1/4/1348
late morning

"Matthew, can you step in here for a moment?" Callas said, opening the door just a crack.

"Yes, lady." Matthew said, fear crossing his face as he tried to think of what he had done to personally be called before the Headmistress.

"Matthew, can you run down to the archives and ask the scholars down there to pull up a list of people named Jonas that are currently employed or working as Clerics for Epona. Try to get them to find their ages and current locations as well. While they are busy doing that, I want you to go around the temple and look at the backs of paintings and any art that has a signature. I want you to pay attention to the names. Look for any signatures that are signed by Jonas Shorl. If you find some note the date they were signed and where they are."

Matthew nodded, hoping that he remembered all that. "It may be some time before I return, lady."

"Not a problem, Matthew."

Matthew turned and left. It was hours later when he returned. He politely knocked and entered when bade to. "The list you wanted, Lady." The top list is the names you requested from the archives, the bottom list is my own. It is short but covers a great many years, my lady. Is there anything else?"

"Thank you, Matthew, nothing else. You may return to your post."

The list from the archives read like this:

Jonas Wilmot 17 London, England Acolyte

Jonas Heras 32 Bonn Switzerland Blacksmith

Jonas Aquinas 45 Milan, Italy 3rd in command,Milan Temple

Jonas Beryl 15 Madrid, Spain Stable Hand

Jonas Xerxes 21 Madrid, Spain Acolyte Presumed Dead 12/21/1347

Jonas Vasillos 29 Belfast, Ireland Temple Guard

Jonas Natichos ? Prague, Czech Republic Assignment unknown

Jonas Marit 35 Oslo, Norway Ambassador to Queen of Norway for Epona

Jonas Shorly 85 Ankara Turkey Retired Headmaster

Peter Jonas Zhukov 47 Moscow, Russia Headmaster, Russia

Second list in Matthew's handwriting:

Jonas Shorl East Corridor Epona Drawing 1201

Jonas Shorl Acolyte training room Epona Drawing 1152

Jonas Shorl Main Sitting Hall Epona Drawing 1305

Jonas Shorl Main Cafeteria Epona Horse Drawing 1276

Callas read down the list in her hand. Interesting. I didn't think we'd have this many people named Jonas, it's not exactly a common name. And scattered all over Europe, as well. Her eye lit on Jonas Xerxes. "Ah, he's one of the ones whose bodies we didn't find. Probably fled the battle, poor thing. Not everyone's cut out to be a battle cleric. I wonder how many others we lost that way?" A couple of entries down, there was Jonas Natichos, who had neither age nor current assignment listed.

Callas frowned. Sloppy bookkeeping? No, wait, that was usually the signal that someone was on an undercover assignment. So who's he working for, and what's his assignment? Peter would probably know, since he's probably a member of the Russian Temple. A couple more entries down, and... "Ah. Jonas Shorly. Retired Headmaster? That makes sense...and yet it doesn't. I suppose, if it's the same person, he had the chance to re-enter as a novice and work his way up to Headmaster. I wonder which post he had?" She closed her eyes, trying to remember her Temple history. "Hmph. If I'd known that I was going to actually need this stuff, I would have paid more attention during my history lessons. He'd almost have to have been the Spanish or French Headmaster, since I know Peter's predecessor died of old age, and Tol's been Headmaster in Germany for absolute ages now, unless he retired young like I'm hoping to. Odd. Well, he's my first candidate. And...oh, look. Peter's middle name is Jonas. Fascinating."

She scanned down Matthew's list, muttering to herself. "1201...1152...looks like the most recent one was about fifty-three years ago. He's been around all this time, then, but nobody probably remembers the last time we got one of his drawings."

She set the list down, gazing off into space for a moment. Then she returned to the list of clerics. Well, I suppose I can go talk to the one here. Jonas Beryl, stablehand. She blinked, and said aloud, "Oh, hey, I know him! He's the tall, shy one who always mumbles when I talk to him. Daffodil likes him. I should go take a look at him."

She pulled on her cloak and headed down to the stables. She paused in Dream's stall, and muttered a few long lines, moving her hands in practiced movements. She closed her eyes and felt the familiar touch of vertigo as this particular spell took hold.

An observer who could see magic would have noticed a cloud of it form around her head and then sink itself directly into her eyes, disappearing until all that glowed magically were her pupils.

She looked around. Dream, under True Sight, looked exactly like he did normally, shifting dapples and all. She scratched him, glancing around the stall.

She frowned. What on earth... Floating in the air near the ceiling was a...thing. It almost looked like the one octopus Callas had ever seen, when she was in Lisbon. Its colors were a garish pink and blue, swirling together and almost seeming to ripple. She scratched Dream's neck. Dream, can you see the thing floating up by the ceiling?

He cocked his head and surveyed the ceiling. Nothing but spiderwebs. What's there?

Something icky, I think. Wait a minute--there's Jonas, I need to catch him. The thing doesn't seem to be doing anything, I'll be back in a couple of minutes. She walked out of the stall towards the end of the corridor, where she saw the lanky teenager sitting on a stool, apparently drawing something on a canvas. He was glowing, faintly, with magic.

She walked up to him and peered over his shoulder. "Hello. What are you working on?"

Jonas jumped, his hands staying steady but the rest of him betraying his startlement. "Headmistress! Er." He stammered and then seemed to find his voice. "It's a drawing, Lady."

"May I see?" He handed it over to her silently. She looked at the drawing and wasn't surprised to find that it was a drawing of Epona, familiar and yet strangely off, somehow, not quite how she knew her mother looked...and then Callas blushed. The eyes, the shape of the mouth, and the tilt of the head were all herself. Is this how they see me? she wondered. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she could see that the style of the drawing this Jonas was creating was almost identical to that of Jonas Shorl, who she was quickly coming to think of as "her" Jonas. The resemblance was almost frightening, as a matter of fact. She handed the drawing back and cleared her throat. "It's lovely. Tell me, did you have a teacher? Or did you teach yourself how to draw?"

The boy looked at her from under a mop of dark hair that fell into his eyes. "That's the funny thing. It just came to me a couple of years ago, about the same time that I started feeling the calling to join the Temple. Every so often, I just get itchy hands, and...these drawings come out." He paused, looking down at the canvas. "It sounds strange, I know."

"Not too strange at all, actually. I've heard artists sometimes feel that way." Callas was taking her chance to study him. the magic he was glowing with was and all-over glow, but it seemed concentrated in his eyes, and quite strongly in his hands. "I'd like to see this when you're finished with it."

"Actually, it's almost done, Headmistress." Jonas was seeming to relax slightly, stammering a little less. "Just a minute." He picked up his charcoals and added a few more lines, a little background, and then signed the back of the picture with the name Jonas Beryl.

Then the oddest thing happened. Callas would have missed it had she not been watching him sign his name. The moment the boy finished signing his name, the magic on his hands swirled, eddied, and abruptly vanished. She blinked, puzzled.

"Would you like it?" Jonas shyly offered the drawing to her, a hopeful look on his face.

She took it from him, smiling. "I would, thank you. I'll find a place of honor for it." Jonas blushed, mumbled something, and then muttered an excuse and hurried off. Poor kid. I can't get used to people being so...frightened, I guess, of me. It's not me, I think, but the position I'm in. I think I may be the least terrifying person I know, but they see the Headmistress, and not the scared, uncertain girl behind the title. I wonder if everyone in positions of power feels this way?

To distract herself, she turned the drawing over and looked at where Jonas had signed it. It was odd, but she could swear that the first name on the signature was signed exactly the same way that the Jonas who had been Aru's second so long ago signed his name. "What the hell? What is going on here? The closer I think I'm getting to an answer, here, the deeper this gets." She muttered to herself as she walked back to Dream's stall.

The octopus-looking critter was still there, exactly where she had left it. "Okay, it's got a whole bunch of legs and looks like something that would be good in a stew. Any ideas what it is?" she asked Dream.

Yes. How many legs does it have? Does it have eyes?

She counted. "Looks like ten. And no. What is it?"

Dream pinned his ears back and shivered his coat as if flies were biting him. It is evil. And it was sent by someone. You have to kill it, now.

"If I kill it, will you tell me what it is?"

It's called a dream stalker. It's currently on the Ethereal Plane. A dagger cut or two can kill it. Quickly, before your sight spell runs out! He stomped one large hoof warningly.

"Peace, Dream, I'm on my way." She touched the clasp of her cloak, shaped like a silver salmon against the red silk of the mantle. She murmured, "An it please thee, to Faerie." Obligingly, the cloak faded her out of the material and into the Ethereal. She climbed up into the rafters and, true to Dream's word, a slice of her boot dagger dispatched the thing with a hissing squeal and a gush of violet blood. She climbed down and stepped back onto the material plane. "Ick. Okay, sweet, what the hell was that and why was it in your stall?" She picked up a handful of straw and attempted to clean the blood off her dagger.

Dream stalkers are mindless creatures that feed on dreams--someone with one nearby cannot enter dreams. Not even a dream wraith. It should not have been here! Someone put it here to try and stop me from entering the dream realm.

"Someone who knew you're my dream guide." Callas' voice was flat and angry. "Let me guess. Lazlo."

Probably. I could not have found you, in that abyss realm, if it were not for the familiar bond. Because you still lived, he probably surmised that I had to be your familiar.

"Which means the rest of them know, now, and you've just been added to the list of targets." She pulled herself up onto his back, draping her arms around his neck and placing her cheek against his mane. "I'd hoped to spare both of us that for a while longer. It just means that we need to get Lancelot's saddle soon; that will protect you, I think, just like it did Daffodil."

Dream shivered. "What is it?"

Immortality is not always the blessing it might appear, Callas.

"I know. Oh, do I know. But...better to avoid the known danger now, yes? Losing you....I could not."

I feel approximately the same way about you. I'll wear the saddle, if we find it, and worry about the consequences later.

She kissed his mane fondly. "Thank you." They were silent for a few moments, and then Callas spoke again. "Why were you so upset about the dream stalker appearing here? I mean, I can probably get along in the dream realm all right for a few minutes without a guide, and I would have returned to my body and awoken when you didn't appear tonight."

You know that the dream realm is my home. I am merely visiting the material. When this life is through, I will return to dreams.

"I knew that. And?"

One of the dangers of incarnating on the material is that if we dream wraiths cannot return to the dream realm on a nightly basis, we go mad. And then we die. He shuddered again, shaking his head. I once attended a...classmate, I suppose would be the best word for it, who had incarnated and then taken a blow to the head that removed his ability to dream. It is a long, painful way to die, Callas. In the end, we had to have him tied down, because otherwise he would tear his own flesh away from his bones using nothing but his fingernails. That caused my only reluctance to incarnate. I overcame it, but it is still a horror to think of.

Callas blinked, picturing the scene despite herself. And then, oddly, another picture flashed before her eyes, the memory of a dream from a while ago--Gemma's hands, covered with grime, the nails clipped short. I wonder if they're that short for their protection...or hers? She shifted on Dream's back and scratched his neck. "I'm sorry, Dream. I didn't know. I'll keep an eye out for more of those critters, and as soon as we can we'll fetch Lancelot's saddle, so we can protect you."

He sighed. I suppose we would have been found out sooner or later. I'd hoped for later, though.

"You're an awfully big secret to keep, sweet. Someone was bound to figure it out soon, and since Lazlo's a dream wraith himself..."

He's a story used to scare baby dream wraiths, actually. We all know of him, but nobody ever expects to meet him. He was the first among us, once, but he went evil and created the nightmares to be the opposite of the dream wraiths. He was cast from us, and fell a very, very long way. He's been a recluse ever since he was cast out, creeping around the earth, causing localized havoc. But he knows everything there is to know about being a dream wraith.

"Looks like he's not happy with havoc being localized any more."

If he becomes a god, then the world will be his playground. And his toys are nightmares.

Callas shivered. "How come you didn't tell me this when I first started dreaming of him?"

I, uh, didn't want to scare you.

"Ever think that maybe I needed to be scared, Dream?"

He snorted. All right, maybe I underestimated him. A little.

"Dream, it's all right, I've already forgiven you. Besides, you have to make a mistake every now and again, otherwise I start thinking you're infallible." She laughed and scratched him affectionately.

His tone was offended, with an undertone of laughter. You mean I'm not, oh wise Headmistress?

Callas rolled her eyes. "Dream! Don't you go giving me that. You start giving me the bowing and scraping treatment, I'll give you to Aiden to ride."

Heaven forefend. If you do that, I'll pretend I'm Faran and bite you.

"I'll pretend you're Faran too, and light your tail on fire. And you'd miss your tail, vain one."

He swished the appendage in question and gave a nicker that sounded surprisingly like a human laugh. Shall we call it a stalemate?

"Sounds good to me, Dream." She say up and then slid off his back. "I need to go back and work on a couple of things. I have a message from Elata that I need to deal with, among other things. I'll see you tonight?"

As always.

_____________________________________

Back in her room, Callas picked up the one last piece of business she had to deal with for the afternoon.

It was a medium-sized leather bag, tightly knotted with a thong at the top. A scrap of parchment was attached to the thong, which said only:

To Headmistress Callas, care of Madrid's Temple
From Headmistress Elata, Region Ireland

She weighed the bag in her hand. It was heavy, and felt as if it were full of coins or something of that nature. Callas tried to untie the thong, but it was tied too tightly. She finally resorted to worrying at the knot with her teeth. Just as she was starting to think she might have to cut the cord, the knot gave way unexpectedly, the contents of the bag spilling out over her desk, some of it falling to the floor with a metallic ring.

Callas took a startled breath as she recognized the coin-sized objects. She picked one up and held it to the light. A red gold battleaxe, with a pair of ravens sitting on the top of it, clutching each blade with their feet, on a dark red enameled background.

She closed her eyes, recognizing the message contained in this bag.

The pendants were Morrigan cleric symbols.

Each one of them represented a dead Morrigan cleric. And there had to be over four hundred of them. Callas breathed out. "A progress report. Elata, I adore your style. That must be a full quarter of their forces there. More, if they've figured out what's going on and started pulling clerics out of Ireland."

She picked up a handful of them, letting them trickle out of her hand and fall back onto the larger pile. "So much blood represented by these little things. Ah, Morrigan, I'd have no quarrel with your people if you weren't trying to kill mine, if you weren't abetting those who are trying to set themselves up as the new gods. If you'd call off your people, I'd call mine off, and we could go back to glaring at each other over the fence." She paused, tracing the outline of the axe on a pendant with her finger. "Not that you're listening to me, of course. And you understand the exigencies of war far better than we ever will. I wonder if you love your children, Morrigan? Are you then so eager to gather all of them to you? I don't understand you, goddess, and I'm going to need to, I think, before this is all done."

Callas sighed and shook her head, and began to gather the symbols back into the bag, being sure to find every last one. While she was at it, she counted them. Four hundred and twenty-three, in all. She retied the bag, leaving it on her desk for the moment.

A thought lit her eyes and lifted the melancholy look from her face. "Ah. Now there's an idea. I'd need to talk to Galvin, but that would surely tweak Maria's nose, certain enough. I love it!" She laughed to herself, picked up the bag, and walked out of the room in search of Gavião.

<< Previous | Next >>

Back to Callas de Navarre | Back to the Twilight of the Gods campaign