Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars V: Ascensum
(n)
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
When they passed beyond the cleft Charles could
see another path of stone climbing up along the
mountain. The air was clear again and the sun
shone bright. But when he tried to open his eyes
he saw nothing but darkness. The ash had scoured him blind.
Master! I cannot see!
Be not afraid, Núrodur. The injury is not serious
and will be healed. For now, feel through which
you abide and trust in what I show you.
Charles tightened his grip on his Master's cloak
and let his eyelids droop closed. Through his
Master's gaze he could see the new terrace upon
which they stood. The stone path stretched a good
dozen paces from the side of the mountain to an
abrupt edge overlooking the cliff down. On every
side he could see and feel the rush of people as
they darted to and fro. Some ran up the path and
others ran down. Some would run toward the edge
and then bank at the last moment only to bounce
back off the mountain face to do it again. Not a
one of them paused in their running to even try to catch their breath.
In the chaotic mix his Master stepped and Charles
followed. The angle of the path was not steep but
he could tell that they were climbing upward.
Each step required him to lift his foot just a
little from the pool of shadow beneath him. And
despite the fact they walked in the middle of the
path, not a single one of the souls running
rampant about them came close enough to step in
that shadow. Charles could feel the reverberation
of their pounding steps but of them he could not
catch more than a brief glimpse.
Into his mind he saw a beautiful woman with
determined gaze traveling through a hilly
country. But the image slipped away from him before he could study it more.
The pounding of feet on rock was so loud that it
took Charles a moment to realize that not only
was everyone running about but that they were
also shouting as they ran. Their voices were
clear and overlapping. Not a one of them sounded
fatigued from their ceaseless activity. But their
passage was so quick he only caught snatched of what any of them had to say.
I lingered too long when my friends were in need.
Why go today when we can tomorrow?
I should have acted! I should have...
The Mother acted in haste.
Why do anything? It never works...
Pelain did not hesitate at the mountain!
Loose the arrow! Loose the arrow!
To sleep and to dream! What else have I done!
Benedicta tu inter mulieres et benedictus fructus ventris tui!
Charles wished he could shut the voices out but
no matter how he turned his head over covered his
already folded ears their voices continued to
intrude. What was worse was that he heard many of
them speaking in languages he neither knew nor
recalled ever hearing before. Their voices
especially came to him as if taunting him to understand.
He also attempted to swipe his arms at any of the
people running past, but as he could only see
through his Master's eyes he never even came
close to anyone. His hands constantly snatched at
empty air. He felt like a caged beast on a cart
swiping its paw through the bars at any who passed by or stopped to gawk.
The only thing he could touch was the shadow at
his feet. After several minutes of flailing his
arms like a fool he let them fall to his side and
drag along the ground. Around him he sensed the
running and cavorting of the souls no matter
which direction they went. He could feel his
Master's feet stepping one after the other. They
were measured and unhurried and yet their pace
was a challenge to match. The shadow stretched
and shifted with each step, covering this rock
and then that, moving forward to meet his feet
and then sliding to one side and then the other
as the rocks shifted their angle from the sun.
Charles could feel the cool of the rock and the
warmth of the sun that had touched them as the
shadow passed over each. Little snatches of grass
that clung to the mountain that had yet to be
trampled underfoot by the souls in their zealous
rush, bent beneath the flow of shade as if it
were not merely a lack of light but a tangible
film of its own. He marveled at the sensations
and in that astonishment for the first time since
he had heard the stomping of the runners was no
longer distracted by their cacophony.
He felt a strange elation at knowing where his
Master stepped without having to hold onto his
cloak. He lifted his arms for a moment before
crouching down and putting them on the ground
too. He followed after on all fours, submersing
as much of himself in the cool shade as he could.
For the first time since entering the gate he
felt the heat in his flesh abate. He did not even
need to see with his Master's eyes and let the
vision there fade until it was a mere glimmer of
light. But it was always there as his Master was always there.
Núrodur Nuruhuinë.
I am.
Núrodur Nuruhuinë.
I am, Master.
He sensed a hesitation then in the presence about
him, as if a question were being asked that he
could never be privy to. And then he felt a
moment of solitude as the hesitation and with it
his Master's focus left him. Their pace quickened
up the side of the mountain and the rat scampered
after as low to the ground as he could.
Though he did not hear the voices of everyone
shouting around him anymore, he still felt the
thumping of their feet on the rock. But even that
was a pleasant thrumming like a gentle massage
after a weary day of labor. To this he allowed
his thoughts to wander even as he felt through
the shadow, pushing it to reach out to those many feet.
In the sound he surprised himself to hear a
pattern begin to emerge like a ship from fog.
There was a meter and a rhythm that repeated over
and over again, gaining in strength and clarity.
And as the rat twisted his head back and forth in
time to the beat, he heard something more within
it. Not only was there a beat but there was also
a melody. As the individual notes blended
together into both song and harmony, Charles felt
burdened by a great sadness. It spoke of loss, a
loss he himself felt. But it was not the son that
was lost. Charles turned his head toward the edge
of the path and the sea below that he might better hear it.
Behold, Núrodur. We approach one that you once knew.
Charles stood from the shadow and, with one last
blind glance toward the edge of the cliff, let
his focus return to the window of light he
received from his Master's vision. The path
swelled into view and the sun's illumination gave
it warmth and color. His attention quickly found
the one of whom his Master spoke. Running in a
circle and chasing his own black-and-white
striped tail was the Weathermonger Yonson. Even
in death he retained the shape of the lemur that
he'd born for but a single year of his life.
Yonson's golden eyes were wide disc as large as
plates and his arms stretched outward to grasp at
the end of his tail as he dashed in an ever
tightening circle. How he did not fall down from
dizziness the rat could not imagine. Upon his
brow the letter P was inscribed four time and
like the rest he shouted with every breath in his
lungs. Curious, Charles listened to what words came from his short snout.
I did not do enough! I thought I was clever but
I was frightened! I did not do enough! I thought
I was clever but I was frightened! I did not do
enough! I thought I was clever but I was frightened! I did not do enough!
On and on he continued repeating those same
words. Charles opened his mouth to interject, but
then shook his head and dropped back to all fours.
He will not hear me anyway, Master.
No he will not. Very good, Núrodur. You have learned.
Yonson ran a circle about them without ever
touching them, his paws dancing through the
shadow for a moment before they left him behind.
The rat sank back into shadow and remained there
trailing obediently after his Master.
He was not sure how long it was that they walked
before they reached the top of the terrace. He
shrank as far into the shadow as he was able as
they stepped past the being of eyes and wings.
Though he could only see him through his Master's
vision, he felt as a bit of parchment shriveling
as it was consumed by flame in its presence. He
hissed and seethed as they entered the fissure,
until his Master's voice touched his mind once again.
You have done well to come this far, Núrodur.
Three terraces more await us. And then we shall have your son.
Charles scraped his claws against the stone,
searing it as he did, eager to finish the journey
at long last. As they climbed through the fissure
he pondered what his boy looked like, trying to
remember every detail of his little Ladero. His
fur had been dark on his head and down his
shoulders as if he wore a black cloak and hood.
His chest and arms had been covered in white fur
and his claws were the same. He had dark eyes
like all his other children, but alone of all of
them his seemed brighter than the soft, black fur
around them. His tail had been a piebald mix of
both as if at the last he couldn't decide which color he preferred.
He felt a small smile grace his snout as he
recalled the sound of his son's voice. He had not
even been two months old when Charles had been
forced to leave his family behind at the Glen,
and so he had no words to offer his father. But
each of his children had already learned to
squeak and those squeaks were as unique as their
fur. Ladero's had been pitched high, but with a
little curl at the end as if he were going to dip
into song. Charles yearned to hear it again.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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