A Weave of Fates

by Chris O'Kane and Indagare and Rimme and Kamau

Chapter 45: Restitutions [Indy]

Morning, June 6, 708 CR

Misha was feeling satisfied after having breakfast with Kasaima and the others. That his favorite muffins had been available helped. They had headed off, something about flying lessons with Rorlyn, again expressing regrets that they wouldn’t be there for the wedding. He’d understood, though. It’d take a long time to go through the Great Barrier Mountains. That there was a path piqued his curiosity. He’d heard legends of the Lost Road, but assumed even the Suielman Empire wouldn’t have attempted that. Apparently, he was wrong.

He was sure that automatons had to be involved in the construction of the Lost Road. No humans would be willing to attempt that, and even slave labor would only go so far. He also wondered that neither the binoq nor the Nauh-kaee had tried to stop them. Then again, so little was known about the two; perhaps they found the project amusing or simply didn’t care.

It was about time for the prisoners to return. Their sentence was about half finished, though from what he observed he was getting ready to have Nathan do something else. Besides getting sick, it was pretty obvious he had the Child Curse, and Misha would *not* allow children to do the midden work, not even if they were former adults. Additionally, he recognized that Nathan was more a follower than a leader and certainly a more moral character than Roderick.

Roderick would show deference, when it suited him, but Misha feared the man would never repent an ill deed. Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn’t see the crowd of guards until he ran into it!

Nathan was holding what looked like a baby in his hands. Sir Chrysaor had a hand on his sword hilt. “I tell you that jail cannot do when it comes to these two!”

“They’re still prisoner’s ain’t they? Got at least three more days on their sentence. And that depends on if they changed at all.”

“What’s going on here?” asked Misha, as if it weren’t obvious.

“Child Curse on both of them. Nathan’s been slow but Roderick went from adult to yowling infant like that.” The guard snapped his fingers.

“I see.” This was a problem the Keep was still ill-equipped to handle. Full adults, not a problem. Full morphs, not a problem. Adults turned into kids, Problem! Strengthening the Counter-Curse would help. The trouble was what to do with them now. While Nathan could still do adult things as a teenager, Misha was disinclined to keep him at the middens. As for Roderick, he knew there were places that had no issues making children labor as hard as adults or even hang them. He could not be that way.

“Nathan.” The two had looked different as men and while Nathan’s hair had lightened slightly, it was still obviously him.

“Yes sir.” Nathan gulped. Was he in even *more* trouble somehow? He looked down at the sleeping form of Roderick, and hoped he was having sweet dreams. Nathan had taken care of all his younger siblings, so this was nothing new.

Misha could smell the fear. That wouldn’t do. “I’m not going to harm you, but we can’t let crimes go unpunished.”

“I know sir,” said Nathan. “I’m willing to serve full term, but what’ll happen to Roderick?”

The question weighed heavily on all those there. It was known that there was at least one ring of child thieves wandering around the Keep, but no guard had been able to catch even one. The standing order was to capture and detain with as little force as possible.

“What do you see in him?”

“He needs guidance, sir. Heavens only know what he’d get into without me keeping him back.”

“Like in the stable?”

Nathan winced. “That was wrong, sir. If I’d seen the stablehand sooner I might have kept him from getting hurt. I still want to make amends for that.”

Misha smiled. “I think that, for the rest of your sentence, you can do just that.”

Nathan’s face lit up. “I like nature, sir. The beasts and fields and streams. Once all this is over, I think I could be content working on a farm somewhere, perhaps as a shepherd or whatever they needed. But I don’t know if I could leave Roderick. I’d hate him getting into trouble because I wasn’t there to stop him.”

“It seems to me he can get into trouble even *with* you there to stop him. Let me have him for a while; a stable is no place for a baby under normal circumstances. I promise he’ll be well cared for.You can visit him every day, once we have a place for him. ”

“Oh! I’d love that sir!”

“Then that’s settled. Sir Chyrsaor, please go with Nathan and make sure he keeps up his end.”

“Your order to my honor does concert. I’ll make sure Nathan helps the one he hurt. With good will in heart, to the stable we depart!” Chrysaor took Nathan by the hand. A handcuff or rope might have been wiser, but no one suggested it. Nathan was unlikely to try and escape without Roderick.

Misha let out a loud sigh. Having a friend like Rodrick would undoubtedly lead him on the wrong path, but he wasn’t sure if he could keep them separated. Where they would *keep* Roderick was a different matter. There were some who’d not have a problem with him being in a cell like anyone else, even as a babe. The image of a baby in a prison cell, even as relatively nice as the Keep’s, caused Misha to shudder.

When the two were away, the others gathered in. “Yer goin’ soft.”

Misha let out a low growl, and his eyes caught the light, making them look like molten silver or steel flashing in the sun! “And you’d be okay with a child in the middens? Don’t we have enough of those?”

The guard stepped back, then hung his head in shame. “Nathan ain’t so bad sir. I’ve been watchin’ them two. He’s a might too soft-headed, though, and that Rodrick fella’ll lead him around like a lost pup.”

“I know, and he’s liable to join up with those other kids doing crimes. The Keep repairs are going as fast as we can, but it can’t replace the lives lost. We’re racking our brains to figure out what to do about it.”

There were solutions, of course. Forcing the children to work in mines or dangerous situations, or even hanging them for their crimes. None of these would appeal to anyone in the Valley. Misha looked down at the still-sleeping form of Roderick. “I’ll give you this much; you sure know how to cause trouble!”

***

“Well, are you ready Franklin?” Drewbert had packed everything carefully.

“As I’ll ever be Drewbert. You’re really giving him this stuff back?” It was more a statement than a question, with resignation rather than disbelief.

“I didn’t win it fairly. He can have it back if he wants or we can help him get rid of it for a fair price. He’s at Barnhardt’s yet, I think.”

“Alright. I’ll not object. Besides, I’ve been meaning to get there. I hear that lake’s great for us amphibians.”

“It’d have to be.” Drewbert laughed and the two headed off. Their pony had Jerrod’s gear and their own rations, though it wouldn’t be that long a journey.

Chapter 46: Rorlyn’s Flying Lessons [Kamau]

The three Flyers winged their Way North just passing Glen Avery on their left. It was somewhat of an unusual Trio being made up of a dragon an Albatross and a gryphon.

Rorlyn called out to them “How well can you see the Glen off to the West?”

“I can see the area clearly, but I can’t distinguish much fine detail,” said the Dragon.

“I can’t say that I can identify any individual in the open. All though I could certainly tell you the number of people that are there,” Aldwin answered.

“That’s a good distance away to see all that,” Rorlyn told him. “But not totally unexpected as most avians have excellent sight.”

“Is that where we are headed?” Talo asked.

“No, we’re going to continue pressing North,” the gryphon responded. “I want to go all the way up to the Giants Dike and make a pass on that from end-to-end. It will serve not only as good training but also give those at the keep intelligence that they may need.”

“Are they expecting trouble?” Aldwin inquired.

“Not that I am aware of,” answered the flight leader. “As we have a peace with the Lutins there hasn’t been much activity in that area. There are occasional parties that cross over with ill intent, but they are getting fewer and fewer.”

“I hope that’s going to include a stop someplace,” the dragon said. “My wings are already starting to ache.”

“What you are experiencing is also one of the reasons for the flight today,” Rorlyn told him as he slowly banked to the right. “Each of us has a different endurance of how far we can fly without a rest. But there is a little trick that can extend that.”

“I’m certainly interested in any trick like that,” Aldwin answered. “While I still have a good amount of flight time I wouldn’t want to push it.”

“Do both of you see the cliffs a few kilometers ahead of us?” Rorlyn asked. “that’s our next destination.”

“What are we going to do there?” Aldwin asked.

“I’ll show you when we get there,” the gryphon replied.

Before long they arrived at the cliffs and Rorlyn told them to land.

“Now let me show you the trick that will allow you to greatly extend your time in the air.”

Leaping off the cliff the gryphon beat his wings only a few times before he turned sharply to one side. A couple more beats and then he held them still. Both of his companions on the ground were amazed that he was not losing altitude but actually rising. After banking a few times, the large flyer was far above them held aloft by some unseen power.

Rorlyn folded his wings slightly, descending to the two other flyers and landed nearby.

“How did you do that?” Aldwin asked, surprise clearly showing on his face. “Were you using magic of some sort?”

“You might call it natural magic,” the gryphon told them. “When the land is warm the air above it rises, sometimes at a very rapid rate. If you can find the places where that is happening, you can simply ride that air just as you would ride on the current in a river.”

“How do you see the air rising?” Talo asked. “I can’t see any difference between where we are and where you were flying.”

“I’m not sure about dragons but just about every avian I know has the ability to sense air rising. As an albatross, I certainly would expect you to have it. It is not seeing but more like feeling the air move. Just as you can feel the air move across your wings so you can also feel the air that is rising. Once you find it you simply turn into it and search for where it is flowing upward more strongly. After a while you will be able to feel it well enough to just circle in that area and gain a great deal of altitude.”

He pointed out some distance down the ridge a group of eagles circling together.

“They can spend hours just drifting in the air that way. Now if we are on patrol we can’t just stay where we can ride the air so what you do is climb as high as you feel you need and then glide across the valley at a slight angle. You may need to beat your wings in some places but once you reach the other side you should be able to pick up another column of rising air and repeat what you did before.”

“But what if there are no cliffs?” the dragon asked, “Do we just start using our wings until we find more cliffs?”

“Not at all,” Rorlyn said with a shake of his head “It doesn’t take a cliff to create the uplift you need. Anywhere the land rises you are likely to find some. They may not be as powerful as those near a sharp rise, but they are still rideable.”

“Can I try it?” Aldwin asked, his wings already partly open.

“Yes, I want each of you to try. If you have trouble finding them Talo I’ll help you find some to use today.”

The albatross didn’t waste any time and leaped into the air heading in the same direction the gryphon had. While it took a little longer for him to find the uplift it wasn’t long before he was effortlessly riding the wind upward.

“This is great!” he called down, “I could do this for hours.”

“Exactly, that’s the reason they are so useful to us,” the gryphon called back. “If we need to stay on patrol or standing by to assist, we can do so and not tire ourselves out. And as an Albatross you should be able to stay aloft for a time not measured in hours but in days or even weeks.”

Turning to the dragon and pointing he said “Talo, why don’t you try? There is one just a short way in that direction. See if you can find it.”

“Talo try,” he answered, taking to the sky.

He made several passes through the area that had been pointed out to him but still needed to beat his wings to stay aloft. Seeing this Rorlyn took to the air. As he neared the dragon, he told him to follow him and do as he did. Once again it took a very short time for Rorlyn to start gliding upward. The dragon followed and had some success but kept flying out of the column and having to find it again. Rorlyn called them both back to the cliff and went on to explain some of the finer details of using the rising air. Following that they continued their journey up to the Giant’s Dike.

Chapter 47: Relief From the Past [Rimme]

It had now been four days since Jerrod had come to the Barnhardt chapel. Every day was the same slow steady rhythm. At morning Jerrod and Bruin would share breakfast. Then they would head to the forge to make the day's portion of cement. At first, Jerrod only watched Bruin mix the cement, but today, Jerrod was permitted to mix the day's batch himself, though Bruin had to remind him of the particulars. Bruin would then pour in the next batch of cement for tomorrow's section of floor. Bruin would then prepare the mortar while Jerrod sorted the loose floor tiles for size, shape, and color. Then, for the next few hours, Bruin would pour in a bit of mortar, and Jerrod would place the tiles on yesterday's solidified portion. Each day, another thousand tiles were laid, about three feet by ten feet. Then Jerrod would sit with Bruin as he prayed the vespers, and then they would have dinner before resting for tomorrow.

Jerrod and Bruin weren't the only workers here. Ramesh and Elizier, a leopard morph and a fossa morph, were often out bricklaying the adjoining cloister. Two child morphs, Migel and Sal, could be heard on the opposite side of the chapel, hammering tiles into the chapel roof. The other workers seemed weary of the changing porcupine they had heard rumors about, but after a couple days, all six of them sit together for dinner. Malvin sometimes visited as well, though Jerrod was given to understand that he would have joined them for dinner more often were it not for his regular priestly duties and his absent-minded studies.

The regular pattern helped Jerrod focus on something besides his changes. Throughout the day, Jerrod ignored his padded hands, his claws, and his muzzles. What he couldn't ignore was his teeth. Bruin brought him a chewstick after the first day, when he complained about his teeth. Jerrod had been repulsed, but by the day's end had chewed and eaten the whole stick. Jerrod still found it hard to admit he was a porcupine. Bruin took him to the mirror every evening, insisting that Jerrod not avert his eyes for at least two minutes. It was hard, especially the day his nose and muzzle grew in. Jerrod couldn't see the image as anything but a monster; he still couldn't believe he was anything but a monster.

And yet...Jerrod also felt ashamed at thinking of his fellow morphs as monsters. Bruin had been nothing but kind to him. Ramesh could tell many yarns of Barnhardt, while Elizier knew several hymns and psalms by heart.

Jerrod couldn't ignore their ear-twitching and purring, the marks of inhumanity. Yet it hardly made them monstrous to show amusement or contentment. Even Jerrod's own stick-chewing brought him relief and happiness.

Jerrod solved this dilemma by just not thinking about it.

It was really the quiet that most unsettled him. For the past year, Rodrick had been a constant companion, and a good friend for two years before. Often Jerrod found himself wondering what Rodrick would say about him. Rarely was it anything positive. Usually, he thought of Rodrick telling him to escape while Bruin was distracted.

But there was nowhere he could even escape to. Not unless he became a circus animal or lived in the wild, and he wasn't ready for either. To be honest, there wasn't much left in the world that he did feel ready for.

Bruin knocked on the stone wall beside him. "Jerrod? You have visitors."

Jerrod flicked his head up. "Who—-" He recognized the frog immediately. The child he knew by association. "You!"

Franklin and Drewbert stared at him in amazement. Of course, they had been told of Jerrod's changes, but there was a difference between knowing and seeing. Memory of Jerrod's offhand insults of morphs was still strong, and Drewbert had to hold his tongue to not comment on the irony.

Jerrod glanced between the two. "Well, what do you two want to take from me now?"

Drewbert frowned and opened his mouth to object, but Franklin croaked his throat. "We came to return your belongings to you. And to give confession."

Jerrod slowly got to his feet. He wore an apron that he delicately tied around his quills, and a pair of shorts that stopped just below his tail, held up by a heavy rope he wedged between his quills. Everything he wore was decided by how they fit over his quills.

"What confession?"

Drewbert shot Franklin a look of concern, but Franklin nodded back. "You are right. We should admit to our wrongs." Franklin looked back up. "We knew you were cheating, that time at the Jolly Collie. We knew it was wrong. But we...I…wanted revenge for what you said when you entered town. What you called us animal morphs. So... I cheated back, and I helped Drewbert cheat through me."

Jerrod clicked his teeth together, yet another bad habit he'd picked up as a porcupine. Franklin and Drewbert braced against the door, while Bruin watched them all closely.

Jerrod finally nodded. "I knew you two were cheats."

"I am not!" Drewbert could hold his tongue no longer. "After what happened to my father, I have sworn I would never live like that again!"

Jerrod turned away. "No, I'm... I'm sorry. Ulford told me your story. I shouldn't have called you that."

Drewbert blinked. A few days ago, this man had sneered at them and mistrusted them, and nearly attacked him personally with a knife. Drewbert always believed in forgiveness, but even this was hard to believe.

It was too hard not to point out the obvious, though. "I see you've changed since we last met."

Jerrod flinched and whipped his head back around. "If that's all, you two can go now."

“Aren't you curious how we cheated?" Franklin leaned in.

"Not really. What does it matter now?" Jerrod threw up his hands. "I appreciate you two coming all this way to apologize, but I don't need your help. I don't need anyone right now. I just need..." His eyes turned towards Bruin. "I need to make amends. For what I did."

There was a long pause. Bruin patiently stared at Jerrod. Both knew what Jerrod had to do.

Jerrod sighed and turned back around. "So. What did you want me to do for you?"

Drewbert nodded to Franklin, who headed back outside. "As Franklin said, we wanted to give back your stuff. We took it wrongfully from you, and you should have it back."

"Or do with it as you desire," Franklin added as he led the pony into the courtyard, from which hung Jerrod's sack of gold, armor, spear, and two knives. One knife was his; the other was the dagger Jerrod took from Nathan's belongings. Technically, since Nathan had mutinied, it was now Gwayn's dagger, but it wasn't as if Gwayn carefully inventoried their belongings.

Jerrod stepped closer. He fingered the shaft of his spear, the ropes tied against his knife.

The voice of Rodrick was in his head. ‘Throw the knife at the frog. Spear the bear. Take the pony and flee.’

No, that's what Rodrick would have done. Jerrod was tired of running from murder.

"You know how I got this spear?" Jerrod said. "I was still on the run from the soldiers, and I was too afraid to buy one from the smithy or armory. So Rodrick got it for me. Whether he stole it or owned it, I'll never know. But it was never mine to begin with."

Drewbert tilted his head. "And if he had stolen it, would you have returned it?"

"Forgive me. I'm still relearning how to think clearly." He picked up the knife that was his. "This knife, I did buy for myself. It's a useful tool. But it is a weapon. I'm not if I'm allowed to have it while I'm here."

Bruin nodded. "Knives can have many uses, but there are better tools available for most uses."

Jerrod picked up the pouch of gold. "I wish the same were true for this." He opened the pouch and dumped the coins into his hand to count them. "These should all go to my father in Bruckin. It's a small town about 20 miles west of Marigund. I have no idea how to get it to him, though."

"You want to send a parcel to around Marigund?" Franklin brought a webbed finger to his chin. "I know someone who could help with that."

"Wait. Before you do, I want to write him a message. I want this all sent anonymously when you send it. I don't want my family involved with any enemies I made down there." He looked back at the pony. "The armor's also mine, but it won't fit me now, and it won't help my family any. Sell it and give my family the money. And as for this..." he patted the remaining dagger. "Give this to Misha Brightleaf. Tell him it's Nathan's, if he still thinks him worthy of it."

"So... you're not keeping anything?"

"That's right," Jerrod sighed. "I lost my old life a while ago, and I've been searching for a new one ever since. The best way is with a clean break."

Bruin rumbled. "I want you to warn you that a clean break isn't always possible. Those enemies of yours, for example. You are still responsible for your past."

"I know," Jerrod said. "I hope I know." He looked at Bruin first, then the frog and child. He swallowed. "The first big mistake I made was keeping secrets from my family. Would you give me an hour to make amends for that? I'll need some paper, a quill and ink, and sealing wax."

Bruin smiled and looked to Franklin and Drewbert. "Would you care for some lunch while you're here? We've almost finished off our plum marmalade."

***

The snow lashed at him like a thousand whips, buffeting his cloak and his hole-torn boots, themselves laden with ice and sticking to the icy glacier on which he fumbled. On his back he carried the last of his provisions. He remembered he had a horse when he entered these mountains, but it was long dead now from starvation. Rodrick had done his best to dry and cure the meat the way his master did, but there was too much meat, and too much blood, and not enough wood to smoke the meat, and too little experience to guide him.

How long had he been crossing these mountains? And for what? In part, he knew he was searching for an artifact his master had long sought here in these mountains. But it would also not be a bad place to die. He'd lost his home, his master, all sense of purpose. What use did the world have for someone like him? What good was a thief who did nothing but take from humanity, who had nothing to give back but a blade to the throat and a chase in the night?

Rodrick knew the best course of action was to dig out a shelter and wait for the storm to pass. It was pitch black here. One false step, and he'd plunge to his death. Rodrick knew if he stopped, though, he might not have the strength to start up again. Nor would he have the strength to build a shelter, for that matter. Even if he could build one, this storm was far stronger than he, and would likely bury him.

Perhaps it would be best to die here. Perhaps it would be best. Perhaps.

Rodrick kept walking, even as he lost all sensation in his lower legs. It seemed as if it was only his imagination carrying him forward, and his will to see this through to the end. Did the story have to end like this? Was there not something ahead he could be fighting for?

Rodrick suddenly felt his foot get caught on some crack in the ice. He tried to push his foot free, but the snow had already wedged itself into the crack behind him. His fingers were too numb inside his gloves to prod the boot free. He tried to draw his dagger, but it too had been sealed shut in its sheathe. The sack on his back shifted on his shoulders, sending a jolt of pain on his neck. It was the only thing Rodrick could feel, beyond his growing despair.

No, not just despair. If it were only despair, then he would have no reason not to sink into the snow, and let the cold ice soothe his hot blood. But he couldn't let it. This ice was trying to kill him as surely as any guard or soldier would do. This was fear. If he were to let go now, then everything, everything, would have been pointless. Unmourned. Futile. Weak.

Rodrick summoned his willpower again, pushing aside his thoughts. He alone would find a way to survive. On the advice of his master, he never sought the aids of the gods, light or dark. Piety only led to slavery. Slavery was another form of death. One needed to be one's own master, use one's own resources, and depend on others only when they also depended on you.

Rodrick leaned the sack down on the snowy ground. The wind seemed to snap even more harshly at his exposed back. He opened the sack. A rush of warmth immediately escaped from within. So blissful was that sensation of warmth that Rodrick considered climbing in and sleeping. But there was barely room for his hand, much less his body. Besides, the warmth was temporary. The more he exposed the sack's contents, the colder it would get.

Rodrick gently tugged a glove off one hand, and reached in. His clammy hand prickled as it thawed, which made it all the more painful to rummage with. It was near impossible to feel his target by texture or give alone. His food reserves, his iron tools, his master's instruments, the old keepsakes of his youth; all felt like vague uncertain shapes. Rodrick couldn't afford to lose himself in this search. The cold was seeping into his foot by the second. In a fit of desperation, he felt forward to the bag's edge and scraped along out. The thing he sought would have been folded up, logically, and pressed against the sides for insulation...

Rodrick pulled out an empty canvas bag, a rope cinched around its neck. It reminded him of the sacks of potatoes sold at the Silvassa market. What he wouldn't give for a warm baked potato right now...

The wind suddenly howled and inflated the bag, knocking it loose from his grip. Rodrick reached for it, but it had already sailed silently away into the darkness. The sack beside him tipped over, its creaking contents barely noticed in the wind.

Rodrick seized the neck of the sack and closed it before anything could fall out. The jerking movement popped his foot free of the boot and into the snow. He yelped as if an icy dagger had stabbed his foot, but his exposed hand clenched tightly the bag. Where was his glove? He reached around for it, and felt only a thin trail in the snow, as if it had sailed off along the snow.

Rodrick felt a sudden pang of anguish at him. It was only a glove, but his master had taught always to watch his possessions and leave nothing out of sight. But how could he keep an eye in them in this total darkness? If only he could summon a witchlight like his master could. If only his master had taught him even a little magic.

No, he would not cry. He had to stay strong. That was his role.

It was only a few seconds, but his foot was dangerously exposed. Taking a breath, he reached in again and pulled out a long piece of cloth. It was the oiling rag he used to clean his master's sword. Rodrick remembered the many nights he spent as his master watched him like a hawk, eying his movements for any slips.

The wind nearly snatched the prize yet again, but Rodrick pressed it against the sack, closing his glove around them both. For a brief moment, he had actually seen the campfire and smelled his master's breath. This blizzard was making him delirious. He needed to work quickly.

He set the rag down and put his foot on it, bringing immediate sensation back to it. Thus secured, he reached back in and searched for a ribbon to tie the rag around his foot. The items were getting clearer to make out, even in total darkness. He found it — one of the sashes that Jenny wore on her dress. One of Rodrick's first memories was of tying up her dress.

Why was Rodrick carrying it, after all this time? For that matter, how long had it been? Rodrick didn't know his birth year, though he estimated he'd seen six summers by the time he'd been dressed up as a lord. It was around eight summers when he'd met his master, and about twelve when he'd lost his master.

Wait... Rodrick knew the value of horses. He knew how expensive they were to procure and to upkeep. His master bought horses on occasion, particularly for long overland journeys. At least once he and his master had gone into these mountains, carrying a house in tow.

But... the last time Rodrick had taken a horse he had been in Metamor.

The ground suddenly shifted beneath him. Rodrick fell backwards, while the bag slipped another way. Completely forgetting about his foot or his makeshift shoe, Rodrick leapt after the bag, kicking and chasing the sound of fabric sliding against ice. The wind threatened to knock him aside. He snapped off his cloak and pushed it against the ground, forming a sled to chase after the sack.

The cold lashed at him almost as much as his master's and Jenny's whips combined, but he kept after it. The ground seemed to be on a slope, leading further down into the darkness. But this was also to his advantage; the snow did not impede his progress, and with a couple kicks, Rodrick easily reached the sack.

No sooner did he grab it, once again by its neck, the ground suddenly disappeared beneath them. The cloak sailed into inky blackness as Rodrick fell back and grabbed, desperately, for the vanished ground. Snow and rocky ice sliced open his exposed blistered fingers as he grasped the cliff's surface. It took all his strength to stay upright when Rodrick finally shoved his hand into a crack. His shoulder snapped. Rodrick's chest slammed into the rock wall, but his gloved hand held firm to the sack, which threatened to pull his other arm from his shoulder.

There was a brief solace from the winds that howled above him — or perhaps he was dazed from the rush of panic and his newfound predicament — and then the winds shifted, and howled against the sides of the cliff. The thread-bare shirt Rodrick wore fluttered like a flag, sapping his last reserves of strength. Rodrick could feel his fingers bleeding, slowly weakening his numb grip. Struggle as he might, Rodrick couldn't lift either of his arms. Death above was possible, but death below was certain. There was no escape for him.

"Hey! Up here!"

Rodrick looked up. There was a woman standing on the ledge, wearing a heavy fur coat that covered all but her face and hands. She seemed to glow with some natural inner beauty... no, magic. It was the first bit of light that Rodrick had seen in these mountains, and it made his eyes water with her beauty.

"Are you alright? Take my hand! I can help you!"

Help. Rodrick stared at her again, searching for a motive. Her mouth was free of any sneers, and her gray eyes, deeper than any pool of water, bore no malice. But what was she doing in these mountains? Was she the cause of this snowstorm? Had she laid this trap for him to take?

"I can do nothing for this storm," she said, as if reading his thoughts. "But I can help you. Please. Let go of the bag and take my hand."

"L-let go?" Rodrick's voice was rough, and his tongue felt foreign to him, almost like he'd forgotten what words were. It had been so long, and so rare, that he'd had someone to talk to, to be vulnerable too...

The wind lashed at him again and reminded him of his master's words. "Who

are you?" he demanded.

"Please. I can bring you somewhere safe and warm. I can give you your life back. Just let go and reach for me."

"If..." Rodrick choked back some air and shouted against the wind. "If you have magic, then lift me up. Make a foothold for me so I can climb up.

She shook her head. "I cannot interfere that way. Only you can reach out for me. Please, Rodrick."

Rodrick looked again at her, and saw a look of fear, quite unlike his own. Whereas he feared losing his own life, hers was a fear of watching someone else lose theirs. A look of genuine concern. No hatred, no disgust. Rodrick had never seen such a face, at least not directed towards him. Always he had been a disappointment to his guardians, who expected the impossible from him, always challenging him to be better.

Here was a simple thing she asked. And sometimes, as his master said, survival was more important than pride. Yet his glove remained firmly on the sack. How could he let it go? Everything he had was there. And what would he be without it?

His bare hand slipped from the wet stone, and Rodrick watched as the woman, sad and defeated, faded into the distance. The wind began to sing. Rodrick held the sack to his head and closed his eyes as the icy rocks below approached. For a moment, from inside the bag, Rodrick could hear Jenny sing a lullaby.

***

Rodrick awoke. He could tell because it was light out. Whether it was morning or evening, he couldn't tell right away. He listened. There was too much noise for morning. It must have been evening then. But was it June 6th, or the 7th? Or even longer? How long was he out?

Rodrick quickly took stock of his surroundings. It was a solid room with stone walls and a solid stone floor, but it wasn't his dungeon cell. He sat in a cot with a blanket covering him. The cot, the blanket, and even the room were bigger than he expected them to be.

His eyes widened as he pulled off the blanket. He was completely naked underneath; even his body hair was gone. Furthermore, his legs and arms had become thin and weak.

Rodrick fell back against the pillow. The Curse. So that was what happened. This must be the sickbay within the Keep. He had become a child morph.

Was that how the Keep had judged his inner heart? Not some proud fearsome beast of legend, or even a tough brutish beast of burden, but a simple ordinary child?

Well, Rodrick smirked, at least he wasn't a woman.

His mind then turned towards escape. As a child morph, he still had the option to leave Metamor. It would have to be as a stowaway. Once outside, he could pass as a freshly-minted teenage recruit. Though it would mean he'd have to keep traveling between towns, never settling. Just as he'd always done for years and years...

No. Bad. Want to go home. LET ME GO HOME!

The inner voice seemed to come from nowhere and blasted his inner thoughts like a tempest. Rodrick found himself shrinking suddenly from a child into an infant. He fumbled for the blanket and ended up tossing across the room. For a moment, Rodrick feared that he was going to shrink and disappear entirely.

He had to... he had to be strong... for his master...

"Rodrick? Can you hear me?"

He was still in the body of a two-year-old when the bear morph entered. The bear was dressed as an orderly but lacked a sharp edge in his bearing. This must have been one of the doctor's assistants, in whatever sickbay he was in. Rodrick observed all of this from a distance; the baby was bawling and weeping and curling up in the cot.

"I want... I want..." The toddler mumbled. The infant's instincts seemed to consume his mind like a thick sludge, and while Rodrick himself was calm and rational, all his body's movements and behaviors were controlled by the infant. Annoying images of soft beds and plush toys were drifting through his mind. The damn child wanted softness and safety! After all Rodrick had been through, this child had the temerity to think selfishly!

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay," the bear said as it wrapped the blanket around him and rocked him gently. "Lothes is here for you, little one." Little one! Rodrick was stuck trying to think of a way to recover from this and regain control over his body, but the body kept whimpering. How he wished he could muffle this annoying child's mouth.

This wasn't part of the curse! Rodrick had heard stories of what it was like for someone to re-enter their youth. There was the occasional story of someone losing their memory, but usually they just turned into miniature adults with a few childish mannerisms. Nowhere did they mention this being a prisoner in their own mind.

Although Rodrick had heard stories of people who suffered from cases where their body had shut down but their minds were still active. Usually there was magic involved, siphoning off their soul's energy, or containing it in an artificial prison. Now, the Curse was supposedly bound to someone's soul, so it might have been possible that, with the right incantation, a similar...

"There, there. Are you still there?"

"Shut up, you fat hairy twit," Rodrick said in annoyance, trying to recover his train of thought.

"What?" Lothes stopped rocking him.

Rodrick blinked in shock. No longer was he looking in from a distance. He was back in his body. The tears were still wet on his cheeks, but there was no sadness, no blubbering on his lips. Dammit! Rodrick tried to think. What was he supposed to do here? Cry some more? Maybe flail his arms? Dammit! Do something!

"What did you say to me?" Lothes asked again, a bit of concern.

"N-nothing," Rodrick said.

Lothes nodded. "Interesting." He set Rodrick down and stood up. "Will you wait here just one second?"

"No, no..." Rodrick said weakly. He tried to whimper, but a sharp voice hit him like a tempest. Weakness! Idiot! How dare he whimper like a useless fool!

The bear closed the door behind him. Rodrick cursed himself. How dare the child chose that exact moment to go into hiding! If he could have kept up the baby act just a bit longer, he could have been deemed innocent and been released from prison, maybe even allowed to leave. Damn it all! Damn this blasted prison of a body he was in!

Rodrick lay back on the bed, waiting for the child in his head to appear again. But there was only silence.

As soon as Rodrick closed his eyes, the tears began to flow.

Chapter 48: Endings and Beginnings [Indy, Rimme]

Noontide June 6, 708 CR

The flying lessons with Rorlyn had been interesting and very helpful to both Talo and Alwin were much stronger in flight. Kasaima had also paid attention. Though he was still changing, Eastern Dragons could also fly, and it would pay to know something about it.

The rug Kasaima had enchanted was now fully ready. They had loaded the center with gear and sat around it in a circle: Kasaima, Trey, Yuèliàng (with Yuèjiàn), Rita, Aldwin, and Talo. Kasaima and Yuèliàng both knew how to steer the rug, but the others didn’t, so they would learn one by one.

The enchantments for a magic carpet were quite complex, as Kasaima explained. First of all, there was the upward force that kept the carpet airborne. There were special charms designed to allow any Keeper to direct it—and only Keepers, as a safe measure. There were subtle charms along the edges of the carpet to pull back anyone who rolled too close to the edge—but not someone who deliberately stepped off. And there was a wind charm so that even at top speed, the wind did not overwhelm them. And there were a few more spells as well, something to do with make the air warm enough and thick enough for breathing.

"Is this safe?" Aldwin squirmed in his seat.

"I trust Kasaima with his magic," Rita said, though she kept three limbs on the carpet at all times and eyed the edges uneasily.

The Barrier Mountains loomed before them, imposing and beautiful. Blinding snow-covered tips leading to greener areas below. Through a path long covered with debris onto a broken road: clearly there, but long neglected.

Trey, Rita, and Aldwin all took one last glimpse back as the Valley faded out of view. For Trey, the only home he’d ever known. For Rita and Aldwin, a last glimpse of the world they knew anything about. The three could feel, now, for Talo whose own world had been taken from him so abruptly.

And then Trey turned and looked forward. The winding road going ever on, the valleys full of life. From somewhere in his memory, he started singing a song*:

“One more step along the world I go,

one more step along the world I go,

from the old things to the new,

keep me traveling along with you: