The Black Chapel
© 2014 by Walter Reimer


Part 6.


Everything around her was glowing fog.

“Adept? Adept Halvrika?”

The voice seemed to come from everywhere, and nowhere.

“?”

“ . . . Awake, Student.”

There was that voice again, cajoling her.

Halvrika stirred. “Wha - ?”

The fog settled, leaving her standing knee-deep in a mist, surrounded by thin networks of glowing lines. “Art thou awake yet?” Now it sounded peremptory, a teacher correcting an erring pupil.

The raccoon stood blinking stupidly for a moment as she slowly recollected her wits. “M-Master? Where am I?”

“Fool,” came a sneering reply. “Thou shalt awake!” A flow of power buffeted her, harsh as a slap across the muzzle.

That brought her out of it. Her perceptions shifted, and she blinked awake to find herself looking up at a network of stout wooden beams making up the ceiling of her room.

“Good, you’re awake.” She started to turn her head and paused, amazed at how stiff and sore she felt. Willing herself to turn her head, she saw a heavyset bear seated in the room’s only comfortable chair. The gray livery of the Order contrasted with his black fur and he wore a slender silver circlet on his head.

Halvrika blinked at the bear for a few heartbeats before her eyes went wide. Before she realized it she had practically leaped from her bed to stand facing him, the bed between them. “Arch-Adept Marok! I – that is – “

The bear raised a finger, and she closed her muzzle with a snap. Marok Dinest gave the raccoon a beatific smile and said, “Welcome back, Adept Hringurhali. “ A thick eyebrow quirked. “Is it your intention to seduce me by appearing before me naked?”

She gaped at him briefly before glancing down at herself. With a yelp she snatched the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her body. “Master – “

Again, a raised finger. “What is the last thing you can recall before you awakened, Adept?”

Her embarrassment and indignation faded away at his question. “The storm was blowing away . . . “ her voice trailed off as she tried to think. Despite feeling rather unaccountably weak, she did not sit on the bed. She hadn’t been given permission by the bear, who sat and studied her as she spoke. “And I was withdrawing . . . “

“Did you relax your wards?” Marok asked.

The question caused her to gulp and look down at her feet. “Prematurely, Master.”

“Thereby leaving yourself open for a counterattack by your opponent.”

“Yes, Master.” She gazed fixedly at her toes, a student caught in an error by her instructor.

“Repeat for me the First Rule in Combat, Halvrika.”

“’Never relax your wards unless you are certain that your adversary cannot strike back.’”

There was the sound of wood scraping against stone, then footsteps. The bear’s boots appeared in her field of vision. “You could have been killed.”

All she could do was nod.

He reached out, grasping her chin in his fingers and lifting her head until she met his eyes. “Fortunately, he was too weak to kill you. And you did well to defeat the storm he sent.” His look was fatherly. “But remember this lesson, Adept. A mistake like that could kill you, or worse.”

Halvrika’s tail drooped. “I will remember, Master.”

“Good.” He pulled her into a hug, and had just released her when the door banged open.

“I thought I heard – “ Trasta said, and her eyes went wide when she saw the raccoon. “Halvrika!” she cried out and leaped at the raccoon, sweeping her up into a hug and kissing her deeply. “Gods, I thought you were dead,” the elk doe whispered, starting to sob. “Th-thank Valla . . . “

“Trasta,” and Halvrika returned the embrace, ignoring the bear’s wink and wide grin. Hearing her friend cry caused tears to come, and for a while the two women stood and wept, clinging to each other.

When they parted, the bear was gone and the door was closed.

“I thought you were dead,” Trasta finally choked out, her paws rubbing through her friend’s fur. “You . . . you just lay there . . . “

Halvrika nuzzled against her friend, and then opened one eye and looked up at Trasta. “What?”

“Huh?” the elk doe asked, sniffling back her tears.

The raccoon glanced quickly at the sunlit gardens outside the window. She blinked and looked back up at the doe. “Why is it so late? How did Master Marok get here so fast?” Her nosepad went pale as she asked, “How long was I asleep?”

Trasta held her closer as she whispered, “Four days.”

There was a pause and Trasta felt Halvrika begin to tremble. She held her closer and guided her to a seat on the bed as the raccoon shivered, curling up and ending up with her head resting in Trasta’s lap. When she was calmer, she looked up. “Four days?”

“Yes.”

Halvrika wiped her eyes on the sheet, then blew her nose. Trasta smirked, but said nothing. “What happened?”

“You were hit by lightning,” Trasta said evenly. “I saw you fall. I put the best chirurgeons in the city to tending you, but you just laid there. You were barely breathing . . . two days ago, Arch-Adept Marok and two Adepts arrived. He hasn’t left your bedside since he arrived.”

“Four days . . . I’m hungry.”

The elk chuckled. “I’ll wager you are.” She sniffed. “You also need a bath.”

Trasta laughed as Halvrika pouted, and she leaned down to kiss the raccoon. Halvrika raised a paw and rested it on the back of her friend’s head, murring as she tasted the doe’s tongue with hers. “Trasta.”

“Yes?” The princess’ eyes were still gleaming with unshed tears.

“I . . . I love you.”

Cervine ears perked up, but before she could say anything Halvrika rushed on. “I-I’ve loved you, ever since school I think.” Her expression turned pleading. “Please, Trasta . . . don’t turn from me.”

“Stand up.”

Fear causing fresh tears to flow down her muzzle, Halvrika complied. At a gesture, she dropped the sheet and she stood, arms crossed over her breasts and starting to tremble again.

A cervine paw reached out to cup her breast, and the raccoon’s eyes closed. A whimper was torn from her as the fingers traced the lines of the breast, spiraling in to finally touch her nipple. “Halvrika,” and the raccoon opened her eyes to look down at her friend.

Trasta said, “I love you, Halvrika.”