One More Chance

How long has it been since I last got to sleep in a proper bed?

How long has it been since I last got to talk to someone about what's going on?

How long has it been since I've been home?

I've been wandering the streets of Baton Rouge, Louisiana scraping by for a few weeks now. I'm trying to get access to my bank account so I can get my way back home. Everything seems to be locked up tight. Any attempt to access it is flagged as suspicious activity. I have to find a branch location to talk to someone but the closest one is three states away.

I'm getting my meals. I'm getting my rest. I'm constantly grungy but I'm managing. I've managed to make friends with a barista at a local cafe who thinks I'm homeless. She gives me a break on my coffee when I come to get one now and again. I sit outside and enjoy the weather when I can. We're coming out of spring and going into summer. It's going to get unbearable outside if the temperature continues this way.

A voice calls to me this morning. One that dug deep and pulled up anger that I thought was quenched weeks ago. "There's where you went." A scroungy old rat sits across from me. I clench my paws into tight fists as my eyes meet his, "I figured after that stun, you wouldn't show your face to me again. Why shouldn't I kill you where you sit?" He settles himself in the seat across from me, "Because I didn't sell you out. I looked for you for weeks. When I heard about my compatriot's actions and what happened to you, well, I saw how you handled the lodge. You'll be pleased to know that he has been handled as well in a manner that I won't share the details with but I'm sure you would be content with."

He has a silver tongue. He's burned me once. He continues, "I understand your hesitance. I can only imagine what they did to you but I assure you that there are those in this world that would rather see you flourish. I'm one of those."

"Why?"

"Just why?" He leans in to talk in a hushed tone, "You are a creature of legend and lore with unimaginable power. There are those who are devoted to you. Well, not you but the nine-tailed fox and thus you."

"I fell for this once. I'm not doing this again."

I leave the remaining coffee I have behind. It's not worth it. We're in a very public place. I can't take action against him. He darts around me to stop me from walking away. "Wait! Just wait for a second!" He put both his paws on me to stop me from moving. The look on my face must have signaled how close he was to crossing a line he should not have. "I can get you answers. We have a lot of personal records of the previous holders of your power. They may provide some answers you are looking for."

I stand looking down at him. I dwarf him by at least two feet. He's got his paws together, nearly pleading with me to give him a chance at redemption. "I don't even know your name and you've made me promises before."

"Yes, and that was unexpected. My name is Phinnis. I am a prophet of The Church of the Nine-Tailed Fox."

"Prophets typically provide guidance to their followers and use their words to give them meaning and direction."

"Yes, and when I met you I knew what you were. Listen, let me show you the congregation we have here. If you're not satisfied, you may do whatever you want. To me. To them. We will dissolve at your word!"

I can tell my anger with this man is getting to me. I exhale, expelling some small flames from my nostrils. "I am not playing your games again. If you do not provide what you promise me, I will ensure there is not enough of you left to be found." Despite the threat, he seems excited, "That is fine with me! Please, I'll show you."

It's a strange sight to see us walking down the street. A half-pint rat followed by a fox with plumage for tails. It's become commonplace for me to ignore the weird stares from onlookers. I get it, I'm a sight at this point. I just don't care. I can't be bothered to care anymore. The concentration needed to hide the tails isn't intense but it's draining. With more tails, there's more that needs to be done.

He and I walk to a proper church. There aren't any signs showing any denomination but he assures me that this is the local congregation. There's a very strange feeling as we walk in. The environment is incredibly element-rich. My body seems to react to it. I can feel the exhaustion dissipate. Even my hunger seems sated. That might not be a good sign.

Phinnis seems unfazed. He walks ahead of me passing through a door to the immediate right of the entryway. He peaks back out to beacon me over, "Come, this way." I follow into what appears to be a small office that has bookshelves lining the walls to my left. "I promised I would provide so let me get that." He pulls a heavy box from between one of the bookshelves. He struggles to lift it until he gives up, "I hate to ask."

I walk over lifting the metal box onto the desk in the middle of the room. He seems excited as he opens it up for me with a spin combination. What I thought was a box was a safe. As the top opens up, the smell of must and paper reaches my nose. I look to Phinnis for something. He just smiles and motions to the safe, "It's all yours. Always has been. Please, enjoy."

I reach in pulling out one of the leather-bound journals. I undo the tie strap to be greeted with a language I cannot read. I flip a few pages but there's nothing I recognize. "I don't understand this. I don't speak these languages."

"You don't have to. You're the nine-tailed fox."

"That doesn't mean anything if I can't understand a language."

"But you can understand the book. Let it speak to you. You just have to ask it."

This rat is speaking nonsense. I look at the first page of the journal at the scribbles inside of it. "Who do you belong to?" Nothing. There's nothing that sticks out in it as I try to flip through the pages again. Phinnis seems rather hesitant to interrupt me, "Try asking it who it is. Trust me." Ask the journal who it is. Is he mad? Of course he is and I just might be fore following him here. One more try I guess. "Who are you?" I feel a breeze cross my ears as someone whispers to me the name "Michael". I push the journal away from me. Phinnis looks to be on the edge of his seat, "It answered, didn't it? Michael."

"If you knew, why didn't you tell me?"

"I only know the lineage. Michael lived during the dark ages. I believe from 1443 to 1481 before the church killed him for his longevity and multiple tails."

"Have you read this?"

"I can't. He was uneducated and could not write. So he used whatever he came up with to record what he could in a manner that he could understand. That you should be able to understand as well. You just have to ask it."

I look to Phinnis once more before going back to the journal. "Michael, what is your story? What can you share with me?" I feel my eyes begin to close as though I'm falling asleep. I must have asked the right question.