Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars VI: Acceptio
(b)
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
Shadow moved and with it Núrodur Nuruhuinë. His
Master's heels lifted from the stone path, swept
through the air and set down again. Shadow moved
and with it Núrodur Nuruhuinë ever at those
heels. Stone sizzled beneath him. Air bristled at
his passage. A haze rose in every direction. Pain
subsumed all, and seemed more natural to feel
pain than to form words. He thought in pain. He
exuded flame. He dwelt in shadow.
But it was not enough. He sought a son. The idea
was known, not thought, as Núrodur Nuruhuinë
slunk across the ground, undulating with every
vagary of rock upthrust in their path. This idea
was known as a beacon is known and guides a
traveler to safety. His Master knew the way. His
Master was leading him to his son.
And then what?
The words dispersed like ash in the wind and
Núrodur Nuruhuinë hesitated only a flicker of a heartbeat on the way.
The path narrowed to another fissure before which
stood a sentinel of eyes and unpleasant light. A
human soul stood before the figure while it
removed all but the final P from his forehead.
Master and servant passed by unmolested and unremarked.
The fissure seemed longer than all the others and
for a time he felt his sinews burn with
impatience. But there was no haste in his
Master's footsteps. The same pace he had
maintained for so long now was kept steady but
forward without hesitation or anxiety. Walls
stretched upward on either side toward a sky
filling with clouds. By the time those walls fell
to his Master's ankles only scattered patches of blue remained.
The last terrace made a narrow path around the
central peak that continued overhead. The peak
remained wide of breadth but there no longer
appeared to be any shelves of stone on which they
could recline above. Clouds circled the upper
reaches of the peak, obscuring it completely from
view. Yet, to Núrodur Nuruhuinë, it was still
insufferably bright; the clouds themselves were
lush with a golden radiance that bathed the
mountainside. In his Master's shadow he remained.
Figures moved about them in a strange sort of
dance. Their pace was measured and slow while
there were none about them, but as soon as they
neared another soul they rushed to greet one
another, bodies close but never quite touching,
before springing away like lodestones turned to
face each other. Into the pain an image unfurled.
A boy knelt in the grass as horses neighed and
stomped their hooves some distance behind him.
Tall grass bent under an eddying wind, ad the
sound of a man and a woman's voice behind him
carried on that wind. The boy could hear them and
knew he was safe. Unafraid, his interest remained
with the colony of ants he'd discovered. They
streamed from a small hole in the ground, spread
across a patch of earth gathering the crumbs of
bread the boy dropped. Each kept an industrious
pace, pausing only briefly in their tasks to
touch muzzles, each to each, perhaps to seek news
of their fortunes and journeys; or so the boy liked to imagine.
He marveled at the thought that was not pain.
Ants. The souls moving to and fro were very much
like those ants, though he could not imagine
their purpose, their fortunes, or their journeys.
Vastly different in appearance and physique, they
had only the single P on their foreheads in
common. Their lips moved and speech came forth
but it was such a mishmash of tongue it made as
much sense as the chattering of squirrels.
A large rat with a vaguely man-like shape
reclined on a garden wall with a bit of parchment
in his lap and a stopper of ink at his side. One
hand gripped a quill with gentle fingers though
the tip did not touch the page. Instead his head
tilted upward, ears and whiskers twitching in
pleasure as his eyes followed the antics of a
trio of little red squirrels cavorting about the
branches of the oaks. Their angry little squeaks
and clicks followed them as they bounded from
branch to branch. Finally, one of the squirrels
retreated to a maple while the first two spat imprecations at the intruder.
The squirrel climbed down the maple and scurried
into a discarded pile of clothing. The large rat
watched in bemusement as the shirt and trousers
lifted from the ground, a head, arms, bushy tail,
and legs all sprouting out from the garments. A
moment later a man-shaped squirrel stood fully
clad with one of his arms sticking out the same
hole as his head. He squirmed it back within his
tunic and out the sleeve, blinking as he noted
the rat. With a clicking-laugh he said, None too
friendly when ye their size, eh wot!
Squirrels. Another interesting thought. Núrodur
Nuruhuinë set it deep in the empty expanse within
where he might ponder it again.
Even though the antics of the souls about his
Master provoked two images that were not pain,
Núrodur Nuruhuinë did not feel any greater
compulsion to study them. They were souls that
did not hinder his Master's path nor were they
souls of interest to his Master. They scattered
through the hateful light and cast no shadows of
their own. Of what continued interest could they possibly be?
A thought swelled in him, powerful and towering
above him, and yet also beneath him as the very
foundation of being. In it was nothing more than
a glance; a casual regard that searched him
deeper than the sweep of an eye. His Master.
Pain of fire seethed about Núrodur Nuruhuinë and
his substance scorched the ground, searing rock
and burning grass to its roots. His reply to the
unspoken question offered by his Master. He was
ready to serve. He would always follow.
The presence withdrew from his immediate pain and
the shadow continued to creep along at his
Master's heels. Compared to the souls that rove
about them in such cacophonous array, his Master
was as a sentinel of power and purpose. His
bearing carried an unmarred beauty and his steps
remained patient and certain. There was no
deviation in his path and no hesitation in his
stride. He went where he willed. No force could
balk him nor delay him. No force ever could.
And yet, their purpose was not of his Master's
design. It was to come to the aid of Núrodur
Nuruhuinë. He, the servant no, the slave in
all his lowliness was being offered aid of the
most magnanimous sort. Through what dangers had
they already passed and his Master had seen him
safely through? Was there any other of his
stature that had offered him aid? Was there any
sacrifice he could refuse to his Master now?
Was there any like unto his Master?
He could conceive of nothing in the fire and
darkness that surrounded and imbued him. And yet,
his consideration returned to the images he'd
glimpsed. The ants and the squirrels were base
creatures whose behavior seemed both erratic and
organized. Thousands of ants could cooperate in
complex activities even though they could not
reason. Squirrels could perform dangerous acts
requiring precise balance with reckless abandon
and all to defend a cove of trees. How remarkable.
Nor was his consideration for those images
restricted to the creatures that he witnessed
within. Much like the souls that scattered
helter-skelter about them, they were still
creatures and as such of only passing interest at
best. What was far more intriguing about the
images he had witnessed was that they were
perspectives. There was a participant in those
images through whose vision he had gleaned the experiences.
But who were they?
Núrodur Nuruhuinë simmered through the shadow and
lifted himself up from its pool, curious what
else he might glimpse. A molten searing rumbled
in his thoughts but he persisted, allowing the external world passage within.
The souls continued their mad running to and fro
with no seeming direction or purpose. Their words
peppered him in snatches, but this time he could discern some of the words.
...her breasts swelled her bodice...
...strapping chest, oiled and glistening...
...eyes averted lest they see aught...
...she looked back! She looked back and now a pillar...
...a thigh tender beneath my hands...
...a fire kindled in my loins by her gaze...
...to be as he, ever faithful and vigilant for she whose hand...
...a new one, with fur of golden brown and a tail even...
...O Virgin of virgins! Pure, chaste, and full of grace...
It was not any one statement that placed an image
in his thoughts, but some of them together. Núrodur Nuruhuinë observed.
It was a vast hall with brightly colored windows
stretching toward the sky and filled with people
many of whom seemed to be half beast. A majestic
march resounded in tones of glory and power. Down
the main aisle the perspective focused, seeing
the gathering throng but seeing none of them in
favor of what emerged beneath a vaulted arch at
the far end. There were two figures. Something
pounded deep within that both pained and excited.
The larger of the two was a scaly beast with
yellow eyes, long narrow jaws and wide flat tail
that was garbed in heavy red robes. He stooped
over the other figure and led her by the hand
even as his other gripped a massive oarwood cane,
limping as he made his way forward.
But it was to the second figure his attention
fixed. She was a rat wlaking upon two legs,
dressed in a resplendent white gown. It covered
her chest in a low 'V' with white lace and
ruffles climbing up her neck until they were
hidden by the long veil that hung across her
muzzle, her whiskers brushing at its ends. Around
her ears were entwined tight wreaths bursting
with bright green leaves and firm white bulbs.
Her foot paws were encased in dainty satin
slippers, while white stockings disappeared
beneath the ruffled hem of her dress. A train as
long as she was tall dragged along behind her,
covering her tail completely, the brilliant folds
of fabric bundled along the edges nearly
half-a-foot high. Her hands were covered by white
gloves and in between them she held a bouquet of
white roses bound tightly together with a thin
silk ribbon. Upon one finger a single ring
sparkled in the lofty light, radiant as any other finery.
So enraptured was he by the sight that he did not
realize she had climbed the steps until she was
there at his side. An arm ending in a gloved hand
much the same as her own extended and their
fingers curled around each other firmly and
tight. He stared into her countenance which
glimmered with an inborn light, wishing he could
do nothing but gaze into her sublime beauty. In
her rapturous embrace he had not an enemy in the
world and there was none he could not forgive no
matter how great the injury. A song, familiar at
once, seemed to wreath her as much as the light.
And then she bent forward, a strange amethyst
medallion about her neck that he had not seen
before, and her eyes a strange deep blue through
the veil fixed him tight with a sudden intensity.
Words, her words, reached him. They carried great
weight and in them he felt both embrace and a disquieting fear.
Charles, beware! He is false!
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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