<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Felsah's Little School by Charles Matthias Part 6 They parted ways only a few minutes later after walking down more of the hall together, Alberta delaying that final goodbye as long as she could before her duties forced her. Kashin assured her that they would not leave without morning Liturgy so there would be another chance. No matter how much joy Alberta took in her new life, Kashin could see that there was a part of her that missed the life of a Yesulam knight. There was nothing that could be done now, although Kashin wondered if the Patriarch might consider writing some special blessing for her in recognition of her service. He would have to remember to mention it to him when they returned to Yesulam. His walk back to the Cathedral was uneventful. The few Keepers he passed in the gray, stone halls either did not recognize him, or were in too much of a hurry to stop. Those few that did pause, were often overcome with awe so that all they could do was bow to him and offer some praise of Eli for men like him before continuing on their way. Nobody even seemed to worry about an army of Questioners come to drag them all to fiery pits or the headsman's axe. Father Felsah's gentle presence was already bearing good fruit. When he neared the Cathedral his muscles tensed with the sound of sword fighting. He moved quickly, feet padding silently along the soft carpeting until he turned the final corner and saw the source of the commotion. He chortled and relaxed. Czestadt had assured him that the raccoon was likely to come by and request a bout. Several Keepers had gathered to watch as the Yesbearn knight and Kankoran raccoon danced around each other with flying swords and acrobatic legerdemain. Kashin enjoyed the bout, though he was a little disappointed to see his friend Sir Czestadt narrowly lose. The raccoon was crafty and very skilled. And not afraid to show his beast-side given the way he'd snarled bloody jowls like that. The Keepers who'd gathered there before Kashin all began to disperse while the raccoon dressed himself again. He couldn't quite say why, but seeing the fight, and the faint nostalgia for a time past he had heard in Alberta's voice, inspired him to step a little closer and say, “Don't put those away just yet. I'd like a turn.” The raccoon turned, both eastern blades still in his paws. Green eyes in the shape of a beasts's regarded him in surprise, quickly taking in his Yeshuel tunic, missing left arm, and buckler with no sword. He did not bring the golden Cenziga blade with him anymore, and Caur-Merripen more properly belonged to Nemgas anyway. To his relief, it was the lack of sword, not the lack of an arm that the raccoon noted. “You have no sword to fight me with, Kashin of the Yeshuel. I would never accept a challenge from an unarm... from a man with no blade.” “He may use mine,” Wolfram announced. The ram strode forward, hooves making a soft whump in the carpet with each step. He drew his blade and held it out, laying it flat in his hands as he approached the Yeshuel. “I would be honored if you used my blade, Kashin.” Kashin could see Czestadt nod in approval from the other end of the hall so he knew that the craftsmanship would be exquisite. He smiled to the ram and bowed his head respectfully. “I will treat your weapon with the honor it deserves. I thank you and salute you for your generosity.” So saying he wrapped his hand about the hilt and lifted it from the ram's hoof-like hands. The weight was steady and after only a moment it felt comfortable in his grip. As Wolfram backed off, he took a few experimental swings, savored the gasp of air as it swept past, and then he turned back to the raccoon. “I have a blade now. Do you accept my challenge?” Rickkter chuckled and nodded. “I have heard it said that Yeshuel train from birth.” “Near enough,” Kashin admitted as he and the raccoon moved into the center of the hall. Czestadt joined Wolfram's troops against the far wall, while more Keepers clustered nearby to watch. “Much of our training is in prayer and the doing of good deeds. We usually do not fight with swords.” “But you know how,” Rickkter added as he swept out his arms, the katana over his head and the wakizashi at his middle. “I can see it in the way you hold that blade.” Kashin stood with his right leg and side forward, showing as little of his body as possible. The sword angled out ahead of him. “Aye, I know how to use a sword.” “The same stakes as before then? First blood from the torso?” “That is fair. I agree.” Rickkter smiled, a little bit of blood still flecking his jowls. “Then let us begin.” The raccoon wasted no time with a sudden leap forward, driving both blades in a quick succession of arcs, one aimed at Kashin's head and the other at his gut. Kashin bent at his ankles until his knees kissed the carpet with a most gentle caress, while his upper body bent backward, his chest sucking inward to avoid the slash from the wakizashi, and his head tilting back to slip beneath the blow from the katana. He then turned on his ankles, sliding to Rickkter's right, bringing forward his right arm and the sword at its end. The raccoon's green eyes went wide and he tried to drive his right leg down to push himself to the left to avoid the blow. But Kashin pressed the stump of his left arm around the raccoon's back, holding him in place for just a split second longer. The blade's edge ripped along the front of Rickkter's tunic, and then both of them spun apart to stand where the other had only moments before. Kashin held out the ram's blade so that the glint of red along one edge was visible to all. “The battle is won.” Rickkter blinked in disbelief and dabbed his fingers at his chest where his tunic sagged where the cloth had been sheared in twain. A line of red peered through his flesh like a dragon's eye contemplating a return to use after a century's slumber. His jaw opened once without sound, and then it opened again in a barking laugh, the sort that only a man who cannot believe the testimony of his eyes would use. “The battle is won,” he repeated in the midst of much headshaking and even more laughter. “How did you do that?” Wolfram exclaimed in wonder as he came forward to reclaim his blade. “I saw it but... I do not know how you did that!” Kashin offered him the blade by its hilt and bowed his head low. “You have a very fine blade, Captain Wolfram. It is no secret. Bend. Bend like a reed in the wind. If you can do that, you can find your way.” “Some reed,” Rickkter muttered as he tried to stop the bleeding with his tunic. “No reed has ever drawn my blood before.” “Of course I'd find the men playing with their swords,” a new beastly voice said with mock derision from the end of the hall facing the Cathedral doors. Rickkter's ears perked and his head turned faster than all the rest. Standing with paws on hips in warm brown tunic and breeches with a blue cloak about her shoulders was a lady skunk. She tapped a booted foot like a mother scolding children. “Kayla!” Rickkter exclaimed with a bright smile, his wound forgotten. He stepped swiftly to her side, sliding an arm along her back and guiding her forward. “Why my old friend Sir Czestadt and I were just showing Captain Wolfram and his men the finer points of swordsmanship. And Kashin here was showing even me a thing or two.” “Don't touch me,” Kayla pushed him away, though there was an audible churr in her voice that seemed the beginnings of a laugh. “You'll get blood all over my new cloak.” He leaned in closer and nearly stuck his snout in her ear. “Perhaps you can help me tend to my terrible wound?” She laughed and shook her head. “I have to check on Andwyn. You can fix that trifle yourself. It doesn't look nearly as bad as what that mighty warrior did to you yesterday, or so Misha claims.” Rickkter growled, even as a few of Wolfram's soldiers began laughing behind their hands and paws. “Remind me to put spiderwort in his next batch of muffins.” It wouldn't hurt the fox of course, but it would keep him very close to his chamberpot for a day or two. Kayla laughed and kissed him on the nose. “You boys have your fun. I will see you again soon.” The kiss was all it took for the raccoon's mood to improve considerably. He tried to follow Kayla, but the skunk shook her head as she headed off down the other corridor adjacent to the Cathedral entrance. Rickkter watched her go for a moment, before turning back to Kashin and Czestadt. He shrugged his shoulders and patted his chest which had already stopped bleeding. “So, shall we try that again?” ---------- After his engaging and much needed talk with Kayla the skunk, Akaleth returned to Felsah's chambers to find the jerboa priest scouring several sheets of parchment on which his scrawling letters could be seen. He had even drawn several diagrams – and a few pictures of Madog – linking various ideas together as he sorted through Akabaieth's journals. The newly-made rodent offered to share more of the details on what he'd found, but Akaleth shook his head. “I just spoke with a skunk named Kayla. She saw the sword of Yajakali.” “Aye, she's one of the ones Metamor sent to Marzac. I had the opportunity to hear the story from Sir Charles Matthias when I first arrived.” Felsah's long tail flicked from side to side as he turned in his stool and bobbed his head. “Astonishing! Truly astonishing.” Akaleth nodded and then sniffed at the air. “Is that coffee?” Felsah turned back on his stool and lifted a small mug in his paws. “It is! I found a shop in the market that usually sells the beans to inns and to the wealthier merchants. To my good fortune I learned that the shopkeeper is a Follower and he has given me a small supply. The coffee helps me keep awake during the day.” “It is already midafternoon,” Akaleth objected with a mild reproach. “Does your new body keep you awake at night too?” “It has,” Felsah admitted with a shrug before lapping up a tongueful of the black brew. “But not always. I am trying not to have too much, but with your visit I didn't want to fall asleep while we spoke.” “Have you fallen asleep during prayers?” Felsah grimaced around his jowls and nodded. “A few times, though only when I've been praying by myself. Would you care for some?” “Thank you, but I will decline for now. Perhaps tomorrow morning. I expect that I will have to leave then. There does not seem to be all that much I can do here.” “I understand. It is best to leave soon. Any delay risks you suffering the Curse.” “I confess I wonder what it would make of me.” Felsah chuckled and took another sip. His whiskers thrummed with each drop. “I have not given it much thought, but if I had to guess, possibly a horse or donkey. I don't quite know why either. You seem to make the strangest of friends, and so do they at times. I don't know if that makes any sense.” “As much as sense as you being a desert mouse.” Felsah smiled and then took another sip of his coffee. “What will greet you when you return to Yesulam?” “Father Kehthaek most likely. He is encouraging me to start a discipline for Questioners, much as he has one of his own. There are many tasks of administration and pedagogy that he is involved in and into which he has brought me.” “I remember,” Felsah said with a nod. “I was enjoying teaching those little classes to my fellow Questioners.” “Why not continue here?” Akaleth suggested as he settled down on the pallet and stretched his legs. “You said yourself that many Followers here at the Keep have a deplorable sense of what is and is not permitted for Followers. Teach them.” “Father Hough tries that at every Liturgy. Many have listened and it has profited them greatly. Many do not.” “So it is with every generation. How is the care for the young of the parish? Does Father Hough have time to prepare them for Immersion and Confirmation?” “He has done a well as he could, but it is a need. There are two other priests in the valley now and so that will help some.” “Three new priests,” Akaleth pointed out with a wave of a finger. “Do not forget yourself.” “But I am trying to help Vinsah!” “You will not always be studying these journals. You need to make sure that the next generation of Followers that grow up here at Metamor are more faithful in their observance of our ways. They have been given a great deal of latitude because of these curses, but that cannot be an excuse forever. It isn't even a good one now.” Felsah nodded thoughtfully and in silence he took another sip of his coffee. He stared out the window at the dwindling light of the afternoon for a moment before taking a second sip and nodding again. “It is worth trying. I will speak with Father Hough about in the morning after you have left. For now, there is one other thing you must see before we take our evening meal. I promised you I would show you something when Patric returned from his rounds.” “You did,” Akaleth replied. “Has he returned yet?” “He is about to knock at my door,” Felsah smiled and then tapped one of his large ears. Akaleth almost laughed in surprise as a pair of feet slapped outside and a knock struck the Questioner's door just as he had predicted. “Please come in.” The door swung open and in stepped a figure standing only a couple of hands higher than Felsah. He was covered in bright green scales from head to toe and tail tip; the only garment he had on was a brown cassock modified for his reptilian body and long tail. His eyes seemed to jut out of his boxy head at the end of little cones that swiveled in different directions. The impression was disorienting to Akaleth, but he kept this to himself, focusing his attention on the nearest eye only. “Father Felsah,” he nodded his head to the mouse and then toward the human. “Father Akaleth. I hope you have had an enjoyable day in our home.” “It has been very edifying,” Akaleth replied with a warm smile. He found it easier and easier to let the mask of the Questioner down, at least when he really wanted to smile. “There is much beauty hidden here that the world does not know.” “Patric, I wanted you with us now because I wish to show Father Akaleth the slab,” Felsah said as he rose to his hind paws and finished the last of his coffee. He set the cup aside and rubbed his paws together, then wiped them back over his whiskers to groom his face. “The covenant slab?” Patric asked in surprise. “Of course. It's only been with us a few weeks now. There's still far too much we do not know, but if you'll follow me I'll show you where we keep it.” “The covenant slab?” Akaleth asked as he rose to his feet, towering over both jerboa and lizard. “What is this?” “It is easier to explain once you have seen it. You'll understand why I waited until Patric could be with us to show you as well.” Felsah offered as he hopped out the door nearly landing on the seminarian's tail. Once they were in the hall leading past several other small cells used by the seminarians, the two of them could walk side by side with Akaleth trailing after. Akaleth said nothing as they moved down the hall away from the sanctuary proper. The walls were fashioned from the same speckled gray granite that the rest of the Keep appeared to be made from. Doors to the cells were on their right, while at their left little braziers burned to give light, and to illuminate the wooden carvings positioned between them. Akaleth noted with approval that each highlighted some scene from salvation history. They formed a Resurrection homily in miniature, and that was always a good message to keep before the eyes and the heart. He would have to suggest something similar to Father Kehthaek for the Questioner Temple when he returned. The hallway turned to the left at the end, and then opened into a wide storage area with a high sloping ceiling. If there were any geometric consistency within the Keep, then they were standing on the other side of the high altar in a room as long as the sanctuary was wide. It was clearly a storage area for devotional and liturgical pieces as he recognized several sets of seven-tiered and four-tiered candelabra, statues of various saints not currently on display, chests nearly bursting with vestments for the various seasons, numerous thurifers, a shelf filled with jars of holy oil, and boxes stuffed with so many candles and incense that the entire room was permeated with the odor of wax, frankincense and myrrh. All of this he observed with a quick glance. And once done his eyes fixed resolutely on the enormous slab of rock laying in the center of the room beneath a blue cloth. Patric rested one hand on the blue cloth, spreading long fingers and staring with some reverence, both of his eyes fixed upon the slab. Felsah hopped to the other side and beckoned Akaleth to come closer. “This is the covenant slab,” Felsah announced with a sweep of one paw. “It was found in the Holy Land a few days journey from Yesulam. Do you remember the night when that wave of light washed across the land only a few hours before the dawn?” “I remember that. Only a few days before the Nativity.” “On that night, the man, his wife, and their seven year old son who had found this slab were all transformed into a race of creatures that have been dead for millennia. They became Tened. How I wish they were in Metamor now so that I could introduce you to them, but... that is not to be.” “The Tened? I have never of them. What are they?” “A feathered race that have munch in common with reptiles as well as birds,” Felsah said as he glanced once at Patric who nodded and began folding the blue cloth back from the slab. “I have a few sketches of them that I can show you in my quarters. But first, please examine this slab.” Together, Felsah and Patric folded the cloth one section at a time until the cold stone monolith was revealed. Several different types of scripts were chiseled into the surface, each letter inlaid with some vibrant blue metal that he did not recognize. Akaleth stepped closer and studied the text, noting the very strange letters, most of which looked nothing like letters and more like glorified scratches, until he recognized the lowest set as Galendish. He read the words out loud, “In memory of the Tened, who wouldst not be parted from the Truth, even to preserve their lives, I Who Am make this everlasting covenant with the Peoples of Scale and Feather. For so long as thou hast no dealings with those who wouldst name themselves gods in defiance of Truth, I shalt shield thee from their false agency.” He glanced at both Felsah and Patric who had finished unveiling the slab and were folding the cloth one last time. “Is this a real message from Eli?” “We don't know,” Felsah said with a quick glance at Patric. The chameleon looked ready to disagree, but then shut his mouth and nodded to the Questioner. “There are a few facts in its favor. It was found in a bed of flowers near Yesulam and those who found it were quickly turned into Tened, a race that has long been dead. That they are Tened has been confirmed by three sources. The script is made out of a metal not even the alchemist Pascal recognizes, though we only allowed her a brief glance; she is... not the sort to keep any secret, and she would likely destroy anything we lent her in order to learn what it is.” Akaleth frowned and pursed his lips. “We certainly do not wish any part of this destroyed.” “Another fact is that there are twelve different languages used on this slab. Most of them are not human languages. We have identified three human languages, the Tened language, the Binoq script, the script of the Åelves, and even a Lutin dialect. We believe that another of thee scripts belongs to the dragons but few of them are small enough to enter this chamber, or friendly enough to Followers to care to enter here.” “And these scripts, are they all the same message?” Felsah nodded, hopping along the length of the slab and resting his paw on one of the human tongues. Akaleth glanced at it and saw that it was Suielish, the language the Ecclesia used. Even a quick read of that proved his fellow priest right. “Every one of them that we can read says the same thing,” Felsah said as he ran one claw along the inside of a letter. “If this was a forgery, then it is the work of scholars from a variety of disciplines. No one scholar would know twelve languages when those languages include the tongues of dragons, Åelves, Lutins, and Tened. Plus they would have to know alchemy to create this metal as well as have some logistical support to take it to Yesulam. And where did the flowers come from? And how did Jacob and his family become Tened? These and a few other reasons are why many believe this to be genuine of Eli.” Akaleth ran his fingers along thew script and almost shivered as he touched the cold metal. If it were possible it felt chillier than the stone. “How did you learn what language these are? I've heard of the Binoq only in legend, and I've never heard that Lutins were the sort to write anything down.” “They have a primitive script,” Patric piped up from the other side of the slab. “They use it more to track elk herds, bear migrations, various tribe squabbles, and occasional wisdom of their ancestors. There are even rumors of magic incantations, but that's just what I've heard the scouts who've gone north of the valley say.” “The three human scripts I recognized,” Felsah pointed out, and then gestured to the Galendish at the bottom, the Suielish closer to the top, and another script that used similar letters with very different strings of consonants. “The last should be familiar to you as well.” “The common tongue of Sonngefilde and Kitchlande,” Akaleth mused as he deciphered it. He wasn't as familiar with it, but having spent so much time in the company of Sir Czestadt it had become almost second-nature to him. “Aye, it says the same thing. But what of the others?” “Both Emily and Jon recognized the top-most script as that of the Tened,” Felsah pointed with one claw at the far end of the slab, and then returned his gaze to the human priest. “They know more about the Tened than anyone else in the valley; Jon has been collecting their artifacts for several years now. And last week when Sir Matthias visited Metamor to gather with some of his friends, I asked him to come and take a look at this and tell me what he thought. He recognized the Binoq script and the Åelf script, but he couldn't read them. Nobody knows how to read them! But at least we know what they are.” “And the children of scale and feather would be those like Patric?” Akaleth asked, glancing between the jerboa and the chameleon, still trying to grasp the significance of this slab being an authentic message from Eli. “I believe that is what it means,” Patric said with a click of his tongue. “Who else could it refer to?” Akaleth frowned and glanced back at the stone and its arresting message. “And these who name themselves gods in defiance of Truth... does it mean the Lightbringers... the aedra and daedra?” “It would seem so,” Felsah said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “There's no way to be certain, but I suspect it would include any supposed god who is not Eli.” “Who else knows of this?” “Those who helped us bring it here of course. Father Hough bid them keep silent about it for now, and so far no one has said anything. It is only a matter of time. Jacob and his family are unusual, even for Metamor. There is something... different about them that I think other Keepers can sense, even if they cannot name it.” Akaleth exhaled and then let the familiar sensation of the mask settle over his features. He ran his fingers across the letters, noting each word, pondering the bright blue metal, and the message written in the languages of many races. Scale and Feather. Tened. Truth. I Who Am. Could it be real? His eyes settled on the first phrase and a doubt began to arise in his heart. “What do we know of the Tened? Were they true to Eli? Did they even know of Eli?” Felsah chittered under his breath and then turned to the chameleon. “Patric, please make sure the slab is covered again. There are some things I must show Father Akaleth. They are for his eyes and ears alone. Do you understand?” Patric's eye cones both seemed to lower even as his long fingers grabbed the blue cloth and began dragging it back over the slab. “I understand, Father. I will tell Father Hough where you two are when I see him.” “Thank you,” Felsah swung his head back to the human priest and almost squeaked. “If you would come back to my cell?” ---------- Father Akaleth listened with both wonder and doubt as he the jerboa regaled him with a tale of a dream, a land of desert, oasis, and a burrow town of other jerboa. And in that dream a strange creature visited him by the still waters of the oasis, a creature covered in feathers, with sharp teeth instead of a beak, and scales along his feet, face, and hands. His plumage had been bright and his tongue sharp but gentle. And in his soul a deep bitterness that poured forth in a confession whose duration could not be measured by hours or days, perhaps not even by years. “Dare I ask what you gave him as penance?” Akaleth asked, half in hopes that his friend would laugh, and half in hopes that he wouldn't. Felsah smiled, an expression which made all his whiskers bend back along his face and then angle upwards so that he seemed to have a ridiculous mustache. “It is hard to credence,” Felsah admitted as he hopped from the pallet over to his small writing deck. He lifted the lid and withdrew a small folded piece of parchment. “But when I rose the next morning I found this letter and two others. This was meant for me. Read and tell me what you think.” Akaleth took the little folded bit of parchment from the jerboa's small, slender paws. The very first words made him nearly drop the letter. “To My Confessor...” Akaleth swallowed and stared over the parchment at his friend. “He wrote you a letter? This Troud?” “I believe he wrote three letters. This one was for me so that I would believe that it was more than just a dream. It was... real in a way.” “Even that jerboa village?” Felsah scratched behind his ear and finally let out a small chuckle. “Well, perhaps not that part.” Akaleth was grateful for the mote of levity and resumed reading the letter. It was brief and a moment later he set it down and took a deep breath. “Have you shown this to anyone else?” “You are the first to see it.” “Which means either something is going to great lengths to tempt the people of scale and feather here at Metamor, and they are using you to do it, or this is genuine. And why would they tempt them into a deeper faith in Eli? That does not make sense. This... Troud... does not seem to be interested in them for his own sake.” Akaleth folded the letter and offered it back to Felsah. The jerboa took it very gently in his paws and returned it to his writing desk. They sat in silence for nearly a full minute, both of them lost in their thoughts. Finally, Akaleth knew there was only one question that could settle the matter for himself. He folded his hands, sliding his fingers together before tapping his knuckles to his chin a few times. Dark eyes found the desert mouse who had picked up a short stick as was gnawing at the end. “Do you believe it?” Felsah continued to gnaw on the stick for a moment before lowering it and spitting out a few splinters. “Forgive me that habit... it is something I must do to keep my teeth from aching and from growing too long. As to all of this, the slab, the letter, the dream.” His eyes, wholly dark from one lid to the other, seemed nevertheless to turn inwards as he resumed gnawing on the stick. And like that he sat for several long seconds, his claws digging into the wood to hold it in place as his jaws worked and his teeth scraped at the end of the solid oak branch. And then a small knot in the branch cracked beneath his fangs and Felsah picked it out with his fingers. He held it aloft between a thumb and finger, little claws just touching the chewed wood as he turned it over in the late afternoon light filtering through the window. “After our dear friend Vinsah, that is the other thing I have spent most of my thoughts upon. Do I believe all of that about the Tened and the children of Scale and Feather. Do I? Oh, Father, oh my friend, oh Akaleth, aye. Aye I do believe it. “I know it is so strange and so unlikely, but I know it must be true. I cannot prove it, I cannot even prove it to many of those garbed in scales and feathers, but I know it deep down in my heart. I know that Troud exists and that he was created by Eli as a guardian and guide for the Tened race, and that his sojourn in the darkness of misery came to an end with his confession and repentance. I know that Jacob and his family's finding of that slab, and their change into Tened was the act of providence And I know that promise is from Eli. “All I could think of the entire time we spoke with Wolfram was that it was a shame he and his friend were mammals. Had they been birds or lizards, then from here to eternity they would never have needed to fear Revonos or any of the Pretender's minions. And yet I could say nothing because I don't know what to do, nor how better to help them. Perhaps this is the first spark of a renewal in these lands, lands once the ancestral home to the Lightbringers. Perhaps here Eli means to bring up a people who will be faithful to Him. And through them, the rest of Galendor that does not acknowledge His name will finally see how great He truly is.” Felsah lowered his snout and tossed the knot of wood into a small iron pail. “Maybe my hopes are just running away with me. I haven't been here for two months yet and I already love this place and her people dearly. Do you know that some of those who have become like Patric cannot even stand being in the presence of mammals anymore? They are overcome with panic and fear that we are going to steal their eggs and hunt them down. Their eggs. Aye, they lay eggs now. Ah, I am carrying on like an old fool. Aye, I believe the slab, the letters, all of it are real, Father. I believe it!” Akaleth put his hands on his knees and nodded his head, smiling for his friend's sake. “If you believe it, then I believe it too. The only question that remains is this: how will we convince the Patriarch and the Council of Bishops that this is true?” Felsah put his chewstick down and stuck his head and arms beneath the lid of his writing desk. He searched for only a moment before emerging with two sealed letters. He hopped to Akaleth's side and offered them to him. “When I woke from my dream, there were three letters on my desk. The first you've read. These are the other two. One of them is for Patriarch Geshter, and the other is for Father Kehthaek. I do not know what they contain. But the only way I can be sure they will arrive is if I give them to you.” Akaleth turned the letters over in his hands, saw the names written in a very careful script on the side opposite the seal, and nodded. “I will deliver them personally as soon as I can. And I will tell them both what you have told me. But there is one thing more we should have so that they can see for themselves. We need to make a rubbing of the Covenant Stone. If there is anything there that would show this is not real, it will be there and someone in Yesulam will see it. And if it is real, they will see that too... in time.” He tapped the letters on his knee once, and then furrowed his brow. “Why haven't you mentioned this to Hough or Patric? Or even this Emily, the one you say guides the people of Scale and Feather here in their unique way?” “Because I'm not one of them, and yet I've been brought into whatever is happening here. I didn't want them taking my dream and these letters the wrong way. Until Yesulam speaks, we must be prudent. That and...” “What?” “I fear that they do not wholly trust me yet. There is still some fear that I am that strange Questioner. I want to do right by them... aye, I worry too much. I've never been responsible for any soul but my own and those I question. Forgive me.” Akaleth set the letters to one side, near to his other personal things so that he would not forget them. “There is nothing to forgive. Let us go make that rubbing, and then we can worry about Vespers instead. And then something to eat. I'm beginning to feel famished, my friend.” Felsah bobbed his head up and down, eyes warming and his whiskers stilling their anxious wiggling. “I'll find some charcoal. There should be plenty of parchment in that chest behind you. And to eat, well, I'll ask Wolfram and his men to fetch us something suitable.” “A little fruit and a little meat would suit me.” And with that, the two priests began collecting what they would need. Akaleth was delighted to discover that his hands only trembled a few times as he gathered sufficient parchment. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>