Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars V: Ascensum
(h)
Wednesday, June 23, 724 CR
Charlie and Bernadette went their separate ways
after rejoining the crowd flocking the banquet
tables spaced around the tournament field. The
young rat found his noble friend Bryn unattached
the princess had apparently retired to the
King's pavilion to refresh herself and so they
began to peruse the delicacies prepared by their
guests together. Each exotic morsel was washed
down by a quick sip of a fermented liquor that
Bryn told him was blended with the cream skimmed
from mare's milk; despite the odd look Bryn bore
with each quaff, Charlie found it smooth,
tantalizing, and savored the warmth that accompanied each drop.
Sig, accompanied by Justin the Mage Murikeer's
eldest son, joined them after their first table
and soon the quartet laughed as they watched some
of their fellow Keepers tumbling over their own
paws after even a little sip of the foreign
brews. They joshed each other as well as both
Maysin and Argamont who followed after them over
how much each of them could handle. Charlie tried
to make sure that he did not drink too much for
fear he would not be able to keep awake long
enough to hear the remainder of his sire's tale,
while Bryn did the same for fear of embarrassing
himself in front of their guests; Sig, an
alligator who had still not come into his manly
growth, only took a sip mindful of what his
mother might say and confessed to find it
revolting anyway, as did Justin who recoiled at
the smell alone. Maysin had one small cup and
demurred any more, but Argamont seemed to enjoy more than his fair share.
Charlie made an off-handed joke that it was a
skunk who would find the scent repulsive, earning
him a brief scowl before the young skunk joined
their laughter. Or, perhaps, they were laghing
because for a few moments Charlie found himself
the same hue as the viscid concoction, and as
redolent. Justin let the spell fade after the
jape, however, after the laughter of Charlie's
quip was redoubled at his sudden discomfiture.
Before the strawberry roan could completely
scupper himself, servitors began to clear the
tables in preparation for the arrival of both
mages and musicians. Charlie and his friends
moved to the end of the lists to watch where they
would not be in the way of either the Keepers
leaving the field after enjoying their fill of
Steppe-bred delicacies or the laborers scuttling
about with the purpose and chaos of ants. Food,
drink, and the tables they waited upon were
carried off leaving a trail of delectable flavors
in the air. Tools to straighten the field out for
the hundredth time emerged, and behind them came
benches for the musicians and raised stands for the mages.
Are you going to be playing, Charlie? Sig asked
, swinging his long jaws toward the rat. He
gestured with a short, green arm at the
semi-circle of benches being arranged in front of the High Box.
Charlie glanced there, saw the workers following
the instructions of a familiar blue-robed
raccoon, and then shook his head. Not this year.
I've had my hands full and don't know the music.
As if there were a tune you could not improve as
you learned it! Bryn admonished with a bemused snort.
I'm not quite as good as my father, Charlie
noted with a faint chuckle at the rebuke. Still,
let the guild and temple musicians shine. And
what of you, Sig? Are you going to help the mages with their grand show?
The alligator bobbed his head and thumped the end
of his tail on the dirt. Master Murikeer did ask
me to assist; but he asked all of his apprentices
to assist. Sig's yellow eyes narrowed. I will
only be holding a small part of it together.
And next year you will do even more, Justin
assured him with a smile, resting his
monochromatic hand on the young alligator's
shoulder. You are proving to be as apt a pupil
as I, Sig. Your talents go to waste as a House
Steward. As with Charlie and Bryn's theological
sparring, the young skunk and alligator jibed
each other about their expected respective
professions, with the same lack of rancor that the young royals enjoyed.
Charlie nodded agreement, casting another glance
at the musicians starting to assemble. Bryn,
Sig, Justin, if you will excuse me, I want to go
speak with Master Elvmere for a moment.
Bryn patted him on the shoulder. We'll be here or in the High Box.
Charlie flashed him a rodent's smile and then
started across the field to where the musicians
were beginning to gather. The soft clop of
Maysin's hooves followed him. Most of the Keepers
who were not helping maintain the field had left
not long after the remnants of food and drink had
been carried away, so the rat was able to make a
straight course for the blue-robed raccoon
scrutinizing the benches, musicians, and their
instruments. His triangular ears lifted at their
approach, and with a half turn of his head, he saw them and smiled.
Milord Sutt, I thought you were not going to be
performing with us this year. Have you changed your mind?
Master Elvmere, Charlie replied with a slight
bow. No, I have not changed my mind, I just
wanted to take a moment of your time. First,
congratulations on your appointment as Master of Temple musicians.
The raccoon's ears backed, his tail flicked, and
a look of sullen embarrassment seemed to cross
his eyes. The position had been offered to the
Lothanasi acolyte several times over the last few
years but had, until a week ago, been refused
each time. Rumor had it that Charlie's philosophy
and history instructor had been ordered by the
Lothanasa to accept the appointment; it was no
secret that some of the raccoon's written musings
on matters of the gods were causing some
consternation in the Midlands and Sathmore.
Charlie suspected even the rigors of managing the
temple musicians and writing music for their
performance would not dampen his theological inquiries.
Thank you. I have your father to thank for this
unexpected skill in music! And I have promised
your mother that my duties will not impede your studies, young Charlie.
Charlie's whiskers twitched uncertainly. Of all
his instruction, Elvmere's was always the most
taxing; not even Vidika's torture could make his
brain hurt so much as philosophy. There was one
thing I hoped to ask you, Master. I have come
across a couple of Åelvish words and I was
wondering if you knew what they meant.
Elvmere politely waved away an otter approaching
him with a cornet in one paw, and then pulled
Charlie a step away from the gathering
performers. It's been a year since I last
reviewed the Åelvish language, but I can try. What words have you heard?
The first is Núrodur. I think it is a title of some sort.
The raccoon lifted his eyes as if he were staring
into a book only he could see. He scratched his
chin with one claw. Núrodur... I believe that it
means a devoted servant. It is an honorable word.
If you have pronounced it correctly, then it
would also imply a degree of endearment between
both master and servant. The Núrodur belongs to
the master but is also treasured by the master.
Elvmere began nodding to himself. Yes, yes, I
believe that is correct. What is the other word you wish to know?
Charlie thought a moment on his sire's tale. It
had only been spoken once, but something in its
use pierced him. He was not sure if it was the
mystical quality of the Åelvish language or the
emphasis his sire had placed on it that had
impressed him so. He narrowed his eyes,
concentrating on the last moments of the tale
until the word came. I believe... Nuruhuinë. Yes, that is it. Nuruhuinë.
A frown darkened Elvmere's snout and after a
moment he was forced to shake his head. I fear I
do not know that one. Some of the parts are
familiar; I have probably seen them in other
contexts, but as a word unto itself? No, that I
have not seen. Rising a gray and black striped
paw Elvmere rubbed his jaw contemplatively,
Consider it as might master Rickkter when
speaking of his written magical constructs, or
Murikeer may. It seems to my recollection that
there are distinct parts to the address, a triune
that, individually, have small meanings and thus
small potency. Yet, combined, form a greater and
more weighty whole. Or, in the cases of those who practice magecraft, power.
What do the parts mean?
They could have many meanings, individual chords
plucked from a bar of music. Alone, they define
little. They may not mean the same thing as its
own word and when used separately, but I believe
that the first part speaks of loss. The
inflection suggests loss of an intended, or was
intended. I admit my Åelvish is not particularly
polished. And the second half may be an image of
some sort. Elvmere wrinkled his snout and then
shook his head again. I cannot say exactly, but
it does not seem like a good word to me. The
raccoon tilted his head curiously. And again, it
is a word, albeit one that does not sit well to
my mind. A word taken from a greater context that
would more clearly define its use.
Charlie nodded slowly, chewing the inside of his
lower lip as he let his whiskers droop. And if
someone were to be called Núrodur Nuruhuinë?
And therein lies the context, Elvmere nodded.
It would seem, then, that they the one being
addressed by such words would be a devoted
servant by being whatever ill thing that strange
word portends. And what being might such an ill
thing serve with devotion? Young Lord Sutt, your
question distresses me; I fear the moment I am
free from my duties as Master of Temple musicians
I will be seeking my books! Despite his
frightful words, the rat could see a twinkle of
curiosity in the raccoon's eyes.
I am eager to hear whatever you discover.
Charlie bowed his head and took a quick step
back. Now I'll leave you to your duties. I must find my friends again.
Elvmere smiled and patted him on the shoulder.
Enjoy your Summer days, young Lord Sutt. With a
slight bow of respect, mirrored by the priest,
Charlie withdrew. It was good that he did for the
tournament field was beginning to grow crowded
again. Not so tightly as it had during the feast,
but with the addition of a mind-boggling assembly
of instruments large and small, and with the
requisite benches, tables, stands, and the
central platform for whatever performers would be
taking the focus it had become just as confining.
The throb and whine of instruments began to fill
the air with a low, discordant susurrus as the
musicians worked to tune their instruments. Brief
chords lifted above the din as groups practiced.
In the center, upon the platform, Murikeer stood
with a group of guild mages before a crowded
assemblage of apprentices. Charlie saw Sig and
Justin standing with the greater group, mostly
illusionists, who would be creating the spectacle
which would entertain the crowds before the faire was officially ended.
Not, of course, that the end of the faire would
be an end of festivities; it would only mark the
beginning of very likely days of revelry before
everyone trailed back to their homes and
professions. For the world continued in its
course; cows would need milking, crops tending,
and mills grinding despite the midsummer pause.
To relax, if for a time, from the labors of simply living.
In due course, Charlie knew, he would be at the
center of such things as Duke Thomas was now.
Though an atmosphere of frivolity and revelry it
was also evidenced by the presence of the
Steppes King and his sister a time of intense
politics. Thomas could not beg out to enjoy his
own relaxation during the festivities, nor could
Bryn, and Charlie could little escape it though
his adoptive father was no longer on the throne
that gave him his House. Even distant from the
Western Pyralian kingdom that gave House Sutt its
foundation Malger, and perforce Charlie, had to
juggle politics and diplomacy, even within Metamor.
A narrow gate before the High Box allowed Charlie
past the railing that defined the tourney field
and let him through the cordon of alert
Men-at-Arms from both Metamor and Pelaeth's
retinue. Past the perimeter Charlie felt less
crowded and relaxed a little, altering his path
toward the table of refreshments laid out to one
side. The stout fermented drink of the steppes
was not distasteful to him; but it left a strong
aftertaste as might a fine soft cheese; pungent
and lingering, but not unpleasant. Nearing the
table he saw a cluster of women, all of them
human, garbed in various wardrobes from simple to
fine. They parted smoothly, some of them with
slightly frightened swiftness at being approached
by a rat, while he made his way through them to the table.
Despite his upright stature, fine clothes, and
ability to speak the fears and superstitions of
outlanders held them strongly. Many it simply
confused, such as the guards who accompanied the
King, who were accustomed to strangeness in
foreign lands. The servants, however, were less
hardened and more flighty in regards to the
stunning variety of Metamor's non-human peoples.
At the table Charlie spied the Steppeland
Princess, Brygitta, sipping from a tall silver
chalice while she leaned one hip indecorously
against the table and looked out across the
field. Charlie followed her gaze and saw that she
was looking at Bryn, who towered over those near
him along with Argamont at his side. The two were
tossing some story back and forth regaling
someone Charlie could not see with its obvious humor.
Bringing his gaze back to the princess Charlie
caught a moment of pensive contemplation on the
woman's face. Her ladies-in-waiting did not hover
too close, but also did not withdraw too far away
to not serve her whims, but provided just enough
of a screen that she did not immediately notice
the young rat nearby. The fact that Charlie was
almost two hands shorter did not make him any more noticeable for that, either.
Frightening, is he not? Charlie asked offhand,
casting his gaze down to the goblet he secured
from a tray of them and filled it with mulled
cider. Brygitta blinked once before turning her
head to see who spoke nearby, as well to know if
she was the one to whom he spoke.
Milord Charlie, I'm sorry. She lowered her
chalice quickly and curtsied, casting her gaze
down momentarily. I didst not see thee approach.
Understandable, your grace. Charlie smiled,
offering a bow. There are much better things to
capture your attention, I wager. He turned his
gaze briefly toward the young Duke's son holding
forth a stone's throw away amid a crowd of
admirers. His gaze was not so focused, however,
that he caught the momentary downturn of her lips
and wary flash of her eyes when she followed his gaze.
So many, she concurred softly, both hands
turning the chalice in her grasp. Thy land art
so... amazing. I canst truthfully say a tome
could not justly embrace the scope of variety.
Ahh, yes, milady. And, for all that, such
variety is remarkably the same. Charlie bobbed his head with a smile.
The same, milord?
Man, hare, rat, horse... nature follows a single
underlying schematic. There is little different
between myself and, say, a dragon. Arms, legs,
head, tail. He flicked the length of his tail
around to let it slide across his upturned palm.
The only true distinction is size. He raised
his head with a warm, but playfully
knowledgeable, smile. Yon dukeling is no
warhorse, milady. He stands to a head with your
brother, and yourself. Worry not that he is
different than any man, despite the silly ears
and long muzzle. His physique, like mine, may be
different, but overall the size is appropriate to
any man of such stature. Have no fear in that regard.
The princess stared at him for several long
seconds and then raised her eyes to look across
at Bryn, then blushed brightly and cast her gaze
down quickly. Charlie smiled brightly and waited
for her to regain her composure. Eventually she
looked up from the silver chalice clutched
tightly in her hands and sighed. But but, he
art a horse. As thou art a rat, and she a... an
assingh, I dost believe. Brygitta nodded her
head toward Maysin who stood a short distance
away among the other ladies, conversing with a
couple about what appeared to be braining.
A creature of the Kitchlande plains called a
zebra, I believe, but yes. She, I, yon Bryn are
all changed from the human nature that you
retain. Myself and Bryn, however, were born as we
are. Maysin was as human as you, until the curse
took her into her adolescence. Charlie tilted
his head, That is what most frightens you, your
highness? Not that your brother consider an
alliance by marriage to a horse-like man, but the curse that made him so?
Brygitta nodded, but not with conviction. Well,
he art a horse... Raising her gaze to the throng
and stallions at its center she sighed. But aye,
in a degree. The nature of this change curse dost
leave the blood chilled in its contemplation.
It can. It does, I admit, yes. Charlie nodded
slowly. It is a monumental change from what is
known to something entirely unknown. Should you
remain you could as likely become a man, like
your brother but far better looking.
Or a child, Brygitta replied with a slow nod.
Or as likely a swine, or anything.
It is said, however, that the curse is not a
completely fickle thing, milady. The young rat
offered reassuringly. Master Murikeer postulates
that the curse... listens, after a fashion. It
responds to desire and belief. The Duchess
Alberta, for instance, could have become a
lioness, or once again a man, or a young girl.
Yet she became an Assingh, a low beast in her
your homeland; suited perfectly to the Duke
with whom she had fallen in love. As with the
sorceress Kozaithy, upon her arrival. She met her
husband, Murikeer, during his travels south with
my father, and learned that he was a skunk before
ever coming to Metamor. Could it be that her
burgeoning love for him led the curse to make her
a skunk as he was, to suit the two of them so
perfectly? And there is the champion of the
lists, Sir William Dupré, exiled here nearly
seventeen years ago; he and the son who followed
him both became rams, the very symbol of their
noble house! Charlie quaffed the last of the
mulled cider in his goblet, swirling about in his
muzzle to banish the last lingering vestiges of
the steppes drink from his palette.
The two flavors mixed most poorly, he noted.
Would that 'twere true, milord, but I dare say
it dost frighten me that I may become as the
Duchess. Assingh are not highly regarded.
Charlie nodded, slowly refilling his goblet,
catch a glance of someone slipping beneath the
stands at the front of the high box as he did,
though the withdrawal was not furtive. Such, she
felt, was her penance for the many wrongs she had
perpetrated against her would-be-husband. Thus,
again, may the curse have known her heart? There
are many in the lines equus as you of the steppes
know so well. As like you could become Rheh, or
of the mythical winged horses in the tales of
Pyralia, or like my maiden Maysin there.
Brygitta merely nodded, looking to her chalice.
Nothing that the dregs were the same mulled cider
that Charlie was drinking he raised the ewer with
an inquiring tilt of his ears. She may not have
been able to read the language of his body, but
the offered ewer said as much and she accepted.
Fret not, your highness. The dance of diplomacy
is long and involved, to say nothing of
courtship, and we have not stepped beyond the
entry hall of the ball in which this dance may be
played out as of yet. Bryn dislikes you not, but
has a lad's heart as do I. He is unsure if he is
ready for matrimony and alliances any more than
you may be. Years yet may cross the face of the
world before fathers decide, or love does.
The princess straightened her back and squared
her shoulders after a moment, dipping her head to
look down at him with a warm smile. Thou art
accurate in that, milord, and I thank thee most
kindly for the words of wisdom beyond thy youth
and mine. With a regal curtsy she smiled. I see
that my brother the King and thy Duke have
retired to the platform above, so perhaps we
should join them? Her eyes turned toward the
field where Bryn's circle of admirers had finally
begun to disperse. The musicians were beginning
to assemble into a proper orchestra, signaling
that the closing ceremonies would soon begin.
Picking up another goblet Charlie shook his head.
I must demur, your highness. Could you please
kindly inform Bryn and the others that I will be
below, admiring the fine golden beasts that came
with you? I have seen sixteen summers of these
ceremonies, and can see this one in the future at
my leisure one of the performers is an
accomplished illusionist and my tutor, after all.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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