Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars VI: Acceptio
(f)
Wednesday, June 23, 724 CR, Evening
For a moment Baron Matthias lowered his head,
resting one hand atop his brow, eyes narrowed to
dark slits as if afraid he would see something
else should he close them entire. Charlie gnawed
on his chewstick as he stared in wonder and a bit
of horror at his father. That the guide's
intentions were for ill he had suspected almost
from the start, but the depths to which he had
pushed the man who'd given him life surpassed all
but the vilest of dreams he'd witnessed; he could
count them on a single hand and still have fingers untouched.
How had his father even regained sanity after
this, let alone gone on to father many more sons
and daughters and found a noble House?
I know that look, the Baron said with a biting
whisper. I know it, Son. I've seen that same
turn of the eye in my looking glass many a
morning when my dreams bring it all back. How
could I still be a man... or even a Rat!
Above them they could hear the sound of many feet
and a good number of hooves milling about. Some
of the Keepers were leaving the stands to refresh
themselves at the many vendors scattered around
the tourney fields and in Keeptowne proper.
Others remained to converse with friends and
family they had not seen in months about the
spectacle mages and musicians had finished not
long before. His adoptive father, the Duke, and
the foreign King were likely among those who were
taking their leave; they would retire to the Keep
with family and retinue for one last evening of
private festivity. Charlie would be expected to join them.
He wouldn't dare leave his father's side now.
Aye, Father. I want to know.
Charles lifted his head, ears tilted back. Even
the horses descended of Rheh lifted their snouts
to regard the dust settling from the planks
overhead and the many footfalls. There is no more time tonight, is there?
Charlie shook his head and dug his claws into the
honey-coated chewstick. Please, Father. Finish
your tale. I cannot let that nightmare be the
last thing I hear of your struggle. I cannot let
you remain... Núrodur Nuruhuinë!
But his father took a long, deep breath and rose
from the bale of hay. He stretched out one arm to
give the nearest horse an affectionate pat along
the cheek. Thank you, friend. In the dim light,
Charlie thought he saw the dull glint of granite
just at the sleeve of his father's tunic. The
moment was brief as the Baron turned toward his
son and gestured for him to stand. I will not
let you miss another night with your friends,
especially when you have already promised to accompany them this evening.
How did you...
A warm smile crossed his father's cheeks even as
he tapped one of his ears with a claw. My days
of scouting are behind me but I do know how to
use these still. Now come. Our family is
returning to the Keep as well. I can tell you the
rest as we walk. There will be so many others
celebrating that none will overhear.
Our family. Charlie found his chest swell with
sudden anticipation at those two words. He stood
and stepped swiftly to his father's side. Before
he knew what he'd done he wrapped an arm about
the shorter rat's shoulders. True enough. Now
tell me, Father, how it was you finally broke
free. The horses whinnied and stomped their
hooves as together they walked from the stables to join the festive throng.
----------
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
The final cleft began as all that others had with
layer upon layer of rock rising up on either side
to frame a sliver of sky overhead. The sky was a
shimmer of gold and silver as if the clouds were
reliquaries of light. The light cascaded into the
fissure so that planes of subtle radiance stacked
one on another as they ascended. Each new level
they touched filled him with a more intense
burning that forced him tighter and tighter
against his Master's heels. Despite the walls on
either side the shadow contracted for the first time since they had begun.
Núrodur Nuruhuinë hissed at the light as he
sizzled beneath its touch. Neither made any noise
that he could discern, only the sensation of a
fiery anguish digging ever deeper into his
substance and his willing an expression of that
pain were known to him. Like a thousand brands
his substance was scoured, digging beyond the
surface and penetrating deep within. He felt
himself shrinking with each new band of light
they crossed, and with it he felt something slip away.
A layer of crimson brilliance stretched across
the fissure and through it his Master climbed. He
followed, unable to do anything else, and felt
himself stricken anew. For a moment he could
still hear the sound of the beast-man's voice as
he argued with his Master. Confidant in mien and
yet incomprehensible to him in intent, it had
persisted with him even as he had seared the life
from his soul and rendered him less than ash. Yet
through the light he passed and the fire burning
deep within him stripped him of that sound.
It is necessary, Núrodur Nuruhuinë. You must be
purified of all that which is not of the shadow.
Do not fight it, but allow it to happen.
His Master's presence was immediate, rushing upon
him as the vanguard of fire. In any direction his
thoughts and sense turned there he found his
Master. And with the touch of his Master's
thoughts came the image of the darkened garden
again, and the companionship of his son altered
to be as he was, a creature of his Master's
shadow. The coolness of the image, the emptiness
of its expanse, was a respite from the touch of
light and fire that was his only lot in this place.
And it will persist as long as you hold back that which is not of the shadow.
All of it, Master?
All of it.
They crossed a threshold of vermillion in their
climb. The fissure walls pressed tight against
them. The fire delved deeper, searing every
thought. He tried to recall the shape of the
beast-man but even conjuring the image filled him
with an agony that sent him cowering into the
darkest corner of his mind. There he found the
solace of the shadowed garden. From a distance as
vast as his existence, he witnessed the shape of
the beast-man disperse from his thoughts. A
sullen disquiet touched him in that recess, but
he could not quite determine why or what it had
been he'd even been trying to remember.
Every piece that you hold, Núrodur Nuruhuinë,
must be relinquished. The Felikaush is gone but
for his words. Of these too you must be purged for they are not of the shadow.
Uncertain, his thoughts framed words in return.
But they seem important, Master.
What they are and what they seem are two
different things. They do not come from my shadow
and thus they are not to be trusted. Listen to
me. Obey me, Núrodur Nuruhuinë, as you have sworn to do. Relinquish them.
A thin veneer of sunlight stretched across the
fissure and through it they passed. The fire
which had not abated in him delved further. The
letter that he'd glimpsed in the moment before
natural flames had consumed it and made it all
but illegible became incandescent in his mind. He
recoiled from it as every mote of its memory
scalded him, pressing him inward. The blinding
light spread apart, the paper shredding into
fragments that stretched into a band that
circumscribed his substance. Everything beyond it
was lost to him. Everything that touched it was an agony pure without relief.
He yearned to shriek but he could not.
A place entirely draped in my shadow awaits you. Let it go.
There had been words there. Important words.
The ruins of all that would not submit await you.
A place to be intertwined with your son. The words only distract you.
Master...
I am.
Please...
Let them go.
He curled ever inward, turning his attention into
the deeper darkness, thoughts seeking the balm of
the promised shadow-garden. The brilliance
evaporated though the fire remained just beyond
its edges. He trembled within the shadow,
wondering what he had held onto that he'd thought
so important. There was no answer to the
question. There couldn't be. Whatever it was had
been utterly effaced from him. A different question arose: what remained?
Only one image seemed to linger deep within his
being. A vast hall filled with people of all
shapes, humans and beast-men in every variety
though what they were he could no longer name.
Down the main aisle proceeded two figures, one a
reptilian beast and the other the rat lady in the
alabaster-white dress. In her bodice nestled a
medallion of river smoothed amethyst. Their pace
was measured, but she seemed to reach his side in
moments. Words came from her mouth, distant and
difficult to hear through the roar of flames. She
offered him a gloved hand which he took. There
was nothing else not of his Master's shadow.
He sensed a boundary of verdant light. His
Master's pace seemed to quicken even as the path
through the fissure grew steeper and tighter.
They broke the next wall of light so quickly that
Núrodur Nuruhuinë did not even have time to
recoil. Another conflagration raged against his
being. Gaps were torn through the single memory
he possessed, rending it into scattered moments.
His Master wished him to relinquish them all. His
Master sought to reunite him with his son. Why
then did he not wish to let go of this impurity
as his Master desired? He cast his thoughts
across each remnant a brief glimpse of the two
figures walking down the aisle, scattered faces
from the gathered throng, the elegant white
dress, the two gloved hands holding one another,
the stone of purple, the words, the rodent face
hidden behind a gossamer veil before letting one go.
The faces of the many creatures who had gathered
for the celebration whatever celebration that
it was slipped from his thoughts to be
incinerated at the periphery of his being. He would have whimpered if he could.
The agony...
It will persist as long as you are impure.
Master... I cannot bear it...
Then you must let go, Núrodur Nuruhuinë. It is the only way.
They continued to climb. There was nothing more
to be said. He did not even look at anything
beyond the shadow for there was only light of
every painful hue. Inscrutable impressions
crisscrossed the walls of the fissure, and there
was a verdigris that had been missing before but
was now too remote for him to ponder. The clouds
above that he knew must be there were veiled by
an impenetrable anguish. All that was left to him
was his Master's thoughts and the recluse of
shadow and the scattered images of the rat lady.
An azure nimbus bore down upon him. Into it a
cobalt flame seared throughout. Silent, unable to
even hiss, the first of the images was snatched
from his grasp. The twin figures of the rodent
lady in white and the reptilian beast in red
scattered to a vapor that slipped free. He felt
constricted within an ever-narrowing space, the
shadow dwindling until it was nearly beneath his
Master's feet. Where was there left for him to turn?
The fissure is nearly at an end, Núrodur
Nuruhuinë. Your son awaits. You will bring him
into the shadow and together you will be purified and in my peace forever.
Your shadow, Master. In your shadow.
Yes. In my shadow.
Master...
I am much more than that, Núrodur Nuruhuinë. I
provide all that you need. My thought will be
your thought. My will shall be your will.
In your shadow.
Yes.
The fires consuming him seemed a little less when
he repeated his Master's thoughts. And yet, even
though the agony was impossible to bear, he kept
looking back at the images he still held. They
were paltry and few and all now of a single
figure, a lady with the appearance of a rat
garbed in white. Her fur was rich as cream and
her eyes a deep, dark blue. Her hand held his
own. His hand gripped hers. She spoke to him but he had no more ears to hear.
To her and her alone he willed a single question
into being: why do you matter to me?
A layer of indigo light rushed across him and
with it the dress of alabaster was gone. The
excruciating pain consumed all that he was. He
could not even squirm out of its way for it was
everywhere. The shadow had contracted so that he
could feel his Master's feet step down upon him.
There was nowhere left to turn. He had to let go
of this rat lady or be completely consumed by the flame of light.
Without choice he let slip another shattered
image. It vanished in a brilliant dazzle of
winking stars. His awareness turned to the next
and saw her hand in his and he stopped. The hand
holding hers was not black, nor was it a furnace
that scorched the ground with its passage. It did
not burn all that it touched. And yet he knew
that it was his hand. How could that be?
She mattered to him. He did not understand how or why, only that she did.
Three images remained of this lady. Their hands
clasped, her face moving with spoken words
drowned by the flames, and the stone nestled in
her bodice that seemed to repeat the words. There
was nowhere he could turn except inward. He
pressed the memory down into a single mote,
shrinking and shrinking them into an
infinitesimal space at the very center of what
remained of his being. The flames pressed in on
him but with each new advance he shrank that
image, one overlaid atop the other, until they
were once more safe from his Master's forge.
Through a purple barrier they stepped and the
flames drove down into the tiny point at the
bottom of a well stretching infinitely inside.
The roar consumed all in his mind. He saw nothing
beyond the shadow in that moment. He heard
nothing but the searing of every last fiber that
still had form. He felt nothing but a constant
misery. And over it all was his Master; powerful,
dominating, omnipotent, his true lord and master.
All he was and had been was effaced that he might exist solely for him.
He was Núrodur Nuruhuinë. He was shadow. He was death.
He shrieked.
The flame erupted from his being and lashed out
in a wave that rushed across the top of the
fissure and out along the pinnacle of the
mountain. Lush grass bent in that wave, and the
branches of trees rattled, leaves rustling in its
passage. Waters burbling in their passage paused
for a moment before resuming their course. Even
the golden clouds filling the sky seemed to tremble.
There was no more pain. His Master's thoughts
were firm and he felt them shape his thoughts.
Awareness filled him as he glimpsed all about
them through his Master's vision. He heard
through his Master's ears. He felt the air
against his Master's skin. He could smell the
sweet fragrance through his Master's nose. Like a shadow should.
His Master stood in a lush garden filled with
trees burdened by plump fruit pleasing to the
eye. Little streams meandered through the trees,
with bright flowers decorating the bank in long
rows. Grains waved in the wind where the trees
parted. Vines climbed upward along tall stone
markers festooned with grapes and olives. Figs,
pomegranate, apples, oranges, and dates hung from
branches and filled the air with a heady scent of
plenty. Grass and moss a vibrant green covered
every mote of earth so that no dirt could be
seen. All was lush and vivacious. Birdsong filled the air with melody.
It is now time to claim your son.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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