<html> <body> Originally I planned on having scene at Metamor to show the effects of the plague on various people there.  The final scene in this section was the last such scene I wrote.  The story and my feelings about it took me in other directions as I wrote. Inchoate Carillion, Inconstant Cuckold By Charles Matthias It was a little past noon when Charles and Saulius rode up to the gates of Euper. They had already been moving at a quick trot, but as soon as Charles glimpsed the yellow flags flying in place of the usual issuant horse pinions, they spend into a gallop, arrested by the closed gates of Euper and the grim faces of soldiers looking down from the fully repaired battlements. “What news, good sir?” Saulius shouted with one paw beside his muzzle to direct his voice. Charles fidgeted in his saddle as they waited before the gates. “Why are the gates shut?” A young woman shook her head while several other soldiers pointed arrows at them. Charles reached for his sword in sudden alarm. “Nobody is to enter without permission from the Duke. And he hasn't given anybody permission yet. Turn around and go home.” “I dost live here, sir... ma'am,” Saulius objected indignantly. “Plague!” Charles stood in his saddle. “My wife and children are here! You have to let me in to be with them.” His entire body shook his fear, his eyes wide and panicked. The woman shook her head as the soldiers drew taut their bows. “I'm not allowed to let anyone in. I...” she turned at the sound of somebody forcing their way up to the top of the battlements. They could hear a very familiar growling voice. The woman backed away, her face even more ashed white than before, and into view rose a familiar fox. Misha Brightleaf, haggard as if just coming from a year long siege, put his paws on the edge of the parapet and gazed down at Charles with profoundest agony. “Oh, Charles, I'm so sorry. But you cannot come inside. It's not safe at all here and I don't want to risk your life too.” Charles stood up in his saddle and shook his fist at the fox. “I will not be separated from my wife and children yet again! I will take the risk of the plague so long as I can be with them.” “I know,” Misha sighed but still shook his head. “But we cannot do it. We don't know how serious the plague is, nor how far it will spread. We need everyone to stay away from Metamor. You are but one of five Long Scouts outside of Metamor right now, Charles. We need you out there. I... I hate doing this. I hate it horribly, but you know this has to be.” “You will not keep me from my family!” “I'm not! The Plague is. It's nobody's fault, Charles.” “I will get to my wife one way or another!” Charles gestured at the walls. “You think those will keep me out.” He swept his paw at the archers and his expression turned contemptuous. “Or them?” Misha shook his head. “No. Don't be a fool, Charles. You've always been too stubborn for your own good. But you will see your wife. Kimberly?” And then another figure tentatively stepped up to the parapet. A rodent head covered in light tan fur and framed in a warm woolen coat lined with a bear pelt appeared, her dark eyes brimming with tears. Charles's defiance shattered at the sight of her face and the plaintive cry of her voice. “Charles? Oh Charles, I'm so sorry.” “Kimberly!” Charles stood taller, extending his paws as if an invisible ladder would carry him across the span of twenty feet to reach her and hold her. “I'm here. I'm here my love!” She nodded and placed her paws on the edge of the parapet to lean out as far as she could. Misha reached behind and held her steady so she could better see her husband. “I'm here too, my man. I... the children are all safe at the Long House. Misha's going to make sure nobody who's been near anyone infected goes there. We should all be safe until this passes.” “How could this be?” Charles asked, his voice catching in his throat. “Why can't we be a family?” “I don't know,” Kimberly sobbed a moment and then choked it all back. “Misha's right, Charles. You need to stay back at the Glen where you'll be safe, and where you can help Metamor stay safe. The plague will pass. I believe it. I have already said many prayers for it to pass. I love you and I know after this is over we will be a family again.” Charles ground his fists into his chest and closed his eyes tight, the black hand-print on the right side of his face clenching into a fell paw. His voice racked with spasms of frustration that defied his own ability to express in words. “Will I ever get to see my children grow? Will I ever get to be a father? Oh Eli!” Kimberly cried again and reached out with a slender paw. “Oh Charles, do not despair! Do not. I can't bear to see it.” The rat stilled himself but did not open his eyes. The archers, who watched with at first grim reluctance, now softened and let the tension in their bows fade. After several interminable seconds, Charles lifted his face again and stared with undisguised longing at his wife. “I will not despair. Do you really want me to go?” “Nay, but I know you must. And if you must, then I wish you to go. Be safe, protect us, and pray. Always pray. Oh Charles. I hate every word of this, but please do as Misha asks. The children and I will wait in the safety of Long House for this plague to end.” Charles steeled himself and slowly began to nod. The vine tightened around his chest but even its tender embrace could not console him. The words that came to his tongue were bitter as ash and wormwood. “I will go back to Glen Avery and wait for you. And pray. I love you, my Lady.” “And I love you, Charles.” He stretched out his right paw, fingers spread, as tears began to drip across his cheeks. “Good bye, and may Eli protect you and the children. Give them my love. Every day. Every day.” He turned Malicon about and started back down the road away from Euper, unable to bear the sight any longer. His heart was crushed. With each sob of his wife in the retreating distance, the only thing he could hear, despite the hammering hooves of his steed, Charles felt himself go as empty and as cold as ice. If not for Malicon, his body would have hardened into stone and stayed that way. ---------- The Priestess Merai hin'Dana, or what currently controlled her body, did not feel delight at the seeming ease with which its plans were coming to fruition. It hated too much to feel even the briefest most timorous sense of joy. Rather it reveled in loathing anew, a mortal body to infest and torment. A pleasure that brought only an increase in pain, an increase in rebellion, an increase in recompense, and a renewal of its own damnation. Every act of defiance was an act of its own accord. To that it would never break, no matter how much misery it brought upon itself. For now, that self will was to ensure its ownership of Merai's body. The pathetic mewling of the woman inside was a sharing in misery, even if Merai's misery was nothing compared to its own. Every mote it shared was one more shout of hate it lifted to the Throne. It had assured those closest to Raven that all was as well as can be and that it was studying a summoning to bring Akkala. That would not happen and would be apparent in time. But by then its allies would be in place and one of the strongest and most noble vanguards of the Lothanasi would be no more. But, knowing what Merai knew, or rather, learning it through Merai as the scrawny cat was treated more like a mouse in its grasp, there was one person in the temple who might recognize what had been done to Merai. That person could not be killed without risking their plans; but at least he could be put in a place where he would never risk seeing Merai. A knock on the door brought a smile to Merai's feline jowls. It hid the smile and straightened, tail swaying with each step as it came to the door in Raven's study and opened it to see the head acolyte, Celine. The child had her hands clasped before her and her face dutiful. “You wished to see me, Sister?” Merai nodded but did not bid her enter. “I have been studying the summoning, but I'm afraid I need more time. And more information. Send Elvmere to the archives and bid him stay there. He is to do research. Have another acolyte stay with him to bring anything he finds to you. He is not to leave without my permission.” Celine frowned. “Elvmere? Can he be trusted with this?” “He is a scholar in his own right. It is only fitting he should begin to learn our ways.” The words were bitter irony, but the reason was sound enough that it would be accepted. And it kept the former Ecclesia Bishop from seeing Merai and recognizing it. “See to it. I will let you know if I find anything more. Tend to our people.” This last she said with a suggestion of empathy. Celine nodded, still uncertain but obedient. It shut the door and resumed contemplating its own plans and how much it would gorge on the agonized cries of the dying as the plague ravaged Metamor. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias !DSPAM:4e75eb5d170081804284693! </body> </html>