[Mkguild] Inchoate Carillon, Inconstant Cuckold (14 of ?)

[C. Matthias]

Inchoate Carillion, Inconstant Cuckold
By Charles Matthias



The forests just to Glen Avery's south were lined 
with hills and sharp, shallow valleys cutting 
through their midst. The beginning of Metamor 
river flowed through a cleft in the rock that 
varied from twenty to thirty feet deep, lined on 
either side by tall pines and alder that were 
replaced by the giant redwoods as one neared the 
Glen. Ice covered the river, and snow covered everything else.

Through this winter white trekked the Glen 
scouts. They moved in groups of four in a wide 
circle around the Glen, snouts grim and beastly 
eyes dour. Gone was the usual verve with which 
they welcomed the task of guarding their woodland 
home. There was no pleasure in this work. Even 
the sky was thick with dark clouds that cast deep 
shadows through the snow-packed dells. Every 
tree, every hillock, and every stone seemed to 
brood with the shadow of Metamor's plague.

For James the donkey, the plague was a hideous 
thought that frightened him; Kayla was still at 
Metamor, as were Kimberly and the children. He 
prayed fervently for their safety each night and 
each morning. And there was the fear that despite 
everything they did, the plague would still ravage the Glen.

But most of all, James's mind continued to 
revolve around a certain opossum and a certain 
rat. In a few days time they would be traveling 
together through the mountains and every glance, 
every word that she said to Charles would be one 
more word, one more glance, one more hope that 
would not be given to him. James ground his teeth 
in frustration as he dwelt on it. He may as well 
have been invisible for all that he tried to 
offer to her. It was just one more instance of 
what had come upon him in Metamor; a donkey was 
nothing. A donkey was good for nothing but work; 
no donkey would ever receive recognition. Ignored 
at Metamor, and now ignored at the Glen. And 
ignored by the one person he wanted to notice him 
in favor of somebody already married.

James wouldn't stand for it, but he was at a loss 
as to what he could do about it.

Tolling.

Berchem, the skunk leading their little squad, 
was irate at him for bringing the cracked brass 
bell, but he was not going to leave it behind 
now. As they stalked between the trees, keeping 
beneath their lowest boughs, skunk, Ralph the 
vole with a missing tooth, Anson the arctic fox, 
and finally James, they each kept their hands and 
paws near their weapons, ready to draw them at 
the slightest sound. Even as late in the season 
as it was, the snow blanketing the forest made 
every noise crisp as crackling ice.

At the impulse, the veritable sonorous suggestion 
that echoed through his mind like the distant 
summons to Liturgy, James lowered his gaze and 
stroked one hoof-like nail across the surface of 
the bell. The hard edge of his finger rubbed 
along the smoothed edge of the crack, and felt a 
frightening thrill like a man laying with a 
prostitute. The clapper rested against the bottom 
edge, both puzzle and challenge. His breath 
fogged the glistening surface, revealing his face 
anew every few seconds, curved and distorted so 
that his snout swelled beyond even the ridiculous proportion of his ears.

As he tilted the bell resting against his thigh, 
ropey tail swatting the surface of the snow 
behind him, he discovered that he could see 
everything about him. From the steep incline at 
his right overlooking one of the many culverts 
infesting this portion of the woods, to the 
towering trees overhead topped by the black and 
gray cloud-choked sky, to the path ahead of him 
replete with uncovered ground where his friends 
had already passed. James marveled at how much 
his bell could reveal to him through its 
reflections. His rapturous gaze continued for 
several seconds before the import of what he saw 
actually penetrated his wonder.

He snapped his long head up and cursed under his 
breath. The vole was already a good two dozen 
paces ahead of him and waving for him to catch 
up. James let the bell fall back to his side and 
strode after him, taking only two steps before 
his hoof slipped on a rock and he tumbled 
awkwardly to his right. Ralph darted back to 
catch him but it was too late. James's legs 
splayed beneath him and he slipped head over hooves down the steep incline.

His mountain climbing experience saved him. James 
grabbed a tree as he spun past and was able to 
swing his legs beneath him, righting his posture 
and keeping himself from crashing into the 
ice-slick rocks below. His grip on the tree was 
tenuous though, and after straightening himself 
out, he slipped the rest of the way down into the 
darkened culvert, and thumped into a thicker than expected cushion of snow.

A small white hare darted out of a burrow in 
surprise, looking at him with alarm. The sudden 
movement made James's heart beat faster, and his 
right hand yanked the bell from its place at his 
side and he struck the clapper against the brass 
bore. The wave of sound echoed against him like a 
fist driving into his chest. The hare's ears 
lifted, and then the body jerked backward into the snow, smearing it red.

Tolling.

James blinked and gasped as he pressed the edge 
of the bell into his thigh, the throbbing lip 
biting into his hide as the peal died. 
Cautiously, he leaned forward to stare at the new 
hole in the snow, trembling in fear at what he might see.

“James, are you all right?” Ralph called down to him from the top of the slope.

He ignored the vole just long enough to peer into 
the hole ringed with a crimson spray. Most of the 
hare's body was still intact, but the sides of 
its head were punctured as if a knife had plunged 
from its brain out through its ears. Even so 
brief a glimpse as a heartbeat was enough to make 
him fall back into the snow drift and cover his 
snout in horror. He yanked his right hand back 
away from the bell, but it quickly returned, 
trying to understand how it could have burst the 
rabbit's brain with the sound of a single note.

“I'm down here,” he called back up to the vole. 
Anson and Berchem were at Ralph's side; the fox 
lowered a rope while the skunk tied it off. “Nothing's broken. On me.”

Even so, his eyes returned to the gaping hole 
from which a single foot poked up and remained 
still. He brushed a few tears from his eyes with 
his left arm before the rope was finally in reach.

----------

The road rose steeply as it took a direct route 
along the slope of the mountains. Through the 
trees on their left, Charles could see Mt. Nuln 
with its small plateau peak still covered in 
snow. Beyond the first line of mountains the true 
peaks were visible, these sporting snow all year 
round. In another month, the grasses and heath 
would emerge even on Nuln's upper slopes. How 
well Charles remembered the battle to drive 
Calephas from his hidden perch two years ago.

But it was not to that memorable mount that the 
road took them. Rather, once the trees started to 
dwindle in stature until they were nearly 
completely replaced by scrub, the air growing 
cold and bitter, the ground layered with flows of 
ice frozen and thawed over and over again with 
each new day the sun shined, the road turned 
sharply to the north through a high ravine 
between the mountains. The walls of rock on 
either side were widely spaced at first, but grew 
narrower the further into the formation they ventured.

The raven-haired woman smiled, even as her breath 
turned to mist before her, scintillating in the 
bright sun. “Welcome to the Gateway,” she said with sweep of one arm.

Dupré looked at the cliff-walls suspiciously and 
gestured to one of the many rock formations well 
away from the cliffs. “We should take a rest 
here. The air is too thin to risk exhausting ourselves.”

“We don't seem that high up,” Alexander offered with a mild bark.

“We are,” Captain Sobol replied, pointing back 
along the south. “You can see the Glen clearly 
from here.” Although the forests were thick and 
their height rose and fell with the hills, the 
redwoods of the Glen were unmistakeable. Charles 
and Saulius gasped as they looked back at the 
Valley from their new vantage. The land fell away 
before them in a series of rolling and crumpled 
hills, coated as if a cake with a thick layer of 
conifers of all varieties, each sporting a 
frosting of ice and snow that glimmered with the 
sunlight. One swath nestled in the crook of the 
mountains was blasted clear where the rock from 
the sky had struck four years earlier, yet even 
there the grasses and little pines were 
sprouting. As the land sloped away from them the 
height of the trees only diminished for a short 
distance before rising up like a thousand towers 
of emerald and chalcedony. It was impossible to 
see past the Glen, and with its mighty spires 
reaching up to brush the foot of Mt. Nuln the 
equally impressive Mt. Kalegris was hidden from them.

“Are we level with them?” Sir Dupré asked as he 
brought his steed about. “The tops of those trees I mean.”

“If not slightly above,” Samantha said with a 
broad smile. “You can almost see Metamor Keep 
from here. I wager if we built another tower here that we could.”

Sir Dupré glanced at the two women and bleated a 
dry chuckle. “I suppose you want me to convince 
Nestorius to invest in another tower then?”

“Eventually,” Sobol said with a shrug. “It would be a good idea.”

“You'll need more than a tower,” Charles said 
with a shake of his head. “Where does the Gateway 
lead? Are there any secret paths to the 
Giantdowns I've not been told of?” And given that 
he was a Long Scout, he would know if there were 
any. Misha had never mentioned anything, and he'd 
certainly never referred to this crevice as a gateway before.

Samantha shook her head, watching as the two 
youths dismounted and began scouting the rock 
formation. “The Gateway doesn't lead you into the 
Giantdowns. It leads to a small clearing much 
like this; nobody lives there but for wild 
animals. There used to be a signal tower there, 
but it hasn't been used for generations.”

“Why not rebuild it?” Sir Saulius suggested.

“It's secluded and earth tremors have made the 
ground there unsuitable for it. Besides, Hareford 
is too far down the slopes to see it. We can see 
it from Eagle Tower, but very few others can. And 
there's no need. There used to be a path to the 
Giantdowns from the north of the Gateway, but 
again, the earth tremors closed that off many 
years ago. To get into the mountains from the 
north you'd need to row to the far edge of the 
Sea of Souls. I can't imagine trying to cross 
through the Dragon mountains from there.”

“Neither can I,” Charles replied. “But Calephas 
did it two years ago. Which is why we are going 
to be coming back this way in a few days.”

The ram watched him quietly for a moment as Sir 
Saulius proceeded to explain their plan as best 
he understood it. The talismans were familiar to 
Samantha and to Sobol, but the other three had 
never heard of them. When the rat knight finished 
speaking, Dupré rode closer to them and said, 
“Since you are going to be coming back this way, 
care to join me as we venture a little further 
in. I'd like to see this for myself before 
heading back to Hareford.” He glanced over at 
Captain Sobol. “We'll only be gone a short time. 
I can trust that you will keep watch here.”

Sobol frowned, quite unhappy that the ram would 
be leaving them, but she could only nod her head 
and sigh. “Very well. If you are gone too long, 
we'll have to come in after you.”

“We shan't tarry long,” he assured her, then 
dismounted and handed his reins to the dog. “Just a quick look is all.”

Charles and Saulius dismounted as well and 
followed the ram back toward the narrow cleft 
between the tall mountains. Charles contemplated 
turning his arm to stone and visiting the 
mountains and the many stones around him, but 
each time he readied himself for the change, a 
flash of Guernef descending from the sky to beat 
him with words that pounded like a pickaxe on 
granite would overwhelm him and change his mind.

While the other five tended the horses and broke 
out some vittles to replenish themselves, the ram 
and two rats walked further along the road, 
admiring the mountains rising up on either side. 
The path wound between alternating walls of rock 
and broad slopes up to the snow-topped peaks on 
either side. Most of the road was covered in snow 
disturbed only by wild animals, so they had to 
lift their legs to make their way through the 
mush. With the sun shining as brightly as it was, 
despite the frigid nature of the air, the snow was melting at last.

The road bent to the northwest and quickly put a 
ridge between them and the other five riders. The 
ram, who'd been quietly observing the mountains, 
moving horizontal pupils from side to side, one 
hand resting on the pommel of his sword, let out 
a long sigh once they could no longer hear their companions.

“I am sorry to drag you away like that,” he 
admitted in a low voice. “But things have been 
very tense for me in Hareford these last few 
days. I needed someone I could talk to who I could trust.”

“Thou hast ne'er met either of us,” Saulius said 
with equal solicitude. “Why art we more trustworthy than they?”

Dupré cast a quick glance backward, then rubbed 
the tip of his curling horn with one finger as he 
thought. After several paces he spoke again. “You 
aren't of Hareford. And, what I have heard of you 
endears me to you. You are both honorable and 
warriors of distinction. And, like me, you are 
foreign to this land. The Curses keep us here, 
aye, but this is not where we grew up.”

“Nay,” Charles admitted with a faint sigh. “This 
is very far from where I grew up.”

“I didn't want to come here,” Dupré admitted. 
“But there is much to love here and I hope in 
time I will love it as I should. I asked you both 
here,” he gestured with a wave of a two-fingered 
hand at the mountains leaning in on either side 
as if they were trying to listen, “for selfish 
reasons. Charles, what I have heard of your 
exploits is astonishing. I cannot believe that 
you have not been made a knight yet.”

Saulius frowned but said nothing.

“One thing I have heard is that you saw a certain 
man die, the very man who is responsible for stealing my family away.”

Charles blinked, one hand lifting to touch the 
scar over his right eye. The flesh there was 
burnt and leathery to the touch. The name of the 
man rose up like a bad air from a mine. “Marquis Camille du Tournemire.”

Dupré spat on an exposed rock as he kicked his 
hooves through the snow. “The bastard died, did he not?”

“He did,” Charles replied in a soft voice. 
“Horribly. But it is not such a joyful memory for me.”

The ram glowered. “I want to savor it.”

Charles narrowed his eyes and frowned. “He was a 
victim too. He didn't want to do Marzac's bidding.”

Dupré gestured at his woolen hide and his curled 
horns. “That man used his cards to make me turn 
into a monster. I tried to kill my wife because 
of his manipulation! Now she hates me and is 
seeking to annul our marriage. My father-in-law 
is trying to turn my eldest son and my two other 
children against me. I can never see them again. 
And it's because of that Marquis! Tell me, please, how did he die?”

Charles shuddered at the ram's sudden vehemence. 
The anger had come as if summoned from a great 
depth, like a wine being aged to perfection. At 
first, he felt it better not to feed that anger, 
but something in the ram's words caught his 
heart. This man was one who could understand what 
the plague was doing to him, and may yet still 
do. This man, the ram who'd been exiled to 
Metamor, could never see his beloved family again. How could he deny him this?

“I too know what it is like to be separated from 
family. My own is trapped in the walls of Metamor 
and I have no idea if I will ever see them again 
before my soul goes to Eli. The Marquis had us 
trapped inside an ancient chamber known as the 
Hall of Unearthly Light. It was built by the Åelf 
Prince Yajakali almost eleven thousand years ago.”

Saulius listened with a thoughtful moue crossing 
his snout, while Dupré rubbed the lobe of one ear 
between hoof-like fingers. “I cannot even imagine 
a time so long ago. Where is this Hall of Unearthly Light?”

“Where was you mean,” Charles added with a 
malicious grin. “That place no longer exists. 
What came to pass after the Marquis's death has 
obliterated it. We barely escaped with our lives. 
But, the Marquis. He was using his cards to 
defeat our strongest magic user, an Åelf named 
Qan-af-årael, perhaps the oldest living being in 
the world. At least he had been. He was mortally wounded in the fight.

“But one of our own, Kayla, a skunk with some 
magical talent, managed to escape her bonds, and 
while the Marquis was occupied, crept up behind 
him. Before she could strike, a hand reached out 
of the Marquis's cards, a hand and arm covered in 
flame, and grabbed him by the throat. The flame 
consumed him, and then Kayla drove an eastern 
dagger through his back. When she took it out, 
and when the flaming arm disappeared, there was 
nothing left of his body but a smoldering pile of ash and bone.”

Dupré rolled his tongue behind his lips as he 
kicked another pile of snow aside. He took 
several deep breaths as they continued along the 
Gateway road. “I am sorry to hear of your family. 
I pray that they will be returned to you safely.”

“I already lost one child to illness last year; I 
wasn't even here to be with him.” Charles lowered 
his snout and balled his paws into fists. “But thank you, Sir William.”

“You will see him again too,” Dupré replied quietly.

“Aye, thou shalt see him again,” Saulius added, 
placing a paw on his shoulder and squeezing even 
through the mail shirt. “He hath gone to Eli, thou knowest this.”

“Aye,” Charles replied. He lifted his snout and 
looked at the ram. The exiled knight turned back 
slightly, meeting his gaze. “I hope that you are 
able to see your family again. I hope they still love you.”

Dupré swallowed and put one hand over his chest. 
“I know that my eldest does... I believe the 
others do as well.” He stopped walking and lifted 
his head to the sky, eyes trailing the long 
jagged rocks reaching up the snowy summits above. 
“I am glad that man is dead. It won't restore to 
me what I have lost. But at least there is some justice still.”

He turned fully around and looked at both rats. 
“I am a Metamorian now, and I'm trying to be a 
good one. But it's not easy for me.”

Charles shrugged a bit. “I understand, but why 
tell us? Should not your friends and fellow 
warriors at Hareford hear it from you?”

“Indeed,” he admitted with a faint laugh. “Thank 
you for telling me, and for listening to me. I am 
very, very glad to have met you both. If ever you 
come to Hareford, I will make sure that you are 
appropriately received. Now, let's return before 
they start to worry too much about us.”

Charles fell into step alongside the ram and 
realized that he quite liked this man. He knew 
that Duke Thomas and his advisers had to be very 
suspicious of him, but Charles decided then and 
there that this was one who could be trusted. It 
would be a shame when they had to say goodbye 
later that day. He needed others who understood.

Together the three of them walked back in silence 
through the occluded passage between the 
mountains. Though they knew where they trod, they 
were all irretrievably lost in their own thoughts.

----------

May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias


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