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Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars IV: Infernus
(k)
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
When Charles stepped off the end of the bridge
into the infinitesimal gap he felt a curious
stillness greet him on the other side. He blinked
and twitched his whiskers, ears lifted for any
sound, tail turning behind him in expectation of
his guardian's arrival. The realm about him was
washed out and gray, with a featureless plain
stretching in every direction. The sky was leaden
and dark. The ground was cold as on a night in
early Spring when the mountain slopes had yet to
thaw. There was a soft hush in the air as of a
gentle autumn breeze catching at dead leaves.
What few scents he tasted were muted. Everything around him felt cold.
What he did notice, unlike Klepnos's realm, was
that in the distance he could see people huddled
together. They were too far away for his eyes to
discern any details, but their general shape was
unmistakeable. For a brief moment he felt
heartened to see other people. And then he
recalled where he was and shuddered from more
than the chill in the air. These people were all
dead; and the further he descended in this pagan
realm the worse these people would be.
A warming presence filled the space behind him
and Charles turned toward his protector and
guide. Qan-af-årael stood tall as a sapling with
folded hands before him, golden eyes surveying
the sullen landscape. His gaze lowered to the rat
and a subtle smile played across his cheeks
before a graver cast overtook his already gray
features. In that barren landscape with
oppressively colorless sky what few pigments
remained to the Åelf were drained as well.
He set one hand on Charles' shoulder and the
solid assuring presence of the Åelf filled not
just his senses but his mind as well.
Do not use your voice unless you have no other
choice. The very air will steal your warmth. It
will steal it anyway, but you should not hasten it.
Charles nodded to show ascent and concentrated
his thoughts in reply. I have felt colder than
this. How much worse will it get?
We have been here but moments. It will never warm
and will grow much, much colder ere we find the
bridge. Qan-af-årael removed his hand but the
presence within him remained. It felt as if he
were not alone inside his flesh, but that through
the sharing of minds there were two within him,
himself and a great companion in whom he could
trust to guide and protect him. There seemed to
the rat some sequacious impulse inherent to the
connection, as of an inchoate bearing from a
compass that still spun. Insouciant, he turned
from the Åelf, and gestured with the sweep of one arm.
Which way should we go? Everything appears the same here.
Cold and gray, and yet tinged with the blue of ice, he almost added.
In this place I do not believe it matters. All directions lead to Kilyarnie.
Charles wrapped his arms about his chest and
grimaced. He did not need to think the question for it to be clear.
But the ancient one's thoughts were no comfort.
His voice felt brittle in his mind, as if it were
cool iron. It will not make sense until we are
there. For now you must start moving and keep
moving. Do not stop walking for any reason.
Charles nodded, glanced around at the vast gray
plain, hesitating only a moment before picking
the direction ahead of him. He raised one
long-toed paw, stepped forward, and set it down
again. No sharp knives or strange sensations met
him. Only the barrenness of permafrost, the
slight crunching of frozen ground beneath his
weight, was there to greet him. His other paw
lifted and swung forward past its sibling to
crush more of the barren earth, leaving an
impression of long toes and narrow sole behind.
The first two steps felt tentative, but
thereafter his pace quickened and Charles soon
strode across the cold plain without hesitation.
His cloak billowed around him at first, but he
quickly grasped it with either hand and pulled it
tight around him to keep what warmth he still
felt within. His tail he swung around his side
until it could be looped about his middle; it
hurt to have it twisted so much, but it was
better than having it freeze. His toes and ears
hurt from the cold after only a few minutes of
walking. In mid-step he pulled the cowl of his
cloak up over his head and felt some relief.
The sides of the cowl narrowed his vision; the
blur of his whiskers and snout were ever before
him. His breath misted in the air and clung to
his whiskers. He flicked them from time to time
when he felt that mist turning to ice. The rat shivered and kept walking.
Qan-af-årael was hidden by the cowl, but he could
hear the crush of his boots on the ground to his
right. The cold, already bitter and deeper than
when he had emerged from the bridge, muted his
scent, and there was a subtle disconnect in his
presence, as if he were both at his side and some
distance away. His mental being however felt
nearer still; even though his thoughts did not
intrude upon him they were always there on the
other side of a little wall. At the breath of
invitation Charles knew his protector and guide
would come. The paltry barrier between them could never keep him out.
The plain ahead of him did not vary even after
what felt like hours of walking. There was no
breeze at all, leaving everything to feel as
still as stone. The sky bore down upon them so
that it felt as if the void of stars was within
an arrow's reach. Charles bent forward, one hand
clutching his tail, the other holding his cloak,
nose sniffling through his own breath.
The groups of people clustered together he saw at
a distance generally seemed to stay at a
distance. What little of the plain he could see
between the sides of his cowl hurt his eyes to
follow too closely. Unlike Klepnos's realm which
made no sense in any direction, here what
happened if he glanced to either side was
consistent in its incongruity. But it did not
move as the real world did and that made it difficult to observe.
As long as Charles stared straight ahead at the
point on the non-existent horizon toward which he
walked, then only the way his vision seemed to
stretch into infinity bothered him. Perspective
was maintained along that straight path. But
should his eyes veer a short distance as a rat
he could not keep them from veering as the shape
of his head made him prefer to focus on what
happened on either side of him then he saw
everything rushing away as if twisted on some
giant disc, so that objects which had appeared
near the path he followed would rush away like a Lutin fleeing the axe.
But there was something even stranger. A slight
angle difference in either direction from the
point directly ahead of him also seemed to remain
fixed in place. And should he stare at something
between those points that were fixed, the more he
walked, the nearer they seemed to his
destination! It was if he were walking through
bubbles of soap, all sense of distance and
perspective distorted so that he could no longer
tell what was far away and what was near at all.
The many groups of people he saw huddled together
would one moment appear to be within shouting
range and then the next they would be flung away
off to his side to disappear beyond the folds of
his cowl. Others seemed as if he would never near
them only to be thrust within view for a moment's
breath before they too were sucked away by the cold.
In a moment of curiosity, Charles turned his head
as he walked to stare to his left. His impression
of a vast disc on which everything turned was
insufficient to describe what in those few
seconds he witnessed. Groups of people, the
slightest variations in the permafrost, all of it
moved back and forth, here and there in a series
of spirals whose intricate patterns were a
mystery to him. It made him feel nauseated. He did not try it a second time.
But as disturbing as the strange way everything
moved around him, he would not make the mistake
of closing his eyes. All he heard was the crunch
of the ground beneath his numb paws and the
similar sound that came from the fall of
Qan-af-årael's boots. As he forced his legs to
take each step, he peered across the wall at the
edge of his mind and whispered a question.
Why is it impossible to tell how far away anything is here?
The presence of his companion shifted to that
wall, like a bank of fog climbing the ledge
around Metamor. Because all paths here lead to
Kilyarnie. Distance does not mean the same thing
here as we are used to. Imagine you are walking
on the inside of a vast funnel. If you do not
walk straight toward the bottom, objects on one
side will veer away from you, while those on the
other will remain close for a time. It is not
quite what we do here, but the idea is similar.
Charles tried to imagine what it might be like to
walk along the inside of a funnel, but had
difficulty grasping it. Qan-af-årael's presence
intruded on his pondering as of a gate captain
warning his people of an enemy without.
It is the least dangerous aspect of this place.
We still tread its periphery. You must stay as
warm as you can; do not turn to stone here or you
will not survive to reach Kilyarnie much less the bridge.
Charles shuddered and gave a quick nod. He tried
to quicken his pace but even with his Sondeck
could only manage a little speed. He risked
lifting one paw to adjust the cloak so that the
tip of his snout was covered; this did expose one
of his legs more than he would like the section
removed by Tallakath's gardeners and the section
he'd given up to garb one of Tallakath's victims
now haunted him but it allowed him to breathe somewhat warmer air.
Though he could not be certain how long he had
been walking, nor how far they had come or how
far they had to go, but one thing that he did
know was that the air had grown colder. The
ground beneath his feet was sprinkled with ice
crystals that added a shimmer of white to the
dusky gray of the permafrost. The clouds above
them seemed thinner than before, and from time to
time they would open up to reveal the bleakness
of a night sky. That black void felt much nearer
as if the sky itself were only as tall as
Metamor's cathedral and not spanning the expanse of mountains.
Charles shivered beneath the cloak and kept walking.
To his surprise, one of the groups of people
huddled together appeared in view along one of
the angles that seemed to stay fixed. He watched
them for a time as he tried not to think of the
pain in his legs and paws. At first he could make
nothing out but as they closed he saw that there
were more than a dozen men and women all pressed
as closely as they could together. Charles first
thought that they had done so for mutual benefit,
helping to keep each other warm for just a bit
longer. But as the group drew closer along that
fixed angle, he realized that mutual benefit had
nothing to do with what he saw.
The two dozen or so were formed in the middle by
four larger men who had their arms wrapped about
eight others, holding them in tight so there was
no space between their flesh. The next eight out
also had their arms wrapped about one or two
others, keeping them as close as they possible
could to steal their warmth. The dozen men and
women on the outermost ring were there against
their will. Not that, to judge by their blank
expressions and their ice covered extremities,
they had any will left to object. Their arms hung
limply at their sides, fingers and toes all blue
and swollen from frostbite. Their faces were
sallow, with ice coating their hair, lashes, and
beards. Their eyes were open and frozen in place,
a sheen of pale blue coating them.
The next ring in, having exhausted the warmth of
those on the outside, were also beginning to show
the effects of the cold. Their flesh, where
visible, had traces of frostbite, and their
expressions were fixed in a rictus of
resignation. Only the four larger men in the
middle still seemed determined to keep the ice at
bay; only they still had warmth around them to
steal. And yet, not a one of them moved; they did
not even blink. They were as frozen in place as
those poor souls whose fires had already gone out.
Charles pulled his cloak more tightly about his
chest and whimpered under his breath. He feared
what would happen should they draw too close to
this group of warmth-stealing souls, but his path
from which he could not make himself deviate
brought them right to him. His eyes ever stayed
upon them as they neared, swelling and larger
until he could see how they rose up above him. As
a rat he was used to being a head or two shorter
than most of his friends, but for some reason
or perhaps merely from the whims of the mistress
of this barren place the frozen human souls
appeared to tower above him. He knew he should be
at eye level with their chest, but instead he
felt he had to glance upward just to find their knees.
And then, as they reached the edge of that
collection of souls their swollen feet, frozen to
the ground so that they were actually encased in
slopes of ice, framed him as the roots of his tree in Glen Avery did.
Charles passed in between the ankles, head bowed
ever so slightly to hold in his warmth. Veins of
blue laced the ice that stretched across the
ground from foot to foot. His claws found some
purchase in the ice, but still he slipped and
stumbled. Qan-af-årael steadied him with a single
hand, and a nearness of presence urged him to
keep walking. The rat did so, right into the
center of that mass of thieving souls.
The second ring of souls were not encrusted by
ice, though their extremities, some clad and some
not, were all beginning to show the signs of it.
Crystals formed along the edge of their feet; he
saw swollen toes on some. Before him a pair of
boots rose upward to an impossible height,
greater than that of Metamor castle. And yet the
sky still seemed to bear down on them ever
closer. Had Charles and Qan-af-årael shrunk to
the size of grasshoppers, or was this just one
more strange distortion inimical to this realm?
The air in between the legs and feet of the
innermost ring had a tinge of warmth to it. He
could for the first time smell the sweat of flesh
and hear the twinge of a heart beat in the giants
above him. For a moment he considered pausing to
allow that warmth to fill him. He could wait a
few moments here. His shivering would still, the
pain in his legs and paws from exposure would be
healed. All he had to do was linger for a time and he would be himself again.
But how long a time? Would he become like these
four thieves, unable to move for fear that they
would lose what little heat they could still
steal? At the wall in his mind he felt the
presence of his guardian urging him onward, as if
he were in agreement with this subtle warning.
Charles kept walking. The cooler air returned the
moment he passed into the second circle of legs,
and he resumed shivering when he stepped past the
ice-caked legs of the frozen souls. When at last
he emerged from beneath them he saw that the
permafrost had completely surrendered to the ice.
The vast plain of this barren realm was now
covered for as far as his eyes could penetrate in
a sheet of dull white ice. Gray, thin clouds
sagged beneath the weight of the void pressing
down on them from above. The pain in his legs
grew worse with each step, but he continued to
walk, shivering in his flesh and chittering in his teeth.
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May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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