<html> <body> I finally finished a new Metamor Keep story. Big thanks to Chris Okane and Ryx for beta-reading and making some contributions. :-) Part 1 of 4 Metamor Keep: Bidding Farewell by Charles Matthias May 23, 708 CR “It's been well over a year since I last lived here at the Keep,” Charles admitted as he stared out across the expanse of Euper from the battlement wall, “but I will still miss this place.” “And it shall miss you,” Goldmark added with an affirmative squeak. “At least until you return.” There was a chance he might never return, but Charles said nothing. Instead he stretched his legs – all four of them – before settling against the sun-warmed stone to relax. Goldmark, also four legged, reclined near him. His friend reached into a knapsack draped across his lower back and removed a a comb. As he groomed the dark, wiry fur of his lower back and haunches, he noted, “You appear to be feeling better.” Charles reached an arm around behind his upper back and nodded. His fingers traced across the small bit of vine emerging from the join between his upper human-shaped and lower rat-shaped torsos. An ivy tendril crossed the bruise in his back soothing and mending in its subtle way. “I was fortunate to have good friends and hale warriors with me.” “And dragons!” “It is always good to have dragons!” Both rats laughed. Their eyes met, dark and protruding above their snouts, before Goldmark turned back to brushing his haunches. “I almost envy you traveling across the world like this. Even before I became a rat I had never left the valley.” “If Julian, Elliot, and your enterprise grows you may yet.” Charles slapped his tail against the rampart wall as he stretched. “How is business for you?” Goldmark shrugged. “It is off to a promising start, but almost all of our business is through friends. Most of the merchant class prefers their own caravans. I fear we'll need more wagons and more men before we can celebrate.” “You will manage,” Charles assured him. A smile creased his snout. “I would not hire anyone else to help bring my family home when we return.” Goldmark returned the smile. “Thank you, Charles. You know, we can never repay all the goodness you've shown us over the years.” Every morning for almost six years Charles had spent time with his fellow rats, trying to convince them not to fear what the Curses had made of them. For most of those years his efforts felt vain; but Eli's miracles came in their time and not his own. In this Charles trusted and hoped. “Show goodness to all the new rats in the valley then. I've heard we have almost a dozen more now from Bradanes alone.” “We do! A few of them are even young ladies.” An excited chitter touched Goldmark's tongue. Charles smiled wide, whiskers spreading. “Young ladies in need of good rats perhaps?” “Julian has not wasted any time!” Goldmark slapped his tail against the stone and grinned, showing off his incisors. “Only two days ago he escorted a young maid newly made a rat through the gardens. She's quite fetching too with a dark hood and white creamy fur and tail...” He laughed and shook his head. “Oh, Goldmark! But two years ago our fur, snouts, whiskers, eyes, and tails were all reasons to hide where none could see us! Now we find them fetching! What Rats we are! It brightens me to hear it; you have no idea how long I have yearned to hear it.” Goldmark blinked as the thought dawned within him. His smile faltered for a moment in surprise, and then stretched further across his snout. His ears lifted, his frame shifting as if he'd become lighter than air, as a squeaking laugh echoed Charles's own. “What Rats we are indeed! Hah! Now I guess it's time for Elliot, Hector and myself to find good Rat ladies of our own. And Sir Saulius too. I'm hoping for a young lass who likes her Rat large.” He patted his flanks and offered a raucous laugh. Charles felt a bit of a blush touch his ears, but after spending months in his taur form while journeying through the Barrier Mountains and Åelfwood, the twinges of modesty had subsided. “And who enjoys walking on four legs?” “Aye, I hope!” Charles laughed, shook his head, and turned to the battlements, resting his arms on the stone and his snout on his arms. “I had hoped Sir Saulius would be here to see us off, but he won't return from patrol up north for another week.” “I'm sure he will wish it too, but I can hear him say it is the burden of duty.” “Aye, he would,” Charles smiled as he thought on the rat knight armored and astride his pony. Saulius may be small, but he was proud with a fierce spirit and deep devotion for his friends. Charles was proud to be a knight like him. His gaze swept Euper, the road, the river, and the forest beyond filled with merchants and travelers about their business. His family would not be among them for hours yet. Charles stretched, scraping the claws on all four of his legs against the stone, and then stood. “Let us quit the wall. I feel like walking again.” Goldmark nodded and put his comb away. “Where shall we go?” Charles gave the wall a gentle tail slap. “Wherever in Metamor our four legs shall take us!” ---------- Word came during the last few minutes of combat between two alarmingly mismatched foes. One stood tall, wide, and powerfully muscled; a pale hued Percheron stallion whose ears pricked the seven foot line etched on a wall. His opponent barely cleared five feet, a pine marten lithe and lean. The horse held a heavy practice mace and the marten a simple duelist's practice blade as distinctly flimsy against the mace as the marten was against the stallion. The marten, however, was Malger Sutt, the last surviving heir of his House and Title, and sparred like a common guardsman, clad in a simple leather vest and short pantaloons. Given the address 'dae ross' which, while spelled and spoken in many different manners across the kingdoms, simply meant 'first heir of' his House, he acted less like the entitled royalty he was whenever he could possibly get away with it. For years he had comported himself as a moneyed socialite and, as expected or royal brats, sybarite. But always there had been a deeper agenda, carefully hidden by his rather public face of debauchery. And then, with the eradication of his sisters, brothers, the concubines and wives of his warmongering side, Malger had been left with it all and put to the road with assassins at his heel. There, for years, he hid in the guise of foppish traveling minstrel which had suited him as finely as had his earlier years of royal privilege. Until his Goddess said otherwise. And now he was the Archduke Malger dae ross Sutt, holder of Western Pyralia. Though he had placed the onus on the shoulders of one better capable of stewarding those lands he kept the Title, and with it the privilege he had been raised to without the boorish elitism of his deceased line. Raising his practice blade before his muzzle he grinned at his opponent, who stood head and shoulders over him – towered to be truthful – and beckoned him to attempt his attack once more. The stallion Versyd snorted, having been thwarted in every attempt for the past hour, took a staying breath against his understandable frustration, and stepped into snap a low, brutal swing with the mace in his off hand. Malger, his new liege though who looked no more noble than the horse against which he practiced, deftly leaned back without moving his feet and deflected the heavy mace with the heavy arm behind it upward easily. In actuality it was not his purpose to strike the target moreso than overcome the parry, or outmaneuver it, neither of which the untrained young horse had yet perfected. The Percheron had already proven himself a capable and dependable mount, with a smooth gait at any speed, and a proud stride perfect for bearing royalty. But Malger wanted him for a guard as well, and so Versyd and the other horses he'd hired in Glen Avery spent several hours a day training in close quarters combat with sword or mace. At present they trained with the Keep scouts, but Malger intended to hire personal instructors when he found one to his liking. And as Versyd was to be his personal guard as well as mount, Malger insisted his eager Percheron practice his swordsmanship against the marten's tasseled blades. Versyd had both strength and stamina from years of pulling heavily-laden wagons, but he'd only received the most perfunctory training with a sword. No matter how many times Malger 'skewered' him he never grumbled at his defeat. In a little over a week he had already learned the danger of putting all his strength into his swings. It would not be long before he was a formidable fighter. But when the message came, Malger had to cut short their practice. The time for waiting was over. He had but one errand to run before he set his plans in motion. “His grace, the Archduke emeritus Malger Sutt, Lord of Sutthaivasse and master of Western Pyralia, answers your summons, your grace!” Andhun the bull bellowed by way of announcing his presence to Metamor's Duke. Most of the Duke's personal guards remembered him from his days as a court minstrel and seemed a little awkward with the marten's nobility; then they were servants together, now he was to be served. At least Andhun, one of the Duke's favorites, still gave him the same smoldering glower to assure him if he did anything untoward to the Duke he would be reduced to a gelatinous paste beneath the bull's massive hooves, followed by a familiar wink to wish him luck on his visit. No matter how much the rest of the world had gone topsy-turvy, it was nice to have some things stay the same. The marten shot Andhun a glance and lift of one brow, as exasperated by the lengthy lung-emptying bellow of his entire title as he ever was. To Thomas, Duke of Metamor, the marten was a friend, though his title put the stallion a step below him in the ranks of nobility he took pains never to abuse his status. Besides, Thomas was a Midlands noble, not a Pyralian one and Malger was guest in his Keep. He had been escorted to a small informal audience hall where he found the Duke standing with a chalice of wine between two thick hoof-like fingers peering down at a map his adopted daughter Malisa was populating with pewter animal figures. Malger needed only a glance to see Metamor Valley and its beastly barons; a squirrel for the Lord of the Glen, a badger for the master of Iron Mine, a lion for the mage of Hareford, and so on. He noticed no marten upon the board and wondered how long it would be before his likeness joined them. “Ah, Malger!” Thomas said with an expansive sweep of his arm. “Is there some new wrinkle in matters supernatural? I have much gratitude still to show for your help this last week.” Malger shook his head and offered both the equine Duke and human Prime Minister a fang-filled grin. “Happily my role in those affairs is at an end for now. A new adventure awaits me and I come to bring you the news.” Thomas's ears lifted but Malger did not wait to be asked. “Two days hence I shall depart Metamor in the company of Sir Matthias and his family. We shall journey to Sondeshara in hopes of finding healing for Jerome, Charles's Sondeckis friend who has been of great help to Metamor.” “Ah, I have heard of this. I have also heard the dragons Pharcellus and Lindsey will be joining you. May the gods grant you a safe and uneventful journey.” Malger laughed. “Well, not too uneventful! So many of our beastly appearance treading unmasked in foreign lands will be sure to cause a stir in every port.” “Very true,” Thomas offered him a hopeful and thoughtful gaze. “Sir Matthias, you, and the rest showing yourselves to the rest of the world has given me new confidence. I will be making a ducal visit to some of the southern fiefs later this Summer; my first since the Curses were laid. It is about time they saw their liege again.” Malger glanced at the map once more. Malisa, a devious grin creasing her lips, lifted her hands to reveal a horse-head statue at the southern edge of the map. “We've been working on this for a year now. Our vassals need to see our strength and courage; as do our enemies. We've withstood two sieges in less than ten years. There will not be a third from either north or south.” “No there will not,” Malger agreed with a wider grin. “Which brings me to my question for you, Thomas. The journey to Sondeshara will be long and we will need to resupply in almost every port. Is there any errand I can perform for Metamor?” Thomas and Malisa turned to each other, neither speaking for several seconds. Though Malger prided himself on the art of reading others he could guess nothing of their thoughts. Thomas took a deep breath, swinging his long equine head back to the marten, and in a low voice replied, “Actually, there is something you can do for Metamor.” ---------- Their four legs took them many places throughout Keeptowne, though after wandering aimlessly for an hour, Charles grew bored and soon steered them toward places he knew and had once been frequently. First on his list were various shops and stalls in the market where he'd often purchased a morsel to eat or supplies for his work. Some he had not returned to since leaving the Writer's Guild two years before, and some were not there anymore, victims of the Winter Assault he had never before mourned. He spent a few minutes in each place speaking with those he knew, listening to them describe their families and their hopes for the prosperous days of Summer and Autumn ahead. Many had heard of his investiture and congratulated him on his title and his family. All offered to keep him in their prayers, be they Followers or Lothanasi, for the long journey ahead. Charles sought an excuse to purchase something – anything – from each merchant he visited, as if to relive those days now past. Apart from some fruits and cheese, most of which the merchants insisted they take as a parting gift, there was nothing he could justify; seeing those he'd once known well again was all he truly needed. There were a few times when he feared his larger four-legged body and tail would knock something from its shelf and he'd be forced to pay for its repair, but Goldmark, far more used to the vagaries of the taur shape, always stopped his tail or hindquarters from wreaking havoc in tight spaces. Morning slipped past and soon the fullness of the afternoon was upon them. Charles turned their course back toward the keep. The mighty edifice was once his beloved home, and yet somehow there was a sadness clinging to its towers. Goldmark was happy to accompany him on his meandering journey, but even he could sense something else in his friend. In a quiet voice, as they approached Gregor's Bakery, he asked, “Charles, are you saying goodbye for a year, or forever?” Charles sighed and thumped his tail against the hard-packed earth freshly laden with straw. “I wish I knew. But aye, I might not return from this journey.” “Then tell me, where else do you wish to say goodbye? We can visit them all.” He pondered the question for a moment and shook his head. “I don't want to just visit these places. I wish I could live in them again. Only now when I may never see them again do I realize how much I appreciated all I had and all I knew here in Metamor. I am sorry I forgot. I am sorry I am dragging you through it.” “You don't need to apologize to me, Charles. I am sorry I took so long to come up and live in this world. I am happy to spend one more day with a dear friend. So where would you like to go?” Charles glanced at the sky and then at his fellow rat. “There's only a few places left I should see. I didn't see the dragons in the sky so my family isn't here yet, but they will be soon. It is best not to keep four little rats and their mother waiting.” Goldmark laughed, patting Charles on the shoulder as they continued their way into the Bakery. They chatted with Gregor the capybara Baker who had finished his cooking for the day and was overseeing his apprentice, the tabby Brennar, hard at work before the ovens. Both rodent and cat insisted the pair could not leave empty-pawed, and certainly not before sampling Brennar's latest accomplishment. The soft cake-like pastry was sweet with a creamy goo in the center; it took only a few minutes to eat and another few minutes of licking the goo from their claws. Nor did they leave without first a firm hand-shake and back-slapping and many wishes on the success of his voyage and a speedy return. But leave they did and made their way through busy streets into the central bailey about the Keep. Charles slowed his pace as they neared the old converted barracks, retracing steps he'd taken hundreds of times before over many years. Silent, Goldmark matched him. It was nearly two years now since he had left the Writer's Guild; there were a few new faces, but most were familiar and some good friends. Tallis, his fellow rat, and Nahum the fox, both now Headmasters for the Guild, were eager to show him around. The interior had not much changed since his days; a fresh bit of molding here and there, some new paint, a few additional tapestries, but otherwise it was as he remembered it. Charles closed his eyes and could feel years swim through him as the many writers and scribes of Metamor worked on crafting, copying, and critiquing to fashion stories of life at Metamor, or of life anywhere, to be sold to the wealthy, noble or merchant it did not matter, and added to all the great libraries of the world. The main hall was filled with younger members of the Guild working on copying manuscripts, so Tallis and Nahum led the two rats back into the offices where they could talk and share a bit of cheese, bread, and wine. The writers asked after Charles's family and Goldmark's business and Charles asked after the progress on their latest compilation and if there were any promising new members. They told fond memories of the early days of Metamor when the Curses were new and tales of survival when their animal side came to the rescue. They laughed anew at embarrassments. They cheered for each triumph. They groused at the bitter disappointments. And when the time came to leave the Writer's Guild, Nahum and Tallis held Charles tight in a firm hug and promised to pray for their safe return. Charles offered a long sigh as they continued onward, steps dragging, head turning to glance back. After doing so for a third time, Goldmark bumped his lower body with his hindquarters. “The Keep's in front of us, Charles, and in another couple of hours evening will be too. If there's nowhere else you want to say goodbye to, we can head to Long House and meet your family. I'm sure they've arrived by now.” Charles took a deep breath, stood tall on his four legs, lifted his snout high, and sniffed as well as peered about. “Thank you for accompanying me, Goldmark. I don't think I could have done this alone.” “You did teach us we rats must stick together!” Charles felt a smile touch his snout. “So we must! There is one last place I would like to go, and then we can retire to Long House.” Goldmark stood beside him and lifted his snout, sniffing. Apart from the delicate sweetness of Spring flowers, there was also a hint of roast mutton. Both rats tried not to drool. “Oh? Where is it? Oh!” The scent drew their noses toward one side of the Keep. Nestled there was a large wooden building now fortified with stone. Both rats smiled as nothing more needed to be said. Together they headed to the Deaf Mule for one last round of savory meat, frothing ale, and a game or two of pool. ---------- “Oh no! Not him!” Misha was delighted to welcome the Matthias family at Long House one more time as they waited to begin their journey south. He loved seeing the four little rat children scampering around and playing with the other Long Scout children. So much laughter, so much energy, all of it filled him with the hope one day he and Caroline would be blessed with a family of their own. He was also glad to welcome Garigan and James, men of quality and courage, friends of Charles and the Longs. The rat merchants were only going to stay long enough to deliver all of the supplies Lady Kimberly had brought for her family on the voyage, but they too were welcome; they had already delivered relief supplies for Hareford and Mycransburg at Misha's request so he knew they could be trusted. But the red-haired young man was entirely different. He wasn't actually a man. “Pharcellus!” Misha exclaimed as the dragon in human guise followed the last of the rats into the wide open main hall of Long House. The young man turned his head at the name, saw the fox, and smiled buoyantly. “Hello Misha! Did you miss me?” The fox could only laugh and shake his head. What else was one to do with a dragon? “Thank you for all you have done and are doing. Just... please behave inside Long House!” Pharcellus tilted back his head and laughed. “Oh, Sir Brightleaf, you know we dragons are very careful!” “And very big!” Misha muttered, though Pharcellus's youthful enthusiasm and genial nature was already winning the fox. Lady Kimberly reached him and threw her arms about the fox's chest. “Oh, Misha. Thank you.” “For what, milady?” “For keeping my husband safe again.” Misha's one ear lifted and his snout stretched in a warm smile. “Milady, thank you for letting him come to my aid. Without him we would not have succeeded.” Or probably survived. “Your quarters are already prepared and we will gladly help you with your things. Charles is off exploring Keeptowne but as you've arrived now I'm sure he'll return soon.” A note of uncertainty filled Kimberly's voice. Anxiety trembled her whiskers. “Did he tell you?” He nodded. “We will dearly miss him if you must stay there. I have taken the liberty of inviting some of our friends, both yours and his, here tomorrow evening. It's not a party, but... a chance for everyone to spend a little time together before...” He hated it and couldn't force himself to say it. “Before... you know.” Kimberly smiled to him and lifted her snout, pecking him on the nose. “You are a true friend, Misha. Thank you.” “Caroline will be back shortly with some fresh food for tonight; I'm not sure what she's going to find, but it will be good! If any of you need some refreshments after your journey we do have stocks here we keep.” “A little something to wet the throat would be nice,” Julian suggested. The white-furred rat carried one of the Matthias children in his arms. Elliot, the other rat merchant, stood beside him with another child. Garigan and James followed after with the last two. All four children were groggy as if they'd been sleeping; in a little while Misha was sure they'd be scampering over everything. The other three men carrying them all nodded at Julian's request. Misha glanced over the travelers and frowned. “What of Lindsey and Jerome? I expected to see them with you. Charles told me he was the reason for this voyage.” Pharcellus stepped forward and lowered the satchel he carried. “Jerome is not comfortable in such a large city. He and Lindsey are waiting outside in the forest where he feels safe. I will be joining them once my friends are settled here.” “I did hear,” Misha said, a growl slipping into his throat. “Is there nothing we can do for him?” Garigan handed little Bernadette off to Baerle the opossum and stepped toward dragon and fox. “No, there is nothing.” The ferret struck his chest with an open palm and narrowed his eyes. “What Gmork did to Jerome touched him to the very core of his being. His Sondeck has been changed. No magic here at Metamor can help. The guilds sent representatives to try, but they could not affect what dark sorcery had been afflicted upon him. Charles' skunk friend was the only one who could begin to prize it out, but he claimed it was enmeshed with his spirit as deep as the Curse we bear. He could not, and as much dared not, pluck at its web. Only in Sondeshara does Jerome have any hope of healing.” Misha ground his fangs. “Why is it our enemies only multiply? We destroy one only to have another take his place. And each new one seems worse than the last!” “Man is not meant to know peace,” Pharcellus observed with a shrug of his shoulders. “Not in this life. Such is denied even to we dragons, mighty and fearsome as we are.” Misha's ear lowered, tail ducking down, somewhat surprised at the dragon's philosophical bent. “Are you sure you are Pharcellus?” A disconsolate moue crossed the young man's face. “You might not recognize me anymore as a dragon, Misha. I have a scar – A SCAR – on my wing!” After words of such depth, the outburst of draconic vanity made Misha tip back his head and laugh. ---------- Charles was disappointed when Copernicus did not appear to whip his tail at pool one last time; but it was his only disappointment. He settled for trading wins with Goldmark while they downed ale and gorged on hearty stew. The potatoes were preserved from last year and the meat was salty, but it was the same delicious stew he'd come to expect from the mighty Auruchs who ran the Keep's favorite tavern. It brought back years of pleasant memories. He paused at the doorway when they left, one hand holding the wooden jamb, feeling its contours as if trying to preserve them. Goldmark waited, saying nothing, until with a long sigh, eyes turned forward, he let go. They reached Long House not long after and for a moment Charles recalled the first time they had ever set foot or paw in the massive hall. Misha and he had been playing predator and prey, running about the Keep in feral form as part of his Long Scout training. Charles only had to survive the day, and as he'd raced to escape they had discovered – or the Keep provided – Long House. And there, within the Long House was a chamber plucked from the depths of his home far to the south, a shrine with an altar filled with the Sondeck at which he and his student could partake of their Calm and find rejuvenation. Within the chamber he had used an ancient trap to pin the fox down and win their contest. Before the year was out he would see again the place from which the shrine sprang. He averted his eyes from the special door. Meredith the bear was waiting for them at the entrance and he lifted Charles, even in his taur form, from the ground to give him a firm embrace. “Charles, you're back! Everyone is waiting for you.” “Meredith! Oof! It's good to see you too! Oof!” The bear offered a rumbling laugh as he put the rat back down. Goldmark shook his head in silent mirth. “I expected to see my children scampering off the balconies. Where is everyone?” “Oh, most everyone is on duty still. Misha, Caroline, and your family are in your quarters here. Julian and Elliot returned home not long ago, and Garigan went into the shrine a few minutes past. The dragon went off to do dragonish things.” The bear rumbled, dark eyes looking the rat up and down. “I say it is good to see you again. Must you always leave us so soon?” Charles sighed. “If it were in my power I would not have left last year. Maybe I'd be out there in the woods scouting for Metamor right now. But this is for my friend; after all he's done for me, I could never abandon him. Did you see what they did to him?” Meredith shook his head and then scratched behind his neck. “Nay, they stayed out in the forest. But Garigan described it. Is this Gmork really so powerful as to make a man a beast in heart as well as flesh?” “It is what Nasoj wanted for all of us. I actually like being a beast in flesh and wouldn't change back if given the chance.” Meredith's smile widened, showing off his considerable fangs. “Hear, hear! My life is better as a bear! And yours a rat!” “Will you be joining us? I should go be with my family now.” “I have to stand watch here, but I will see you again this evening and for however long you are here; I won't go out on patrol again until next week.” “Then I will see you again soon; I am eager to hear of your adventures, my friend.” Charles took a step into Long House and noted his fellow rat did not follow him. “Goldmark?” “I am going to my home now. Thank you for sharing your day with me, Charles.” Goldmark stepped to his side and patted his upper back, flanks and tails bumping. “If nothing else, we will see you again for your journey to the edge of the valley.” “Give Julian and Elliot my thanks and tell them I look forward to seeing them again soon.” Charles watched his friend leave the Long House and then he headed deeper within to the quarters it had provided his family. He had never truly lived in them, but had he not been exiled to the Glen he knew they would have been home. There was a spacious main room with a wide stone floor covered by animal skins and comfortable chairs flanked by a staircase and landing leading up to the bedrooms. Doors on either side led to a small kitchen and the privy. And scampering around the floor were his four children while his friends reclined on the skins or in the chairs. Kimberly glanced up at him and smiled, noting his four-legged stance with amusement. “Welcome home. Did you enjoy your day out?” “Hello, my love. It was good to see many beloved places again. I smell ham and honey.” Caroline thumped her heavy tail against the floor where she sat nuzzling her beloved fox. “We finished eating a while ago. We saved some for you.” “I just ate at the Deaf Mule, but I will have it a little later.” He was surprised by how long it took, but his children had been so engrossed in their game they hadn't noticed him when he first came in. But the moment was brief and before he could take another step they mobbed his legs, each of them clinging to one, all squeaking at once for his attention. Charles laughed and walked into the room, lifting each leg and child with great care, before settling his bulk next to his wife and tickling his children with his toes. His children and all of his friends laughed, their warmth greater than a roaring fire. ---------- Night settled across Metamor and with it the warmth of the day vanished. Spring was in full blossom but there was still snow in the mountains which brought a chill wind through the valley. Charles felt it through his fur not as an alpine wind but as the emptiness of a desert midnight. He always smelled the desert when standing in the Sondeckis Shrine. Garigan, garbed in his green Sondeckis robe, knelt before the stone altar imbued with the Sondeck, his paws stretched across its gray surface, snout relaxed in a repose as still as death. Charles watched the ferret for a full minute before he could see the slight swelling of his nostrils with each breath. He could not recall how long it had been since he had experienced such a deep Calm. He ached for it. Unlike every other chamber within the Keep, the walls of the Shrine were fashioned from clay blocks. In six months time, if all went well, nearly every building he would see would also be fashioned from dried clay. He stepped back ten years every time he entered the Shrine. This time was different; this time he felt his future before him. “I will have my family with me, this time.” Garigan's ears did not move. The ferret probably did not even know he was there. “I will not be afraid.” Charles walked to one of the chests at the rear of the room, opened it, and lifted his black Sondeckis robe. He shimmied within its confines and felt warmth coat him. The new growth of vine nestled above his tail stirred against his fur before it and the robe settled into place. He couldn't take the entire length of vine the Wind Children had gifted him with last year on the voyage; it was simply too long now to even wind about his body when he did have four legs. The day after the dragons returned with Jerome, he had visited his vine to give it thanks and goodbye. One of the purple flowers had turned to face him and the rat bent forward to sniff the blossoms. Before he could touch those gentle petals a seed had fallen from within. Tears had touched his eyes as he plucked the seed from the stable floor and pressed it against his back above his tail. He felt it burrow into his flesh, all without pain. The next morning the first sprout of vine poked a green tendril from the same spot. The Wind Children's gift, his plant friend, would be with him even in Sondeshara. Charles felt a smile return to his snout even as the memory touched his heart. Attired in his robe, Charles knelt on the opposite side of the angel from Garigan and pressed his hands against the altar. Strength filled him and he felt a rush of heat. His eyes snapped shut and he found himself standing in the desert sands looking across a vast city and oasis. Its towers, its streets, and its lights were all familiar. I once loved this city. His paws sunk into the sand even as his eyes turned the city about, noting every avenue, every tree, and every rock. Day and night were present together, gold glimmering with brilliant sunshine and pools of water silver with the moon. He saw markets with wide awnings and domed ceilings where he and his friends traded chores for fresh figs and dates. His eyes walked through the practice rooms and commanded his limbs to perform each drill. His gaze brought him to the Cathedral and its crypt where one day he'd hoped his bones would rest. And everywhere his eyes went, there the Sondeck abode. Its power suffused his flesh and drove his every deed. In it he found both repose and exhilaration. He was no more a knight, nor merely a rat; he wasn't even a man named Charles Matthias. He was a filled vessel, a cup running over, and an arrow springing from the bow. His life was not his own but a part of something vast. It was gift given to many and shared. I belong in this city. He could feel his claws digging against the stone of the altar and his eyes opened. The desert and city were gone. It took him several seconds to breathe. He stared at the gray slab and lifted his fingers away. Charles wanted to feel unsettled by everything he'd been shown, but all within him was calm. “What was it?” He turned to the ferret. Garigan had also lifted his hands from the altar and looked to the rat with serene curiosity. “I saw the desert sands, the pools of water bubbling up, the trees and grains, the clay homes, the brick streets, all of it. Was it Sondeshara? It's never done that before.” “No, it hasn't. And aye, it was Sondeshara.” Garigan reached across the angel and gripped the rat's shoulder. “It wants us to know all will be well when we reach your city, Master.” “Perhaps,” Charles admitted. “But who is it? Has the altar ever spoken to you before? Has it ever shown you anything you had not thought of yourself?” “No.” If this bothered the ferret, he gave no outward sign. “Has it never done so for you?” Charles stood and invited Garigan to do likewise. “Those are more questions than we need for tonight. We have a very long journey ahead of us. Come, let us practice together for an hour and then we both need our sleep.” Was it, Charles pondered, a vision granted by the altar, or a gift granted by Metamor herself? After a moment he let the worry slip away. The ferret smiled and joined him. Charles gave the altar one last stare before stepping to the middle of the shrine and allowing himself to truly savor the Sondeck within. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>