Final section for this Part of the story!
---------
Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars IV: Infernus
(z)
Tuesday, June 22, 724 CR - Midnight
Staring through a narrow casement window; more an
arrow loop than a true portal through which
anyone was expected to gaze, it took Charlie a
few moments to realize the silence that had
descended upon the choir. He turned to find the
room swathed in deep shadows that cast his sire
as a form of stark lines pale in the waning light and dark shadows.
It grows late, son. Charles said at length with
a long sigh. Leaning forward from his seat he
stood with a push upon his knees with both hands.
Our families are very likely worried after us.
Charlie spared a brief glance through the stone
slot, wondering where the hours had gone. When he
first came to his sire the sun had been a few
handspans above the western mountains and now its
passing was no more than a darkening blue to the
sky. Metamor had already surrendered to darkness,
save for torches, and the din of the day had
given over to a different celebratory din for of
the night. With an upward glance Charlie saw
stars twinkling in the deepening blue of the
evening sky. With the cooling of day into night,
so too had the worst of his wrath. But not its kernel.
With some wrath, I wager in my case. He
observed ruefully with a swish of his tail across
the long bench behind him. And moreso from your
good wife, the Baroness my mother, on the
morrow. He laced his fingers behind his back and
walked over to stand next to his sire. After the
ill dreams I fear this story might bring upon you tonight.
His sire gave a grunt of humor and nodded before
shrugging, It is she who can quiet the plague of
dark dreams when they come upon me. Leastwise she
has become accustomed to my occasional nocturnal
thrashing. Reaching up he clasped Charlie on the
shoulder to lean close, I know this story is
seemingly overlong and circuitous, but you will
understand why I am simply not plunging to the
heart of it swiftly when it is complete. The
baron tilted his head to one side and murmured,
I am not even describing most of what I saw there; I couldn't.
Charlie nodded slowly, mollified by his sires
willingness to delve back into memories that had
to be unpleasant, but still reserved in offering
him immediate amnesty for what he had witnessed
in the Barons own dreams, and heard admitted by
his namesake and now Charles. There was much yet
to be said before Charlie could consider the whole of the matter resolved.
On the morrow, then? Charles stepped to the
door and drew it open, the soft light of votive
candles spilling across the floor surprising
Charlie with just how dark it had gotten while
Charles wove the tapestry of personal very personal history.
A young woman polishing a nearby banister looked
up curiously, mildly surprised at their sudden
appearance. She smiled softly and bent to her
task once more as they padded by on unshod,
rodentine feet. I shall not be early. Charlie
admitted, Tomorrow is the final day of the
festival so I will have to attend some of the
ceremonies. And deal with the disruption I caused today.
As well progress with the last battle of the tournament.
Charlie shook his head, I already lost at the
tilt, and the semi-finals of foot should have
been settled this evening; only the final bout
remains for tomorrow, as do the last of the
jousts and the presentations of masterworks from
the journeymen of the mage guilds. I will not
participate in any of that. Reaching the heavy
doors of the Cathedral, which stood open to let
in a cool night breeze that swept the candle
smoke toward the clerestories above, they stepped
through into the arcade of a small bailey yard.
I was disqualified! Charles chuffed, You should have advanced!
Disqualified, how? I forfeit, regardless.
Charlie shrugged with the equanimity of youth.
I used my stone magic during the match. No
magics were allowed; I disqualified myself.
Charlie snorted and kicked an errant pinecone
with one foot, Better to do that than get
brained by a child throwing a tantrum with
swords. He groused in a self-deprecatory tone.
Charles clapped him on his upper back with a strong hand.
Knowing now why you were angry
I understand.
He touched his own doublet, still rent by the
injury that his sons anger had caused, Though
it still smarts. They came to another door on
the far side of the bailey yard, But worry not,
son. Go now, I will find you tomorrow and we
shall complete this lamentable tale.
----------
All that stood between the demesnes of Metamor
and the demesnes of House Sutt were an
intricately worked pair of doors that towered the
height of two tall men or one particularly tall
animorphed Keeper at the end of a broad
corridor that was this night lined with the
statues of the Keep's past lords. All save the
last were human while the man-like equine statue
of Duke Thomas seemed not quite finished; still a
work in progress. Charlie felt one corner of his
muzzle draw back in a rueful half-smile, his
whiskers twitching as he gave the silent marble
figure a brief salute. The doors to House Sutt
were intricately worked in scenes of forests.
Those often changed according to the whim of the
Keep's benign spirit, Kyia, but always favored
settings of nature over civilization.
Unchanged, however, was the Sutt crest in the
center of the doors, bisected on each leaf.
And, as unchanged, was the fact that the hinged
were expertly crafted and oiled so that the heavy
doors were easily moved with one hand and made
not the slightest squeak. Charlies slipped
through one side and let it drift shut behind
him, catching it only enough to silence the soft
thud it would make upon closing.
A single candle had been left burning in a hooded
sconce just within the door. It provided enough
light to navigate the short foyer, past the
cloakroom and waiting room for the servants of
visiting nobles. Beyond the foyer was the main
hall for receiving guests or hosting gatherings.
Tonight, not needed, the room was modest in scale
for a Noble's hall but not grandiose. Charles
passed through it quietly, his claws clicking
softly upon polished stone where it was exposed
between lavishly woven Sondesharan rugs. Beyond
the parlor a narrower corridor led to the Sutt
residences proper, both doors standing open. The
room beyond was lit as dimly as the foyer and,
where the far wall would be from his vantage, the
doors to the balcony had been thrown open to the
cool evening air. Only the torches of the watch
on the inner bailey wall marred the majestic
vista of the mountains rising beyond, swathed as
they were in the night's cloak of darkness.
It is nice that you still know where you live,
a quiet voice intoned from one of the large
chairs scattered about the common room of their
residence. Charles stopped two steps within, a
grimace flattening his ears and drooping his
whiskers. A soft warble of strings added to the
quietude of the room, seeming to echo the distant
susurrus of Metamor's nighttime revelry rather than climb over it.
I am sorry, father, Charlie groused, though
quietly, altering his path toward the chair that
Malger usually chose. True to form, he found his
adoptive father ensconced within, leaning into
the corner of the throne-like chair with an
indolent slouch, his feet kicked out upon an
ottoman. Polished brown toeclaws glistened in the
muted light of a single candle burning on a table
nearby. In his hands was a small lyre which he strummed with equal indolence.
Only his father, a minstrel by habit rather than
birth, could efface such a lazy appearance
without apparent sloth or loss of noble decorum.
For? The marten raised a furry brow over a dark
eye as he turned his gaze from lyre to son.
Missing the Duke's feast? For leaving Maysin
standing a fool, bedecked in tack and bridle, at
the tourney field gate? For nearly twisting your
neck from your shoulders leaping from a second floor midden door?
Charlie's muzzle contorted into a moue of
consternation and he could not meet his father's
inscrutable dark stare. The lyre's soft melody
was a strange counterpoint to the calm rebuke. For being an ass.
For a rat, I must commend you on a believable
facsimile of such breed, Malger chided softly.
Your mother is a touch more irritated with your
decorum, my son. Hassan was... confused at your
display and sudden disappearance. I begged the
angst of youthful rebellion and, to my surprise,
King Peleath laughed most heartily. He was a
rebellious youth, and had many colorful tales to
tell in that regard. He volunteered to stand in
your stead for the last melee bouts, by the by.
He chose to champion me? Charlie's ears sprang
up in surprise. I had imagined my disqualification!
You should have been, son. Malger dipped his
muzzle in a curt nod. I, in fact, did speak of
it in light of your rather pointed lack of
chivalry on the field. The judges could not
disqualify you, for you used no magic and did not
strike with un-warded weapons. Baron Matthias'
shield caused him to use magic when it broke, and
they ruled in your favor there.
Charlie scoffed and looked at his paws for a
moment before letting his eyes drift to the
distant torches of the night watch adorning the
wall beyond their balcony. He became stone that
I not bludgeon him into the ground, Father.
So said, so truth. Malger leaned forward
slightly and tilted his head, his muzzle couched
in an expression of curiosity. I was informed that you found your sire?
I did. He was under Father Felsah's watch in the cathedral.
I will assume you apologized appropriately.
Concerning of what we spoke in the tavern, what
then did you broach of your sire?
Charlie laced his fingers behind his back, his
long tail lashing back and forth with a quiet
hiss on the rug upon which he stood. He looked at
his naked paws; the long digits and serviceably
dangerous claws pale against the intricate
patterns of the foreign fabric. Anger. Loss. A
bargain that still leaves my heart aching and
me... lost. He looked up at the last, to meet his father's gaze.
Confused.
Very. But the tale he tells... His voice faded
and he shook his head as if to cast out the dark
thoughts. Has he told you aught?
Malger shook his head as well, more slowly. Not
the first word. I know nothing past his escape into Shadow.
It was a ruse, his petition to Nocturna.
Exactly so. Malger let his fingers tickle over
the strings of his lyre, individual notes
floating through the air, a slow dirge spun one
pluck at a time. Exactly so. And she knew that it was.
And yet she made this bargain? Charlie gasped, aghast.
Aye, that she did. Malger flattened his palm
against the strings, returning silence but for
the distant noise of revelry. Full and well knowing what would come of it.
Why?
Malger looked to his son for several long
seconds, the memory of a gazelle's soft words in
his ears returning afresh. Why? That is for her to say.
Charlie scoffed with a lash of his tail, whiskers
and ears backed as he looked to the steady flame
of the candle behind its polished glass chimney.
Such that she would? I doubt that very much.
She will, son.
I am but a disciple, yanked willy nilly into the
fold. Why would she deign answer my inquiries?
Malger once more shook his head, setting aside
the lyre and resting his folded hands upon one
knee. You are her son, Charlie, not merely some
churl begging a night without omens or dark dreams.
Her son? Charlie snorted incredulously,
shifting his gaze to his father. I am a chit in
a game where the rules are beyond my ken.
Has she ever treated you thus? Malger's voice
rose slightly, touched to defend his Dreamtime love by his son's surly anger.
Charlie could only shake his head. No.
You are not flesh of my flesh, Charlie, but she
dotes upon you as much as a grandmother or aunt
might. Or mother. He paused, pondering, long
whiskers drooping as he pursed his lips for a long moment. It pains her, too.
Pains?
Malger nodded soberly. You know what it is I do, on occasion?
Oh, aye.
Malger raised a slow hand to touch a finger to
his own temple lightly. Pain shared, taken, and
kept. Unknowing I claimed the pain of a deity,
son, and selflessly done for what I thought her
sake and nothing more. And I keep that which
pained her, never to surrender it away. That pain
is the loss of a child, and as much the pain of
seeing others Myself, Misanthe, even your dam
Kimberly with the love of a child in their
hearts where she has none. Leaning back into his
chair, lost in the shadows of the candle light,
Malger flexed his fingers, claws briefly glinting
in the wan light. And thus, by me she cherishes
you, as a son. He leaned forward again, left
restless by the admission of a truth given to
none in all the years he had carried it. So, ask
her, son to mother; Why. And she will answer. He
paused, then chuckled ruefully. And, but oh, the
jealousy she sometimes feels for Misanthe. And
the love. I feel as a moth beholding an inferno.
An interesting tale, Father. Charlie paced
away from the chair, crossing to the open doors
to feel the night breeze riffling his short fur.
I will ask. But this thing that my sire did,
between you and she, still confounds me. Like
some complex games that toss my fate about like a
gambler's stones. He never said aught of it?
To none, that I know. But I have known that it
was a dark undertaking. When he awoke he was very
much a changed man. To the foundation of his very
soul, I think, that night touched him. And since
that day he had been plagued by the darkest of nightmares.
Charlie turned his head slightly to glance back
over his shoulder. And you took them not away, as you did for so many others?
I could not. Though I can share without
Sharing, as I have learned to do, one must ask
and desire. He does neither. Malger shifted
forward to his paws, moving to stand beside his
son at the doors and look into the darkness.
Euper and the outer bailey of the Keep glowed
with witchlight and torch, shifting shadows high
on the walls of the buildings testament to the
revel still occurring beyond the quiet
conversation taking place in a noble house. As a
minstrel Malger should be out there entertaining,
or sharing the festivities. Not talking of
painful histories with a wayward son. And I
cannot touch those dark dreams. The centeredness
of his faith blocks me as soundly as a door of iron.
I can... Charlie protested, but then fell
silent. What had he seen? How deeply into
Charles' dreams had he delved? Directly he had
witnessed only the Bargain that set him on his
course to become Malger's adopted heir. He shook
his head. Nor have I, in truth. I know only that which he tells me.
Malger's hand rose to rest warmly upon his
shoulder. Then let him tell it, as he may.
Perhaps in releasing it he will find peace from
his nightmares. With a squeeze he pushed gently
at his son. Seek your bed, Charlie. You must
arise early. Do not seek Her counsel tonight;
wait until you have heard your sire's tale unto its completion.
Charlie scowled across at his father. Rise
early? To what end? The tournaments will not
resume until the sun is a span above the mountains.
Malger chuckled and raised his brow. First, to
break your fast and apologize to your mother. And
then attend Sutt and Hassan for the culmination
of the Festival. And congratulate, or
commiserate, King Peleath's combat in your stead.
Ah, and Maysin. Charlie's shoulders slumped. As
much as he was aware that Maysin was merely a
servant, she was still one of his closest friends
and, most certainly, the closest of his female
friends. I have much to atone for.
Malger chortled warmly and nodded. As in youth
do we all, son. Find your rest.
----------
And so Pars IV comes to an end! I do hope you
all 'enjoyed' it. I will begin posting Pars V in
May. Hopefully by Summer this tale will reach its end.
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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