<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Felsah's Little School by Charles Matthias Part 3 April 19, 708 CR When Father Hough woke the next morning he was greeted by a somber Thursday with a thick, cool mist filling the Valley so that the roofs of Keeptowne appeared like little flotsam and hoping stones in the froth of a river's eddy. He admired the vista out his chamber window while quietly intoning his morning prayers, with an extra petition that no Keeper blamed the sudden turn in weather on the Questioner's arrival. While many portentous events shook the skies and made thunder roll and the rain lash, he was beginning to tire of the way some of his fellow Keepers seemed to think this had to happen with every distinguished visitor to their enchanted land. But there was no escaping the fact that Father Akaleth was a man who stirred deep passions on both sides. Even after Madog convinced Misha to abandon his attempts to incarcerate the Questioner, several of his parishioners had come to him in a fright that evening to ask him if the dreadful rumors were true. Given that he had greeted the news of the Questioners coming to Metamor last year with childish panic, he could not blame anyone for their fear, but he did his best to calm them and assure them that this new Questioner was just here to visit his friend. Despite knowing all of this, he was still surprised to find Wolfram and his company all arrayed in their patrol gear standing guard outside the main doors to the Cathedral. Some of them, such as Kindle, were not even Followers, but they all were gathered with armor and weapons, as well as a few chairs for comfort, and a basket of fresh biscuits and pastries filled with cheese and meat. Hough was so shocked he could only stare in amazement. “Good morning, Father,” Wolfrom said after swallowing a chunk of biscuit. He held the basket out in his left hand. “Would you care for one? Fresh from Gregor's.” “I... I... What...” Hough stuttered before blinking and staring at the basket to see another half-dozen round biscuits with flaky folds of bread, warm and golden, with a buttery scent that made his stomach growl. “Oh... um... thank you.” He took one and bounced it back and forth in his hands until he managed to catch it with his sleeve. “Hot!” Owain and Ross both laughed at that, while Wolfram ducked his head a bit in apology. “I'm sorry.” He held up his hooflet-tipped fingers. “My judgment of temperature isn't as good as yours, I think. Do you have it now?” Hough nodded and blew on the biscuit a couple of times. “I think so... but... what are you all doing here?” “Well,” Wolfram said with a snort, “if some think our guests are not welcome, we're going to make sure that nobody shows it!” “We agreed last night to do this,” Kindle said as he picked a bit of cheese from his snout. “They seemed like good folk to me.” “Very good folks,” Zachary rumbled from twice Hough's height. The kharrakhaz had his arms crossed, another basket of food clutched between two fingers. “Misha should know better.” “I can't believe he did that,” Wolfram said as he looked into the basket and debated whether to have another biscuit or to wait a little bit. “I can't believe that you stood up to both him, Rickkter, and half the Long Scouts!” Ross said with a bit of awe in his voice. Despite having become a man five years ago when the Curse had ended any possibility of his becoming a mother, there was still a faint feminine lightness that could be heard in his voice, especially when he was excited. “If it had come to it, I'd have backed you of course, but still!” “Yeah,” Wolfram nodded, deciding on another biscuit after all. “And for one awful moment I thought either Misha or Rickkter would take me up on that challenge! Either way, whew!” He laughed the relieved laugh of a man who had courted certain death and saw death turn aside. “You should not be neglecting your duties. Our guests are not in danger from anyone here,” Hough pointed out. He then, still holding it with his sleeve, sampled the biscuit and found it delicious and soft. “This is excellent!” “We have permission from George,” Wolfram announced with a broad smile. “I spoke with the patrol master last night and he loved the idea.” “He did?” “Oh yes. He said it would serve Misha right for putting everyone in an uproar.” Owain and Ross laughed again at that, joined by Gweir and Burkhart as well. Only Zachary and Kindle kept silent, though Hough had never know the massive reptile to find humor in anything so frivolous as pique. “Well, I cannot ask you to abandon your post but I am going to ask you to move it further away from the cathedral doors. We are going to have morning liturgy in an hour and I do not want you to scare any of our parishioners off!” Wolfram at least, even through his black wool, looked embarrassed. ---------- Even as Father Hough was discovering Wolfram and his company's early morning vigil, one of their guests was waking to the coolness of the new dawn. Akaleth felt stiff and a soreness in his ribs, legs, and arms, as well as the usual ache that permeated his back. The wounds he'd suffered at the hands of his father and then those he suffered under the merciless care of Krenek Zagrosek always pained him when it was cold. And as he lived in the desert, it was a rare night that he didn't suffer. His mind, as was its habit now, turned to the sufferings of Yahshua and especially His walk to the execution tree. He would offer no word of complaint, no groan of discomfort, and allow himself no desire for any relief; instead he would offer every mote of anguish to Eli as Father Kehthaek had taught him. Of course he would accept any comfort offered by his host because that was the gracious and honorable thing to do. And so he had accepted the heavier quilts and softer pallet that night from both Felsah and Hough. There was just a twinge of regret at having to climb out of their warm embrace when he woke. As quiet as he could, he slipped his legs out from beneath the covers, wriggled into his Questioner robe, and then walked the few steps toward the wall and the curtained window. He drew the curtain aside enough to let light in, and then propped it open with one of the journals. Turning he glanced at Felsah's pallet and saw his friend and fellow Questioner still asleep. Felsah had curled up tail tuft to nose in his sleep, almost all four of his paws resting next to his snout. Akaleth noted the way his whiskers twitched and one of his large ears flicked as the light fell on him. He resembled more some aristocrat's exotic pet than he did a man and a priest. But while this man had been a quiet and calming presence to all around him for years. He had volunteered to take the place of a condemned man and was nearly beaten to death because of it. On recovering his strength he plunged back into the work, unafraid and undeterred. Together they had faced the corruption poisoning the Ecclesia and, by the grace of Eli, seen its defeat. If Felsah could have accomplished all of that as a man, what could he do here in Metamor as a jerboa? With one last look, Akaleth found his breviary and softly exited the cell. ---------- Even though as head of the Long Scouts he had many duties that awaited him each morning, Misha did not want to give any of them time to distract him from the one thing he wanted to make sure he accomplished that day. It was only inevitable that Duke Thomas would summon him to discuss his welcome of the Questioner and his party yesterday, a summons that could come any time, but he wanted to be sure that he knew as much as he could before that unpleasant hour came. And so after grooming himself as hastily as he could manage and still look presentable to family, he threw the latch in his workshop, walked past the many projects with which he labored in love when not chained to duty, and carefully withdrew a blue gem small enough to fit in his curled fist from the cloth lined reliquary in which he kept it. Most of his worktable was either cluttered with gears, nails, and tools, or permanently stained with oil and grease. But one corner he kept clean when he needed to eat or when he needed to use this gem. With far more care than he had given to his grooming – he had almost decided to use four legs that morning except it meant there would be a lot more fur to brush into some semblance of order – he placed the gem on that clean patch of his work table and stretched one paw across its cool surface. He closed his eyes and thought of his sister. He imagined her long brown hair flowing down her shoulders, clasped in place with a silver broach half way down her tresses. He imaged her oval face, creamy skin, and blue eyes. And after a few moments he wasn't imagining them anymore. Seated at a large table beneath of which lay a sandy-colored greyhound was his sister. She was dressed in a warm woolen robe with silver lace beneath. On the balcony outside her chambers Misha could hear the constant patter of rain. His sister was busy composing a letter with a particularly aromatic ink that made Misha's nose twitch and his tongue begin to pant. Were those raspberries? At his sudden panting, Elizabeth turned her head and a smile creased her face. “Misha! What a wonderful surprise! You don't usually project so early in the morning. Is something wrong?” Misha smiled to his sister and then laughed. “Well, perhaps so. Some of it by my own paw perhaps, but I was hoping to learn from you if that is so. Ah, how are you doing, Sis?” “Well enough. There is plenty of work to occupy my attention for months. Presently I've been trying to charter merchants to purchase large quantities of stibnite from east of the Vysehrad. To rebuild the world bell we need that and many other things. But to reach that land requires sailing around Rukilia and no one wishes to do that in Summer. The mosquitoes are larger than birds, or so I have been told.” Elizabeth smirked ever so slightly, her way of showing how little credence she gave to such tales. Misha recalled a few times she had used that same expression when he had made up some excuse for why he was covered from head to toe in dirt back when they had been children. “The few we see here are big enough,” Misha replied with a very welcome laugh. “We have no stibnite here, or at least, not that I've heard.” Elizabeth nodded and then reached out as to embrace him, though of course they could not feel anything more than the suggestion of presence. “Worry not about my mundane troubles. What brings you to see me so early on such a soggy morning as this?” Outside the sky rumbled with a distant peal of thunder as if groaning protest to so meek a characterization. “Remember those three from Yesulam you told me about? The Questioner and the two warriors accompanying him?” Elizabeth rolled her eyes and nodded. “Aye, I remember them. I wanted to throttle the lot of them before we were done, but they did help us piece together one of the puzzles surrounding Marzac. And may that place ever be a charred and desolate ruin. What of them?” “They're here at Metamor.” “What?” “They're here at Metamor. They arrived yesterday. Hugo Maclear was with them. We welcomed them with every Long Scout currently at the Keep and several of our finest warriors. But they were apparently expected by the Questioner already here at Metamor and so we let them stay at the Cathedral under Hough's charge. I'm... worried about them. That Questioner... Akaleth I think his name is... he did terrible things to the keepers he questioned last time he was here.” “What did he do?” Elizabeth asked with a curious frown. “He threatened to whip them and torture them if he could. The chief Questioner forbade him, but he didn't stop making threats.” “Father Akaleth? That is hard to believe. Insufferable yes, but threatening? I didn't see that in him at all!” Misha's one ear lifted in surprise. “What was he like?” “Insufferable. Even in demanding mercy for Hugo he was insufferable. But... he did demand to receive the lashes meant for Hugo. And I mean demand! He ran into the square and stood between Hugo and the adjudicator and would not be moved. This after Hugo tried to have him killed. I do not know what to think of him, but he is a wholly genuine man. What he believes he believes with all his being. And he tries his best to live it too.” Elizabeth frowned and then snapped her head up, one lock of hair flying through Misha's illusory muzzle. “Just what are they doing in Metamor anyway?” “I'm not really sure. They said that they were here to see Felsah, that other Questioner priest, the one Madog really likes.” Misha's ear lowered at that, a slight irritation touching his heart about how frequently Madog seemed to like the wrong people. He was more irritated that Madog was always right too, but the irritation was fleeting as any irritation the automaton caused him always seemed to be. “You said they. Were the two warriors with them?” “Aye, and I'm told one of them was a Kankoran Blademaster.” Elizabeth lifted one hand to her face and brushed a lock of hair behind one ear. “That would be Sir Czestadt. His Galendish was poor but improving. He can manipulate blades without touching them, but as long as you do not threaten Father Akaleth he won't do anything. In fact none of them are likely to break your laws as long as they are left alone.” “That is good to know,” Misha admitted with a sigh. “I'm probably going to need to apologize to them for how I welcomed them. But how does one man change so much in just a year? He was... evil when he came here before!” Elizabeth pursed her lips and gazed at her brother with compassion and forgiveness. “Do you remember Krenek Zagrosek?” The fox yipped. “How could I forget that man! I had nightmares for months after he injured Madog!” “Those three Questioners continued their search for answers to Patriarch Akabaieth's murder even after they returned to Yesulam. Father Akaleth confided in the very man responsible, and was taken to a very dark place where he was beaten and tortured by Zagrosek for days, he doesn't know how many. And he had to watch children be murdered by the Sword of Yajakali. Akaleth is a man who has seen spiritual evil and it made him recognize just how evil he had become as well. Having to live and depend on Magyars for a couple of months helped soften his disposition as well. This doesn't mean he isn't insufferable still, just that you do not need to fear him doing anything unpleasant at Metamor.” “I had heard from Felsah that they were tracking down the man responsible still. He might have mentioned something about Akaleth being tortured. I don't remember now.” Misha scuffed one paw across the floor and lowered his eyes. “I'm just... I'm torn, Sis. Did I overreact in welcoming them with armed soldiers and demanding to put him in the dungeon while he was here?” “That priest didn't even get inside the gates of Marigund without having one of the Caial try to kill him.” She shook her head with a laugh. “Be very, very grateful he is not the man he once was. His power...” Misha's one ear perked. Even the greyhound lifted his head to glance at Elizabeth curiously for a moment before laying it back down on the soft rug. “Rickkter said that staring at him was like staring into the sun.” “I did not see that when I looked at him, but when he used his power... he nearly bore a hole through old Barty's head! He killed a Shrieker with his light. He killed a Shrieker, Misha. By himself. There is no other person alive or in legend who can make that claim.” Misha took a deep breath, trying to reconcile his memory of the sneering priest always reaching into his sleeve to clutch at the whip hidden within with the heroic self-sacrificing man his sister described. How could they possibly be the same person? “I'll just keep my distance then. Although I think somebody here at Metamor would be interested in seeing him.” Another rolling bout of thunder crackled the sky. “Who?” “Somebody else who has seen the Sword.” ---------- Father Akaleth was absorbed in prayer before the altar and tabernacle when something wet, warm, and long began lashing his face. He opened his eyes to the enthusiastic greeting of a golden-furred dog with wagging tail. He couldn't help but laugh and scratch the dog behind the ears, “And a good morning to you too, Rakka!” The dog licked his face a few more times, before lowering his front and wagging his tail eagerly. Akaleth knew that this dog was asking for play. He thought to ignore him now that they had been introduced and return to his prayers, but another voice, a young man's voice, called Rakka's name in embarrassment as if through clenched teeth. It was the closest any would come to shouting in so holy a place as this, and it caught the Questioner's attention. A young man of broad shoulder with dark hair and firm lines in his face rushed over, genuflected toward the altar, and then grabbed Rakka by the collar. “Do not disturb Father at prayers, Rakka. Now come.” “It is all right,”Akaleth said with a faint laugh. He drew the sign of the Yew over his chest and regarded the youth dressed in a brown cassock. “Are you one of Father Hough's seminarians?” “Ramad,” the young man replied. “I have been with him almost two years now. He says that by next year I will be ready for the diaconate.” “And a year or two later for priesthood I expect.” Akaleth stood and glanced at the dog and then back to the young man. “How is it that you are tending this dog?” “It was Father Felsah's idea. Each of us will be tending Rakka for a week at a time. When our week is done the next will care for him. This is my week.” Akaleth nodded, then bent over and gently pet the dog who was now sitting on his haunches and panting. “Does he welcome everyone to the cathedral so joyfully?” “No,” Ramad admitted a bit defensively. His muscles twitched as if he were eager to get away. “Normally he is quite well-behaved. Father Felsah trained him very well.” “It was not Felsah who trained him, but he has been a good companion.” Akaleth kept his voice quiet so as not to disturb the other Followers at prayer. He could see Kashin praying farther back, his one fist pressed to his forehead as he murmured the words under his breath. Czestadt was at the rear of the sanctuary and counting beads. Only a few others lingered there that morning after Matins. “He is friendly,” Ramad said with a nod, eyes narrowing and a smile creasing his lips as he looked down at the dog waiting patiently at his hip. “Tell me, Ramad,” Akaleth continued, “you were not born a man were you?” “Nay,” Ramad replied. “When I turned thirteen I became one by Metamor's curses.” “So why elect to become a priest?” Ramad glanced at the doorway through which he'd come, obviously interested in finding some graceful way to excuse himself. But there wasn't any graceful way to avoid answering the Questioner, and so he bit his lip for a second of thought and then replied, “I have always felt a call to the priesthood. I thought at first it must be to the Lothanasi because they allow women to be priests. But after speaking with them, something didn't feel right to me. After I became a man I understood what it was. I came here and learned of Eli and Yahshua and knew that it was here I was called to serve. It just took Metamor's curses to make it possible.” “Do you think of yourself as a woman who has become a man?” “Nay,” Ramad replied with a quick shake of his head. “I may have started out as a girl, but I'm a man now. That's what matters.” “And a boy who becomes a woman, what would you say to such a one? Especially to such a one who wanted to be a priest?” “Well, they're a woman now.” Ramad replied with a slight scowl. “Women cannot be priests. The nuns would be more than happy to take them and give them a way to serve and love our savior.” Akaleth nodded and said nothing. He lowered one hand and stroked Rakka's ears again. The dog leaned his head into Akaleth's hand, pressing his nose within and pushing into it, goading the priest to pet him more. He obliged with a few quick strokes down the back of his neck, before returning his attention to the seminarian. “You do not need to be afraid of me, young Ramad.” “I'm not...” Ramad started to object, then closed his mouth and lowered his eyes. “I heard about what you did here before.” “I was a very evil man then,” Akaleth admitted without pause. “You would be justified in fearing such a man. But I am not that man anymore.” “You aren't testing me?” Ramad asked in surprise. “No. I am only trying to understand you. You say that you have been called to the priesthood. I accept your word. Metamor's curses have made you into a man. You are not a woman who has been dressed like a man, or even a woman who is wearing an elaborate disguise or one who has trained their voice to sound like a man. You are a man. You may have a better notion of how girls think, but that is all. Is there some bit of that girl, some desire, some sin, that persists with you now?” Ramad looked uncomfortable now rather than worried. “I... I guess sometimes I get well... bad desires. I don't like them, Father.” “Nor should you. The life of the priest is one that must be lived according to the highest virtues. We are called to be light for the whole world, Ramad. Light for the whole world. Think on that and marvel. We do not have the ability to do it alone, but the Spirit Most Holy, who lives within us and in the Ecclesia, gives us the ability and the wisdom we need, and the gentle promptings, and some not so gentle, that teach us to be that light and leads us ever closer and closer to Him who created us and knew us in the womb. He knew of the curses that would be placed at Metamor, and knew that you would become a man. He knew all of this and blessed you in a special way with your childhood as a girl. Do I know how this will help you as a priest? No. But I know that it is meant to do so. “I was blessed in my childhood as well, even if I could not see it for He prepared me to keep silent at the moment when it was most needed. I did not learn how much of a blessing it was until far too late, and I have done terrible things because of it. But Eli's mercy is greater still and I have been blessed in more ways than I could ever count. Human justice, feeble and fickle as it is, would have seen me dead before I had a chance to repent in order to protect many from my grim predilections. I can only hope that those I have hurt will find the grace of love in their hearts to forgive me and forgive others who have caused them pain.” Ramad blinked at the sudden homily but nodded as he listened. When nothing more came from the Questioner's tongue, he bent down and gave Rakka a quick scratch behind the ear. The dog panted and licked Ramad's other hand a few times, tail wagging and sweeping the stone tiles behind him. Akaleth allowed himself a smile at the sight. When the young man stood back up he said in a voice even quieter than before. “Are you going to stay?” “No. My home is where I am assigned and at present that is Yesulam. When I return I will have been away for more than six months, and that is a very long time for any Questioner to be on the road, even when we have been sent on a Questioning. But, who can say what the future holds? Do you wish me to stay?” Ramad smiled lightly and nodded. “A moment ago I would have said no. But just now you said more to me in a few words than I've heard yet in any of Father Hough's homilies! How do you speak to the heart so well?” “Through great pain,” Akaleth admitted with a long sigh and a glance toward the yew tree on which Yahshua hung. Though the wooden carving did not show all of the scars Yahshua must have received during His scourging and myriad humiliations, anyone contemplating His countenance would have seen the anguish borne with the greatest of love. “There are some who have suffered little who understand the depths of the heart with such intimacy that you would think they had lived your life as much as their own. The rest of us have to endure hardship to appreciate the way it forms a man just as beaten iron is formed by the smith.” “But Father Hough has suffered greatly,” Ramad pointed out with a faint suggestion of shame at having, by comparison, spoken so lightly of her teacher. “He was... I cannot even bear to say it! But he has suffered terribly out of love.” “And his words ring true in many hearts,” Akaleth replied, letting his hands wrap about one another in his voluminous sleeves. “But he didn't suffer the way you did, yearning to answer a call that was impossible for you in your youth.” Ramad gazed at him skeptically. “And you did?” “Aye, I did. No, do not pry further. It is best to let that time lie in peace. I am sure you have many duties and studies this day, not the least of which is this pleasant dog who is looking to you to see to his needs. And I fear one of his needs very soon will be to do something he should not do here in the cathedral.” Ramad looked down and saw that Rakka had gotten to all fours and was sniffing around the floor, turning about in circles. The young man's eyes went wide and he slapped his thigh and clicked his tongue. The dog obediently returned to his side, but those dark eyes kept looking around. “Thank you, Father Akaleth,” Ramad said with a smile. “Even if you don't stay here, I very much hope you come back from time to time.” “I would enjoy that. And I hope there is time for us later to speak again. I hope to meet your fellow seminarians as well. For now we do as we must. Obedience is the first step to true love, young Ramad. And as priests we are betrothed in an especial way to the truest lover there has ever been or ever will be.” He gestured with a nod of his head toward the Yew and then toward the gold tabernacle atop the marble altar beneath the baldacchino with the blessed mother. Ramad followed his gaze and then prostrated himself as his right hand traced the sign of the Yew over his breast. “Thank you again. I will meditate on your words. Especially on light.” Ramad smiled to him and then patted Rakka on the back of the head. “Come, Rakka. Dominus tecum, Father.” “Et cum spiritu tuo.” With the faintest of smiles on his lips, but one more lively filling his eyes, Akaleth watched the young man walk down the central aisle while the golden-furred dog followed at his heels. It was always strange to see a dog in the sanctuary, but Rakka was very well-behaved. He recalled Felsah's attempt to teach some of the other Questioners humility by having them bring strays into the Questioner Temple and take care of them. A clever idea that did indeed teach humility, but had caused so much chaos and not a few acts of unintended desecration that Kehthaek had intervened after only a day and a half. The strays had all been offered to the merchants and aristocrats and each quickly found a new home. But those two days had been the most hectic to have ever passed within his home. And even as he thought on that ill-fated plan, he saw its architect hopping toward him from the right side of the sanctuary near the altar rail. Felsah had a firm grip on his shortened robes with both hands and he held the hem of his robe up even higher so he wouldn't step on it with his large toes each time he landed and hopped again. The click of his claws on stone was a short tic-tic-tic like a woodpecker making a new home. His face was bright and his green eyes wide behind a bushel of whiskers as he came to a stop in front of his fellow Questioner. “Akaleth! Have you finished your morning prayers then?” “It seems that I have. When did you start having the seminarians look after Rakka?” “Last week,” Felsah replied. “Patric was the first, and now Ramad. The others will each have their turn. It is better than trying to manage strays.” “I was thinking the same thing.” Felsah shook his head in mirth, his long tail flicking back and forth as if he were trying to wag it. “Have you broken your fast yet? Wolfram has brought some fresh biscuits and pastries with him and he would very much enjoy the chance to share them with us both. He also would like to talk with us. There is something I wanted to show you, but it is best to wait until Patric can be there; he is presently visiting the nuns and helping them build their convent, but he'll return after None.” “If the noble captain in the guise of a ram wishes to speak with us, then let us not tarry. Where is he?” “I've asked him to the room our schola uses to practice. Come, I will show you.” Together they walked down the main aisle of the cathedral past rows of pews and even longer stretches without pews where the faithful could stand or kneel freely. They entered a wide arched door on the northern wall at the back of cathedral which took them up a broad set of steps to a wide room with a trio of wooden platforms, each one higher than the one in front of it, and a series of closets on either side. The peculiar scent of brass and oil filled the room. Windows on the eastern face bathed the room in a delicate light. Nine unlit lanterns hung from the ceiling, each within easy reach of the four foot long candle lighter with quenching bell at its end that was propped in one corner. Behind them the stairs continued upwards toward the loft at the rear of the cathedral. Sitting on the middle platform with his hooves propped against the back of the lower platform was the black-wooled ram. His buckler was empty of both sword and shield. But he was still attired in the blue livery of a soldier of Metamor. Brown eyes saw them approach, and his tufted ears were turned toward them as they stepped into view. He rose and bowed his head low, affording Akaleth a good view of the smoothed stump of his right horn. There were suggestions of the jagged break, but the worst of them had long since been filed away. “Good morning, Father Felsah, Father Akaleth,” he said with deep respect in tone and posture. “I brought some food for you both this morning if you'd like to share them with me.” “Thank you, Captain Wolfram,” Akaleth replied with a nod of his head. “That is most gracious of you. We would be honored to join you in breaking our fast.” They all sat down on the platforms. Felsah straddled the middle platform, his long tail stretched out behind him, while either leg dangled over the sides, toes not reaching the wooden supports between each platform. Akaleth sat opposite him with Wolfram between them. The ram had a small basket behind him that smelled of warm, fresh bread and some fruit that Akaleth couldn't identify. He handed each of them a loaf as big as their fists and Felsah said the blessing. Akaleth tore off little chunks and found it soft, pliable, a little sweet, but mostly a savory morning delight. He finished his loaf faster than he usually would eat his meals and found another placed into his hands by the ram who kept a beastly eye on him and a strange expression on his snout, one foreign to any sheep he'd ever seen. “Do you like it, Father?” “This is excellent,” Akaleth replied between bites. “Are these strawberries?” “Oh yes. A fresh batch according to Brennar.” “I thought strawberries ripen in early Summer.” Wolfram shrugged. “I suppose. I think these come from D'Alimonte's greenhouse. The grasshopper always has something interesting growing there no matter the season.” “Grasshopper?” Akaleth asked in surprise, but then shook his head. “No, do not tell me. I can barely conceive of what it must be like to have fur or wool. To become like a grasshopper is beyond my limited understanding.” Wolfram laughed and smacked his knee with one hand. “I wasn't going to try to explain that! I don't understand it either! But if he can grow strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, and all sorts of other fruits any time of the year, he must be a good man.” Akaleth almost corrected him by saying that it only meant this D'Alimonte was a master of horticulture, but kept the remark behind his tongue. This was the sort of uncharitable statement that he knew he was so prone to and that he had to defeat if he was to be a better priest and man. Instead, he took another bite of the juicy and savory pastry, chewed and swallowed, and then said, “And my compliments to your inventive baker.” “Gregor makes the best bread in all the valley, even if he is a Lightbringer.” Wolfram licked one of his hoof-like nails of the last of the juice from his pastry and then balled his two-fingered hands into fists. “That's kind of what I wanted to ask you both about. Not the Lightbringers, but the gods that they worship... and the gods that they fear.” “The diabolical Pantheon of the,” Akaleth couldn't help but snort at the name, “Lightbringers?” “Aye, the, aedra and daedra lords as they call them. Why doesn't the Ecclesia teach us more about them and how to protect ourselves from them?” Akaleth took his time chewing his next bite as he pondered the question. Felsah did as well, though the jerboa chewed a little faster. His piping voice squeaked as the first stirrings of an answer began to tumble from his long tongue. “In Yesulam where we both grew to maturity there was little need to discuss them because there is simply no one in all of the Holy Land who believes them to be gods to be worshiped. Many believe them to be demons to be feared and cast out. A few believe them to be spiritual beings of great power who are, unlike the demons, still capable of repentance for their sins and thus in even greater need of Yahshua the redeemer than we! But, since we do not deal with them ourselves, we do not hear of them much there.” Wolfram nodded, his thin lips grimacing in disappointment. “But in many places Follower and Lightbringer cross paths; and in some like Metamor, there are far more Lightbringers than Followers like us. Surely there must be something that can be done to protect us from them.” “It is the role of the priest to shepherd his flock and warn them to keep away from things that belong to the Lightbringers,” Felsah replied with an occasional agitated squeak. The jerboa's tail tuft was bouncing up and down on the wooden platform; Akaleth could not help but watch it as he pondered what more he could add. “But what if you do all that and they still find you?” Akaleth knew that there had to be some reason behind these questions and so he decided it was best not to waste any more time on hints and circumlocutions. “Something happened to you or somebody you care about. One of the aedra or daedra did something, did they not?” Wolfram's expression looked as pleasant as a man contemplating child-birth. “My friend, the best and closest friend I have ever had. He... he was torn from this world by one of the daedra lords. And I think that he was being attacked by them for months before hand. Everything he did, every project he started, was sabotaged in some way that either set him back months or nearly killed him. Misha saw what happened in the end not two months ago. It... it pains and angers me still.” The ram's voice deepened and the bleating became a veritable growl. And between his clenched flat teeth, he described a dark fiery figure that laughed with a malice that turned the fiercest blood cold, a leash of chain, black as coal and red as a forge, and the screams for help from his doomed friend as he was dragged off into the midnight shade where only the echo of his screams and the daedra lord's laugh lingered. Akaleth shivered, and Felsah had to fight to keep still. When Wolfram finished his tale, both Questioners made the sign of the yew to ward off the evil. Akaleth spoke, his voice measured and the mask of the Questioner firmly in place to hide his horror. “It seems that we should be doing more to fight such threats. I will be passing through Kelewair on my return journey and I will speak of this to Bishop Verdane. He will want to know immediately and he might have some ideas of his own; his diocese contains many Lightbringers and many who might serve the daedra too. I will also tell everything to my superiors on my return to Yesulam. Even the Patriarch will hear of this. Tell us everything you saw and heard, and now know that points to their dread influence in your friend's life. I will keep him in my prayers henceforth.” Wolfram lowered his eyes, hooves scuffling against the wood beneath them. “There is much that is personal, Father. And a lot is just guesses. I don't know if they are even true.” Felsah stretched out one paw and rested it on the ram's right arm. His short claws and small hands looked even smaller touching the well-muscled ram's forearm; they almost sank into his black wool and disappeared like a stone plunging into the sea. “The more we hear the better we will be to determine the truth; and the more likely we will be able to help your friend, and to keep what happened to him from happening to any other Followers.” Nothing was said for several seconds as the ram soldier took a deep breath and then exhaled so slowly that he seemed a flower closing its petals at the fall of night. “All right. There is a lot to tell, Father. I hope you have the time.” “I always have time for souls,” Akaleth assured him with a nod of his head. “Please, tell us what you know.” “Well,” Wolfram said as he propped his hooves on the platform again, hands gripping the wood behind him for support. “It began about a year ago when my friend opened his tin smithy...” ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>