Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars V: Ascensum
(m)
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
But when they reached the next terrace, Charles
only opened his eyes a moment before shutting
them tight again in pain. A choking smoke filled
the air of the terrace, leaving all a vast plain
of rock. The acrid smoke made his nose squirm and
so clouded the air that it seemed darker than
night. Yet the scratching pain the roughness had
inflicted on Charles seemed to matter not a whit
to his Master who kept his eyes open and gazed
with unrivaled calm upon the scene. They had
arrived at the third terrace and its environment
was only one more through which they must pass.
His Master did not slow his pace and Charles,
after rubbing his hands across his face and
pressing his eye lids firmly down across his eyes
to keep out the least particle of smoke, hastened to follow him.
Yet even the indeterminate window of barren rock
beneath the choking blanket was only one vision
that came to him. Slipping into his consciousness
with an even greater vivacity was a scene set in
a massive temple with intricate stone-work below,
columns as wide as a horse was long, and a heavy
ceiling far overhead. A group of men with long
beards and flowing robes argued with a young
child not yet entering into maturity who was
dressed in the garb of a commoner. There was
nothing about the child's physical appearance
that distinguished him though all had the
bronzed skin of desert life that Charles himself
had once borne and yet there was something
indescribably beautiful about him. He glowed with
this inner glory as he dealt with the incredulous
and sometimes ill-tempered men.
Charles felt a strange sense of loss as his mind
was captured by the vision, a seeing that was
error but not false. Who was this child? Had he not known?
Into the vision another two figures stepped, a
woman and a man, both also dressed in common
clothes that seemed poor compared to the
beautiful robes garbing the bearded men who
disputed with the child. The mother and father,
Charles knew, but there was more. He had seen the
woman before. Her beauty was deeper than her sun
and sand-roughed skin. In regarding her the rat
felt a measure of the comfort and simplicity he'd
experienced when stepping upon the white step just before the gate.
Her voice was the first to join the images with
sound. Fili quid fecisti nobis sic ecce pater
tuus et ego dolentes quaerebamus te.
There was anguish in the voice, but no anger. No
recrimination in the question. Merely a desire to
understand. The response was offered with a love
that made the child seem the wiser and the one
with authority. Quid est quod me quaerebatis
nesciebatis quia in his quae Patris mei sunt oportet me esse.
The boy then stood and took his mother's hand and
left the bearded men to argue amongst themselves.
And with that the vision faded leaving him alone
with his Master's gaze of smoke. Charles
tightened his grip on the cloak and followed
after, gasping for breath, his voice wheezing
through the choking fume. Though the taste was
bitter and made him yearn to cough, he seemed
able to breath it in anyway. He lifted his head
toward his master though the view that filled his mind did not change.
Did you see it too?
I did, Núrodur. It is an example for those
dwelling in this place. There are many others
that they continue to see. Were we to remain here
for a time we would see them and also the reason
why they must pass through this place of smoke. It pains you, Núrodur?
It does, Master. Even as the admission came to
him he felt the fire in his flesh simmer.
His Master's presence soothed the pain from the
heat though the heat remained. You know this
place, Núrodur, for you have crafted it of your
own. It is a heritage that you share with many
others. Through my eyes you may see them again
ere we leave here for the terrace above. Do not
be afraid. Do not waver. The light will return.
In my shadow you remain. No harm can come to you.
Together they walked across the stony path.
Unlike the previous two terraces where the grass
sward had smoothed out the path so that they made
a gentle climb even when the road became steep,
here the rock was jagged with numerous faces so
that they would be climbing up one moment and
then crossing level ground the next. Charles
briefly attempted to slip his feet into the
stones but the soul tar permeating his flesh
prevented him from even wiggling a claw through its substance.
Though even with his Master's vision they could
only see a short distance ahead before the smoke
became too thick to penetrate, they still began
to glimpse other people in the murk. They
witnessed mostly men but women too wandering and
blindly groping about the stones, their faces
contorted both from the pain without and some
interior anguish that Charles assumed came from
some vision they experienced but which they were
spared. Their attire was a mix of styles from
tunic and breeches to robes to heavy fur-lined
cloaks. Some wore the ruins of bronze armor and others dented plate.
The first whose shape captured his attention was
a Keeper in the shape of a squat thistle-furred
boar. His snout was twisted and wrinkled with a
sullen fury as he cupped one arm over his belly.
He stumbled toward them and so in the few moments
before they continued past he could see that the
flesh was split there as if he'd been
disemboweled. Charles wished he could remember the boar soldier's name.
Nor was he the only Keeper or fantastic creature
they passed as they struggled through the smoke
and up the disjointed face of rock. A bear Keeper
also stumbled by them, though his back was to
them so Charles saw only his outline. And then he
glimpsed as a silhouette in the form of a falcon
spreading his wings and tilting back his head to
offer a screeching lament. Crawling across their
path was a man cursed into the shape of a lizard
with a mottled brown scales and a blunt snout;
across his back, completely stripped of any
garments so that he more resembled a beast than a
man, were several cuts from a blade that seared
deep and exposed pearl-white bone. Chasing after
him was a child of no more than twelve who waved
his arm about as if he were swinging a sword; he
tripped over the lizard's tail, smashed his face
into the stone, and then climbed back up and ran off into the darkness.
It was only as they stepped past a strange
creature with long tail, sharp claws, and hunched
posture that was covered in both scales and
feathers who cried a chittering wail as it beat
its head against the stone that Charles first
noticed men in tattered robes bearing a heraldry
he remembered. Though there robes were of various
colors and most were shredded and hung in strips,
the symbol they bore on their breast appeared
untouched by the ravages they had suffered. He
saw a red shield in which had been inscribed a
upturned hand; nestled with the palm was an
alabaster sword whose tip reached into the fingers.
Sondeckis.
Charles felt his heart pound in his chest and
warmth filled not just his skin but his whole
being at the sight. Through his Master's eyes he
noted their faces, hoping to find some hew
recognized. But the Sondeckis order had lasted
for millennia and every year a dozen or more
would suffer violent deaths. In times of war
there would be hundreds who would fall in battle.
How many of them still walked this terrace,
stumbling in the smoke of rage that choked them
and kept them here? None of those he saw were of
the Sondeckis of his day. All of them were
brothers in the order but strangers still.
Their faces were set in a rictus of pain as they
clenched shut their eyes. Scowls of fierce anger
as of a Sondecki untrained were frozen there, and
he felt a terrible pity for them. Could they not
find their Calm? For a moment Charles thought to
seek his own but could not remember what it had
been. A wave of frustration filled him and his
flesh simmered; he could feel the scorch marks
beneath his Master's shadow left behind by his every step.
Do you wish to feel as they?
His Master's thought was curious, or so Charles
sensed. He wanted to take a deep breath to help
still the torrent of his own Sondeck denied
peace, but hacked on the smoke as soon as he
tried. He swept one arm before his face to clear
the air but there was nothing to clear. The very
air and smoke were one and the same.
When he finally stopped coughing he willed his
thought to be clear. They are of my order. They
are family to me. They are Sondeckis! Like my son! Why are they here?
Because they must be here. Do you see all Sondeckis here?
No. But there are so many!
There is one you know. See.
Charles almost blinked open his eyes but allowed
himself to sink deeper into the window through
his Master's gaze. Ahead of them along the path,
just visible through the smoke and darkened
subtly by the lay of his Master's shadow, stood a
man garbed in a tattered black robe. Disheveled
hair just as black hung down to his neck and fell
across his ears. Long-fingered hands were pressed
to his chin as he bowed his face, lips moving as
if he were praying. His broad face, marked by the
letter P five times, brought back memory after
memory to the rat and tears tried to force their way through his eye lids.
Krenek! He cried, his voice piercing the thick
cloud and echoing back to him from the
mountainside. His fellow Sondecki lowered his
hands and lifted his head though he did not turn
toward them. Charles stretched out an arm beyond
his Master, stepping so close that his face brushed his robes.
This one you love, do you not, Núrodur?
There is no greater pain I received from Marzac
than having to fight this man, Master.
We shall wait while you speak to him. Say what
you must. But we cannot bring him with us nor
move him a step closer to the next terrace until it is his time.
Charles waited until they had reached his
childhood friend and dearest brother among the
Sondeckis. His Master turned slightly so that
Charles could Zagrosek full in the face through
his Master's eyes, but he could not see himself
in that gaze. Zagrosek's eyes were pressed shut
but there were no lines of pain as there had been
in the others. It was not peace but a strange
resignation that lurked there behind his friend's
countenance. Krenek! Can you hear me?
Charles. Krenek almost seemed to smile as he
lowered his fingers from his chin and folded one
hand into a fist and wrapped the other about it.
Charles, how I wish I could have found you before... before...
It wasn't your fault, Charles assured, trying
to reach out an arm to console him but only able
to see through his Master's eyes he could not
find him. You had no idea that the Marquis had
been corrupted by so terrible a force. You could
never have suspected it. What happened after was not your fault!
Oh, Charles. There is so much we have done.
There is so much that we were wrong about. How I wish I could tell you.
I am here, Krenek. There is nothing for you to
tell. We are Sondeckis. We did our duty.
Krenek tilted his head forward as if he were
looking down at the rat with fondness. His voice
was soft beneath the choking smoke; it did not
seem to have the same stifling effect on him as
it had on the others they had passed. Charles,
we thought we were servants of justice. We turned
our rage to that end. We did, oh we did. But did
we? Oh Charles, did we truly serve justice?
Of course we did, Krenek! We feel it in our
bones. Every injustice makes our blood boil and
our Sondeck fill with indignation! Even
mentioning it made the rat's body swell. He could
almost feel himself sinking into the stone as his feet burned them.
Justice... justice.. Krenek struck his chest
three times with his fist and shook his head.
How strange it appears the same as vengeance
when our gorge rises and our ire blossoms.
Charles, do you remember when we sought Totzesond for Soud?
The scene returned to his mind as if he had been
transported back to that moment. Still garbed in
Red, he and seven other Reds, his friends
Zagrosek, Ladero, and Jerome amongst them, had
been on a training mission south of the
Darkündlicht mountains guided by two blacks. On
their return journey they had become aware that
they were being followed by an unseen group. For
a week they had slept but two hours each night in
a vain attempt to outdistance whoever pursued
them. Exhausted and miserable from uncertainty,
they continued onward to the mountain pass that
would lead them back to the Sondesharan desert and the safety of home.
I remember it, Charles replied with a nod. His
words hissed through his teeth like steam from a kettle. Kankoran!
Oh, Charles, do you remember our wrath against the Kankoran?
The day before they entered the mountains it
became clear that they would not escape those who
chased them. One of the two blacks who had guided
and protected them on their journey through the
fields of Makor, Soud, volunteered to remain
behind to learn who followed them and promised,
if it was innocent to rejoin them later, and if
it was not to provide them as much time as he
could. They never saw Soud again but heard the
clamor of his battle from the treacherous
mountain pass.. The other black, Brothus, urged
them to continue on. Zagrosek felt the sting of
Soud's death for their sake more deeply than the rest.
I remember it, Krenek. I remember that night
about the fire. I remember your passion, your
thirst for justice for Soud's sake. I remember
you calling for Totzesand! My heart burned with
fire to hear it. I stood by your side and joined
you in the call even when Brothus, the coward, told us we went to our deaths.
Zagrosek shook his head and unleashed a long
sigh, his dark hair falling into his face and
obscuring his features. Charles, Charles, I
cannot believe that I let myself be guided by
such wrath. I called for Totzesand, but why did I
do so? Justice? Soud gave his life that we might
escape. I destroyed his death.
You destroyed his murderers!
Though they failed to convince Brothus the black
to seek the justice of death for Soud's murder,
all eight of the Reds agreed and they backtracked
to an outcropping to prepare an ambush for the
Kankoran who'd killed him. Five Purples followed
them, one bearing Soud's Sondeshike as a trophy.
The very sight of a Kankoran brandishing a
Sondeshike made his flesh burn deep into his
bones. The rat clenched his hands and gaped his
jaw, his words coming not in even tones but in cries.
You destroyed those thieves and murderers! They needed to die!
I put all of our lives at risk for the sake of
bloodlust. For the sake of wrath. Oh Charles,
what evil I did to you to convince you to join me in that fight!
The first of the Kankoran was thrust from the
ledge before they even realized the Sondeckis
were there. The other four fought with a
ferocious tenacity matched only by the zeal of
Zagrosek. Charles had yearned to watch his friend
grapple with the Kankoran wielding the Sondeshike
but he had his own life to defend. One of the
Kankoran had forced him to the edge of a deep
chasm and with another series of punches and
kicks or blows of magic would have sent him
hurtling to his death. But Ladero had come and
struck from behind, saving Charles from the fall.
A few moments longer and they had been victorious
in the fight, and every Kankraon lay dead at
their feet or at the bottom of the chasm. Even
Brothus, assuring them that they went to their
death and refusing to join them in the call for
Totzesand, was there to help protect them as was
his duty, but no fire of justice burned in his veins.
They were going to kill us, Krenek! They were
murderers and would have killed us too.
But his friend could only shake his head. He beat
his chest with his fists and wept. My dear
Charles. I thought I loved justice. I did. I know
I did. But that day I let it become vengeance. I
let justice be led by wrath. I celebrated by
taking Soud's Sondeshike for my own. What other
evils have I done with it? How much blood has it shed?
No, Krenek! You saved our lives! I will not believe this about you!
I hated the idea of a Kankoran holding our weapons...
Charles saw in his mind a image of a raccoon
holding a long staff. He snarled, slashing with
his arms until the image was torn apart.
I hated it so much.. Zagrosek lifted his head
and for a moment it seemed as if he would open
his eyes. But though the muscles in his face
shifted, his eye lids never lifted. And taking
that Sondeshike... what did it do to me? Oh
Charles, what did it do to you whom I loved more
than any other as my dearest brother! Have you learned yet? Have you?
Learned what, Krenek?
But he turned his face away and pressed his hands
against his cheeks. His fingers trembled and dug
at the skin of his forehead as if he would tear
it free. But the flesh remained intact. Charles
stretched out his arm but could not find where to place it to touch his friend.
What do I need to learn, Krenek? Why are you
speaking like this? You were a good man and a great Sondecki!
When he lifted his gaze there was a look of peace
on his features, though one filled with
melancholy. Oh Agathe. Despite what it made us
do, I did love you. I wish you would have accepted that.
Krenek! It's me, Charles Matthias. Talk to me
here! That... that... woman cannot help you!
Agathe, forgive me for not doing better. I wish
I had been stronger. I wish... it is past now.
All of it. All of it gone from us. I only hope you have a little love for me.
Krenek Zagrosek! Listen to me! Charles slashed
his arms in front of him but could not find
purchase. Had he even been talking to his friend
at all? Had anything he said been heard? He
screamed in protest and blinked open his eyes, determined to find him.
The smear and touch of smoke lanced into his
brain and he gasped from the pain. The only
glimpse he had before he fell down to the ground
scratching at his face was of Zagrosek several
feet in front of him turning and walking away at
an angle from their path. Even his Master's
vision could not penetrate the cloud of ash that
obscured him after a mere five paces.
Charles continued to scream and beat at the
ground with his hands and arms when he wasn't
clawing at his face. The pain in his eyes was
more than just having a gust of smoke blown into
them. He felt as if a handful of still hot ash
had been smeared into his eyes and even now
sizzled away the delicate flesh. A brief memory
of something hotter than a forge striking his
face and marring it forever ran through his mind.
A gentle touch rested upon his back and he felt a
wall settle down in his mind between him and the
pain in his eyes. The pain did not diminish, but
no longer did it control him. He remembered his
Master and his purpose, and though his
frustration at being duped by his friend and this
place through which they journeyed remained, his
thoughts regained their clarity.
He did not know you. He hears only the voices of
this place. Hear my voice, Núrodur. It is time we continued our journey.
But why can they not see me? Why can I not speak
to them? And, Master, why does he say such things?
Because you are not here in the way that he or
any of the others are, Núrodur. I have let you
speak to them only so that you could understand
this. That is the only thing you need to learn
from them. This is not your place, Núrodur. We
come only to claim your son. Do you understand?
Aye, Master.
We are near the passage to the next terrace. Come.
Charles lifted one hand to find his Master's robe
and felt a small relief when his fingers curled
about the soft fabric. He stepped from the small
hole his rage had rent in the rocks and followed
blindly after his Master, seeing only that which
his Master's eyes provided. But there was nothing
but smoke and ash choking the air and so he lost
interest, allowing even that window to dim in his
mind. He breathed in and out, feeling the little
pinpricks of flame catching in his lungs. The
heat suffusing his limbs swelled and receded the same.
Somewhere in the distance he heard a familiar
song. He listened for a time but could not
remember any of the words. Eventually he glimpsed
another being of light filled with eyes and a
cleft in the mountainside. He moved his legs and
followed into that cleft, allowing nothing to
come into his mind to disturb him. The journey would go faster that way.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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