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Family Matters
© 2022 by M. Mitch Marmel
Thumbnail art by
tegerio, color by 
Major Matt Mason
Part Twenty-two
Winterbough:
As it happened, it was Belladonna Sumac's scroll that I pulled out. A rather nice tube, I noticed. Solid ebony, with milky crystal ends held in place by black ribbons encased in wax. A very professional bit of work, likely done by one of the [Eldest], and it was sort of a shame to have to break the seals and fish out the papyrus contained inside.
I unrolled it; it was, by the way, very expensive stuff, and I assumed that was Anastasia's work, ordering it from the Capitals. The calligraphy was very ornate, and (more [Eldest] stuff) was set forth in a variety of Elfhamian that was quite ancient. I had to read it out quite slowly, translating it on the fly both into modern Elfhamian, and into Standard for the benefit of ex-Prisoners, Travelers and Widdershinfolk alike.
The gist of Sumac's challenge wasn't a surprise, though I (as the sire of Sixth) found it somewhat dismaying. Sure enough, her Challenge was going to be a test of skill. Namely, throwing rolling-pins at a target for accuracy. In fact, as I read the stipulations, I could see that the rules of the archery competitions that had been held in the Vale since time out of mind were used as the model; same method of moving back targets, getting chances to hit, tie-breaking, and so forth.
The stipulation that the target would be in the shape of a roebuck's head, five feet six inches off the ground, was a detail that I think I could have done without.
Sixth, for his part, clapped enthusiastically, though Lady preserve me, I don't know why. I don't know why the roebucks were so enthusiastic, either, unless this was a fresh avenue for betting. I could even hear a few twits arguing as to who was going to craft the target. So help me, if they crafted it in the image of my buck-fawn, there was going to be Trouble.
I asked Belladonna Sumac if I'd read out her Challenge correctly, and if she had anything to add. She glanced at me, wrung her paws nervously, and shook her head, vigorously.
For her part, Una Sawyer tilted her nose in the air, and gave an audible sniff of disdain, without even looking at her rival.
Speaking of which, it was her Challenge I extracted next from the basket. Her tube was a very plain affair of unpolished wood, sealed with clumps of beeswax, and with persimmon leaves as pull-tabs. A homely and humble affair, and somefur was making a definite Point. I could see the interior of Sumac's ears turn red, and she glanced away quickly when she saw I was looking at her.
Sawyer's challenge was written in carefully printed, modern, Elfhamian, and was brief and to the point. Each Challenger was to make one dish for Sixth, and Sixth alone, and he was to judge which was the better. The dish could be starter, main course, or after. There was to be no magicks involved, and no use of any ingredients that could spoil the taste-buds of Sixth or make his stomachs upset.
Thunderous applause from the roebucks and the Wolves. This was more like, as it dealt with the great and glorious subject of Food, Eating Thereof. Sixth, for his part, was beaming broadly, as he found the Challenge very much to his taste. The reaction of the [Doe-Moot] was interesting, as one could see long and careful conferences starting.
I had a strong notion where their conversations were going. Some relief, in that Sawyer had not taken the path of choosing the likely selection that Sumac had also chosen, thus throwing the selection of Challenges to me, the Master of Elfhame. Some worry, in that Sawyer had also chosen a Challenge that was absolutely beyond reproach, in that cookery-skill was something an Elfhamian roe-doe took enormous pride in, and indeed was a mark of rank in the [Doe-Moot]. (And was a reason that the [Doe-Moot] was so keen on Stormy's Stove, and what it knew.) While I was sure the [Moot] had confidence in their champion, they were worried, and rightly so, what Sawyer might have up her puffy, green-colored sleeves.
Since there was no stalemate, I announced that I would keep my own selection sealed up until further notice. Puzzled applause at that, and more than a few glances of worry among the [Moot], who obviously hadn't figured on a bit of vest-front card playing by me. I had a notion that my mate was going to start quizzing me closely on the subject.
Having prepared for this eventuality, I read out (haltingly) a notice in Draconian that my tube was to be held in abeyance. Windimere, who was listening very carefully, raised her head, and nodded very vigorously. She also craned her neck, opened her mouth, extended her tongue, and licked me from kneecap to antlers, by way of indicating her agreement. I'd have been annoyed, except that right about then, it had gotten a bit colder, and the bath of dragon-slobber actually felt rather pleasant.
The meeting was thereupon closed, and the roebucks and wolves went back to drinking and playing post-ball (once Windimere had launched herself into the sky and had flown back to her lair). The [Doe-Moot] gathered at the far end of the field, and huddled together in conference.
The two Challengers, however, stayed rooted in their chairs, glancing at each other suspiciously from time to time.
***
Roland:
Gawain leaned forward, directing his gaze at the bear. “You were one of those twits the Master spoke of in his report.”
Colonel Mason smiled. “Only when on vacation, Your Highness.”
My nephew’s eyes narrowed. “Tell us more about these ‘alternities’ of yours. Are they all populated by Lowfolk?”
The bear’s smile never faltered. “I confess I never heard the term before I came to Faerie, Your Highness, but to your question, I will try to give you a response.” So saying, he drew a small, fat disc from a pocket of his greatcoat, placed it on the floor, and stepped back as it glowed.
The area between us was filled with a mass of small, glowing bubbles. “Collectively, we call it the multiverse,” the Colonel said as he began to pace around the image, his paws behind his back. “Each of these bubbles is an alternity.” One turned red, and he walked up to it and pointed. “This is the alternity that you call The Shining Land. Faerie and what you term the Lowfolk world are here.”
“You had best not say such things in front of the Primate,” Gawain remarked.
“So many?” my brother asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty. We have no idea of the exact number. Now,” and a few scattered bubbles gained small red spots, “the dots you see show where Gaps have appeared in other alternities, those Gaps all originating here, in the Shining Land. Commander Hartoh was sent to Eastness to observe and report.”
“Just her?” I asked.
“Yes, Sir. She knows the risks involved, but she’s quite resourceful,” the bear added with a smile. “While she was there,” and the red sphere grew a spot of bilious green, “the ruler of that state invited what we call an Incursion – from here,” and a bubble turned the same venomous shade.
“The fell beast that the Master reported,” the King said.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Colonel Mason said. “The Master destroyed the beast and closed the portal, which came from here,” and he pointed at the green bubble. “On his second trip to Eastness, the Master encountered evidence that an Elf, a citizen of Eastness, was attempting to invite another Incursion from here,” and a third bubble changed color, this time to purple.
“Our organization, the Temporal Corps, explores the alternities to prevent these Incursions from happening,” and a grim expression crossed his muzzle, “because if they get in, they’ll destroy everything in their paths.” Several of the bubbles turned black. “After the second attempted Incursion, the Corps established a monitoring office in Eastness.”
Gawain frowned. “Run by Lowfolk?”
“No, Your Highness. We recruited two Elves.” My nephew looked perturbed by that, but fell silent. “We prefer to be unobtrusive,” and he smiled again, “because we earnestly do not want to interfere. However, the Gaps remain an issue, and Commander Hartoh made contact with the Master of Elfhame to continue her research. She provided the Master with a copy of her current work.”
“Have,” and my brother paused to cough, “have any been injured or killed by the Gaps?”
“Not that we are aware of, Your Majesty,” the skunk-femme said. “But there are disappearances, inexplicable phenomena - one town experienced a rain of live fish out of a clear sky, for example."
“So your appearance here is to attempt to heal?” I asked.
"We're studying them first. After sufficient study we hope to determine a cause, and then try to find a way to stop them from occurring."
Gawain asked, “What is it that you require from my father the King-Emperor?”
Low smiled. "We require nothing, Your Highness. The reason I'm here is because two of the smaller craft under my command were sighted, and to forestall a panic I have come to explain our presence here."
“Are you taking steps to prevent such incidents?” I asked.
"Yes. My ship is currently in the middle of what you call the Embracing Sea, after I ordered it moved. I have ordered strict limits on how far any of the smaller craft may move. I also repeat my earlier apology for the incident."
I glanced back at my brother and nephew, and there followed a brief exchange in Elf-mind. I turned back to the Commodore and the Colonel as the projection bubbles faded. “Your apology is accepted, Commodore. And if there is a need for further communication between your furs and mine?
"Send a message to the Master of Elfhame, Your Highness. He is in contact with Commander Hartoh-Mason, and she'll be able to reach me."
At this Gawain, almost audibly winced. “Must it be him?”
"I'm afraid so, Your Highness. As I said, we try to limit contact."
“If only that were possible,” Gawain muttered under his breath.
"Unless there is something else to discuss at this time? Dismiss, Commodore," I said.
The skunk-femme and the bear bowed, saluted, and turned to go. The bear, Colonel Mason, walked some ten paces and paused, placing a paw to his forehead as he turned and said, “Oh, just one more thing, Your Highness.”
“Yes?” I asked.
“As an earnest of our goodwill, the Commodore and I would like to invite His Majesty to see the Musashi for himself.”
And with that, the skunk and the bear left the Hall of Statecraft, leaving me, my royal brother, and my nephew looking quizzically at each other.
***
Tali:
We celebrated my move closer to Greytor by having a nice fish dinner by the pond. Ooo-er caught the fish, saving out a few raw ones for herself; Missy cleaned the fish, and I did the cooking. Missy and Ooo-er’s adopted daughter Sunny joined us, and she’s such a happy little girl, especially since she knows she’s getting a little brother and little sister. Out of respect for the weather, I had erected a canopy so we could all snuggle out of the wet.
“The first Challenge is supposed to be soon,” Missy remarked.
Sunny looked up. “Can we go see?”
Ooo-er looked at me, and I said, “Sure. It might be worth watching.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
© 2022 by M. Mitch Marmel
Thumbnail art by
tegerio, color by 
Major Matt MasonPart Twenty-two
Winterbough:
As it happened, it was Belladonna Sumac's scroll that I pulled out. A rather nice tube, I noticed. Solid ebony, with milky crystal ends held in place by black ribbons encased in wax. A very professional bit of work, likely done by one of the [Eldest], and it was sort of a shame to have to break the seals and fish out the papyrus contained inside.
I unrolled it; it was, by the way, very expensive stuff, and I assumed that was Anastasia's work, ordering it from the Capitals. The calligraphy was very ornate, and (more [Eldest] stuff) was set forth in a variety of Elfhamian that was quite ancient. I had to read it out quite slowly, translating it on the fly both into modern Elfhamian, and into Standard for the benefit of ex-Prisoners, Travelers and Widdershinfolk alike.
The gist of Sumac's challenge wasn't a surprise, though I (as the sire of Sixth) found it somewhat dismaying. Sure enough, her Challenge was going to be a test of skill. Namely, throwing rolling-pins at a target for accuracy. In fact, as I read the stipulations, I could see that the rules of the archery competitions that had been held in the Vale since time out of mind were used as the model; same method of moving back targets, getting chances to hit, tie-breaking, and so forth.
The stipulation that the target would be in the shape of a roebuck's head, five feet six inches off the ground, was a detail that I think I could have done without.
Sixth, for his part, clapped enthusiastically, though Lady preserve me, I don't know why. I don't know why the roebucks were so enthusiastic, either, unless this was a fresh avenue for betting. I could even hear a few twits arguing as to who was going to craft the target. So help me, if they crafted it in the image of my buck-fawn, there was going to be Trouble.
I asked Belladonna Sumac if I'd read out her Challenge correctly, and if she had anything to add. She glanced at me, wrung her paws nervously, and shook her head, vigorously.
For her part, Una Sawyer tilted her nose in the air, and gave an audible sniff of disdain, without even looking at her rival.
Speaking of which, it was her Challenge I extracted next from the basket. Her tube was a very plain affair of unpolished wood, sealed with clumps of beeswax, and with persimmon leaves as pull-tabs. A homely and humble affair, and somefur was making a definite Point. I could see the interior of Sumac's ears turn red, and she glanced away quickly when she saw I was looking at her.
Sawyer's challenge was written in carefully printed, modern, Elfhamian, and was brief and to the point. Each Challenger was to make one dish for Sixth, and Sixth alone, and he was to judge which was the better. The dish could be starter, main course, or after. There was to be no magicks involved, and no use of any ingredients that could spoil the taste-buds of Sixth or make his stomachs upset.
Thunderous applause from the roebucks and the Wolves. This was more like, as it dealt with the great and glorious subject of Food, Eating Thereof. Sixth, for his part, was beaming broadly, as he found the Challenge very much to his taste. The reaction of the [Doe-Moot] was interesting, as one could see long and careful conferences starting.
I had a strong notion where their conversations were going. Some relief, in that Sawyer had not taken the path of choosing the likely selection that Sumac had also chosen, thus throwing the selection of Challenges to me, the Master of Elfhame. Some worry, in that Sawyer had also chosen a Challenge that was absolutely beyond reproach, in that cookery-skill was something an Elfhamian roe-doe took enormous pride in, and indeed was a mark of rank in the [Doe-Moot]. (And was a reason that the [Doe-Moot] was so keen on Stormy's Stove, and what it knew.) While I was sure the [Moot] had confidence in their champion, they were worried, and rightly so, what Sawyer might have up her puffy, green-colored sleeves.
Since there was no stalemate, I announced that I would keep my own selection sealed up until further notice. Puzzled applause at that, and more than a few glances of worry among the [Moot], who obviously hadn't figured on a bit of vest-front card playing by me. I had a notion that my mate was going to start quizzing me closely on the subject.
Having prepared for this eventuality, I read out (haltingly) a notice in Draconian that my tube was to be held in abeyance. Windimere, who was listening very carefully, raised her head, and nodded very vigorously. She also craned her neck, opened her mouth, extended her tongue, and licked me from kneecap to antlers, by way of indicating her agreement. I'd have been annoyed, except that right about then, it had gotten a bit colder, and the bath of dragon-slobber actually felt rather pleasant.
The meeting was thereupon closed, and the roebucks and wolves went back to drinking and playing post-ball (once Windimere had launched herself into the sky and had flown back to her lair). The [Doe-Moot] gathered at the far end of the field, and huddled together in conference.
The two Challengers, however, stayed rooted in their chairs, glancing at each other suspiciously from time to time.
***
Roland:
Gawain leaned forward, directing his gaze at the bear. “You were one of those twits the Master spoke of in his report.”
Colonel Mason smiled. “Only when on vacation, Your Highness.”
My nephew’s eyes narrowed. “Tell us more about these ‘alternities’ of yours. Are they all populated by Lowfolk?”
The bear’s smile never faltered. “I confess I never heard the term before I came to Faerie, Your Highness, but to your question, I will try to give you a response.” So saying, he drew a small, fat disc from a pocket of his greatcoat, placed it on the floor, and stepped back as it glowed.
The area between us was filled with a mass of small, glowing bubbles. “Collectively, we call it the multiverse,” the Colonel said as he began to pace around the image, his paws behind his back. “Each of these bubbles is an alternity.” One turned red, and he walked up to it and pointed. “This is the alternity that you call The Shining Land. Faerie and what you term the Lowfolk world are here.”
“You had best not say such things in front of the Primate,” Gawain remarked.
“So many?” my brother asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty. We have no idea of the exact number. Now,” and a few scattered bubbles gained small red spots, “the dots you see show where Gaps have appeared in other alternities, those Gaps all originating here, in the Shining Land. Commander Hartoh was sent to Eastness to observe and report.”
“Just her?” I asked.
“Yes, Sir. She knows the risks involved, but she’s quite resourceful,” the bear added with a smile. “While she was there,” and the red sphere grew a spot of bilious green, “the ruler of that state invited what we call an Incursion – from here,” and a bubble turned the same venomous shade.
“The fell beast that the Master reported,” the King said.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Colonel Mason said. “The Master destroyed the beast and closed the portal, which came from here,” and he pointed at the green bubble. “On his second trip to Eastness, the Master encountered evidence that an Elf, a citizen of Eastness, was attempting to invite another Incursion from here,” and a third bubble changed color, this time to purple.
“Our organization, the Temporal Corps, explores the alternities to prevent these Incursions from happening,” and a grim expression crossed his muzzle, “because if they get in, they’ll destroy everything in their paths.” Several of the bubbles turned black. “After the second attempted Incursion, the Corps established a monitoring office in Eastness.”
Gawain frowned. “Run by Lowfolk?”
“No, Your Highness. We recruited two Elves.” My nephew looked perturbed by that, but fell silent. “We prefer to be unobtrusive,” and he smiled again, “because we earnestly do not want to interfere. However, the Gaps remain an issue, and Commander Hartoh made contact with the Master of Elfhame to continue her research. She provided the Master with a copy of her current work.”
“Have,” and my brother paused to cough, “have any been injured or killed by the Gaps?”
“Not that we are aware of, Your Majesty,” the skunk-femme said. “But there are disappearances, inexplicable phenomena - one town experienced a rain of live fish out of a clear sky, for example."
“So your appearance here is to attempt to heal?” I asked.
"We're studying them first. After sufficient study we hope to determine a cause, and then try to find a way to stop them from occurring."
Gawain asked, “What is it that you require from my father the King-Emperor?”
Low smiled. "We require nothing, Your Highness. The reason I'm here is because two of the smaller craft under my command were sighted, and to forestall a panic I have come to explain our presence here."
“Are you taking steps to prevent such incidents?” I asked.
"Yes. My ship is currently in the middle of what you call the Embracing Sea, after I ordered it moved. I have ordered strict limits on how far any of the smaller craft may move. I also repeat my earlier apology for the incident."
I glanced back at my brother and nephew, and there followed a brief exchange in Elf-mind. I turned back to the Commodore and the Colonel as the projection bubbles faded. “Your apology is accepted, Commodore. And if there is a need for further communication between your furs and mine?
"Send a message to the Master of Elfhame, Your Highness. He is in contact with Commander Hartoh-Mason, and she'll be able to reach me."
At this Gawain, almost audibly winced. “Must it be him?”
"I'm afraid so, Your Highness. As I said, we try to limit contact."
“If only that were possible,” Gawain muttered under his breath.
"Unless there is something else to discuss at this time? Dismiss, Commodore," I said.
The skunk-femme and the bear bowed, saluted, and turned to go. The bear, Colonel Mason, walked some ten paces and paused, placing a paw to his forehead as he turned and said, “Oh, just one more thing, Your Highness.”
“Yes?” I asked.
“As an earnest of our goodwill, the Commodore and I would like to invite His Majesty to see the Musashi for himself.”
And with that, the skunk and the bear left the Hall of Statecraft, leaving me, my royal brother, and my nephew looking quizzically at each other.
***
Tali:
We celebrated my move closer to Greytor by having a nice fish dinner by the pond. Ooo-er caught the fish, saving out a few raw ones for herself; Missy cleaned the fish, and I did the cooking. Missy and Ooo-er’s adopted daughter Sunny joined us, and she’s such a happy little girl, especially since she knows she’s getting a little brother and little sister. Out of respect for the weather, I had erected a canopy so we could all snuggle out of the wet.
“The first Challenge is supposed to be soon,” Missy remarked.
Sunny looked up. “Can we go see?”
Ooo-er looked at me, and I said, “Sure. It might be worth watching.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Skunk
Size 1280 x 828px
File Size 134.5 kB
Listed in Folders
That was in 
EOCostello's story Dance, Ballerina, Dance where he ran into a bunch of cultists. I think it was a very large blacksmith's hammer that dented WW5's head and resulted in his having silver-steel teeth.
EOCostello's story Dance, Ballerina, Dance where he ran into a bunch of cultists. I think it was a very large blacksmith's hammer that dented WW5's head and resulted in his having silver-steel teeth.
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