I suspect folks won't like this bit.
Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars III: Descensum
(s)
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
The pain from his bruises was long past by the
time he laid down in bed that evening. The ride
back to the Glen had been uneventful and he'd
regained his balance even before they'd reached
the ponies. He'd barely contained his fury when
he saw that his wife had invited Natalie and her
son over again. The interloping frog had been
playing with his children and his children his
children were enjoying themselves!
At their return Natalie collected her son that
they might return home. Kimberly tended his
wounds and sponged his fur clean. The bruises
were not serious, and the few cuts he had were
easily tended. She did note on a few drops of
blood on his sleeve, but he professed not to know
and she did not press. While he was tended
Garigan watched the children who enjoyed the
ferret's attempt to tell a story about how he'd rescued their father.
That evening James and Baerle put in a brief
appearance. Charles listened to the donkey and
opossum regale them with all that they had seen
in the mountains to the north. Many of the passes
that had been snowed and iced over during March
were now clear and so they had an easy time
navigating even the treacherous paths. The
scariest moment had come when a pair of mountain
rams had decided to chase them toward a cliff,
but a show of magic from one of the younger
scouts convinced the rams to run the other way.
Otherwise all was quiet on their northern frontier.
Like the frogs, both James and Baerle also took
their leave, followed by Garigan once the evening
hour arrived. They stayed long enough to help
feed the children their evening meal but once the
little rats had been fed all of his friends
departed. Together, Charles and Kimberly put
their children to bed and then a short while later retired as well.
Charles spoke a little of his knightly duties for
the coming week and Kimberly expressed her
approval that they would keep him closer to the
Glen. He did not ask after the rock about her
neck for she wore it beneath her kirtle, but he
could see the little lump in the midst of her
bodice. He tried to ignore it and for the most part succeeded.
All was dark in their bedroom once Kimberly
extinguished her witchlight. Charles knew
precisely where his clothes were and where
anything else that might obstruct his path to the
door. So in quiet he waited, listening to his
wife's breathing as she lay next to him. His arms
rested atop the covers, fingers clasped together
over his chest, while the pillow beneath his head
splayed his large ears to either side. His
whiskers twitched as his incisors tapped against
each other. He kept his tail shifted to his right
so that the end of it was already brushing the floor in anticipation.
Kimberly took her time finding a comfortable
position. At first she was on her back as she
usually preferred, and then she tossed onto her
side, and then a few minutes later she tossed
onto her other side, thumping Charles in the leg
with her tail beneath the covers, before finally
settling onto her back again. Through it all
Charles never quivered or budged. He merely
waited peering in the dark above, a dark so deep
he could not even see his own snout.
But his wife's discomfort finally passed and soon
she was resting peacefully. Charles waited a few
minutes to be certain, then slipped from the
covers and gathered his attire. He made no noise
in creeping from their bedroom. A little light
came through the small windows into their main
room and there he donned his clothes, including a
dark cloak from his days among the Longs that
helped hide him while scouting. He pulled the
hood over his ears and then crept outside,
hugging the shadows where he would not be seen.
Glen scouts were some of the best in all the
Valley, but Charles was a Sondecki. He kept to
the shadows and crossed the commons with measured
steps and quick strides. He had one advantage in
that the scouts were watching the roads and
forests around the Glen and not often the commons
which always saw their share of hoof and paw
during the day. Not so at night when most had
laid down their heads to sleep trusting in the
scouts to protect them from enemies without.
Charles was not an enemy, neither within or
without, but still, he feared being seen and
stopped. He had but one thing he must do ere he
met Malger and he did not want either James or
Garigan to notice. They all suspected him of
Marzac's corruption, so anything he did out of
the ordinary would be misconstrued. It was best if they just did not know.
He crossed the commons without raising any
alarms. Charles pulled the cloak more tightly
about his middle as he swept from tree to tree,
creeping through the darkness as but one more
shadow. There was no light in the graveyard; not
only would the least sliver of a waning moon not
rise until dawn, but the clouds blotted out all
the stars. The only light that cast through the
trees was the occasional lantern carried by a
Glenner on their way home from the Inn or from the brewery after many drinks.
Even without the light Charles knew where to find
his son's grave. He crept across the earth,
skulking on all fours, until his claws reached
the familiar stone. He ran his fingers up its
cold surface, a familiar surface that he had
melded into so many times before. But not this
night. Instead he spread his cloak across the
earth beneath which his son lay, and pressed his
forehead against the stone. His tongue moved to
whisper though his snout did not open. And so
beneath his breath only a few words passed from snout to stone.
I am coming for you, my Ladero.
These words breathed again and again from his
lungs, his heart, and his soul. Tears brimmed in
his eyes, one catching in the ruin of his flesh
before tumbling to the cross beam of the stone
marker. He smeared the tear with his fingers,
rubbing it firmly into the stone. He tilted back
his snout and planted a kiss upon the marker.
Nothing more can be done here.
He nodded to himself and slowly eased himself back.
They will be watching this place. You must make haste now.
He crept back into the shadows and followed along
the edge of the commons westward toward the Inn
and brewery. Once he was close enough he slipped
free of the cloak, folded it over his arms, and
calmly walked through the main doors of the
brewery taproom. Far too many went in and out of
the taproom for anyone to take special notice,
but were he to come draped in his cloak he might
draw attention to himself. With noble calm and an
affected air of conviviality he opened the door and stepped within.
The interior of the cave was warmly light with
lanterns suspended from the ceiling and a
comfortable fire crackling in the hearth. The
bruin Lars was pouring drinks for the many Glen
scouts who had come to wash away the strain of
the day. Charles recognized many of them, but
none had gone with him to Marzac or even knew of
their fears of that place. A few waved to him and
he waved in return, but no words were shared.
Instead he passed the long tables with drunken
Glenners and proceeded to the owner.
Master Lars, pardon me, but I believe I am expected below.
Lars turned to him and snorted, brown eyes
narrowing for a moment. Sir Matthias, of course.
I gave his grace a storage room below the brewing
hall that suited your needs. It is not hard to
find. He gave the rat quick instructions for
which Charles thanked the bear and proceeded back out into the night.
He did not bother donning the cloak as he made
his way along the southern face of the hill and
calmly walked through the unlocked postern gate
of the brewery. The brewing tuns within were far
too large for even the mightiest to move, and the
mash within too raw for any to attempt drinking,
so Lars seldom secured the door. It was only
during decanting from tun to barrel for
fermentation that the bruin evinced any concern
for his precious wares. Confidant and determined
he opened the door and stepped within.
The air smacked him with an almost palpable blow;
sticky warm and breathtakingly humid, with a bite
that burned his nose and left his eyes watering.
He hastened through the main room, all decorum
lost and wholly unconcerned that any might see
him who could, unless their eyes had become
inured to the torture? Reaching the far end he
pulled open the double doors enough to squeeze
through and let them thump closed behind him.
The caverns beneath the brewery were partly
natural and partly carved out of the stone. They
served primarily as storage, in an unchanging
environment, for the fermentation of the bruin's
numerous brews. During times of attack they also
provided the Glenners a secure shelter from which
to last out the attack or fight back. There was
even a secret passage that emptied out into the
mountains, but thankfully they had never need to
use it. At least the air within was far less
stifling, though was still potent with a mélange
of curing scents. Charles descended two flights
of short stairs before he found the chamber the
bear had offered them. Standing in the doorway
watching for him was Malger's servant, the fox
Misanthe was had hidden under the marten Noble's
chair during Charles' request, and stood silently
by that morning when Charles received his answer.
Now she was in a more comfortably bipedal form
and seemed to glow in a bronze light from within the room.
When she saw him she nodded and then disappeared
within the room. Charles walked a little faster,
but the hall was long and it took him several
seconds to reach the chamber. The fox had eased
the door so that it was only cracked. He pushed
the heavy door open with one hand until it had
swung wide, allowing him a view of the room beyond.
The room, like everything else, was carved out of
the granite hillside. Wooden supports rose along
all four walls and crossed the ceiling where a
hook was fixed for a lantern. Old storage chests
were stacked against the right wall while two
pallets with warm quilts were arrayed in the
center of the room. A single candle and a censer
were set beside the pallets. The room was clean
of dust and damp with a fresh smell and a
lingering suggestion of wine from the two racks
of small casks along the back wall. The more
powerful odors were that of the fox who'd stood
watch at the door and the marten who stood on the
other side of the pallets watching him with a
keen eye. The scent of the incense within the
censer was the last odor that tickled his
sensitive nose but his whiskers told him that
what his eyes saw, and they felt, threw the
geometry of the room askew. Narrowing his gaze he
glowered at the back wall but, after a few
seconds of scrutiny he decided that such
mysteries would only distract him from his goal so he pushed it aside.
Charles took a deep breath. Good evening, Malger. I am here. What must I do?
Malger motioned for him to enter. Step inside
and lay down on one of the pallets. You will need
some place to sleep if you are to enter the
dreams. I will be beside you but there is no need
for us to touch. The noble marten gestured to
the fox who had stepped away to give him some
distance. Misanthe is here to watch over us as we sleep.
Why would she watch you?
Will we need watching? Charles asked as he
stepped through the doorway. He cast a sidelong
glance at the fox, favoring her with the ruined side of his face.
Malger's reply was given in a reassuring tone.
Both to ensure we are not disturbed and to wake us should something go wrong.
Should something go wrong? Nothing must be allowed to go wrong!
Charles twitched his whiskers and snapped his
eyes back to Malger. Anxious, he asked, Can things go wrong?
Malger nodded, but lifted one hand as if to
assure him. They can, but it is very rare. He
gestured to the fox and offered a smile to the
rat that revealed all of his little fangs.
Instead of fearing what might go wrong, take
comfort that Misanthe will be here so that you
will not take harm should something, however
unlikely, go amiss. Malger lowered his arm and
pointed to the pallets at his feet. Please, lie
down and make yourself comfortable and we can begin.
Follow his instructions.
Charles cast one more scowl at the far wall
before depositing his cloak beside the pallet and
then reclining, resting his head on the pillow.
He folded his hands over his stomach, lacing the
fingers together; he tapped his thumb claws
together as his eyes stared up into the ceiling.
His ears flicked at the thunk that sounded when
Misanthe shut the heavy door and threw the latch.
While she snuffed the lanterns, plunging the room
into darkness but for that lone candle flame,
Malger used a slender reed to light the incense
within the censer. Charles was briefly, and
disquietingly, reminded of the dark censer that
had nearly destroyed them in the belfry the very
day of his departure from his home and long journey into the south.
A long journey, a long time away from family with
no farewells and so much loss. But what was lost
can be found. One journey is ended, a new one begins.
The thought comforted him and he stared into the
weird shadows glimmering across the uneven stone
above him, suggesting creatures and people in a
strange sort of play of light. The rat fancied he
saw herds of deer through the forest, rats
dancing in the night, and the blaring of a horn
splitting a stormy sky. He watched with whimsy
cavorting rats take up the chase with a wild hunt
that leaped the moon that sunk into a
river-carved gorge. And then a thin trail of
smoke rose into view and his whiskers twitched
with the strangely sweet incense it carried. He breathed deep and relaxed.
As the censer began to send thin tendrils of
sweet and heady smoke into the air, Malger picked
up his flute and blew across the opening,
sounding an experimental tone. It hung in
Charles' hearing long after the musician had drawn the flute from his lips.
Gaze into the flame. Malger's voice became
softer, more smooth; a lilting baritone that
seemed to have lost the animal churr that Charles
had grown not to notice in the last half decade.
Now, he noticed its absence. Listen to the
melody I play and let your mind drift, but think
of me as you drift; it matters not the thought,
but that it will be a beacon that draws me to you
within the Dream. Charles stretched slowly upon
the pallet, comfortable padded against the
unyielding solidity of the rough-hewn stone
floor. He turned his head to gaze upon the
unwavering glow of the candle that stood between
them. Malger was seated opposite him, legs
crossed, his form cast in shadows and highlights
beyond the flame. Let the flame lead to calm,
the calm to its center, Malger intoned in that
low, lyrical voice like a father's lullaby
shushing a child toward sleep. Charles felt his
body relaxing; these exercises he was familiar
with and fell into almost without conscious
thought. He fell into the calm, but his center
seemed elusive; shadowed away and blocked from
grasp. After mere moments he felt that
frustration melt away and simply relaxed. His
clasped hands rested upon his stomach, his thumbs
rubbing against each other very slowly. Nothing
else, not even the tip of his tail curled up on
the quilt between his feet, twitched. His chest
rose and fell with slow measured breaths to show
he was alive but that was all. His whiskers
didn't even flick as the incense drifted over his sensitive nose.
Malger began to trace out a slow, serpentine tune
that coiled around an elusive center, a
sympathetic melody on a minor key echoing the
music in a fading echo. Its contour was of the
gentle caress of waves upon a hull and the
ever-shifting dunes of his desert home. This was
no sweet inducement to sleep for babes, but a
sultry enchantment, suggestive without revealing anything at all.
The rat's eyes remained alert for a few minutes,
but the combination of the unwavering flame, the
hazy incense, and the slow, hypnotic melody of
the flute drooped his eye lids and relaxed his
frame. The incense, sweet and sharp in his
nostrils, lifted his mind away from all concerns.
Within moments he was not in the caves beneath Glen Avery.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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