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Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars IV: Infernus
(e)
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
When the light returned to eyes and mind, Charles
first felt a hand resting on his back. It was a
long-fingered hand, large, gentle, and warm. He
quivered beneath it, molars grinding and paws
scratching at the ground, tail curled up around
him as close as possible. There was cloth about
him, some tough and some loose, wrinkled and
bundled like heavy blankets. Beneath him the
ground felt strong and unyielding; against this
his claws, short but sharp, could do nothing.
The hand drew him back.
He blinked several times as the paralyzing
anxiety faded. A sense of indignation settled in
its place, focusing his nerves and his attention.
His eyes focused on his prodigious snout and
beyond to his thumbless paws and the piles of
clothing bunched around him. His back arched as
he huddled on his haunches with the tip of his
tail beneath his nose. Not as small as a normal
rat, but small enough that a hand could rest on
his back and nearly span its length from tail root to neck.
Flush both with embarrassment and irritation at
himself, he turned his head from side to side,
sniffing the air and surprised to find no scent
but those they carried with them. A limitless
nothing shrouded everything in any direction he
glanced, something so odd that it turned his eyes
away as if they were lodestones. Beneath him and
extending forward beyond any distance he could
fathom was a gray path. The bridge.
No stones or wood were used to fashion this
bridge. It was of a single piece, smooth and
remarkable only in its perfection. In width he
doubted if two men could walk side by side and
with no rails guarding them from tumbling off the
side he felt a disquieting vertigo whenever he
looked more than a few feet ahead.
Charles lowered his snout back to his tail and
paws and took a long deep breath. He felt no air
rush into his lungs and yet felt neither pain nor
panic at its absence. All that remained was his
indignation at being so easily cowed, and a
renewed determination to face the new horrors
that awaited them on the other side of the bridge.
But first the rat had to recover his dignity. He
willed himself to grow in size and return to the
most human shape the Curses of Metamor allowed.
His long tail slid behind him as short, squat
legs stretched and pushed the rest of him upward
in the midst of his tangled garments. Thumbs
emerged from his paws, returning once more to
clawed hands, as his snout dwindled in measure to
return some semblance of human proportions to his eyes and face.
The hand and presence at his side backed away to
give him room to right himself. In shrinking in
size he had shrunk out of his clothes and now
that he had returned to normal Charles found
himself with only a single leg in his pants and
both arms trapped within his tunic. His scouting
cape nearly fell from the side of the bridge
before Qan-af-årael put a soft boot in its
middle. Charles fidgeted with his garments for a
moment until he'd righted each, and then bent down to claim the cloak.
As on either side, there was nothing beneath the
bridge. He swayed unsteadily for a moment as his
eyes trained on the gray surface, only to feel a
shiver race through him when he saw that it had
no thickness. He stood upon a single scrap of
paper in the midst of a barren abyss bereft of
all sight, sound, and scent. He wished that he
could see even a single star in the firmament,
either above or below, but there was nothing.
Charles closed his eyes as he wrapped the cloak
about his shoulders and fixed its clasp.
Is it safe? he asked in a whisper. His words
did not echo, but they seemed louder than the
thundering of that brobdingnagian horror hunting
them across the plain. The tremble of a
frightened squeak was discernible in his speech.
In comparison the Åelf's voice felt smooth and
inoffensive, as suited to this emptiness as it
was to the lofty forested towers of his ancient
home. It is safe for now. But we should not
linger here long. The mistress of night did not
know we were in her domain, nor does he who lives
below know we are coming into his. The longer we
stay here the sooner they will learn of us. Are
you ready to continue, Charles?
The rat nodded and pulled his cloak tight, fixing
his eyes on the ancient one. Upon him he could
gaze for an eternity and never lack for
confidence. But with haste pressing upon them, he
too felt pressed, turning and walking carefully
along the gray bridge toward the other end.
The ground beneath him felt neither warm nor
cold, and though it was as smooth as glass, he
did not ever once feel his paw slip. He felt as
if he were walking across immaculate snow and
leaving no prints. Before him the bridge
stretched as if to infinity, lost amidst the
darkness which permitted no eye's inspection. He
continued to step forward, one paw before the
other, tail swaying ever so slightly from side to
side though never off the path. Behind him he
felt rather than saw Qan-af-årael's presence,
ever there but allowing Charles to lead.
The bridge contracted as if the limitless expanse
were nearing his grasp. He had a strange
sensation of swelling to immense proportions as
if he too had become a giant balancing upon the
bridge by the tips of his toes. And then the
bridge stopped and the world opened in a wash of light.
Charles stumbled as he left the bridge, finding
himself in a bath of yellow brilliance and
suspended a few feet from the ground. Into this
ground he tumbled and groaned, shielding his eyes
from the flood of light. He gasped and felt air
return to his lungs, though it had a pungent
quality, too sweet as to be febrile. Behind him
he heard the Åelf land with more grace, but it
took several seconds rubbing his eyes before he could open them.
He had walked from the deepest night into the
noon day sun. Above them the sky was clear though
jaundiced, with a brilliant sun that hovered far
nearer than their own ever could. From this he
averted his eyes, gazing around them and beneath
them. All around he saw row upon row of plants:
flowers of every shape and hue, bushes twisted
and sculpted with devilish taint, short trees
bearing fruit, nuts, and cones, and layered with
mushrooms along their trunks. Everything was
neatly cultivated and carefully planned.
A garden.
Charles rubbed his eyes a few more times as he
stood up. They were standing on a path of tightly
fit stones that ran straight in either direction.
Beyond the line of trees he could see stone walls
partitioning the room with glass canopies
overhanging the trees. Additional panes could be
added to enclose the entire area, but for the moment all was open to the sky.
Not just a garden, he realized, but a greenhouse.
He bent down to peer at a tall stemmed flower
near the path when Qan-af-årael gripped his
shoulder. Do not touch them, he advised in a
quiet voice, barely above a whisper. They will be poisoned in some way.
They look healthy, Charles noted, even as he
warily leaned away. The flower, lavender with
nine soft petals framing a bulbous yellow head,
was nothing he had ever seen before. Innocuous,
but appealing to both eye and nose, it seemed to
beckon him to come closer. His fingers yearned to
rub the soft velvet of its petals, and his nose
hungered to breath its delicate aroma.
The master of this place cultivates such life
only to observe as his poisons and plagues make
everything wither and die. This garden will kill
anything that disturbs it until the day it is
burned to the ground in readiness for his next experiment.
Charles exhaled, feeling rather vulnerable.
Where is the bridge to the next realm?
I must first know this place a little better
before I am certain. It is not here, and that is
all I know of it at this moment. Choose a
direction and we shall follow it. When I am
certain I will guide you. But in any of these places we should not linger.
The rat nodded and, eyes better if still smarting
from the bright sun, glanced along the path.
There did not appear to be any difference in
going left or right, and so started walking in
the direction the bridge had pointed. Though the
flowers, both tall and petite, had been planted
up to the edge of the stone path, he saw no weeds
or creepers trying to work their way between the
close-fitting stones. Nevertheless he walked in
the middle of the path, keeping a wary eye out.
For all he knew even the very air could be filled
with a poison he had already consumed. But until
he felt nausea or palsy he had to assume he'd been spared.
The room beyond was another garden in a similar
state of upkeep. There was no sign of a gardener
nor anything that moved. Charles was used to
spotting rabbits or moles furrowing holes even in
the Keeps' well tended gardens. But here there was only the plants.
The path continued without turning or forking
through three more rooms. Each room was a few
hundred paces in length and each of them appeared
to be one part of a vast greenhouse. There were a
few clouds that drifted across the sky above but
they always seemed to avoid the too large sun.
And though the temperature never seemed to
change, the foliage seemed to vary from the bloom
of Spring through the vibrancy of Summer to the
apex of Autumn. In one room he found brilliant
purple, yellow, and cherry blossoms dotting the
trees, the next was lush with broad green leaves,
while a third glowed with bronze and crimson
light. And despite the Åelf's warning, nothing in
any of the chambers appeared to be deprived of the least vitality.
And then he came to another chamber and
immediately put a hand over his shout. What had
once been a lovely garden in the throes of Spring
now was riddled with mildew and decay. Along
either side of the path he could see wilting
flowers, drooping bushes, and trees with sickly
white growths pressing out through their bark.
Leaves were corroded by veins of a bright, almost
iridescent green fungus. Red pustules oozed from
barren branches on all the bushes. The garden
soil was littered with dead petals, leaves, and
collapsed stems of flowers now shriveled and
gooey. The air reeked with a rancid miasma that made the rat gag.
He stepped back out of the room, wrapped his
cloak over his snout, and charged back in.
Charles moved as quickly as he could without
making any noise. He felt Qan-af-årael rushing
along behind him but the ancient one was also
preternaturally silent. The rooms that followed
were no better, and in some cases worse than that
first. The range of disease and putrefaction that
choked the air and nauseated the eyes seemed to have no limit.
But eventually the path which had stretched
forever before them reached a branch. Charles
paused only long enough to glance in either
direction before settling on the right fork. This
led into a long stone hallway with several
alcoves that seemed to break apart the air. With
each division they passed the air grew fresher.
After the seventh the rat felt comfortable
lowering his cloak and taking a deep breath. He
waited only a moment for the Åelf to do the same.
They stood in the passage enjoying the fresh air
for a few seconds before the rat asked in a low
voice, Do you know where the bridge is? Though
nothing here sought to gorge on their flesh at
least in Lilith's realm he had not been afraid to breath or touch anything.
Qan-af-årael closed his eyes and made a stilling
gesture with one hand. His long fingers seemed to
be lifted by some other agency as he
concentrated. Charles rocked from one paw to another as he waited.
It does not seem far away, the Åelf said after
nearly a minute of silent contemplation. The rat
cast furtive glances in either direction, though
it was impossible to see beyond the next fork in
the hall. His ears strained for any sound but
nothing came, not even the brush of wind across
his whiskers. Follow the right path ahead. But
be careful. We are leaving the gardens behind.
Charles was not sure what he expected to find
down the right path but certainly not what
greeted them at the end of another long series of
alcove chambers. The passage opened up into an
even larger space than had been set aside for
each of the gardens. The stone walls spread out
in a perfect rectangle to three times the
distance in each direction. The stone path
branched at regular intervals around deep pits
fashioned from the same stone. Little baubles
were affixed to iron posts above each though
Charles could not divine their purpose. Coming
from each was the stink of animal flesh.
Unable to resist, Charles peered over the nearest
pit. The walls dropped fifteen feet to a flat
bottom that sloped down to each side. In one
corner he saw a rancid pool of water, and in the
opposite corner a puddle of urine and droppings.
Sprawled on all fours in the middle was a small
mare. Her hide was falling off in patches and
misshapen lumps pressed against several of her
ribs and legs. Blotchy pustules smeared beneath
her soulless eyes and a yellow froth trickled
from between her shriveled lips. One eye roved in
the unmoving head to find the rat up above and then she stared at him uncaring.
Charles stepped back and dug his claws into his
palms. What is this place? His eyes stole
across the many pits within the large room. He
lost count after thirty and wasn't even half way done.
Quiet, Qan-af-årael cautioned, tapping his arm
and motioning him to step back. His eyes fixed
upon something in the distance. Charles did not
waste time trying to see what; a rat's eyes would
never compare at distances. They retreated to one
corner where they could hide behind pits whose
walls were just tall enough to conceal them.
Crouching low, they waited for several seconds
before they heard the sound of footsteps from the other end.
Charles sucked in his breath and held it. He
strained his ears, one hand spread across his
chest to keep the pounding of his heart from
echoing against his ribs. There were a pair of
creatures to judge from the disjointed steps. A
part of him yearned to peer around the side of
the wall but the rest of him remembered the
diseased horse and the decaying gardens. A flash
of madness from that thing on the plain stilled
whatever nascent desire to sate his curiosity
remained. He quivered, whiskers trembling, and hoped he would never see them.
Their pace was slow. They would take a dozen
steps, and then they would stop for a long time
before taking another twelve steps. He could hear
some faint clicking sounds as of crickets
chirping. Charles swallowed and fought to keep
from gasping when he realized it was the two creatures who made that noise.
At first he tried to count the number of times
that they stopped but after seven he stopped
caring. Their path through the room seemed
methodical and systematic. They swept from left
to right along a single row, and then right to
left along the next. Their clicks would grow
closer and more irritated, and then they would
recede and their hateful speech would leave his ears.
Above them the sun remained in its place. Charles
bristled beneath its constant and now sweltering
rays. He itched all along his back and down his
legs. His muscles strained from his crouched
position. He leaned ever slightly against the
wall of the pit and wished he hadn't. Though
pleasantly cool to the touch, there was also a
thin film coating it. As quietly as he could he
rubbed his fingers clean on his cloak, flexing
them and hoping he would still find flesh there when he was finished.
His head sprang upward at the sound of terrified
screaming. Somewhere in one of the pits in the
center of the chamber they had a human captive.
Charles stuffed the edge of his cloak between his
incisors and gnawed to keep silent. The scream
rose in pitch for a moment before dying off only
to start again after a gasp of breath. The
clicking, chirping insect speech continued as if
this were no more a remarkable occasion than a cloud drifting across the sky.
Qan-af-årael set one hand on the rat's shoulders
as he quivered, tail thumping back and forth
against Åelven boots. He reached around his free
arm and grabbed his tail and clutched it tightly
to his chest as his incisors tore a hole into his cloak.
The screaming continued with its rise and fall
for several unbearable minutes. And then it
turned into a shriek before falling completely
silent. The clicking voices carried an air of
self-satisfaction that made Charles bite a second
hole in his cloak. And then, as if nothing else
had happened, they continued on their way
inspecting the other pits. A faint moaning echo
followed them but even that died away shortly
after the insect-things finished their next victim.
Charles was able to regain control of his
breathing, but the wait was excruciating. Surely
they could sneak along the exterior wall while
the creatures were investigating a pit on the far
side. He half turned his head to the Åelf to
suggest this when another scream erupted from
their next pit. Only this one was blended with
the howling whine of a dog. Neither man nor beast it was another Keeper.
He bit into his cloak once more and shifted his
stance, leveling up his head to peer just past
the wall. A good fifty paces away he saw them.
They were vaguely man-shaped, but even in a dark
corridor without a single candle to the light the
way it was clear that they anything but men.
Eight spindly arms stretched from either side of
their bright green torso, each ending in a pair
of black claws, and with these they manipulated
various instruments both long and spectral. Their
heads were those of crickets with huge compound
eyes, waggling antennae, and gyrating mandibles.
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May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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