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Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars IV: Infernus
(m)
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
Charles shuddered, and felt anew the cold sweep
over him. There was no sensation in his legs
anymore. His whiskers felt brittle and every
intake of breath sent a lance of steely ice into
the middle of his head. His chest shifted only to
breathe. The trembling of his heart barely
disturbed any of the muscles that held it in
place. The plain before him, suffused white and
gray, seemed to faintly shimmer with blue nimbus.
Motes of some electric blue dust dotted the sheet
of ice that pressed them upwards into the empty abyss.
The final words did not haunt so much as present
themselves as uncaring signs placed aeons ago to
inform travelers. He did not care. He belonged
here. Could they be true? Didn't he care?
His heart tried to stir some concern, but it was
stilled by a cold so deep even the relative
warmth of his Åelf guide felt painful to him. The
rat let his mind work instead, reviewing memories
to see if there had been a time when he had
cared. He thought on killing Kavelard. The man
had been dressed in the same red cloak he'd born
beneath the chrysalis of ice. He'd stood at a
window with a cool mountain breeze drifting
through and lofting away the smoke from the pipe
clutched between his teeth. Charles slipped
within from a different window, sliding through
the shadows, hands outstretched to end the
menace. It would not be the first time he had
killed, for he had fought in battles many times.
But it was the first man he'd killed because justice demanded it.
Even as the Sondeck surged in his flesh, he heard
one of the children give out a sullen cry, that
of a bad dream disturbing their slumber. Kalevard
turned to the sound and caught sight of him.
Charles had rushed, grappled him about the neck
to silence him. The pipe bounced off his arm, hot
ash burning his robe. The man's fiery blue eyes
burned in anger as Charles' fingers tangled
briefly in his beard before reaching their goal.
A twist and a thrust of his power and it was done.
The child still cried even as Charles draped the
brigand's body across the floor and smothered the
last of the ashes beneath the man's red cloak.
The complaint fell silent by the time the
Sondecki slipped without sound from the hall. He
trembled the entire way back. His fellow
Sondeckis plied him with strong wine on their return home.
A miserable sadness enveloped him as the sound of
the child's cry returned to him. How many nights
had he woken hearing that cry again and again
before the rigors of the Sondecki life and the
presence of his Calm brought him a sense of peace
again? Had he even confessed it? Did it matter?
He pushed himself onward even as he continued to
crouch. Before him he could see the ice shimmer
with his own image reflected. The visage was
distorted so that his eyes appeared to be closed
peacefully. He blinked and gazed into that
reflection, bloodied paws stepping, slipping, and
stepping again. His hands were clasped before him
in the quiet repose of prayer. The ice was cold,
but it was all that there was in this place.
Nothing else mattered. He had no will anymore to
be anything else. Stillness was all that was left.
Stone may be still but there was striving and
power within it. There was desire. There was
purpose. Even as stone Charles had been able to
love his family and protect his friends. He
yearned for them. Now, trying to dwell on them
did nothing. He could imagine his wife's face,
her whiskers and snout, her delicate ears, soft
paws, and all the faces of his children,
especially Ladero his Sondecki son. But each was veiled to him, encased in ice.
Ice did not feel.
Ice did not care.
Ice had no will to even move.
Charles felt nothing, could desire nothing, could will nothing but ice.
The image distorted as the ice in front of him
shifted aside, revealing an inviting cavity into
which he could descend. Charles moved one leg
before the other, stepping into the depression.
The cavern of ice rose up around him, smooth and
numbing. He felt nothing as it slid up across his
legs, tail, and back. His arms lowered before
him, dipping into the substance and not
returning, held fast forever. His eye lids
drooped and his heart slowed, the smoking wick quenched in the embrace.
A thunderclap struck and sundered the world
around him. Charles blinked and trembled as a
wash of something intolerable shattered his tomb
and drove every touch of numbness from him. His
eyes dashed open, and into view stepped a blaze
of yellow light. Before him towered the Åelf,
aflame with silvery black hair and ears drawn to
sharp points. His simple white garment with its
wide sleeves and skirt with undulating hem were
as burnished bronze. The eyes he knew were golden
erupted in a fiery blue, the same blue of a clear
day's sky. Ageless skin showered him with a grace
that pierced the ice wrapped about his heart and
for a moment he fell to his knees.
And then, the painful sensation became pleasant.
It had a name. Warmth. That warmth suffused him
until he felt his heart beating in his chest and
the numbness and pain in all his limbs were
driven away. He curled and uncurled his fingers
and even let his tail slip from around his middle
and lay across his paws stretched behind him. The
white encrusting his snout and whiskers melted
away as the fiery light bathed him in its radiance.
You must keep moving, Charles. Come. She will have seen that.
Charles breathed heavily for a moment, as
Qan-af-årael's countenance returned to normal.
His white hair and golden eyes glimmered in the
fading light. The rat stared in awe as he savored
his breath, then climbed to his paws, stretching
his toes gratefully. He glanced at each leg and
saw that his wounds were healed. He let out one
last gust of breath and started walking again.
His thoughts roved to the presence within his mind.
I almost died there.
You almost did. Kalevard spat the last of his
warmth to induce you to waste your own. You
should not have listened to anything he said.
The air about him already felt cold again; he
pulled his tail back beneath his cloak and pulled
it taut. His breath misted and froze. I had not
thought on him or any other I killed as a
Sondecki in a long time. Seeing him and hearing
him... I forgot what you said. I will not forget again.
Qan-af-årael's presence felt comforting, as if he
were smiling. There was a residue of warmth still
in that voice. I know you will not. It is too
dangerous now to do otherwise. Behold, the Wastelands of Kilyarnie.
Charles lifted his gaze and felt as if the ice
were clutching his chest again. Before them
stretched a circular plain that rose upward like
the top of a dome. The sky was gone and only
blackness remained where once it persisted. The
ground was lathered with a crystal blue dust atop
the thick ice beneath. Strange deformations in
the dust suggested a vast shape entombed within.
The dust did not glimmer and nothing within that wasteland moved.
Charles could not will himself forward, though
his heart beat faster in his chest. What is that dust? It seems inhospitable.
The response was almost laconic. It is the very
air frozen and fallen. Even with my protection
you will not survive more than a few minutes
within this place. This is the abode of the
mistress of this land. All warmth has been driven
from here. Our presence will be despised. It is
certainly known. We must reach the bridge with incredible haste.
Anxious, he cast his thoughts back. Do you know where the bridge is?
I do. I can move with great speed through this
place, but it is best for you if I carry you. Not
as you are, but in your animal guise. I will
cloak you next to my chest, and bury you within
your garments to keep the bitterness of the void
at bay for a minute or two longer.
Charles nodded, eyes the blue crystals ahead of
them warily. The very air itself frozen and
fallen? How cold must that be? Even in the far
north where the snows departed the air was always air!
He ground his molars together and, still fully
clad, imagined himself in his animal form. His
clothes shifted about as he shrank in stature,
thumbs withdrawing, back arching, hips
thickening, thighs and arms shrinking, neck
swelling until it and his shoulders were
indistinguishable. Charles collapsed in on his
clothes, trapped within one of the legs of his
breeches which fell to the ice with a whump. He
gasped for breath, and then shut his snout right
away. There was a little warmth left in his
clothing, but the frigid air had already crept within.
He curled up tail to nose where he was and felt
something lifting him and his gear. He could not
see through the fabric, and remembering the void,
was grateful for it. Hands felt around the
clothes until they had encircled him, and then he
was pressed into something tight. He could feel
warmth exuding along his back and leaned into it,
little forepaws gripping the cloth in front of
him as if he could keep himself in place.
Qan-af-årael's voice felt even more massive
before, as if Charles' mental proportions had
shrunk with his body. Do not move and make no
noise. I only need one thing more from you before
we enter Kilyarnie. I must accompany you through
the bridge; it cannot be forced. Will you step across it?
The answer was obvious. I will.
The presence did not leave, but loomed over him,
its attention briefly split between him and the
greater goal. Charles settled where he was,
comfortable as a normal rat, though even in the
warmth of his protector's vest he could still
feel the edge of ice stabbing him. He pressed his
head against the Åelf's chest and for a moment
felt surprise when he heard no heart beat. Then he recalled why.
Nothing else in this realm was alive save for him.
Charles felt a jerk and then heard a sizzling
scream resound from every side. He pressed his
face into the enclosing clothes as a hideous
chill penetrated within. His paws scraped over
his head to try and keep the horrible screaming
out but the noise only grew louder and more
strident. He felt mists rushing up through the
garments wrapped around him, each so cold that he
felt his skin cracking and ice coating his fur.
He kicked and scrambled against it., burrowing himself against his protector.
He had no sense of time in any of the places they
had endured, but here the screaming and the chill
beyond anything he had felt before were only the
beginning of his agonies. His lungs strained to
scoop even a thimble of air, and his eyes and
chest were imbued with a fire that burned every
mote. He tried to keep them shut, and tried to
keep his nose from sucking at air that was not
there. All that was around him beyond the clothes
was void. There was nothing to breathe.
His head felt like termites were chewing their
way out through his skull. His eyes pressed
against the sockets, shifting about and pushing
outward so that he could not keep them closed. He
felt blood trickling from his jaw, from around
his eyes, and out of his ears. He thrashed and
gasped, sucking against the frozen mist that
flashed against his splintered paws and tail.
Cold iron raced across his tongue and all he
could do was claw and claw and claw at the
clothes beneath him where the slightest taste of
air, colder than the bitterest ice, brought relief from the void above.
The screaming came to a stop with a thunderclap
and he felt jostled in his little cave. The
emptiness continued to make his entire body spasm
and blood flow. He hacked and trembled, mouth
opening to swallow breaths that would not come.
His blood froze to his fur. He stared into a
darkness that deepened. He couldn't even conceive of trying to grow again.
And then a gentle hand reached up and touched him
behind his ears. A sweet warmth radiated through
him and he felt something powerful peer into his
mind. Benevolence and majesty. He trembled, but
lifted his snout, sniffing and trembling his
whiskers, curious to know. A rush of air filled
his lungs. A sinuous light danced into his eyes.
The bridge is open.
The words meant nothing to him at first, but the
presence remained, certain and inviting. He would
listen to the presence and obey. The bridge to
beyond. The way was clear. The path was before
him. He had to take the first step.
Charles climbed out of the cocoon of clothes,
still fully a rat, and marveled at what he saw.
In a wide circle the blue dust had evaporated
into a sultry cone of brilliant azure. Beneath
them the ice had parted, and a sibilant light
outlined the suggestion of a portal. In the
distance amongst the void grew a blue light, the
only thing he could see that struck him with menace.
She is coming swift. Go now.
Charles climbed onto Qan-af-årael's hand, perched
on all fours, and leaped. The oasis rushed above
him as he tumbled tail over toes. He fell
headfirst into the portal and a welcome blackness swept over him.
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May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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