To Forgive

 
Warnings: sex, gore, sap, spoilers.
Vagrant Story is owned by Squaresoft. I do not profit from this.
Text enclosed in "//" indicates Kildean.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
To Forgive

 
 
 
 
"Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me."
-R. 1:16-17

 
 
 
 
Chapter One

 
 
It was as though the night itself were afraid. There was no wind, but the air was unnaturally turbulent, very nearly abrasive. Ashley departed swiftly but carefully, his burden half-slung over his shoulder as he made his way out from the disintegrating wreckage of Leá Monde. Although the rain had stopped, he could feel the deafening agitation of the Dark all about him, ensnaring him with bitter cold, driving his flight on with more and more urgency. When Sydney suddenly faltered beside him, however, he was surprised away from his focus on their crisis, and turned to further brace the injured man on his arm.

 
"Can you not walk on?"

 
The other man did not move, but still somehow seemed to droop. He wore his blood like a cape, flowing down his back and sides, saturating his skin and makeshift bandage.

 
"Allow me to look back at it," Sydney panted. "We are safe from harm."

 
Ashley helped the other man turn and look, then himself glanced to the ruins. He was bewildered to see that everything had already settled and stopped collapsing, although the fires were not nearly yet snuffed. It was already far in the distance, so they must have traveled for more than two miles, but it still seemed uncanny that such a large city took so little time to fall.

 
He wondered if it had been so quick the first time.

 
And then he began to hear Sydney exhale a small, slow trickle of sound. He recognized it as a song.

 
"…how still we see thee lie,"

 
Sydney rose a tiny bit, trying to support himself on Ashley, and failed unflinchingly, his misery not affecting his singing at all. His voice was powerful and masculine, but not loud—with an incisive, dusky resonance. It betrayed both long years of musical practice, and a secret, violent sad—a s—a sonorous longing that seemed to boil up from something deeper than the man, from deeper than the earth and hells beneath him—some ancient suffering, long muted and restrained, now so purely, so softly sung.

 
"Above thy deep and dreamless sleep…"

 
Ashley looked down to Sydney. Aside from the almost dainty dribble of blood sliding down from the edge of his mouth, there was little or no evidence to be found on his face that a great deal of his flesh had just been chiseled off of his back. His expression showed only peaceful satisfaction, save for his half-closed eyes that were overcast with pain. There was nothing arrogant, nothing sinister about him now—but nothing simple either. And he sang beautifully; there was sweet equilibrium between strength and intricacy in his tone, in the filling and emptying of his lungs, in his mournful, sunken young voice.

 
"The silent stars go by;"

 
Sydney’s eyes were lowered now, as Ashley continued to watch him sing. Seeing the smaller man sag slightly more, he strengthened his grip and steadied him.

 
"Yet in thy dark streets shineth—"

 
"Sydney…"

 
"The everlasting light…"

 
Ashley shut his mouth and waited for the last few bars of the familiar hymn to be sung, watching Sydney closely for any foretoken of delirium or fainting, searching for anything at all he could do to help. But he could only wait, and listen.

 
"The hopes and fears of all the years…"

 
He looked again to the ghostly remnants of Leá Monde, smoldering safely away on the horizon, eternally and irreconcilably destroyed, now nothing but a pool of waste to serve as a gruesome monument to thousands of meaningless deaths. He closed his eyes.

 
"…are met in thee tonight."

 
"Sydney. Can you walk?"

 
The smaller man’s facial cast did not change, nor did he lift his gaze from the dead city. "Why do you not leave me, Riot?"

 
Ashley sighed. "You know I could not do that. Can you walk? Answer!"

 
The weakened man gave a faint, but alarmingly sincere smile. "Forgive my foolish question. It should be obvious that virtue in you swells thicker than even your own blood." Sydney looked up then at the man who held him in place, still smiling. "And no, I cannot walk further."

 
Ashley, biting back his embarrassment from such open flattery, set Sydney down gently on the grass and held him up in a sitting position, moving behind him to look at his ensanguined back.

 
"I will treat your wounds here, then, as best I can with what I have."

 
He had furnished Sydney with a slipshod bandage of shreds of leather armor when they were just outside the city to help arrest his bleeding, but he had felt the compulsion toe moe more urgent than the need to heal Sydney’s wound. Now, as he removed the blood-soaked covering, he knew that he’d been reckless to let it go for so long without care. It was a miracle Sydney had been able to travel as far as he had.

 
"Curse me for a fool. To think that I would have tried to drive you farther on, in your condition, had you not begun to sing!"

 
"The grass is soft here, Ashley; we can make a fire and sleep." Sydney’s voice came strained and tired, and he winced when the last piece of his dressing was unwound.

 
"Don’t try to speak. Chew on these cure roots now, whilst I treat your injury. Lean forward."

 
After giving the bitter herbs to Sydney, Ashley wiped his grimy hands off on the wet grass until they were free from caked-on dirt and hesumesumed their normal color. He removed a cure potion from his pack and spilled an ample amount directly onto his patient’s back. The solution ran down along his spine and began to repair broken blood vessels. He splashed some more on either side of Sydney’s spinal column, still reluctant to guide the thick liquid with his hands for fear of dirtying the open wound. But in a few moments, the redness of blood and mutilated flesh changed into a gummy, liquid yellow puss, which then began to congeal into muscle, and finally, fresh new skin formed where pot potion had been applied. Sydney was still and silent as Ashley poured a little more out into his hands and rubbed it over places that were not yet healed.

 
When Sydney’s back was again intact, Ashley poured the remaining fluid into his hand, and reached around to bring Sydney backward, so that his restored back rested against Ashley’s breast. He began to rub the last of the potion over the wound on Sydney’s chest, from when Guildenstern had run him through with his rapier. When that, too, was healed, he continued to smooth his hands over the fresh skin, making sure no areas went overlooked.

 
Sydney gave a tiny, low moan in the back of his throat, waking Ashley from a trance he hadn’t felt himself slip into. He realized their position, hurriedly removed his hands from their task of caressing his companion’s body, and prepared to rise.

 
"You are whole again, Sydney."

 
There came no response.

 
"Sydney?"

 
He checked the unconscious man’s pulse, and determined that he was only in a faint. Ashley wondered if he should take his advice and camp here. The coolness in the air told him not to. It might begin to snow during the night, and their campfire would be extinguished. He knew the terrain in this area well, and he was aware of a canyon about two more miles north, at the eastern edge of which there was a man-made cave carved into the living rock, from before the archaic period. They could be warm there for the night, and safe from wild beasts.

 
He stood and hoisted Sydney onto his back, then looped the slackened metal arms around his neck, using them to hold the recovering man in place. He was surprised when he began to feel warmth from Sydney’s legs; he had thought them to be metal, like his arms were. He walked bent forward, which was a great pain to his own back, but assured that Sydney would not be jostled out of his place while they were traversing uneven and rocky ground.

 
 
 
It was almost morning when they arrived at the canyon’s eastern limit. Ashley lowered Sydney carefully down onto the ledge before jumping down himself, then carried his comrade into the cave on the side of the cliff. He leaned Sydney up against one of the stone walls and immediately lit a fire on the cave’s outer lip, then briefly left to gather more fuel.

 
When he returned, he was harshly aware of his own exhaustion. After feeding the fire, he staggered back into the cave and collapsed in front of the wall opposite Sydney, took off his sandals, and reclined. This cave seemed a lot smaller now than he remembered. But the last time he’d camped here, he’d been alone.

 
He watched the flame-light dancing over the rocks, with all their cracks and outgrowths, flickering over the features of his companion—his friend. He saw Sydney shiver and shift in his sleep, pitifully curling into himself to keep warm.

 
Sighing, Ashley rose and pulled him closer to the fire, then emptied his pack and draped the fabric bag over his friend’s torso, along with a worn leather jerkin. He noticed with a wry chuckle that Sydney still had that tiny dribble of blood on the side of his chin, and so he wiped it off with his index finger. Sydney did not move.

 
Dropping himself back in his place, he allowed his muscles to relax and his mind to drift. His feet were almost overlapping Sydney’s; he hoped they wouldn’t kick one another awake if they stirred. He could smell morning already. They were fortunate the cave faced west and the sun’s light would not wake them. His last thoughts were of concern for Merlose, and the Duke’s other son. Then he gave himself up to sleep.

 
 
 
It was uncomfortable and fitful sleep, at best. And he awoke to piercing cold. It was late afternoon and the fire was completely quenched. Sydney remained asleep against the opposing wall, so Ashley rose himself and rekindled the fire, then decided that procuring a meal was his next imperative. He left his sword behind and grabbed his bowgun, then withdrew from camp, climbing the steep incline out of the cliff and heading southwest. If his memory was not false, there was a brook not a half mile away.

 
He couldn’t stop himself from thinking of the family he’d killed—the strangers who would be forever gouged into his heart. He loved them—a truth he could not change—and his love was like a poison in his vitals, destroying him. The discovery that they had not actually been his family did nothing to thaw the agony of loss. He was cold without them.

 
The sound of water shook him from his meditation; the creek was actually nearer than he’d estimated. Like the cave, the stream was smaller than it seemed in his memory. Nevertheless, he knew now precisely where it was, and could come directly back if he needed water.

 
He sat still by the bank, and in under an hour’s time a doe and her fawn approached the stream to drink, some thirty paces away from Ashley. He shot the fawn and its mother bolted. He retrieved the struggling animal and dispatched it with his dagger, then sliced its belly open, scraped out its entrails into the stream, and washed out its chest cavity. The sun would set in a couple of hours, and the cold was growing stronger; he was eager to make his way back to the fire.

 
When hgan gan to approach the cave, he saw Sydney standing outside, and he jerked his eyes downward when he realized that his friend was out there to relieve himself. He couldn’t help but privately marvel that even when the man was performing his private ritual, he held the posture of a prince. He paused until Sydney was finished, and then climbed down to camp bearing their evening’s meal on his shoulder. He was greeted with a brief nod and smile as he entered.

 
"I’m glad to see you awake, Sydney."

 
His comrade looked at him then with a quiet wonder, something like astonishment on his face. He was still silent while Ashley cut the first piece of meat and laid it over his sword to cook above the fire, then he finally murmured quiet thanks.

 
Ashley raised his head from his duty to look at his target-turned-ally, who still wore the same awed expression. His eyes were soft now, devoid of the magisterial sternness he had always seen in them before. Now that his charade of wicked omnipotence was no longer necessary, he had no reason to conceal his impressions any longer. And right now there was naked, undisguised gratitude on his face that Ashley was somehow ashamed to receive. He looked back to the meat he was preparing.

 
"Fetch both wine bottles and come closer to the fire. This piece of venison will soon be done."

 
Sydney rose and obediently retrieved the wine, and sat down rather closely to Ashley beside the campfire. Ashley moved his sword from over the fire and offered the meat silently to his companion, muttering the unnecessary warning that it was hot. Sydney offered back to him one of the bottles, which Ashley absently accepted and began to slice back more of the fawns’ skin to cut off another piece of meat.

 
"Where are we going?" Sydney asked.

 
"There is a town one day’s journey north of here; from there we take a ferry to Valendia."

 
Sydney took a drink of wine before replying. "What will you do in Valendia, and why take me along with you?"

 
"I have a house there; I live in Valendia. And so do you."

 
"You have an empty house there."

 
Ashley stiffened. "An empty house is better than a cave."

 
"You know they will be looking for you. If you approach your house, you will be killed. And by ferry is an unwise way for fugitives to travel."

 
Ashley considered this for a long moment while he cooked his slice of meat, and Sydney took advantage of the silence to eat his. At length Ashley replied, "Your words are sensible. But if not to Valendia, where should we go? Where would you go?"

 
"I will go to Valendia."

 
"To what end?"

 
"I intend to die."

 
Ashley snapped his head up to glare at Sydney, shocked. "Why?"

 
"I have completed everything that I’d set forth to do. My usefulness is ended. I will die alongside my father."

 
Ashley half-turned to face the other man, deeply surprised and upset at his revelation. "I never thought I’d hear you spout absurdity. Why? And are you not immortal?"

 
"The Blood-sin is immortal. You are immortal. I am a wasted, hunted miscreant. And I have outlived my worth."

 
"How can you in the smallest think your life without value?" Ashley blurted, frustrated now.

 
"Tell me then," Sydney dully inquired, not looking up. "What value do I have?"

 
Ashley looked back to his meal as he replied, "You have wisdom, and bravery. And useful knowledge that others may need, myself especially."

 
Sydney lifted his face up grimly, and considered Ashley through half-lidded eyes. "If you are referring to your Blood-sin, know this: it can teach you the Dark’s craft better than I could."

 
"I wouldll vll value your advice," Ashley rebutted, feeling inexplicably hurt by Sydney’s intentions. "And what about your father?"

 
"My father, having been a debauched aristocrat for so many years, is about to die of syphilis. He only has two days."

 
"That doesn’t mean that you must also die."

 
Sydney set his wine down roughly. "Think, Ashley! Anywhere I go, the church will pursue me. And, if they knew me alive, they very well might use my brother to trap and slaughter me." He lowered his head again, so that Ashley could not see his face through his hair. "I have to think of Joshua’s safety before my own."

 
Ashley felt angry now, and it took great effort to keep from shouting. His voice came out very harsh, but controlled, as sharp as the cold darts of the gathering winter around them.

 
"If you are so set on death, why not dash yourself down from these rocks and expire now? Why wait until we reach the city?"

 
Sydney still spoke gently, patiently. He was staring outside, straight ahead at the cliffs.

 
"I long to see my father again. I promised him."

 
Seeing Sydney almost finished with his first serving, Ashley started to cook another slab of meat. He wondered why he was so upset by Sydney’s decision. After all, he himself had tried to kill Sydney. But he had to reverse this resolution. He had to keep Sydney.

 
He had something unnatural and potentially malignant sizzling under his skin, something that he had not even begun to decipher the meaning or employment of. He needed Sydney.

 
Needed him.

 
"If you’d teach me to manipulate the Dark, we could feign your death."

 
Ashley watched his friend look up at him, surprised. "Why are you so desperate for me to live?" He chewed his food, then added, "And other than to craft a make-pretend demise for me, how would you use the Dark?"

 
Ashley’s wine was thick and sour and dry; he knew it was valuable, but it tasted awful. He took a long, slow drink before he answered, his eyes fixed on the fire.

 
"I don’t know, Sydney."

 
"Yes you do."

 
Both men locked eyes abruptly, angry and confused, self-sure and indignant; then they resumed their meal in silence. Neither spoke again until they were satisfied and the best parts of the fawn were eaten. Sydney let its remains fall over the edge of the cliff. Ashley threw several pieces of armor down after, deciding they were no longer required.

 
"I don’t understand you, Ashley," Sydney reflected out loud, staring out over the rocks’ edge. "And I honestly hadn’t considered what I would do after all this if not die."

 
Ashley, exasperated but glad that Sydney had at least indirectly agreed to live, retorted, "I don’t understand you, Sydney, and I don’t think I should ever like to."

 
Sydney gave a sharp, coughing chuckle as he reentered the cave and picked up his wine. "I knew you were going to say that." He took a drink. "We leave tomorrow then?"

 
"No."

 
Sydney stopped just before taking a swig of wine to arch an angry eyebrow at Ashley.

 
"No?"

 
"We will stay here one more day until I can be sure you have recovered your strength. It will be a hard journey, and you were wounded direly. So leave some wine in that bottle; we will use it tomorrow to purify water for our traveling."

 
Ashley put another two logs on the fire and made ready for bed. Sydney just sat down, with his back against the wall on "his" side, the cave’s south wall, and stared outdoors. The sun had not yet even finished setting, but the coolness of evening was already spread through the air. Ashley took his sandals off and settled down for sleep.

 
The next thing he was aware of was the feeling that he was about to be ambushed. He realized with all of his senses that he was in a dream, and yet he could not wake from it. He felt vegetable-cool clamminess all over his skin, and the air he breathed was foul like old, stinking sweat and sickness. He could see all around himself—in front, above, behind, below, and to each side—without turning his head. He was standing on a dirt path, bordered on either side by men, or rather corpses of men. They were all standing packed together in a snarled throng, erect and accusing, growing from out of the mildewed dust like gnarling plants, coiling and squirming and seething with wrath.

 
"Ashley!"

 
Then, in front of him, only a dozen paces up the seemingly endless aisle, the boy Marco appeared, oblivious and smiling. Ashley ran to him, but the boy seemed to think it an innocent game of play-chase and also began to run. Ashley reached out for him with a great shout, but in no time the boy was nowhere in sight. Indeed, Ashley himself seemed to be moving more and more slowly, until his legs were actually propelling him backwards, and there was no hope of retrieving his son. He fell defeated to the ground, the sapless ones closing in on him, and…

 
"Ashley."

 
There was cold. He was awake now, shivering on the damp stone. Sydney was propping him up from behind, embracing him firmly. He was half-sitting in front of the fire, and he had tears on his face. It was very difficult to breathe. Sydney’s metal hands were warmer to the touch than his own skin. He heard the other man heave a gradual, relieved sigh behind him.

 
"At last you’re awake. I was concerned."

 
Sydney allowed Ashley to sit up and support his own weight, and the removal of his friend’s warmth was the loss of a great comfort. The slender man sat down next to him, but at an angle so that he could see his face without straining. It was raining outside.

 
"Sydney, I thank you. I…was I…crying in my sleep?"

 
"You were shrieking."

 
Ashley fell silent, suddenly and ponderously ashamed. As he was trying to form an apology, Sydney continued, his tone mild and sincere, almost whispering.

 
"I know. I know the things you’ve seen. I’ve seen them also."

 
"I’m sorry…to wake you, and trouble you."

 
Sydney came up and knelt halfway behind Ashley, examining his shoulder, which Ashley abruptly realized had been stinging since he awoke. "I should apologize. I…scratched you. When I dragged you to the fire. But you were freezing cold…"

 
"Don’t ask pardon. I thank you."

 
"You healed me, Ashley," Sydney insisted. "Although this hardly repays my debt to you, I will must do this now. In any wise, I caused you this. It would not be sound for me to leave you to suffer, when I am able to help." Sydney stood up to retrieve a cure tonic.

 
"It is obvious that virtue in you swells thicker than even your own blood," Ashley spoke, turning his head to smirk over his back.

 
Sydney froze, then turned, uncorking the bottle. "You mock me. But those cuts are deeper than you realize." He walked over behind Ashley and knelt. "I was not careful. These fingers are razor sharp."

 
"Well, how do you intend…" Ashley was cut short by the shock of feeling his friend’s forehead, slippery with molasses-thick fluid, press against his damaged skin and begin rub the potion into his cuts. It felt very hot, but not scorching—and it soon turned to a cool balm. He gasped when Sydney moved to his other shoulder.

 
"That feels…better, Sydney."

 
"You’re welcome." Sydney finished and got up, then sat back down beside the other man at the fire. "I have a suggestion."

 
"You also have cure tonic in your hair."

 
Sydney laughed a little and allowed Ashley to wipe what ointment he could out of his bangs, tcontcontinued.

 
"Do you feel how cold this night is? Indian summer is fast maturing into autumn. It will soon become too cold to travel comfortably. Also, if we don’t leave tomorrow, we will be too late. I’ll not see my father alive again. We should depart in the morning."

 
"Your advice is sound. We leave at dawn." Ashley had already considered this point, and found the suggestion reasonable, if not very wise. Sydney seemed in right health, and was light to carry even if he did become faint again. Ashley got up from the fire and laid back doherehere he’d been before.

 
"Good night, Sydney...thank you."

 
"See you in a few hours," came the quiet response. Sydney made no move to go back to sleep. Ashley didn’t stay up to see if he would.

 
 
 
He must have, though. When Ashley arose and stretched just after daybreak, Sydney was fast asleep and curled up around the embers of the fire, looking simultaneously serene and stately. After stirring the fire back to life and feeding it the last few twigs, he left his friend to rest, and walked alone to the brook to fill the half-emptied wine bottles up with water. When he returned, he gathered up his possessions and put them back in his carrying bag. Sydney was still sleeping.

 
"On your feet, Sydney. This was your counsel."

 
The man was up at once, and entirely ready to leave. Not only did he not look dirty, but he had not even grown any stubble on his chin. He resembled a youth in his prime: eager, but not foolhardy; cautious, but never hesitant. Ashley suddenly realized that he had no idea how old Sydney was.

 
He didn’t ask. He handed Sydney his watered wine, and called out behind his back as he exited the cave.

 
"Northward."

 
 
 
Once they had cleared the damp rocky ground near the canyon, the terrain was soggy and gluey. There was chronic rain—sometimes very hard, sometimes barely a mist—but always there. As they were walking, they often found themselves disoriented by dense fog, and many times they had to wade through very deep pools of mud. When they at last found a dry patch of ground at midday to rest and roast a hare that Ashley had killed, they were both of them filthy, tired, soaking wet and shivering.

 
"We are making good time," Ashley commented. "We will make it to Indellé before dusk."

 
Sydney ignored the observation. He looked angrily into Ashley’s eyes, and seemed then to scrape each of his words, one by one, deep from out of his own throat.

 
"I asked you the other day what you would do with the Dark, now that you bear the Blood-sin. And you lied. You ran away from the question like a craven. I am asking you again now and I expect you to hold yourself as a man and answer." He leaned in closer to Ashley and glowered at him. "What will you do?"

 
"I don’t know," Ashley snapped back, deeply annoyed. Sydney sat back again.

 
"You deceive yourself then. Tell me. What do you want."

 
"I told you. I don’t..."

 
Sydney interrupted. "Not what you want to do with the Dark. That’s not what I’m asking. What do you want."

 
Ashley took only a moment to consider and answer. "I want…to live in peace."

 
"With your family."

 
Ashley swallowed hard. "Yes."

 
"That is no longer an option for you. Choose again."

 
The larger man stopped carving the rabbit then and glared at Sydney, furious. "I would that the Dark died out completely. I want this Rood Inverse to pass to no one after me. I want to extinguish this iniquitous power. I never gave consent to this! I spurn it." He dropped their meal in the damp grass, stood up and turned to leave.

 
"This isn’t you. Come back here, Ashley. Can’t you even see yourself? You already know what you will do."

 
Ashley had already started down the hill, but he turned back to look at Sydney, knowing he couldn’t leave.

 
"What then, prophet?" he called.

 
"You will come back to the fire and cook that wretched animal for us to eat. You will continue to travel with me to Indellé. You will brood until you’ve nigh drilled a hole in your stomach." Sydney rose and walked over to where Ashley stood, slightly higher on the hill so that they both stood eye to eye. He put his metal hands on top of muddy, muscled shoulders, then spoke in a lowered voice. "And then you will help people.&q


 
Ashley looked at Sydney for a moment, and decided not to bother being angry. He was too cold and muddy to be angry. It was more important to eat and then make it into town before nightfall was upon them. He came back to the fire, and knelt to resume roasting the hare. He did not respond to Sydney’s words. But Sydney was not finished.

 
"I need to teach you how to do something."

 
Ashley raised his eyes. "What?"

 
Sydney took a swig of wine before he explained. "You need to know how you change your appearance. To borrow someone else’s visage."

 
"Can’t that wait until later?"

 
"Yes. It can."

 
"Hurry and eat, Sydney. I have a great desire to rest in a bed."

 
"There will be spies looking for us. Tracking us, in the way that men track game."

 
Ashley offered Sydney another slice of meat. "Yes, I’m sure there will be."

 
"It might be advantageous if we do not appear in Indellé."

 
Ashley sighed and lowered his head. "Tell me then. What is the incantation?"

 
"You do not need words to work miracles. The Dark is bound to your will."

 
"So what do I need to do?"

 
"Try making me look like you."

 
"How?"

 
"I don’t know," he murmured, amused by his own enigmatic nonsense. "Just try it."

 
Ashley began to think about the way he looked. Then he thought about the way Sydney looked. Then he spoke silently to himself in his head, Look like me, Sydney. Nothing happened. He gave up and began eating again.

 
"Ashley. You’re not trying very hard. This is important, and not difficult."

 
"Then tell me how to do it."

 
"Try to convince yourself that it would be good if I looked like you. The Dark will rush to do your will. But you can’t just bark orders at it. You have to sincerely want it to do a very specific thing, and know that it will happen."

 
"I don’t want you to look like me."

 
"Oh, hurry and make us look like two commoners! We could be pilgrims from Gerenia, making our way to mass at Valendia Cathedral."

 
Ashley humored Sydney. He knew that taking his advice would be worthwhile; he decided that it would definitely be to their benefit if they looked like strangers. And then they both at the same moment morphed into Gerenian pilgrims, complete with their long, simple black robes and white phylacteries draped around their collars, hanging down to their feet. Ashley had a friar’s cord around his waist.

 
Ashley knew his physical structure had not changed. Just the image he projected was false. He reached over and touched Sydney’s hand, satisfied that it still felt the same now even though it appeared to be flesh.

 
"Well done. Now change us back, and do that again when we approach the town. But without the friar’s cord! We don’t want to be asked to perform any baptisms."

 
Ashley did as Sydney requested, and decided to leave the rest of the hare for the other animals to glean. He ate his last piece and finished his water and wine, while Sydney poured mud on the fire. They both got up and started down the hill, toward the small village that they could not yet see. It began to rain again.

 
 
 
The sun had not yet set when they arrived, but it was already dark. They arrived at the small stream on the outskirts of town, and seeing that no one, not even cattle or flocks, was nearby, they submerged themselves in the freezing water and quickly scrubbed the dirt off thclotclothes and bodies. When they came out, Ashley cast their disguises on, and they walked the two hundred more paces to the city’s gates and entered.

 
"Sydney, I’m going to that pawn shop to hock a few gems for coins. You explain that our horses were stolen, and we were separated from the rest of our company, then ask about the ferry. We will meet at the inn, over there." He turned and almost left, when Sydney abruptly began to speak behind him.

 
"Could you purchase some oil there?"

 
He turned back around. "What for?"

 
"For my hands." When Ashley still gave him a quizzical look, he sighed and explained. "They are wet."

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Author’s Notes:

I do not own "O Little Towne of Bethlehem." But I think that’s premuchmuch public domain by now.