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Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars IV: Infernus
(l)
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
He well remembered the many winters at Metamor he
had lived, and most especially the last two in
which he'd been forced to survive in the elements
as a scout for both Metamor and the Glen. In each
case he had been better prepared for the elements
with warmer cloaks, breeches, and tunics. He'd
even had boots for his paws on the coldest of
days to keep his toes from freezing. The rest of
the time wrappings had been sufficient. Now he
had nothing but a tunic, breeches, and torn cloak suitable for the Spring.
And when he had journeyed into the Barrier Range
he had been trapped in a stone body. The iciness
had been frightening in the sense that he feared
having water seep into his body and then expand
when it froze, cracking the granite sinews of his
form. His fears had been the fears of stone, not
of flesh. Now he was beginning to understand the
misery his companions on that journey had
endured. His body yearned for a single fire, and
he began to regret not lingering beneath the legs of the warm people.
Flakes of snow drifted through the air and began
whitening his dark cloak. One of them drifted
into his cowl and settled in the ruined flesh
over his right eye, melting only slowly. The icy
water dribbled into his eye. He blinked and
shifted about as he walked, rubbing his face
against the inside of his cowl to dry it. As he
did so the cowl fell away from his snout and the
cloak back down around his lower legs. More snow
settled onto his whiskers and nose as if drawn to him.
At first he twitched whiskers and snout to
dislodge as much of the snow as he could. But as
the minutes rolled past and the snow thickened in
the air he stopped bothering. There was too much
snow to fight and it was a distraction from his
efforts to keep placing one paw in front of the
other. He felt a sullen resignation weighing on
his heart. The snowfall seemed only to emphasize
the futility of his efforts. Each step expended
more of his precious energy allowing this place
to steal more and more of his heat. Were he to
keep still the rat could conserve that warmth for much longer.
And were he to do that, he knew, he would never
see his son again. Charles pushed on, digging his
claws into the flesh of his tail enough to
register a little pain. The agony in his legs
increased with each step and so he dug his claws
tighter and tighter to turn his mind from their
pain. His other hand clutched the cloak tight, so
tight that it was hard to breath. Every gust of
air from his snout misted before him, blinding
him even more than the snowfall. Ice laced his
whiskers and coated the tip of his snout. His
paws, chapped, cracked and began to bleed.
He shifted his thoughts toward that wall against
which the presence of his guardian reposed. His
request tumbled through his thoughts.
Master Åelf, is there any way you can give me warmth? The cold is...
There was a note of regret in the reply.
Any spell I cast in this place will draw the
attention of its mistress. If your life is
threatened I will do what is necessary to
preserve it. But we should avoid drawing
attention to ourselves for as long as we can. You
can endure more than this, Charles. I am here with you.
Despite the refusal, he did feel some comfort in
the assurance. Charles gave a quick nod of his
head to show he understood even as he continued
to stumble through the snow. The ice encrusted
ground was now coated with a layer of snow a hand
deep, and through it the cracks in his paws left a spattered crimson trail.
While forcing himself to walk, Charles forced his
thoughts toward his family. He walked this
horrible way through the crucible of a soul to
reach his lost son. A smile touched the edge of
his snout as he remembered the day of his birth.
The horrible news that the child was tangled in
his umbilical cord and the great risk that Lady
Avery, Jo, and Burris took in cutting open his
wife to draw the child out, all of that fear had
been erased in the moment when the child had been
placed in his arms and he knew not only that his
fifth child would live, but the flickering power of the Sondeck filled him too.
How well he could remember the leap in his heart
at that sensation, the kindling of a kindred soul
whose life would be forever tied to that of his
father, a certainty that he would continue in his
father's steps, and eventually take his father's
duties as his successor. The hours they would
spend together reaching for their Calm, singing
the Sondlatharos, kneeling before the Sondecki
shrine to bask in its power, and practicing arts
beyond the ken of mortal men. Their union would
be so complete that no force on earth could have torn them apart.
Save for death.
If not for Marzac he would have been there when
the Sondtodt struck Ladero. He would have known
what to do and whom to seek to save his son's
life. With Garigan's aide they could have kept
the tear from spreading and brought him to
Sondeshara where he would have been healed. True,
Charles would have had to endure the judgment of
his clan, but that was a small price to pay to have his son with him.
His heart stiffened when he recalled the offered
price to Nocturna to bring Ladero back. But it
had been a ruse only, one that gave him access to
the world beyond. The queen of dreams could exact
nothing from him when the victory was of his own doing.
For a time these thoughts warmed him enough to
keep moving. He even drew to mind his wife and
other children so that he might delight in their
memory and their eager, loving faces. But he did
not struggle against the elements for their sake
and so inevitably they would fall from his thoughts. Only Ladero was left.
But to what end was he enduring this? To glimpse
his son and say goodbye? Was a mere goodbye worth
the effort he expended. Was it worth the shedding
of his blood, the raping of his mind, and the torture of his flesh?
The snow rose to two hands and he had to lift his
legs to forge through. No wind blew to thwart
him, but the cold deepened and his arms shook as
if palsied. He stared past white whiskers, a
snout flecked with ice, and the edge of his cowl
coated with flakes that would not melt. He felt
no heat in him, only the bitter cold sinking
through fur, flesh, and settling into his bones.
His heart throbbed with yearning for his son, but
bit by bit that too surrendered to a mere
yearning for some glimmer of warmth that would
justify lifting one paw after another.
He trudged on, the presence at his side moving
closer so that he could feel his cloak brushing
against Qan-af-årael's side. There was a
suggestion of warmth there still and so he leaned
into it, trembling. Charles wanted to fall into
his guardian's arms and curl against him just for
even a moment to escape the freezing chill.
By the time the snow was as high as his knees the
air began to thin even further. The snow
continued to fall but grew sparse and finally
abated altogether. Each step took several seconds
as he was forced to climb through the snow, his
hands slipped free of the cloak to push enough of
the fresh-fallen snow away so his legs could step
over them. The chapped flesh on his paws bled
some and then froze gray and scarlet as if it
were drops of rubies imbedded in granite. His
tongue was too cold to whimper no matter the
pain. His body yearned only for rest.
With the snow cleared Charles caught sight of
something ahead along one of the peculiar angles.
It was not, as he expected, another group of men
clustered together in attempt to to steal warmth.
Rather it was a single man standing with arms
clutches to his chest, head lowered with chin on
chest, and legs anchored to the ground by
encasing ice that reached past his knees. Unlike
Charles he appeared to have been dressed for
colder climes, with two layers of fur-lined
tunics and breeches, and a red-skinned cloak atop
it all which was now pinched to his legs beneath
the ice. His face was covered in a beard that had
once been a ruddy brown but which now was white
with frost. Icicles framed his eyes and dangled
from his ears. His eyes were closed, but as the
rat and Åelf trudged through the snow they
blinked open and met them with a sudden glimmer of disdain.
Lips cracked and bleeding opened, and in a voice
hoary with disuse, the man spoke. Do you not
recognize me, Sondecki? Your form may be that of a beast but I recognize you.
Charles was taken aback, but at the touch of the
Åelf kept moving forward. Like the group of men
earlier this man seemed to swell in size as they
neared. But their pace was so slow that he still
only appeared to be a very large man. Each
agonizing step thrust him taller by one or two hands.
The mention of Sondecki drove the rat into the
vaults of memory as he searched the cold-scarred
face for some hint of identity. But of all those
he'd known from his years in Sondeshara this face
had never been amongst them. He felt no glimmer
of the Sondeck in this man, and even amongst the
many people who made Sondeshara their home but
had no share in their talent, this face and this voice was not to be found.
You do not recall? His voice felt drained of
energy as if it struggled to make itself known.
His breath was not even warm enough to cause a
mist, and every exposed bit of flesh was
frostbitten and cracked. Do not dwell on your
friends or neighbors for I was neither. We only
saw each other once, but in that last moment I
looked in your eyes and saw your soul. You were
hard, determined, and naïve. You had no inkling of what you truly did.
The edge in the man's voice, faint but present,
pushed Charles' thoughts in other directions. If
he were not a friend and not a neighbor then he
could only be an enemy of the Sondeckis. Charles
dwelt on the many foes he had once faced and felt
his heart sink, the chill wrapping about it more
firmly. Even thoughts of his son did not
penetrate the bitter ice that gripped it.
He opened his mouth to speak and regretted it. A
rush of cold air drove down into his throat and
filled him. He shut his mouth but it was too
late. His limbs would no longer move, his heart
thrummed for a moment before quieting to a sullen
tremble. His paws sank deep into the snow where
the hardening ice began to grasp them.
The Åelf gripped his shoulder and dragged him
from his sudden repose, a flicker of warmth
extending down his arm and into his chest.
Charles tucked his head to his chest and yearned
to weep but nothing escaped his throat. He felt
ice encrusting his cheeks where tears dribbled.
The flesh of his paws tore again and the bloody trail resumed.
He thrust his mind toward the wall and the
presence seeping across its battlements. There he
found the strength and will to keep moving
forward. A single coherent thought drifted up
from his diminished being toward his protector.
He is Kalevard of the Darkündlicht mountains and
the first man I was sent to kill.
Kalevard now stood more than twice his height.
His gloved hands were balled into fists then
trembled as if trying to flex. You remember now.
It is fitting you would become a rat. Skulking in
darkness you came to my fortress. While my wife
and children slept you entered my chambers and
broke my neck. And for what? For what crime did I commit against your clan?
Charles tried to move his legs but still the Åelf
had to drag him. Unable to even stretch out his
arms he nevertheless tried to shift so that he
would be pressed against his protector's side.
Qan-af-årael seemed to anticipate his desire and
let his still warm arm slip beneath his left
shoulder and hoist him up. The rat leaned against
his legs and belly, eyes never leaving Kalevard.
He raided villages and plundered them. He sold
captives into slavery. What I did was necessary.
Kalevard's voice felt brittle. He seemed to want
to call forth passion but there was none left in
his heart. I was generous. I never kept anything
for myself when any of my people were cold and
hungry. I protected them and brought them glory.
Charles gave his head a little shake. Generous
with his own people but brutal to anyone else.
Hard, blue eyes fixed on the rat. I never
attacked your people or put one to the sword.
Those few I captured were always returned.
Ransomed!
I saw to the needs of all my people. I was a
just leader. Even our slaves were treated well. I
gave command that no slave could be beaten more
than twenty lashes for any offense save murder.
And for all of that you kill me with my wife and
children in the next room. Not one hour before I
had kissed them on their heads when I put them to sleep. Not one hour.
Charles' thoughts were weary, but he could not
let this man justify himself. The children of
villages he raided were sold into slavery and
never saw their families or homeland again.
Each of these thoughts were offered to his
protector who accepted them without offering
judgment. The Åelf continued to steady Charles
and press him along the path. By the time
Kalevard towered above them like a giant the
febrile warmth he felt brought back his ability
to stand on his own. Charles pulled his cloak so
tight that the cowl pressed his frozen ears
against the side of his head. He took his next steps without wavering.
Pathetic Sondecki rat. What are you doing here
at all? Will you not even speak against these
charges? You are nothing but vermin. Now who is
lord and master whose whims you obey? You are not
worth crushing beneath my boot.
The closer they came to Kalevard the shallower
the snow became. Not that it had snowed less, but
the lower layers had all condensed into ice.
Every step pressed it firmer together, and though
each step became easier to make, each one brought
the grip of the ice back to his toes. His will,
battered and sullen, was sufficient only to keep
moving forward. He did not even bother dwelling on the brigand's words.
You left my wife and children without a father!
Do you even know what happened to them? Do you even care?
His eyes flicked upward at the towering figure. A
dozen steps more would bring them beneath his
legs. Already they stood no taller than his
knees. The ice holding him fast was laced with
blue as of wintry vines stretching and growing as
it consumed this man. The lever of snow and ice
had completely absorbed the man's ankles so that
his feet were mere smears of color.
Three steps more and Charles found his mind
wandering back to that brigand's camp high in the
Darkündlicht peaks. Carved from the walls of the
mountains in a shallow valley where the sun
pierced three times a day for two hours each, it
afforded them ample protection and several easy
passes from which to descend on the villages
which clustered on the verdant slopes overlooking
the Sondesharan desert. It also gave them access
to the passes southward and into those lands it
was a simple matter to barter in slaves.
But until Kalevard had wrestled control of the
brigands they had been an occasional nuisance.
Under his leadership they had destroyed several
smaller villages, slaughtering all of the men and
taking the rest for slaves. Charles well
remembered that night as he slipped unseen
through their defenses. Newly made a black the
task had been given to him by lot; still he had
not come alone as his friends waited on the
outskirts in case an alarm would sound. The sound
of drunken warriors carousing and celebrating
their victory echoed from their halls. Dogs bayed
and snapped at each other over meaty bones in the
streets. A bitter-tasting black smoke rose from
most every hall and home. Kalevard ruled from the
largest hall and into that Charles crept, draped
black in his new robe, confidant of the many
villages that would be spared with the shattering of the brigand alliance.
Charles yearned to lift his snout and glare in
defiance at the frozen giant, but could feel no
impulse to do so. Why waste any more warmth on
him? He continued walking, noting only the way the ice climbed Kalevard's legs.
You don't care, do you? Kalevard asked, his
voice losing any sense of inflection with each
word he breathed. Charles and his protector
stepped between his legs, which were nothing but
towers of ice that swelled and stretched across
more and more of his form. The flow of ice
between his ankles rose beneath them like the
crest of a wave. You don't care at all what evil
you do. You don't care. You don't care, Sondecki.
Charles narrowed his eyes as he shivered, his
paws slipping across the ice and his own blood.
The ancient one steadied him and guided him
through the arch of ice and leg. They emerged on
the other side to witness a sky gone dark, gray
only at the edge above their heads. All else
seemed to drawn upward into an emptiness that was
nowhere and everywhere in that midnight vault.
Charles crouched and held his tail tight.
You stole my family from me, Sondecki. And you
say nothing to me. You do not care. The voice
did not echo from above, but seemed more remote
as if Kalevard receded into the void. His words,
faint, became taut and subsumed by the insistent
crawling of ice. You do not care. You belong
here. Like me. And then all was still and silent again.
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May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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