Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars III: Descensum
(l)
Wednesday, May 9, 708 CR
Charles awoke as if climbing up from a deep well into a black cave
where only a crack in the wall brought any light. He struggled
against the enclosing darkness first in anger and then in panic when
for all of his flailing he could not reach that one surcease from
terror, the shaft of light piercing the bitter night. Stones tripped
his feet and walls crushed his arms and chest as he scrambled from
the well and through the cave. His feet were then fast caught,
swallowed by the stone as if by a python, slurping up across his legs
and tail, dragging him back away from the crack.
Something unseen struck the stone and he felt himself come free. He
gripped a hand, cool to the touch and porous like mist, that guided
him about the obstructions and turned his fearful heart to one of
merciless focus. The goal of light was before him and nothing could
prevent him from reaching it.
Charles put his hands to the crack, slipping his claws through and
heaving with all his strength. The crack widened and beyond he
recognized the ceiling of his bedroom.
The crack flashed a moment of darkness and he knew he was staring out
his own eyes as they blinked. The ceiling swam away and he witnessed
the quilt of his bed pushed aside by his arm. Familiar legs and tail
slipped from the mattress, and, like a passenger in his own body, he
watched himself stretch and then don his attire for the day.
It was only when he secured the rat-head buckler about his waist that
he felt sensation return to his flesh. And with the awareness of the
warmth of his room, the dimness of the light, the gentle breathing of
his wife who had not yet stirred from sleep, the distant sleeping of
his children and his guests, the scent of candlewax mixed with the
odors of several animals, and the feel of wood beneath his paws,
finally returned to him control over his own body.
Charles left his chambers and then his house, not wanting anyone to
see him after that strange fugue. He slipped into the stables,
prepared feed for Malicon, and then busied himself mucking out the
stall. One hand swatted the flies who objected to his presence, while
the other worked the pitchfork. His lips moved, tongue seeking the
words of a prayer. Nothing came to him, only the beastly awareness of
what surrounded him and the task at hand.
By the time he'd finished the rat felt like himself again. He had
half a thought of telling his friends who were doubtless waking from
their well-deserved slumber in the guest rooms of his home about the
strange disconnect he felt both this morning and the previous two.
If Marzac were controlling you, it would not relinquish its control.
Charles smiled at the thought, comforted and confident again. He
offered Malicon a gentle hug around his neck before leading the pony
into his freshened stall. "I'll be back for you a little later this
morning. We're going to ride to the Narrows again today, my friend."
Malicon lipped at his ear and whickered his approval.
----------
After breaking their fast together, Kayla and Jessica bid them a fond
farewell and started on the long ride back to Metamor. James promised
both of them that he would keep a close eye on Charles and if he
couldn't be there that Garigan would be. Charles promised to let them
know if he felt the corruption touch him in any way. They lingered
long enough to watch the wagon disappear down the road to the south
before claiming their mounts and heading down to the lake to fetch Gibson.
The frog was awkward in the saddle, especially since he required the
use of parchment and ink if he was to catalog all that he saw of the
Narrows and the rat's plans for them. Despite those difficulties he
proved a competent rider and did not slow either rat or donkey down
as they traversed the forest paths through the clefts in the rock
where the Glen overlooked the Narrows. Once they reached the Narrows
proper he did bid them wait while he reviewed his notes from the
night before as his large yellow eyes studied the land. He asked
Charles questions about where he imagined roads, bridges and the like
should be, offering suggestions from time to time to ease the
financial burden or to point out the engineering challenge of his requests.
But for most of the day he was altogether agreeable and the trio were
soon awash in possibilities for the wild land bordering both the Glen
and the Lakeland. They reached the mountains in the west and the
outcropping on which the rat envisioned his keep sometime in the
early afternoon. Gibson professed some discomfort at the dryness of
his skin so they paused there for a short time and made a fire. They
cooked some sausage to eat, while Gibson heated some river water and
used it to moisten his green, warty flesh. Once they had eaten and
their companion was comfortable again Charles pointed out all that
he'd tried to show James two days before.
They did not encounter anyone else in their travels though nearly
every hour they saw some game from a distance. By the early evening
as they returned to the Glen with a very satisfied frog, Charles
noticed that James appeared far more at ease and that comforted him.
Even if only for the moment, his friend finally seemed to have
realized that there was no cause to fear the corruption. Truly the
power of Marzac must have been spent by the hyacinth.
Two surprises awaited him as he returned home with both James and
Gibson in tow. The donkey had no intention of leaving his side and he
had promised the frog another meal in gratitude for his help. But he
had meant only Gibson and not his wife and supplanting son. Both he
found in his home. Natalie conversed with his wife Kimberly as they
reclined on his couch sipping warm tea, while Bertram hopped about
the room with his children scampering after him, sometimes even
catching him and trying to hold onto his legs as he leaped high into
the air. His croaking laughter and the delighted exclamation offered
by Gibson on seeing his son and wife there felt like a lance rammed
up to the pommel into his heart.
The second surprise was his wife. About her neck she bore a pendant
he'd never seen before, with a sturdy silver strand fixed to a
vaguely purplish river stone. The stone was so plain in comparison to
the necklace holding it up that he found his eyes drawn first to it
and then to his wife's snout and eyes. She stared at him for a single
moment with an apprehensive fear whose origin he could not guess. One
paw lifted to clasp the stone and the moment passed, her smile
returning and brightening her entire face, dark eyes, pink ears, and
tan fur, all of it brimming with a warmth that always drove him to
greater acts of love.
Charles blinked a few times before managing to force a chortle from
his throat. "I didn't realize we were having so many guests."
"Oh, the children had so much fun yesterday that I thought we should
have little Bertram over more often. He needs playmates too. And
Natalie has helped me ready something new and interesting for our
supper tonight."
Gibson tilted his head back and sniffed through the small nostrils
above his maw. "Are those... honeyed crickets?"
The lady frog pouted. "Oh, darling husband, you weren't supposed to
spoil the surprise!"
Charles was about to offer some rejoinder but found himself
surrounded by his children. He scooped the four of them up in his
arms and nuzzled them as they excitedly greeted him and grabbed at
his face and whiskers. The little frog Bertram looked up at four
dangling tails for a moment before he hopped over to his father and
wrapped his arms about his leg. Gibson reached down and hoisted him
into his arms to hug him against his chest.
"Crickets? That sounds horrible." James asked in disbelief, sticking
his tongue out as far as it could go.
"They're quite good," Gibson assured him.
"And you are a frog."
"Aye, that I am. But you would do well to try them anyway."
Charles hugged his children one more time before setting them down.
"Go clean your hands and then you can have something to eat." The
four of them excitedly scampered up the stairs without that fifth
interloper. At least Gibson was holding his son tight; he would have
to find some excuse to keep them away.
But it was not there that his eyes settled. All of it seemed to be a
distraction compared with the gaze of his wife. She stared at him
with searching eyes, seeking the answer to some unknowable question.
All the while her hand rested atop her heart, the amethyst stone
wrapped tightly within. Charles met that gaze, suspicions roiling
within his heart that could not be spoken.
What is that stone?
But a question could. "What is that stone? I've never seen it before."
Kimberly opened her paw so that she alone could look at the
medallion, if even she could see it around her snout. "This? Oh,
nothing. Just something I fancy." And with that she slipped it within
her bodice so it was no longer in view.
She's lying to you.
"I see that," he replied, and then forced himself to turn away. "It
has been more than a decade since I last ate a cricket. We used to
enjoy them in Sondeshara, so for me at least, glazing them with honey
sounds absolutely wonderful."
And though they were very crunchy and sweet to Charles, and though
James's expression of complete disgust was one of the most ridiculous
and exaggerated facades he'd ever seen the donkey bear, and though
his children demanded his attention, and though Gibson reported on
the tallies of his estimates for his Narrows plans, he could not help
but stare at his wife's bodice and eyes even out of the corner of his
own for the remainder of the evening.
She lied to him and he would know why.
You will. Obey your heart and you will.
And that thought, every time it came to him, made him smile.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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