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

[C. Matthias]

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

Pars III: Descensum

(d)


Sunday, May 6, 708 CR

The ground was muddy and the air felt heavy after 
the long night of rain. Thick clouds that seemed 
at times to only barely surmount the mountains 
flanking the valley promised more rain that day 
but the morning was clear if cool. They would all 
have enough time to return home before the skies 
decided to soak their fur with another deluge, 
but not if they dallied the morning away.

Charles stretched and then checked his attire for 
dirt and stains. He brushed off the dirt from his 
breeches and was grateful not to find any stains. 
When he looked up, James was there with an intent 
gaze, offering the rat his buckler and sword. “Good morning, Sir Charles.”

“Thank you, James,” he took the buckler and 
sword, and then leaned the sword against the 
wall. There were not many rooms for travelers to 
spend the night at the Kingfisher's Brew, the 
tavern that Christina and Lester operated 
overlooking the lake not far from the barracks, 
but they were comfortable and afforded them a 
measure of privacy that they could not have 
expected in the barracks. Charles and James had 
taken their room together, as had Rickkter and 
Kayla; Murikeer slept in a room by himself. 
Dallar's men stayed in the barracks where they 
were most comfortable. For a moment he wondered 
if he would see them again before they returned to the Glen.

“Aren't you going to take your sword?” James 
asked, staring between the blade propped against 
the wall and the rat who'd put it there. There 
was a vague look of alarm in his eyes.

“Not to Liturgy. It's Sunday and until we have a 
priest in the Glen, this is the best I can do.”

The donkey lowered his ears and then bobbed his 
head up and down as understanding dawned. “Of 
course. I should have thought of that.” He began 
unbuckling his own sword. “I guess we won't be breaking our fast right away.”

“No,” Charlies replied, feeling the donkey's eyes 
stay on him the entire time. He walked to the 
window and pushed the shutters out, letting the 
cool morning air, damp but fresh after the rains 
washed all of the streets clean. James was always 
attentive, but why so much that morning?

Because you are the only one not yet touched by 
Marzac. They will all be watching you, convinced 
you are about to fall to the corruption.

He nodded to himself and took a deep breath. “I 
asked Master Lester last night when Liturgy is 
held here. We'll know once they ring the tower bells.”

“I hate bells,” James muttered under his breath. “Which tower?”

“Baron Barnhardt's. They're still repairing the 
old church but it's in better shape than you'd 
expect after seven years without a priest and two sieges!”

“That's right,” James nodded as he set his sword 
on the bed and then redid his belt buckle. “I'd 
forgotten you visited it with the Bishop just before the snowstorm and plague.”

His knees felt weak at the sense of loss and 
barrenness that flooded his heart. So close... he 
had come so close to losing the rest of his 
family, crippled though it was already. He closed 
his eyes and whispered a quick prayer for 
strength. “Aye. Please don't mention the plague again.”

“It's been gone a month.”

“A month in which everyone manages to find some 
excuse to tear me from my family!” He could not 
hide the exasperation in his voice. “Misha, 
Malisa, Marzac, not to mention strangers with 
silly ideas that must be taught anew. Ah, forgive 
me. I think I'm still tired from last night.”

“And sore?” James suggested. Charles gave him a 
cross look at which the donkey laughed. “Sorry! I 
won't mention that again either.”

But the rat felt a lightness returning and a soft 
chuckle escaped his throat. “Rick and I probably 
deserved it. We...” Both of their heads turned 
when the clear ringing of the tower bells tolled, 
rolling through the air with an authoritative 
insistence as irresistible as the tide. Charles 
smiled and stretched his arms behind his back. “It's time for Liturgy.”

----------

The Cathedral in Metamor had been provided by the 
Keep itself, although given its many mysteries 
there were some who wondered whether it had been 
there all along but in wait for the time when it 
would be needed. Charles had worshiped there many 
times before his banishment to Glen Avery, and 
apart from the ancient and vast expanse of the 
affectionately named Sundial Cathedral in 
Sondeshara – so called because the shadow of the 
central spire swept out the hours of the day 
along concentric circles marked in the brick for 
each of the principal feast days of the year – he 
had never seen a church grander in scope or 
beautiful in glass, statue, and art.

The church in Lake Barnhardt was large enough to 
accommodate the several hundred townsfolk, 
farmers, fisherman, and shepherds living in the 
surrounding countryside. Despite its vaulted 
ceiling and pillars to support the vault that 
divided the chamber into three ranks, with side 
altars at either side of the arms of the cross 
layout, and the addition of numerous tapestries 
to illustrate where once frescoes had been 
painted but since desecrated, Charles felt as if 
he were in a small, modest church. This made the 
Liturgy all the more intimate as he could clearly 
hear Father Malvin intoning the prayers, even the 
ones that were meant to be silent and which he 
could never hear Father Hough chant.

That intimacy at some moments helped him feel a 
deeper draw to the wellspring of grace that was 
Yahshua his true lord and His blood spilled for 
the salvation of souls. But at the same time he 
felt somehow exposed in that smaller setting 
where everyone could see everyone else. Though he 
was known to the people of Lake Barnhardt he did 
not know them as well as they knew each other. He 
felt their eyes like fingers prodding him and 
their whispers like needles jabbing him as he passed.

What were they studying? What was there to study? 
His eyes ever strayed to the yew on which Yahshua 
hung, face contorted in suffering, though no 
complaint left those precious lips. A prayer 
welled in his heart, eager to understand and 
eager for the sort of peace he had once known. 
But with so many watching him, he could not 
concentrate and the prayer remained hidden 
within. He bent as low as he could, kneeling not 
so much to worship but to hide from the regard of 
others. Even James at his side seemed to take 
more notice of him than he did the priest.

Those eyes, those staring, probing, searching 
eyes, scrapped him raw like a knife across a 
fish's scales. What could they want from him?

Some, your land. Others, your prestige. And the 
rest, to hound you until you break.

Charles was so wound tight, so pummeled by 
glares, that he missed the Consecration and 
Elevation, and had to be nudged by the donkey at 
his side when it came time to come forward to 
receive the Host. For a moment, kneeling before 
the youthful priest – Malvin, though suffering 
the same curse as Hough and a hand shorter, 
managed to appear as if he were just old enough 
to be admitted to orders – he felt a simple peace 
and gratitude as his eyes lifted past his snout 
to Yahshua nailed to the Yew. By the time he left 
the altar railing and returned to his place, his 
unease returned. He could not help but notice 
everyone watching him as he moved, especially the 
ones who weren't even looking at him.

He wasted no time in leaving the little church as 
soon as the recession was complete.

You will not get far.

“Sir Charles,” a warbling voice called to him 
from the front of the church. The rat turned and 
saw a brightly dressed newt flanked by a pair of 
ministers and a quartet of soldiers; one of the 
ministers was a snake with a flat, diamond-shaped 
head who appeared quite uncomfortable even in the 
relatively moderate May weather. A human man 
dressed in similar attire only a few paces behind 
the newt watched the lakeland lord with uncertain 
concern. The newt smiled, the effort stretching 
his mottled brown and green flesh. Everything 
about him had a damp look. “If you have a moment, 
there was a matter I wished to discuss with you.”

James paused at his side and lifted his long 
ears. He was glad the donkey chose to wait with 
him. Still, they were but two in the face of 
eight. “I am at your service, milord.”

Baron Robern Barnhardt smiled and with a wave of 
plump, sticky fingers, stepped past the soldiers 
and ministers on his way down the steps to the 
mostly stone road in the center of his lakeside 
city. Even the man who had been his wife before 
the curses had forced them into chastity did not 
move to follow them. Charles could not help but 
feel suspicious. Had he been wearing his vine he 
was sure it would have twisted to avoid the newt's slimy touch.

But Baron Barnhardt made no move to touch him, 
merely gestured for him to walk alongside him 
down beside the church where there were fewer 
idle eyes. James started to follow but Charles 
waved him back. If the baron would leave his 
retinue behind, then he would give him the 
courtesy of treating with him as man to man.

“Sir Charles,” Barnhardt added more softly in his 
croaking voice. Standing at his side, he could 
only look at the rat with one of his googly green 
eyes. “You have distinguished yourself as one of 
the finest warriors in the valley in the last two 
years. You are well deserving of your title.”

“Thank you, milord.”

“And it is most agreeable to see another Follower 
named a knight here in Metamor.” Barnhardt swept 
a bulbous arm toward the church wall and 
buttresses. “You are welcome here in my land as 
often as you wish to come. I hope we see you and your family more often.”

His family. His heart ached to be with them again. All of them.

Charles nodded and did his best to smile. “You 
are quite gracious, milord. This is a lovely city 
and I hope we will be able to spend more time here.”

“I am glad to hear it! But,” the newt said, his 
wide head tilting toward him, “there is something 
distressing me about your knighthood.”

“The fief of the Narrows, perhaps?”

Barnhardt's green eyes and oblong pupils 
narrowed. “The Narrows, indeed. That land does 
not belong to Baron Avery to dispose of as he 
wishes. It belongs to my family. My people have 
used it for hunting and herding for generations. 
It is unfortunate that he would bring you into the middle of our dispute.”

“I am not interested in your dispute.” Charles 
let the smile vanish from his countenance. In its 
place hardened a firm moue, with narrowed eyes. 
The scar over his right eye folded with menace. 
“I swore an oath of fidelity to Baron Avery and 
have accepted responsibility for that land. I 
will neither forsake nor shirk my duties to this 
fief. If you wish to discuss arrangements for 
your people to use this land, I am willing to 
discuss them. But I am not going to discuss whose 
family owns that land. As far as I am concerned 
it is now mine to manage and protect.”

Barnhardt said nothing for several seconds as 
they continued to walk alongside the church, 
reaching the rear and turning the corner behind 
it. The church blocked even the impression of the 
sun through the clouds and so they were cast in a 
permanent gloom that clung to the narrow street 
like mold or rot. Charles felt a strange vulnerability.

But the newt's voice was affable, if obviously 
disappointed. “You are frank and forthright and 
for that I commend you. And for that I am 
grateful. But my claims cannot be dismissed by 
your oath; I am confident that you understand that.”

Charles took an extra step to hurry them to next 
corner. Barnhardt matched him a moment later, his 
wide face and oddly malleable lips souring for 
just a moment. “Do what you think is right and 
proper,” Charles suggested as they stepped back 
into the wan light on the other side. “I will do 
the same. But until the day that I learn that the 
Narrows are not my fief, I will defend them from 
all who would despoil them. That is my oath, Baron Barnhardt.”

“I expect nothing less.” The newt flexed his 
fingers and his frown deepened. “But for now I 
fear you will have to excuse me; even on a day as 
damp as this my skin is drying out again.” He 
turned to face Charles with both eyes. “I 
sincerely hope that when next we speak we will 
have more pleasant things to say. For now we know 
where each other stands. I bid you a good day and 
a safe journey home. Eli's blessings be with you.”

The tone was civil and genuine so Charles could 
only respond in kind. He waited for the Baron, 
his wife, soldiers, and ministers to leave the 
church yard together. The snake minister cast a 
look over his shoulder as he slithered across the 
tightly-fit stones, but Barnhardt paid him no 
more mind. Charles ground his incisors together 
and wished he had a chewstick with him. Instead 
he bit the corner of his sleeve and gnawed at the 
cloth, quickly tearing a gash in the cuff.

James gave him a querulous glance when the rat 
returned. “It's nothing to worry about. The Baron 
wished to discuss my responsibilities as a knight on the border of his lands.”

“You don't look like you enjoyed what the baron had to say.”

Charles gave the donkey his best smile and 
gestured to the road that led to their Inn. “Let 
us talk of more pleasant things then, such as 
breaking our fast and heading home.”

James offered him no objection.

----------

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

Charles Matthias
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