And at long last I can begin posting Pars III! I
apologize for the large delay between these large
scale sections, but I am trying to keep one
section ahead of what I'm posting. There will be
six sections in total for this story once it is finished (sometime next year).
Recall that scenes set in 724 are 16 years after the current timeline.
---------
Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars III: Descensum
(a)
Tuesday, June 22, 724 CR Early Evening
Charles Matthias Sutt, you stop right there
young man! Misanthe's sharp bark cut through the
air with the snap of a catapult's release.
Charlie bristled but did not slow, catching the
heavy wooden door and shoving it behind him. They
were upon him like magpies; first his father and
now, before he could find any refuge in his own
chambers, his mother; relentless in their pursuit of him.
Do not call me that! He yelled at the emptiness
of the foyer before him though intended for the
vixen, his adoptive mother, who slipped deftly
through the door before it crashed shut.
Charles Matthias Sutt, you stop! Stop right
there, right now, and tell me what in the dark
dream that was all about? She challenged in a
harsh growl as she caught up to him in the main
hall of the Sutt residences of Metamor Keep. She
caught at the sleeve of Charlie's shirt and
hauled him up short. With an irritated hiss past
his teeth Charlie stopped and turned on his mother.
Don't call me that! He snapped again, his ears
and whiskers back, his tail lashing furiously
behind him. Misanthe met his angry gaze glare for
glare, her vulpine tail motionless behind her
diminutive frame as he turned to face her. Her
tapered muzzle, teeth gleaming, came only to his chest forcing her to look up.
Call you what, young man? Her growl was a low
churr, one full of warning and menace. He had
heard it many times in the years of his youth,
when he had overstepped himself in some way that
displeasured her, and it often heralded the
application of a willow switch to his backside.
Despite her petite stature she had not hesitated
to mete out just discipline when it was warranted
to such a degree that the child Charlie had often
wished that it had been delivered by his father
instead. But he was deaf to the warning in her
tone and could only hiss a growl and throw his hands in the air.
Matthias! He bellowed furiously, leaning down
until he was almost nose to nose with the vixen,
his blue eyes wild. I am not a Matthias! He
slapped his breast with one hand releasing a
cloud of tourney field dust. I have never been a
Matthias, and I never shall - Charles' outburst
chuffed into shocked silence as his head was
turned by a surprisingly strong slap across his
muzzle. Misanthe may have been small, and a
Duchess, but she was not averse to menial labor
and it showed in the strength hidden under her
lush russet pelt. Stunned, Charlie clapped a hand to the side of his muzzle.
Don't you dare, Charles, belittle the blood from
which you sprang! She fairly snarled up at him,
the tip of a black claw wagging an inch from his
startled nose. You have no right to treat your
father as you did out there! Her arm swung to
point back behind herself toward the distant tournament field.
Rubbing the side of his muzzle Charlie scowled.
He's not my father, he groused with a back-eared, flat-whiskered scowl.
He is, Misanthe growled warningly. As much as
Malger is. Moreso, even. He loves you no less for being a Sutt.
How can you say that, mother? Charlie railed.
He gave me no! No, he sold me away! He waved
his hands helplessly with a loud groan of anger. For a ghost!
Misanthe rocked back on the pads of the paws
hidden beneath her voluminous skirts and sighed,
her ears and whiskers backing as she blinked.
No, Charlie, he did not. She sighed slowly with
a shake of her head. He resisted the very
thought of it with all of his being.
He did not! Charlie protested. I've seen his
dreams, his memories. He sold me, like a cull,
for the ghost of my dead brother. He hissed
the last word short, loathe to admit he had a brother, alive or dead.
I know full well what he did, Charlie, I was there.
Charlie's brows knitted with a scowl. Malger was
there. Nocturna was there, bargaining for me like
a damnable fishwife. You were not in the dream
with them, but in the waking world watching over
them. He crossed his arms and glowered down at
her with an expression perfected only for
youthful rebellion. You countenanced this?
With a frown Misanthe nodded slowly. I was not a
Sutt then, Charlie. I served your father, I did
not tell him what to or not to do. Her fingers
brushed his arm lightly. That you are a Sutt is
one of Charles' greatest regrets, Charlie, and it
pains him still, even after fifteen years. He
feels he failed as a father, having lost both the
eldest and youngest of his firstborn. You should
not denigrate him for your having been brought
into our family. He had little choice.
But, Charlie argued, his anger cooled but his
frustration hardly lessened, he bargained with
Nocturna for my very soul. He gave me to her to you. Why would he do that?
Because he must, for you. As for why, that is a
question I cannot answer, my son. Turning about
Misanthe strode back to the door. I was not in
the Dream, and for months afterward even Malger
would say nothing about it to me. Charles never
has, it was that upsetting. If you want to know
more, you need to ask him. But don't press;
you've seen his memories, his nightmares. If they
are so unpleasant now, imagine how they impacted
him when he was living them. Grasping the door
latch she drew it open. As well, you need to
find him and apologize for your childish
behavior. Wagging an admonishing finger toward
him, she added, You have many to apologize to,
young man, beyond your sire. Maysin, for one,
whom was left saddled and ready to bear you from
the field and you left her there, neglected as if
she were merely a common horse.
Charlie tightened his hands into fists, hiding
the wince from the prick of short claws. I don't
want to hear it from Father. Why should I listen
to it from the one who gave me up? Misanthe
glared, a tightening of the eyes and a subtle
lifting of her jowls that only a mother could
perform for her children. Why should I listen to my sire?
Her voice held that steely edge of disapproval,
but there was a soft gentleness too, as though
her reprimand had been given in full already.
You cannot know about this in part, Charlie.
Your sire is the only one who knows the rest. He
will not force himself on you, he loves you too
much for that. You must go to him. And it would
be best for you, young man, if I were not to find
you here again until after you have spoken with him.
With that final promise, his adoptive mother
swept back out the door, leaving Charlie all
alone in the main hall of their home. He stared
at the door for more seconds than he could count,
simmering and smarting. Charlie pulled the short
chewstick he'd brought with him to his teeth and
gnawed as he tried to sort out his thoughts.
Behind him he heard a door opening likely one
of the servants going about their task and
pretending not to have overheard the entire
confrontation with his mother. Charlie was in no
mood to be disturbed by them either. The stick
between his teeth he stormed out of his home and
then through the passages of the Keep.
He found the tower stairs after only a few turns
and began climbing. To keep his mind from
everything else he counted the steps as he
usually did. After only a hundred he lost count,
but in the exhaustion from climbing so many steps
at the very least he had a brief respite from his anger.
After several minutes of climbing Charlie at last
emerged onto a balcony overlooking Keeptowne to
the south. He collapsed into a stone seat as the
wind picked and clawed at his fur. Formerly
belonging to an old astronomer of Metamor who'd
vanished the year before his birth some bird
named Channing the balcony was warded to
prevent anyone from accidentally falling to their
death. It was not used much anymore and so
Charlie had taken it as his personal hiding place when he wished solitude.
He could clearly see Keeptowne and its streets,
and in the distance the tourney fields, the High
Box, and all of the festivities. Beyond that and
down the hill was the town of Euper but he only
could see its edges. To his right Metamor river
snaked through the folds of hill and forest,
while the valley opened up before him, the woods
retreating in favor of farms and pasture. Only
the faintest of echoes from the city could reach
him at so high a height and that day, the sun
glimmering above the western mountains as it
descended in its evening course, he could hear
only the wind crying against the stone.
And then, lowering his face against the cold
railing, Charlie could only do the same. His
chest heaved with sobs as all of the anger melted into sorrow.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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