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

[C. Matthias]

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

Pars III: Descensum

(i)


Tuesday, May 8, 708 CR


The trip back to the Glen suffered several 
detours and delays as the path Charles choose ran 
through a narrow ravine that had been blocked by 
several downed trees. By the time he reached home 
it was past time for the evening meal and his 
children were nearly ready for bed. He slept 
fitfully and woke well before morning, sore and 
suffering that strange disconnect he'd felt the previous morning.

He was able to fight through the fog and dress 
himself. Only this time his paws did not carry 
him toward the stables; rather he found himself 
wandering across the Glen commons toward the 
small graveyard within the northern trees. The 
towering sentinels swayed like masts at sea and 
the muddy earth gripped his paws like a thousand 
clawing hands. For a moment he felt as if he were 
going to drown, his throat clenching shut so 
tight that he felt claws digging at his collar 
only to gasp in surprise to discover that they were his own.

All of that even before his eyes glimpsed the 
familiar stone cross marking his son's grave.

Charles stopped and stared without seeing for 
several seconds, noting rather the pink specks 
amidst crystalline shards in the granite marker, 
the moss covering the earth, and a butterfly with 
iridescent red and green wings crawling across a 
wildflower sprung up before the marker. The rat 
flexed his hands, beginning to feel the cool, 
morning air through them. His whiskers trembled 
with a breath of wind. His tail dragged through the soft coating of moss.

And then is heart tightened and he fell to his 
knees, eyes overflowing with tears. A sob 
clutched his throat which he fought to hold back 
as he bent over, claws hammering into the earth 
while his snout dove into the moss. He rubbed his 
head from side to side, moistening the cold ground with his tears.

He is not here anymore. His flesh is a feast for worms.

Charles dug his claws into the moss and growled 
deep in his chest. A fury built in him to 
challenge the sorrow. He ripped at the moss 
covering his boy's body, tearing huge gouges free 
and revealing the loam beneath.

You cannot find him here.

He paused, shutting his eyes and squeezing a tear 
from each. The tear from his left eye slid down 
through his cheek fur and was lost within. The 
tear from his right eye gathered in the ruined 
flesh beneath where it pooled for a moment before 
dropping silently into pile of moss in his hands.

What would others say if they saw you digging up the grave?

Charles took several deep breaths to gather his 
wits. But the racing of his heart would not slow 
but beat loud like the thundering footfalls of a 
charging army. The trembling in his flesh, born 
of grief and rage, neared palsy.

Stone does not feel so.

The idea seemed as plausible as anything else. He 
willed his flesh to granite and granite it 
became. With it his breathing and heart stopped, 
and his skin hardened until it trembled no more. 
At ease and cold like the earth, Charles 
stretched forth his hands to straighten the moss 
he'd torn. It would never be the same, but at 
least a cursory glance would reveal nothing 
amiss. Slow and methodical, he smoothed out the 
gouged earth and greenery until he was satisfied.

A stone arm stretched out and latched onto the 
center of the cross marker showing his son's 
grave. Jeweled eyes fixed upon that bit of stone, 
even as his hand sunk within its form. But the 
marker was silent as if there were no tenant 
remaining. Charles probed the grave for a few 
fruitless minutes before drawing back his arm and 
slowly letting the cold granite melt into soft 
flesh again. By the time the basalt vein had 
returned to scar-flesh, the rat had turned his 
back on Ladero's grave and was walking toward the commons.

“Eli, help me,” he murmured beneath his breath, 
eyes casting heavenward into the verdant boughs 
and snatches of dawn blue sky. They glimmered 
with the wind, providing only a cascade of color 
in reply to his prayer. Charles opened wide his 
mouth, tongue slipping out through the gap 
between his incisors and right molars to dangle 
breathless and moist, thirsting for something he could not name.

He smelled the sharp musk before he heard the 
touch of his clawed feet on the soft earth. 
Charles closed his jaws but did not turn. “Garigan?”

“Aye, master. Are you all right?”

“I will be.” He closed his eyes and let his snout 
drop slowly to his chest. He flexed his toes as 
he breathed, the earth pressing in beneath his 
claws. “How long have you been watching me?”

The ferret standing a short distance behind him 
clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth 
and whistled through the gap where his front 
teeth had been carved out. “Since just before you visited... your son.”

“It was the first time in... two weeks now. I 
have never let such a long stretch pass.” He 
half-turned and saw his friend and fellow 
Sondecki garbed in scouting attire with a green 
sash tied about his upper left arm. Over a year 
ago Charles had gathered with Jerome and Krenek 
to raise the ferret to the rank of Green; now 
Krenek was dead and Jerome had been corrupted by 
some strange beast mage far to the north and 
Charles rarely had the time to dedicate to his 
Sondecki charge. His presence was always comforting.

“I often visit where I spread Shelley's ashes,” 
he murmured with a brief sideways glance toward 
the mountain peaks in the west. “I know it is not the same, but...”

“You understand the pain,” Charles finished for him.

“Aye. Is there anything I can do for you, master?”

“If you are free, keep me company for now.”

“I shan't be missed. Are you going to go to the Narrows again today?”

“They are my lands now. I do have a 
responsibility to learn them and protect them.” 
Charles grimaced and then nodded. “I am going to 
ready Malicon and then go see if James is ready 
to ride. You can come with us if you'd like.”

“As far as I am able,” Garigan replied and then 
ducked his head once in a sinuous contortion only 
a ferret could perform. He then stepped to the 
rat's side and offered him a smile. “Let us see 
to your steed together, master.”

Charles cast a quick glance to the Heavens in 
gratitude before continuing on his way to the stables.

----------

Garigan and he spoke a little as Charles brushed 
Malicon's coat and readied his tack. He avoided 
looking into the corner where his vine lurked, 
though he did catch a glimpse or two of the 
curling green leaves almost whimpering in their 
call to him. Rat and ferret spoke of the sorts of 
training they would do later that summer, as well 
as pondered what could be done about Jerome when 
he finally returned to Metamor. Of the latter 
neither had any inkling of what really to expect 
and so Charles' ideas were guesses and hopes more 
than anything else. But of the former Charles had 
many plans; plans he had born in his heart not 
for the ferret but for his own son.

Try as he might he could not stop his heart from 
wandering back to the grave. Halfway through 
sentences his voice would trail into silence, 
punctuated by snorts from Malicon for him to 
continue or new questions from Garigan meant to 
jar him from unpleasant reminiscence. Even 
attempts to speak of his four living children 
only made him miss the one more deeply. After 
several such lacunae the ferret asked him instead 
of the Narrows; of his new land Charles had no difficulty speaking.

Both of them were surprised when, while the rat 
was still securing the saddle to Malicon's back, 
they heard a pair of hooves walking toward the 
stables. A moment later James appeared in the 
doorway with a grave expression on his snout, but 
friendly eyes. “Sir Charles! I'm glad I caught 
you; we cannot go to the Narrows today. Oh, good 
morning, Garigan, I didn't see you there.”

“Good morning, James,” Garigan replied, stepping 
back a pace as Charles climbed over the paddock door to brace his friend.

“James! What do you mean we cannot go to the 
Narrows today? Has something happened?”

“Nothing ill for the Glen at least. A messenger 
arrived a short while ago with a message for us. 
Jessica, Kayla, and Rickkter are on their way 
here now to meet with us. It's Tuesday.”

Charles and Malicon chuffed at the same time. “I 
thought we agreed we did not need to meet this 
week. We were all together at Lake Barnhardt only a few days ago.”

He doesn't trust you.

“I am sorry, Charles, but I sent for them. I fear 
for you. What happened yesterday...”

He betrayed you.

Garigan frowned and turned to the rat, one claw 
plucking at the green sash about his arm. “What happened yesterday, master?”

And the seeds of doubt spread.

Charles sighed and shook his head. “You may as 
well join us, Garigan. We are meeting because of 
the corruption of Marzac. It's touched everyone 
else so far; all except me. I don't relish 
repeating the story and I will have to tell them 
what happened. You can hear it then.”

“That seems fair.”

“Thank you.”

James lowered his ears and stepped closer. “How are you this morning, Charles?”

“Well enough. It seems I'll have a good excuse 
now to spend most of the day with my family.”

“And no fallen trees to block your way,” the 
donkey added with a smile that slowly brightened 
his face. His long tail swished behind him and he 
took another step closer, lifting one arm as if 
asking whether he could embrace the rat in a brotherly hug.

You must allay his suspicions as best you can.

Charles chuckled and then obliged him, returning 
the hug with a few pats to the donkey's back.

“Well, if I'm not going anywhere today, I will 
break my fast with my family. James, Garigan, you are both welcome to join us.”

Garigan smiled with an arched eye. “A chance to 
watch you and Lady Kimberly try to keep four 
little rats still long enough to eat? I'd be honored!”

----------

Both ferret and donkey were put to good use at 
the Matthias table by helping to spoon a porridge 
of oatmeal, sausage, and berries into their 
designated child for the morning. None of his 
children appreciated being spoon fed and would 
rather stick their hands into the porridge and 
then stick their hands in their mouths, or on the 
table, or on each other, or anywhere else to make 
a mess. All the while they squeaked with all the 
power in their lungs, repeating the handful of 
words and phrases that they knew – a list that 
grew day by day – with the most frequent being, “Nay!” and “Don't wanna.”

There were no quiet meals in the Matthias home.

Charles felt immeasurably better when his eyes 
were kept on his youngest daughter little Baerle 
while he fed her, but when they swept over the 
rest of his family, he felt that nagging 
emptiness return. Why couldn't there be a fifth 
child here? Why did he have to die?

Because the gods did nothing.

He hated both the question and the answer and so 
kept his focus on helping his little girl who 
waxed cooperative and sweet one moment and the 
next offered so shrill a squeak that his ears 
rang. He wondered anew how Kimberly was able to 
maintain any order at all in their home.

It's easier for her with only four instead of five.

He nuzzled his daughter's head fur between her 
ears to keep his morose thoughts at bay.

----------

There was a little time before their friends from 
Metamor would arrive and so Charles opted to 
visit the merchant Gibson whom he hoped would 
help him determine what he would need to 
cultivate the Narrows. Gibson had once owned the 
house in which Charles and his family lived but 
had built for himself something closer to the 
lake to better suit his and his family's 
amphibious nature. Just as the Matthias family 
were rats, Gibson's family were all frogs.

Both Garigan and James accompanied him down the 
winding track to the small lake called Spring 
just south of the Glen commons. At first he was 
glad of their company; now he felt as if he were 
being crowded and wished they would let him 
handle this errand on his own. He said nothing 
though and focused on the task ahead.

Gibson's home by the lake was beneath one of the 
massive trees overlooking the water, with a 
little enclosed path down to a boathouse; a small 
row boat bobbed lazily where it was tied. 
Squatting over the dock with a pair of oars in 
his arms was the merchant frog. His yellow eyes 
brightened when he saw them and his large mouth 
opened wide. “Sir Charles! James, Garigan, to 
what do I owe the pleasure?” His throat bobbed in a pleased warble.

“I've come to ask for your help, Master Gibson,” 
Charles replied. “I intend to cultivate and 
protect the Narrows and wanted your advice on 
what I will need. Could you be of assistance?”

The frog turned the oars over with his webbed 
hands and bent his long legs as if stretching 
them. “I would be glad to help. Perhaps I can 
come by your home later this afternoon and we can discuss it then?”

If you agree you will not be able to protect the Narrows today.

“I was rather hoping we might be able to ride out 
there this afternoon if that would not be too much trouble for you.”

Gibson croaked and did his best to grimace. His 
jawline was too firm to form proper expressions 
but the disappointment was clear. “I'm afraid I 
cannot leave the Glen today. But tomorrow I can. 
Besides, if we discuss it this afternoon we can 
make better plans for tomorrow. I have a great 
deal to prepare before I head to Metamor next 
month for trading. I hope you understand, Sir 
Charles; I mean no offense to you.”

Charles bit back his disappointment and 
irritation. “This afternoon will have to do then. I should be free by then.”

“It is a beautiful day, finally warm enough for 
my taste. Do you mind if I bring my son with me? 
It'll be the first time he's been able to enjoy the Spring.”

“Of course. I will see you this afternoon then.” 
Charles turned and nearly bumped into both ferret 
and donkey who stood right behind him. They both 
backed up and offered apologies, but he forced a 
smile and shook his head. “Let us go wait for our friends!”

Hopefully they will understand. But do not trust in it.

All the way back up the hill to the Commons, even 
though the frog warbling a disjointed tune as he 
stowed his lake gear was the only one making any 
noise, he could hear James's scrutiny. It wasn't 
a feeling, but an actual sound, a vibration 
echoing from his narrowing eyes, lowered ears, 
and the flexing of his supple lips. Charles 
stepped faster in vain to escape it.

----------

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

Charles Matthias
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