Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars V: Ascensum
(k)
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
They emerged from the fissure onto a broad
terrace. The mountain stretched upward on their
left and the terrace would upwards against it. To
his right he could see across the top of the
forest from a height dwarfing Metamor's tallest
towers. The sea stretched in every direction and
sparkled in the radiance of the sun.
The ground was lush with bright, green grass and
little bushes but nothing taller than the rat's
knees. Everything around seemed brighter than
before and Charles flinched, shielding his eyes
with his free hand as they emerged onto the
grassy incline. His Master stared ahead with
fixed determination and confident mien, only
turning part way to rest a hand on the rat's
shoulder and offer him an encouraging glance.
The brighter the sun, the deeper the shadow, Núrodur. You are safe with me.
The thought comforted the rat and together the
two of them continued walking up the ever so
gentle slope. At first Charles saw nothing other
than the waves of grass and the small flowering
bushes mixed in, but soon he noticed that there
was far more to see on the mountain terrace.
Emerging from the green sward were statues of
exquisite craftsmanship, as if they too had been
grown from the mountain's surface. Charles found
himself immediately drawn to regard the nearest
and seemingly largest of the group.
Before them was the image of a woman kneeling
with her arms open before her as if she were
accepting some great responsibility. Her face was
tilted upward, her cheeks without blemish, her
eyes open and gentle. Her features suggested
youth but there was also a matronly quality to
her. From her gaze, her posture, and her bearing,
it seemed that she was listening and welcoming
some message. Charles felt he should know her.
His Master did not pause to consider the statues
and so the rat did not either. He offered each of
them that they passed a brief appraisal but
nothing more. All of them seemed to be people in
positions that suggested they were either
accepting some task or relinquishing something of
great worth; and yet they never seemed to regret
any of what happened. Charles felt dizzy from so
many images and after counting more than two
dozen lowered his eyes into the shadow at his
Master's feet and pushed them from his mind.
But he found no relief there. As they climbed the
grass gave way to more than just statues. Broad
stone steps marred the path, each of them carved
with some scene. Most of them were of people
engaged in some activity, though he could not
recall what at first it was that any of them were
doing. But after a while, as his dark feet
stepped over the faces, he realized that many of
them were rulers or fantastic warriors. He saw
priests praying with their eyes turned upward
bearing self-satisfied smiles. He saw a man at
the foot of a tree staring up at the faces of
other men and women hanging from the tree like
ripened fruit. Charles tried to find the grass
again so that he would not have to stare at all
of those images, but he did not dare step out of
his Master's shadow again. Even thinking about it
made his flesh simmer with heat.
After stepping across a depiction of a vast city
and tower under construction, he lifted his eyes
and noted that they were no longer alone on that
vast mountain terrace. Men and women surrounded
them on all sides, each of them laboring beneath
the weight of a heavy stone that crushed into
their backs. The stones were of such variety that
the darkened rat could only marvel and name the
names: basalt, granite, chalcedony, marble,
flint, anthracite, gneiss, jasper, chert,
limestone, quartz, pumice, and many, many others
that he'd known from his days of living as stone.
For a few moments his gaze fixed upon the rocks
and some deep recess of his being yearned for the
comfort and stability of mineral and the majesty of the peak.
The weight of each burden could not have been
born for more than a few minutes by even the
strongest of men; even some dragons would have
struggled beneath such boulders. Yet these
people, both man and woman alike, bore up the
weight without collapsing. Their steps were slow,
inching forward up the gentle slope with little
shifts of each leg; their feet never left the
ground and yet they left no trail either for the
grass crushed beneath them sprang back up faster
than they could move. Their faces were contorted
in pain but as he watched them it did not seem to
him that their greatest agony came from the
stones. All of them had the letter P inscribed seven times on their forehead.
Like the people on the plain below, these were
also dressed in a variety of attire yet each was
marred but the constant shifting of the stones on
their back. Garments rich in purple and crimson
were now smeared brown around their back, threads
torn loose so that they sagged along their arms
and legs. Others bore priestly garments that
tangled around their legs making it impossible
for them to move, a tangle that they seemed
reluctant to fix. A few had even torn the shirts
from their chest, leaving a trail of finery
dragging behind them. And then were many others
whose garments were of the meanest sort and yet
they moved as slowly as the rest.
His Master did not slacken his pace to allow
Charles any time to study them as individuals and
as his shadow did not touch any of them the rat
was forced to note only these details about each
in their passage. He lost count of how many they
passed before he realized that every single one
of them was talking. Their gaze was fixed either
on the path before them or the ground with its
grass and stone tablets, and yet each of them
spoke as if trying to carry on a conversation
with those around them. But none of them were listening to one another.
Charles inclined his head as they passed to listen.
I was Pyralian, son of a great Breckarin. My
father was prefect of the district of Aachen and
scion of the great Martain family... I do not know if you have heard his name.
I am the great Tardini. My name was celebrated
by all in Marilyth and my manuscripts admired by
all learned men. Do you not know my work?
I have ten children. My eldest son is a knight
of great renown. My eldest daughter married the
Baron of Mitok. Stay and let me tell you of my
other children and their achievements!
I commanded a legion of soldiers and won the
battle of Vasks over the treacherous Hevagn!
No man knows the movement of the stars as do I!
I worked a miracle that healed a child on the
verge of death. My name is still sung throughout Lavelock!
Charles shook his head, unable to bear the words
he heard, almost wishing that he would see some
of them collapse beneath the weight that had
already bent them over. The disgust flared in his
skin until he felt the grass smoldering beneath his feet.
It is better not to listen to them, Núrodur.
He lifted his head and saw that his Master had
half turned his face to offer him a thin smile.
He did not form a question back to his Master,
but merely opened his mind to his presence.
Each word they speak is pressed from them by the
weight upon their back. A life-time of such
thoughts and desires has created those stones and
now it must be crushed from them. It is not for
you to know and experience. You cannot add to
their burden nor can you cause them any suffering
which they would feel. Stay with me and we will
soon leave them behind. You walk in their midst
only as a stranger; a shadow within a shadow.
And it was true. Though they were all human and
they spoke tongues he understood and in accents
familiar, even mentioning places he had once
lived or seen, none of them were familiar to him.
They were not his concern. They could neither
help nor impede his steps and so there was no
reason to pay the slightest heed to them. His
Master's shadow did not include them and so he turned them from his mind.
It was easier than he had suspected. He focused
his gaze on his Master's back and followed after
him up the long sloping terrace. His feet crossed
over stone and grass and he could feel the
different textures but he did not glance to see
what upon what images he trod. His side always
took in that which passed him on either side and
so the people with their stones pressing down
their backs and ruining their clothes continued
to slip behind him but other than the hue of
their skin and the type of rock they bore he knew
nothing more of them. Even when he saw that there
was a wolf Keeper bearing a granite block he did
not avert his attention nor listen to what lament
slipped from his tongue. The question did arise
only then, that he had not questioned through his
journey; how did the souls of men, briefly
changed to the forms of animals or children in
the duration of their mortality, remain thus
changed in the realms beyond life. Were Nasoj's
curses so powerful that they warped the very soul
as well as the flesh? Was that the reason the
curse could not be undone was it a change of
the soul itself? His thoughts were troubled,
waiting for word from his Master whom would have
no answer for that curiosity, wondering only how
far they must travel on their road before they
reached his son. The question passed, as fleeting
as a breath, before Charles' thoughts turned once
more to the ever-dwindling shadow of his Master, and the goal ahead.
Ladero.
Into that silence his attention was only arrested
by the faint echo of the melody he'd experienced
on the plain. It tugged at him and for a moment
he thought to turn and seek its source out. But
even as the intention grew within him, something
else caught his regard. Ahead of them on the path
was a familiar face bearing up under the weight
of a few dozen heavy slabs of limestone stacked
like a monumental deck of cards. His garments,
once a rich and luxuriant blue, were now sullied
and torn so that his pasty white flesh was
visible, preserved from the burning of the sun
only by the shadow in which he travailed.
To the rat's astonishment, his Master's shadow
passed over the shambling man, where it had never
before touched another loitering below or toiling up the endless path.
Yes, Núrodur, I know the thought you wish to
have. To this one you may speak for a moment. He
is known to you. But remember, he may not
understand who you are for the weight upon him is all he truly knows.
Charles did not step ahead to reach the man
faster, but waited the few seconds until his
Master stepped along-side him, bringing the rat
close to this other. His face was lined with
strain, and his aquiline nose stretched from each
intake of breath. The seven letters drawn across
his forehead were twisted under his burden so
that they seemed to flow with his blood. His eyes
were lifted to the ground ahead, but his feet
moved only the width of the rat's finger and then not again.
Marquis Camille du Tournemire, Charles
murmured, his voice almost a hiss as of stone
grinding together. How are you here?
The Marquis's voice seemed to have a bit of fire
to it as he replied. I defeated the slaughtering
hand of the conqueror Handil Sutt in battle, man
to man alone. I would see the Marzac swamps
reclaimed from evil. None could best my hand at
cards; with nothing more than cards I was as much
a conqueror as Sutt and his legions. I would
bring an end to famine in my lands and would make
them as rich as any the world has ever seen! He
groaned and for a moment buckled beneath the weight of the stacked limestone.
Charles lifted one arm to steady him but the
Marquis, despite his burden, managed to avoid his
touch. You were wrong, the rat noted with a
sigh. You became evil. You did horrible things.
This is all the punishment you receive?
I did defeat Handil Sutt! I brought peace to
Western Pyralis! You were there, Sondecki of the
Black! You were there at my beck and call.
And you betrayed us in the end. You destroyed so many...
I had such power... such terrible power.
With which you tortured us. You murdered my friends before my very eyes.
I raised a beautiful son.
You abandoned your son for Marzac!
I stopped the evil. I kept the card to the
Magyars from being burned. I tricked him for you,
Dazheen! I tricked him for you! Briefly the
overburdened man's eyes lifted, seemed to focus
upon Charles if truly aware that he was there.
Darkness requires light; I could touch it a
little less at a time, but that is where I laid
one card; in the Light. His shoulders rose,
lifting the stack of weighty slabs briefly, and
then fell. Where I could not, in the end, touch
it. But you, the others, ahh, my armies of
conquest in a handful of painted cards!
You brought pain and anguish to my friends. You stole me from my family!
Oh Dazheen, only you could touch cards as I
could. You alone were my joy in the darkness.
Charles tightened his hands into fists to keep
himself from clawing at the man. His voice
deepened and poured a hot wind against the
Marquis's face. You murdered my friends and
countless others! Why are you not burning with
the rest! Why did I not find you curled like a
little beast in the blackness of Ba'al domain! You sadistic monster!
The Marquis did not even look at him, his eyes
lifting upward along the path, and a tear
dribbled down his cheek. Dazheen, I am guilty. I
am. I was wrong to think I could cure the jungle. I was wrong.
The stone slab at the top of the stack slid
backward and crashed into the ground behind them.
It shattered so thoroughly that not even a
remnant of dust remained. The Marquis slid one
foot forward a few inches. His leather boots had
worn away enough that his curled toes could be
seen, and these glimmered a pearly white as they
slipped free of his Master's shadow.
Charles felt a hand rest upon his shoulder and
the anger he felt at seeing the man who had
brought him so much pain subsided. He could still
feel a fire across his flesh, but now it seemed a
cool flame, one that soothed rather than seared.
He lowered his arm and tightened his grip on his
tail as he stepped away from the Marquis. His
Master sensed his purpose and the two of them
continued walking, leaving Tournemire forever behind after only a few steps.
This does not accord with your sense of justice, my Núrodur Nuruhuinë?
Is this all he must do, carry a bunch of stones around?
That is no mere collection of pebbles, my
Núrodur. It is not your choice as to what comes to those who have died.
But he killed you, Master! Do you not wish more for him?
We must each of us fulfill the purpose for which
we exist, Núrodur. To some more is given than
others. To you this has been given. That one
accomplished much of what he had been given but
not all. His decisions were not always best, and
his reasons created that stack of stones which
bear him down even now and will do so for a time
longer than you can imagine. Yes, he should not
have had a hand in killing me, but now that we
have seen him, spoken with him, and stepped past
him, he is no longer our concern. He plays no
further part in our paths. Put him now from your
mind, Núrodur. We must continue.
I will, Master.
The terrace continued its slow spiral around the
towering mountain that loomed on their left like
a brilliant white spike piercing the sky. The
only heed Charles paid to the men and women
laboring beneath stone was to note their presence
on either side as they passed. The further they
walked the fewer in number they seemed to be. The
swards of grass and the statues that rose up from
them seemed to become wider and more diverse but
they never lingered in any spot long enough for
the rat's interest to be piqued.
His thoughts were still as the moments slipped
away. The Núrodur's pace matched that of his
Master's step for step as they climbed. The path
angled upward but he felt no fatigue for all of
their exertion. There was nowhere else to go and
nothing else to do but to follow and wait. His
son was ahead and his Master guided him to his son. That was all that mattered.
The slope eventually became steep enough that the
rat had to climb on all fours to make the ascent.
He tucked his tail through the sash around his
waist to keep it from slipping out of the shadow
and then stretched in its depths as they rose the
last course of the terrace. A vigilant light
shone ahead and in the midst of the brilliance he
could discern figures waiting. What few others
remained on the path with them were burdened by
mere slivers of river stone though they too crawled like animals.
The hill leveled out only when they reached the
source of the light. Another being filled with
eyes and wings in a profusion that was impossible
to make sense of appeared to guard a narrow
passage in a sheer face of rock. No other path
continued the ascent and no gate barred entry,
but the cleft was so narrow and the ascent so
steep that none who still bore the heavy stones
could ever hope to slip through.
An older woman who had finished the climb before
them presented herself to the being of eyes and a
gentle brush of its gossamer wing swept across
her forehead. One of the letters inscribed there
disappeared as a brush cleaning away a cobweb.
Her eyes brimmed with joy as she tilted back her
head and sang. The being joined his voice to hers
and the rat trembled as the sound washed across
him like a river flush with rain.
Beati pauperes spiritu...
Beati pauperes spiritu...
The old woman, garbed in rags torn down her back
from the rock that had once been fixed there,
folded her hands before her and with head bowed
stepped into the passage and was lost to sight.
The song, only three words but repeated with such
conviction and depth, echoed in his mind for
several long seconds before they too faded,
leaving only a memory and a suggestion of
something deep and lost. Charles rubbed one
finger across his smooth forehead half-expecting
to find letters of his own. But he felt only the
sultry warmth of the soul tar fused with his flesh.
His Master had not slackened his pace once during
the invocation and so together they strode past
the being of eyes who regarded them in a way that
the rat could not even comprehend. The eyes both
followed them and ignored them. Its wings were
stretched to welcome others but not them. They
stepped beyond and to the narrow passage within
the face of rock. As they passed within its
confines the last memory of the song that gave him pause was lost.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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