I enjoy the delay 
as it has given all of us more time to come to 
know each other and depend on each other. The 
trials of Marzac were harrowing and changed all 
of our lives, but in this journey Kashin, 
Czestadt, and myself have a chance to know each 
other when we are not in the midst of some 
terrible eldritch horror seeking to devour the 
world and cast it into perpetual darkness. The 
introduction of Hugo Maclear into our company has 
helped all of us turn past those events for we 
rarely discuss them except to tell Hugo of them. Even his rat Boots listens.

I have taken to sharing my food with Boots; it is 
strange to know Hugo and this animal can think to 
each other, even stranger to know the rat thinks 
at all, but he is friendly and very devoted, and 
perhaps the magic Hugo used to bind them together 
is the cause. Despite how we are accused of 
having a blanket condemnation of all magic as sin 
– and how even a few of our order have embraced 
such a misunderstanding – I remain unconvinced 
the act of binding a familiar as Hugo has done 
with Boots is not sinful, but it is done and 
cannot be undone save by death and so I say 
nothing of it for now to him. His life and loss 
are hard enough without my pestering him with 
theological quandaries. Boots gives him comfort 
and is a loyal pet and friend. It is enough.

I mentioned we have suffered a delay. Our road 
was to journey south to Ellcaran from Metamor, 
and then take the ridge road through the western 
Midlands through Llarth and once we reached the 
river charter a ship to carry us to Marilyth and 
perhaps up the Yurdon. We may yet take the river 
as it would save us a few weeks, but I begin to 
wonder if perhaps we should continue across land. 
This time together has been good for us, and 
especially for Hugo. To be in the home so soon of 
the Ecclesia, something he was taught to hate all 
his life... I wish to give him more time to come 
to grips with this, to see it come gradually and 
to walk in the same places our Savior walked. 
When we reach the river I will have to make a 
decision, so I should have another two weeks to contemplate.

The delay we have already experienced was waiting 
for us in Ellcaran. Emissaries from Bishop Tyrion 
Verdane were waiting for us there and summoned us 
to Kelewair. Word of our passage through all the 
duchies of the Midlands reached his grace's ears 
and naturally he wished an audience. As we had no 
mandate to return direct to Yesulam we 
accompanied the emissaries. The districts through 
which we traveled were still recovering from the 
civil war they endured in the last year, a war in 
which our own order played a shameful role. We 
rode direct through Mallow Horn and the demeanor 
there is grim; Lady Anya Dupré hosted us two 
nights and asked about all sorts of things, 
seeking rumors and news from afar. Most 
interesting though was in how she asked after her 
exiled husband – we had heard rumors he was sent 
to Metamor but heard nothing of him while we were 
there, you will want to look into him and learn 
if he is well. He has a young daughter of eight 
named Lydia and son of five named Timas who 
enjoyed petting Boots and seeing the little 
magics Hugo could do. The boy did not understand 
right away when the subject of Metamor was 
broached, but his sister did. She put it bluntly 
what her mother would not – they spoke of their 
exiled father. At this the boy cried. The 
servants and all of the courtiers at Mallow Horn 
were torn. Lady Anya was most displeased at the outburst.

I mention this incident because Lydia came 
unbidden to our rooms late into the night and 
begged us to have word sent about their father. 
If you can learn anything of him and how he 
fares, and what the Curses of Metamor have done 
to him, it will bring comfort to these children. 
I am not sure how you can do so, but there ought 
to be a way. I know this is one more challenge 
upon a mountain already upon your shoulders, but 
such is the blessed weight of the Yew. As you 
know, I've never been very good with children, 
but it is never too late to start.

Our time in Kelewair was not much longer. Duke 
Verdane was more hospitable than Metamor's Duke, 
but only because he feted us one night of the 
four we stayed at Bishop Tyrion's request. We 
briefly met the third Dupré child, Jory, though 
he was introduced to us as Jory Verdane, not 
Dupré. I wonder if Anya keeping her husband's 
name is to assuage the people of Mallow Horn or 
to spite her father. Duke Titian Verdane is cold 
and distant and I had the impression he is a 
ruler who believes the good of his lands is 
driven by the good of his family; and his family 
has suffered much in the last year and still 
suffers. He keeps an empty seat at his table for 
his captive son Jaime. And during our brief visit 
he was quite explicit in describing the 
contemptible actions of the Questioners during 
their civil war. I think if he were in a stronger 
political position he would have had all of them 
executed and risked Yesulam's ire. Bishop Tyrion 
keeps those who survived the war separated for 
now, only a few have been allowed out of the monasteries since.

I do not condemn the choice especially given the 
likelihood I would have gladly joined them before 
the events of last year. As you know.

Bishop Tyrion is an interesting man and there is 
much of his father in him, but being born with a 
clubfoot and his time in the clergy has softened 
the hardness. He was much interested in our visit 
to Metamor and to hear of what we saw and our 
thoughts of the land and its people. He also was 
very interested in our visit to Marigund. We 
described the reasons we were invited and the 
struggle against Marzac, but we did not discuss 
the vagaries of our treatment in the faith-riven 
city. He was glad to hear of our report both you 
and Father Hough passed on to us of conditions in 
Metamor and what the two new priests have already accomplished.

I think he wanted some time to know us and judge 
us before he told us the news I am now passing on 
to you. I believe his grace's desire to tend to 
the Follower souls of Metamor is genuine but 
tempered by political concerns due to the 
animosity between his house and the Hassan house. 
Souls he wishes to save, aye, but his family's 
honor and prestige still matter to him, and he 
fights within himself against it. You already 
told me of what happened during his visit to 
Metamor, though he did not say it we heard 
whispers his return to Kelewair caused an uproar from his father.

But not long after he returned he sent a missive 
to Yesulam ahead of us, and gave us another copy 
to ensure its safe arrival, advocating a new 
diocese for the Northern Midlands and 
recommending Father Hough as its first Bishop. I 
leave it up to you if you wish to inform Father 
Hough of this. Given Metamor's unique situation 
it seems appropriate and he has been there longer 
than anyone else. Having the authority to 
consecrate priests on his own will do much to 
expand your little community. You will have much 
to contend with regarding some of the rather lax 
morals and ignorance of Ecclesia teaching; this 
is no different from any other Diocese, but those 
areas of most concern to you and to Father Hough 
are different. You've no need of me to remind you how.

I still bear in my possession the letters you 
wished me to deliver to Yesulam. I insist you 
allow Father Kehthaek to send you a Yesbearn 
knight of your own if this Zachary fellow will 
not consent to it. I will also work to have 
additional reliable couriers established, even 
one willing to brave Metamor's curses, so we may 
correspond at need. We have nothing nearer than 
Ellcaran so I can only hope and pray this letter 
reaches you unmolested. Keep an eye on Father 
Hough and help him understand all of the greater 
challenges within the Midlands, especially if he 
is named Bishop. If it does come to pass and he 
begins to consecrate priests I am confidant 
Father Kehthaek will want to assign a second or 
third Questioner to assist you and he. Do not 
expect any such help for years; none of the 
others will have a magical metal fox to vouch for them.

I find it took such a voice to be one more of 
Eli's great mysteries. I almost envy you the 
field in which you have been given to sow. Still, 
I'm not quite sure I wish to be a snake, even if 
Czestadt truly thinks well of them!

Sir Kashin, Sir Czestadt, and Hugo Maclear send 
their greetings as well. May Yahshua guide you 
and bless you abundantly. I hope to return and see you again in a few years.


Your servant, Akaleth

His whiskers and tail twitched as he read. 
Sometimes into a smile, other times into a moue. 
The news was on the whole welcome and he wondered 
whether he should tell Father Hough anything of 
it. At the very least, with Hough away for two 
weeks he had plenty of time to consider it.

Felsah lifted the letter to his snout to savor 
the scents held tight, before he carefully folded 
it and pressed down on the seal. The broken wax 
would not hold it closed, but it would protect 
the words until he had time to write a letter in 
return. Akaleth was right – they would need 
dedicated couriers. He would need to learn from 
Hough if there were any Followers he could trust with the task.

He closed his eyes, and with the letter pressed 
between his hands, folded them in prayer.

Yahshua, watch over my friends. Bless them and 
lead them safely home. Help us help all your people. Help us be unafraid.

Felsah made the sign of the Yew and pressed the 
letter to his snout one last time to kiss it.

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

Charles Matthias