Vinsah did not recall if she had come to him any further in his dreams that night. The strange urgency he’d felt when he’d relived that dream from his past was gone, replaced only with the certainty that his journey was now truly beginning. The morning came as twilight filled the sky and the stars began to wink out one by one in the growing light. Murikeer and Malger were both already up, the latter playing a soft melody upon his flute. It’s feathery tones landed upon his ears with a mellifluous charm that lured him up from his dreams.
Blinking the sleep from his eyes, the raccoon priest stretched. The grass was only slightly damp, the fire having kept most of the moisture from settling over them during the night. It was still burning crisply, though Murikeer was feeding it judiciously. The skunk saw Vinsah stirring in his bedroll and smiled warmly, long tail twitching behind his head. “Good morning, Vinsah. Would you care for a little bread to start your day?”
Vinsah nodded, smiling back to the skunk. “Thank you, Muri. Bread would be delightful. Good morning to you as well.” He shifted about in his blankets, pulling himself into a seated position at first. As the skunk began digging into his saddlebags, Vinsah stretched, yawning wide, tongue rolling from his muzzle in a beastly fashion. There was a chill upon the air, but both the fire and the coming dawn were holding it at bay.
Malger set down his flute then, and smiled at the Bishop. “Muri told me that you have decided to travel with us.”
Vinsah nodded at that, pulling cloak about him tightly as he slipped from his bed roll. With one paw, he straightened out the blankets, tail curling around his legs to keep warm. He still felt the stiffness in his joints as he had after the first night upon the road, but the fire and companions seemed to have ameliorated some of it. “Yes, I will go with you,” he looked to the horses that were once more at grazing around the tree. “I fear I will slow you down though.”
The marten saw the glance and shook his head, brandishing the flute in one paw. “Nay, my good priest, if it is walking upon paw that you fear, we shall endeavour to ease that. It is but a simple matter to purchase another horse for the journey.”
Murikeer had by then retrieved the bread from his saddlebags and handed half a loaf to the raccoon. Vinsah smiled and thanked the mephit as he took it in his paws. He nibbled from it, finding the bread still soft and pleasant to eat. “No, I cannot ride,” he said, remembering well the injunction his lady had placed upon him.
“A man of your years has never learned to ride?” Malger said in surprise.
Vinsah shook his head. “It is not that at all. I can ride upon horseback if necessary. I am not comfortable in the saddle though, and I’ve not ridden since my change. There is something else. It is part of my journey. I know this much. I was told to go upon foot.”
“Told?” Murikeer asked, even as he nibbled upon his own loaf. “By whom?”
Vinsah spread his paws before him. “We all have guiding forces within our lives. Mine has led me to this, and I know has asked me to go upon foot. That I will not betray.”
“What is your guiding force?” Malger asked curiously.
“And that is something I will not say,” Vinsah chided, waving one finger good naturedly at the marten.
“Did your decision to join us in our travels, was that guided too?” Murikeer asked softly from where he crouched over the fire.
The raccoon nodded. “Yes, although I should have seen it before. I was guided to it a long time ago. This I now understand. At the time, I feared it greatly, but now that it has come to pass, I am happy that it has. I know that we have not had much chance to know each other Muri, but you left a deep and abiding impression upon Akabaieth. Before he died, he told me that he thought very highly of you. I will not repeat all that he said, but I will say this: for you to have impressed him so at your age, and he at his, is a feat that was so seldom seen that I could count such events on but one paw.”
Murikeer sat in mute silence at this, simply chewing upon his bread thoughtfully. His long tail was stilled behind him even, only the fur curling when the wind picked at it. Behind him, the sky continued to brighten, growing from violet into a deep blue, paling ever towards the east until the grey mountain peaks stood.
“Was it you?” Malger asked suddenly, his voice speculative. He was fingering the keys upon his flute distractedly. They made a soft patting noise as they were pressed down. “Was it you that I happened upon that night?”
Vinsah blinked, letting the bread rest in his paws for a moment. “What night?”
“‘Twas when the Patriarch had been a day at Metamor. I had been out dancing the halls of the Keep, dressed in aught but a fine jongleur’s mask and night robe. I happened upon an elderly priest of the Patriarch’s retinue walking about in a robe carrying a lantern. I did a pirouette and bowed before the man, expecting a pleasant laugh, or perhaps a bit of applause. Instead, he screamed and ran from me as if he’d seen his nightmares walking the earth. Was it you?”
The Bishop stared in amazement at the pine marten as the story was told. It had been so long since that night, that he’d almost completely forgotten it. That had been the first night she had come to him in his dreams. And that been the night that she had gifted him with his mask. He’d seen that masked dancer, and screamed, because it had been his nightmare come to life. Just how blind had he been in those days?
“Yes, that was I. I’d just woken from a strange nightmare, and my nerves were not at their best.” Vinsah lifted the bread to his muzzle, but did not eat. “In some ways, you had walked out of my dreams, as if we were meant to meet in that way.”
Malger stared in a bit of unsettled shock, but he said no more, lifting his flute back to his muzzle where he began to pipe out a discordant theme. It sounded as if he were pouring all the oddities of his thoughts within that flute, and it produced the strangest and most peculiar combination of tones that either the Bishop or Murikeer had ever heard.
The skunk’s ears folded back in distaste, and his expression was pained as he stared at his companion. But Malger continued to play, though after a short time, the notes became softer and more rounded, less shrill than before. Vinsah finished off the last of the bread with that music at his ears, watching as the sky continued to brighten. It would not be long before the sun had risen. But it would still be a while before the shadows lifted from the Valley. It took longer for the sun to crest the mountains after all.
“Well,” Vinsah said, after he’d swallowed the last of the bread. He brushed the crumbs from his cloak, keeping his gaze upon the skunk. Murikeer had also finished his meal and was now rubbing his paw pads over each other. “How must you go about fashioning a charm for me to wear that will make me appear human?”
Murikeer looked up and frowned. “I do not know for certain how long it will take me to enchant the illusion, perhaps two or three days. It requires a great deal of effort, and a foci that is close to you to enchant it to. Malger and I have used our necklaces as you saw, but they were magically bonded using mithril, which has an inherent readiness to it for magic with a little preparation. Since I’ve no magically prepared mithril to bond the magic to, I will need something very close to you already if I am to create the enchantment in a short span of time.” As if three days was short, but apparently it was considerably shorter than the week or more he had mentioned the previous evening if he were to actually try anchoring the spell to a mithril pendant or charm.
Vinsah paused for a moment, and then lifted the yew tree that he’d set upon his pack. During the day it was always about his neck. He’d been given that when he’d first become a priest, after all. What did he have that was closer to him than that symbol of his faith? “Will this do?” he asked, proffering it in one paw.
Murikeer nodded, taking the necklace into his paws, cradling it carefully. “Yes, I can use this. I will not need it until the final hours of the enchantment though. You may keep it until then.”
Vinsah reclaimed his pendant and slid it over his neck where it was most comfortable. “It will take two to three days to fashion this?” At the skunk’s nod, he continued, “What then are we to do during those days while you work?”
At this, Malger lowered his flute once more. The tune he’d been playing had continued to grow softer until finally it was gently flowing once more, like a raging river that finally settled into a pleasant stream. “You are to travel as an apprentice bard, my good Bishop. Why not spend these hours learning what you will need to know to be such an apprentice?” The marten glanced at Mur to whom he favoured a crooked grin. “I am already trying to train the skunk here, but I fear he cannot even keep a simple beat!”
The skunk grimaced, but a smile lurked behind the corners of his muzzle. “I have no difficulties holding a rhythm, you letcher.” the skunk growled, his dark eye gleaming as he adjusted his eyepatch with mock affront. “You just don't like the one I keep!”
At this, Malger laughed slightly, holding out his arms melodramatically. “‘Tis true. I confess. But a rhythm that a bard does not like ought not be kept at all!” Even Murikeer had to shake his head and laugh quietly at that. The pine marten was quick to turn his attention back to Vinsah. “So tell me, have you ever had any musical training?”
Vinsah shook his head with smile, even as Murikeer rose to his paws and began to look around the field of trees they had settled within. “No, my good bard,” the raccoon offered with a helpless shrug, “When I was an acolyte one of my mentors attempted to teach me the piccolo, but he gave up in frustration after a few short weeks.” With a smile he smoothed the front of his shirt, “I did sing, however, in the choir, for many years.” He glanced at his hands and frowned for a moment, the gray fur and black pads shimmering gold in the firelight, “But I haven’t tried since... I changed,” he said with a frown. Malger let out a disgusted grunt, though it was overdone, much as his foppish attire was overdone. The marten then went to his saddle bags once more to retrieve some instrument he thought the Bishop might be able to play. Vinsah simply leaned back, looking forward to a bit of diversion.
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