[Mkguild] Divine Travails of Rats - Pars III. Descensum (b)

[C. Matthias]

Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx

Pars III: Descensum

(b)

Tuesday, June 22, 724 CR – Early Evening


He wasn't quite sure how long he'd remained there 
crying, but eventually he'd been able to lift his 
head and stare out over the city as he chewed his 
stick into splinters. Charlie could not think 
clearly and for a time, admiring the city and 
pondering the joys and struggles of its 
inhabitants was all he could do. Despite the 
activity of the festival, there were always many 
coming and going from the Keep itself. These he 
watched in particular, hoping he might recognize his father amongst them.

He finally found Malger in the company of many 
rats. Charlie winced as he saw his father riding 
back to the Keep alongside his sire and the rest 
of his kin. So small they were from such a 
height, but even at that distance he could see 
the weight of years piling upon their shoulders. 
His sire was haggard and slumped in the saddle, 
with his mother by birth putting her hand to his 
side to steady him. Or perhaps merely to comfort 
him. He should not judge too quickly.

As he stared down from a bird's loft upon his 
kin, hurting as he did, he could not help but 
remember other happier moments with each. He 
could easily see the beaming pride in his 
father's face the first time Charlie had helped 
him defeat a nightmare plaguing the people of 
Metamor. Both in the Dream and without his father 
had held him tight in pride and love. He had 
boasted of his exploits to his mother and younger 
sister, his words a cornucopia of never-ending accolade.

How well he could recall the first time that 
Malger had invited him to play music with him and 
his friends. He had felt so small and 
intimidated, but he'd held the flute tight in his 
little hands and blew such gentle and delightful 
notes that all of them were forced to applaud. 
Malger had smiled to him, and even kissed him on 
the brow. And he remembered why he'd chosen to 
play the flute that day – it was his father's 
choice in instruments and he wanted to be like his father.

But Charlie did not have such memory of Malger 
alone. Well could he remember the many visits he 
had made to the Glen in his youth while his birth 
family still lived in the tree. He remembered 
climbing that tree up into its high branches with 
his sire and his brother Erick. He had been 
afraid at first because he wasn't used to such 
heights, but his sire had been so gentle and told 
him he could hold onto his back if he got scared. 
For his sire Charlie would prove he wasn't scared 
and jumped from branch to branch with both of 
them without stumbling and without once 
complaining. But still at the end he had held 
tight to his sire who also kissed him on his brow.

And then, as Charlie stared out over the sky 
above Keeptowne, he could not help but remember 
what his sire had done for him when he was ten. 
The dragons Lindsey and Pharcellus had come to 
Metamor for a time, and they had even visited the 
Matthias family while Charlie was also visiting. 
They had just moved into the new Keep in the 
Narrows and so much of the land was striped to 
provide wood and stone for construction. His sire 
had surprised him by arranging for the two of 
them to take a ride on the back of Pharcellus. 
His sire had even held him out in his arms so he 
could pretend that he was flying instead.

Charlie sighed as he lost sight of his father and 
sire and the rest of the Matthias clan as they 
disappeared within the Keep. Yes, he admitted to 
himself, he did love his family. What son 
wouldn't? But his first father had sold him and 
now he learned that Nocturna had sought him in 
particular. Was that why he could see into 
dreams? They had always told him he'd been born 
with the gift, but what if it had only been given 
by Nocturna herself at that moment?

He had no answer for the question, only more 
hurt. And yet, to the very man who had caused 
this hurt, the very man he both loved and felt 
such fury toward, this man, his sire, a rat like 
himself, was the only one who could provide him 
the answers. And to this man his mother bid him apologize.

Charlie stewed over these thoughts and many 
others for a candlemark more before finally 
forcing himself to his feet. He turned from the 
balcony and the view of Metamor and started in search of his sire.

Even as his feet carried him down the cold, stone 
steps, his tail bumping and sometimes dragging 
across their age-worn surface, he was forced to 
admit that he had no idea where to find his sire. 
Was he in one of the many rooms of Long House 
with the rest of his family weeping as he 
confessed to them what their elder brother had 
meant with his outburst? Or was he hiding 
somewhere else in the Keep, too ashamed to admit to them his guilt?

Like you? He could almost hear Bryn's snort in the rebuke.

I don't have anything to be ashamed of!

Even as the self-righteous retort welled in his 
mind he felt anew the tenderness in his cheek. He 
lifted one paw and touched the flesh where his 
mother's paw had struck him not one hour before. 
As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. 
If he wished to be a man then he had to act like a man.

Charlie swallowed and continued down the steps. 
Narrow windows let in just enough breeze to keep 
the air fresh and cool. Through some the slanted 
light of the sun cast shafts of golden brilliance 
against the inner wall of the spiraling stairs. 
No lamplighter would climb these steps as there 
were no lamps to light. While his eyes were 
sufficient for what little starlight would 
penetrate those narrow windows should he change 
his mind and linger longer, he would rather 
descend the tower while he still had the sun.

His hands fell to his sides and gripped the loose 
fabric of his trousers. His claws dug into the 
seams and his incisors yearned once more for a 
stick to chew, but even should he return for the 
splinters he'd left on the tower floor above they 
could not sate him a single bite. Instead his 
teeth chattered beneath quivering jowls, his 
whiskers a trembling blur of white at the bottom of his vision.

The stairs stretched beneath him as endless and 
as changeless as any place in Metamor could be. 
He both hated it and savored it. Part of him 
wanted to get speaking with his sire over with so 
he could find Bryn and maybe Sig too and get 
drunk at one of the taverns. Another part of him 
wished to forestall seeing his sire again for as long as possible.

Just what do you hope to learn from him anyway?

He sighed and lowered his snout, his pace slowing. I want to learn the truth.

You know the truth. Dreams cannot lie to you.

He tightened his grip on his trousers, claws 
tearing a hole in the expensive fabric. “But they 
don't show everything either.” He picked up his 
pace, focusing his mind on that one truth, the 
one he could never deny. It stilled his anger and 
piqued his hunger. If there was more to know as 
his father and mother assured him, then he would 
learn of it no matter what he had to do.

There is another reason you go to your sire. He 
could hear his mother's voice with her at once 
gentle but stern reprimand. You have to apologize for your poor behavior.

It may be the last thing he wanted to do, but his 
father and mother, Duke Thomas, and all of his 
tutors had taught him better than that. He would 
be a man and do the right and noble thing.

Even if there is absolutely nothing your sire can 
say to deserve forgiveness for what he did to you.

Charlie swallowed bile and kept on walking down the steps.

It took him only a few minutes to reach the 
bottom of the tower stairs; an atrium with 
braziers on either side brought the room and 
doorway into the rest of the Keep. He took a deep 
breath and glanced at the walls, tail thumping 
down the last of the steps behind him. “Kyia, I 
don't know where my sire is. But if he is in the 
Keep, can you bring me to him straightaway? You have my gratitude either way.”

He chastened himself for that last bit of 
equivocation but what was said was said. Charlie 
walked to the doorway at the end of the atrium 
and stepped through. Beyond was a short hall that 
turned to the right only twenty paces ahead. The 
sun shone through the tall windows on his left 
and he blinked uncomfortably, shielding his eyes 
with one arm for a moment before they adjusted to 
the brightness. He cast his glance at the floor 
where it was darker; the sun had already ventured 
far enough to the west that its rays could not strike the floor.

At the very least, he noted, he had the hallway to himself.

He walked as quickly as he could. Not because he 
felt rushed, but because he feared he would stop 
walking again. And that is precisely what he did 
when he rounded the corner to come face to face 
with the ornate arched doors leading into the 
Follower cathedral. He blinked as his eyes roved 
across the sculpted bronze scenes set into the 
doors of key moments from the Canticles. Though 
Kyia could have fashioned more intricate and 
grander designs if Bishop Hough had asked, the 
youthful prelate preferred to commission the 
design as a parish community. The final panels 
depicting the ascension of Yahshua at the apex of 
the double doors had been finished last year, and 
to that scene his eyes lifted.

The bronze Yahshua was risen in the air above the 
assembled apostles whose stylized faces gazed up 
in awe, arms lifted over their heads in wonder 
and worship. Surrounding Yahshua were angels 
ready to welcome Him into the Follower Heaven. 
One arm was lifted up to the welcoming angels 
while the other was lowered in invitation toward 
the men below. No wonder Bryn was so adamant in 
his faith; the Follower god invited them to come 
with simplicity, ardor, and love. The offer was 
always open; the invitation would continue to be made.

Charlie lowered his eyes, sucked in his breath, 
and marched to the doors. There were too many 
Keeper scents to tell if his sire had come this 
way, but it seemed reasonable to suppose he had 
sought solace in the arms of his faith. Charlie 
carefully drew one of the heavy doors open and 
stepped through as quietly as he could. There was 
always a parishioner or two kneeling in prayer in 
the sanctuary and he didn't want to disturb them. 
He was surprised to find over a dozen gathered 
toward the front of the sanctuary near the rail 
but only two near the doors. Of those two, he 
barely saw his fellow rodent next to the 
gargantuan reptile attired in heavy black mail 
with a red cross whose arms were all the same 
length stained onto the rings. The mail was split 
down the back so it could actually be removed as 
it was impossible for anything to be lifted over 
his head with his wide frill and three horns blocking the way.

One yellow eye in the head that weighed as much 
as Charlie opened and slid toward him, a gray 
beak in the midst of his mottled brown scales 
creaked open a wordless command. A massive hand 
lowered from where it had been folded in prayer 
to touch the small rodent's back. The mouse at 
his side was garbed in a black robe with a cowl 
hanging against his back that covered him almost 
completely apart from his long feet and tufted 
tail poking out behind him as he knelt. His ears 
were as large as the rest of his head, and a 
bushel of white whiskers graced his graying 
snout. And on his robe as a stain of blood was a crimson cross.

At the touch of the giant reptile's hand, the 
mouse lifted his head, his fingers tangled in 
prayer beads, and looked first to the sentinel 
and then to where the sentinel watched. Charlie 
grimaced but nodded to the Questioner who rose 
from where he knelt after making the sign of the 
yew toward the high altar and tabernacle.

Unsearchable green eyes met him. “Young Lord 
Sutt, you are here seeking your sire?”

Although Charlie was not a stranger in the 
Cathedral, he usually only came when invited by 
his friends to celebrate some special moment in 
their lives or on some errand for his father. 
Although he could not be certain, this might have 
been the first time he had come to the Follower 
Cathedral in Metamor of his own accord. Knowing 
that, he could not fault Father Felsah's inquiry.

“Aye, I am,” he replied in a quiet voice to match the jerboa's own.

Felsah nodded and turned his snout toward a pair 
of doors at the rear of the sanctuary that led to 
choir practice rooms and storage chambers for the 
Cathedral. “Your sire has been here for some time. Why do you seek him?”

“As if you don't know? There are matters we need to discuss; privately.”

His sharp retort did not register on the jerboa's 
face, but Sir Zachary's heavy eyes narrowed 
suspiciously. “That you shall have, but your sire 
is not alone. He was joined a few minutes ago by 
Master Abafouq. You will want to wait outside until they are finished.”

A faint smile graced the edge of his snout. He 
had always liked the Binoq mage and felt a 
measure of sympathy for him ever since the first 
time he had stumbled into one of his dreams of 
his home deep beneath the mountains. But why 
would it be he that would come visit his sire and 
not Kimberly or one of his siblings? Why were 
they not here with the Baron to give comfort?

“Thank you,” Charlie said with a quick nod and a 
turn toward the choir door. Felsah clicked his 
tongue against his teeth in reproach. The rat 
turned back with a glance. “What?”

Felsah's eyes flicked toward the altar. “Would 
you enter and leave any other house without showing honor to her master?”

Charlie chided himself for forgetting that show 
of respect. He bent one knee toward the 
tabernacle and straightened. He glanced at the 
jerboa with one eye, but Felsah had already 
returned to his place kneeling at the 
three-horned knight's side. The rat continued 
toward the choir door, pausing just outside to listen.

At first he heard nothing beyond except the faint 
shuffling of soft-booted feet behind the door. 
There was more noise from the stirring of the few 
at prayer than there was on the other side of the 
door where his sire and Abafouq lurked. His legs 
began to pain him from standing still for too 
long but he kept listening. As Charlie lifted one 
leg to stretch it out, balancing on the other and 
with one hand gripping the crenelations along the 
door frame, he heard somebody other than his sire 
sigh on the other side of the door.

“Well, I am not seeing any magic that is unusual 
for you. Being you is unusual enough! When I look 
at you, and I am thinking that it has always been 
this way since the belfry, I see the magic of the 
Curse, the Sondeck, that little touch of the Wind 
Children, and the spells I imbued you with so you 
could, as stone, be living. That is all I am seeing on you, Charles.”

“Really?” That was his sire's voice. Charlie's 
claws dug into the stone as he pressed his ear so 
close against the door that his cheek was flush 
with the banded hickory it had been fashioned 
from. “Nothing has changed at all? I thought surely you would see something.”

“You speak as if something has happened to you, 
other than your dramatic ejection from the tourney this afternoon.”

“I suppose I deserved it.” His sire's voice was 
suddenly pained and then all went quiet; for a 
moment he cursed Abafouq's poor choice of words. 
But the Baron was not silent for long. “It 
started happening a few months ago. Whenever I 
have changed into stone with any injury, that 
part of my body does not return to flesh with the 
rest of me. At first it was little cuts I 
received; enough to worry me, but not enough to 
worry anyone else. Last month I was in an 
accident and I broke my leg. The flesh... the 
flesh is fine, but beneath it... I think the bone 
is stone. It does not move as fast as my right leg anymore.”

Charlie swallowed, remembering how his sire had 
seemed to favor his left leg in the fight. And 
that one vicious cut across his chest. His stomach tightened.

“And today after I stopped my son, well... see for yourself.”

Even as the Binoq sucked in his breath, Charlie 
felt a mix of shame and righteous indignation. He 
wasn't the one who had bargained away his eldest 
son's soul. He must have turned his heart to 
stone to do so horrible a crime, what difference 
did it make if the rest of him did as well?

“Hmmm, can you feel my finger touching your stone flesh?”

“Aye, I feel that.”

“And you are able to move even the parts of you that are stone?”

“Aye, I can do that too.”

“Then it may be that whatever protection you were 
having from Akkala to keep you flesh is starting 
to go away. I will be studying this if I have 
your permission to so do. I would like to see you 
transform into stone and back again; perhaps 
there is something there that is keeping your 
injuries from taking on flesh again.”

“I've kept this from my family up until now. I 
can hide these from others, but not from Kimberly 
or my manservants! Kimberly will hold it in her 
heart and never speak of it, but my servants... I 
fear that all will know of this ere the year closes.”

Abafouq's reply was quiet again, and uttered only 
after several seconds of thought. “I do not think 
that is what you really fear.”

“Nay, I fear it, but it is not what scares me. 
Abafouq, you saw me before when I was stone and 
forced to live as stone. Away from the mountains 
I could almost pretend to be normal. I had to 
force myself to smile and to laugh and I had to 
pretend to sleep when I was not on watch, but at 
least I wasn't tempted to a mountain's slumber 
anymore. If I return to stone, and with no way to 
become flesh again for the rest of my life, I 
fear what I may end up doing. I fear the temptation of mountain to stone!”

“I will do what I can for you, Charles. Perhaps 
Jessica and our other friends can help unravel 
this mystery. That is, if you be providing permission for me to tell them.”

“Please, if you think they can help. I asked for 
you because you know more about stone magic than anyone else.”

“There is Master Murikeer,” Abafouq pointed out. 
“He lived for a time with a spirit of the mountain and learned many secrets.”

“I count him amongst my friends; speak with him 
too. But you are the one who gave me the ability 
to move and speak as stone. Who better to take the first look?”

“You speak true. Now before I go, show me your 
change and I will watch what happens to the stone.”

Charlie closed his eyes and waited, doing his 
best to keep still. For nearly a minute he heard 
nothing but the creaking of wood beyond the door. 
One of the Followers gathered to pray coughed. 
Sir Zachary shifted his tail about and thumped it 
against a stone column. Otherwise he heard only 
the rise and fall of his breath and the pounding of his heart.

“Your change is a confusing thing. Even Metamor's 
Curses make more sense to me than this.” 
Abafouq's already higher pitched voice almost 
squealed like a frightened mouse. “The stone I 
always see when I study you becomes... how am I 
thinking... more solid... more present. And when 
the flesh returns the stone recedes. It is like a 
glacier in summer. It withdraws some, but it can 
still be felt. And there are some places where 
the sun does not shine as brightly that the 
glacier does not withdraw. These places are like 
this; the stone is not withdrawing”

“Well that is something at least,” Charles said 
with a long sigh. “A place for you and the others to begin.”

“To begin, aye,” Abafouq agreed. “Are you needing anything more?”

“Nay, thank you, Abafouq. I will remain here for now.”

“If I see Kimberly or your family?”

“Tell them I am fine and will rejoin them tonight.”

Charlie heard them embrace, and then realized 
that the Binoq would be leaving by way of the 
door he had his ear pressed against. With a twist 
that would have delighted Vidika, Charlie moved 
from the door to hide tail and all behind a stone 
rail between two columns. A statue of Mother 
Yanlin treading upon a serpent greeted him there, 
and he felt a reproving glance from Sir Zachary 
who was still watching him. If his behavior were 
too disruptive that giant would ask him to leave, 
and if he refused would snatch him up and carry 
him out like a sack of potatoes.

 From out the choir door stepped the small 
man-like creature known as a Binoq. His stout but 
light frame, and a stature smaller than the rats, 
made him distinctive even in Metamor. Neither was 
he a midget nor a child, but something that a 
human eye would recognize as different even if 
they could not say why. Charlie watched him walk 
toward the Questioner. They shared a few 
whispered words that he couldn't discern. And 
then Abafouq bowed his head respectfully toward 
the altar and headed out the main doors. His gaze 
cast briefly to where Charlie hid and he offered 
a sympathetic smile. Before Charlie could react he was gone.

Felsah was watching him too. The jerboa gestured 
to the choir door with an outstretched paw and a 
bland expression. Charlie felt like a fool, but 
he still rose and maneuvered around the columns 
and rail for the private altar toward the choir 
door. Abafouq had left it ajar, but only the glow 
of a lantern around the edges was visible beyond. 
Charlie put one hand to the wood, took a breath, and pushed it open.

----------

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

Charles Matthias
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