[Mkguild] Divine Travails of Rats - Pars IV. Infernus (e)

[C. Matthias]

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

Pars IV: Infernus

(e)

Saturday, May 12, 708 CR


When the light returned to eyes and mind, Charles 
first felt a hand resting on his back. It was a 
long-fingered hand, large, gentle, and warm. He 
quivered beneath it, molars grinding and paws 
scratching at the ground, tail curled up around 
him as close as possible. There was cloth about 
him, some tough and some loose, wrinkled and 
bundled like heavy blankets. Beneath him the 
ground felt strong and unyielding; against this 
his claws, short but sharp, could do nothing.

The hand drew him back.

He blinked several times as the paralyzing 
anxiety faded. A sense of indignation settled in 
its place, focusing his nerves and his attention. 
His eyes focused on his prodigious snout and 
beyond to his thumbless paws and the piles of 
clothing bunched around him. His back arched as 
he huddled on his haunches with the tip of his 
tail beneath his nose. Not as small as a normal 
rat, but small enough that a hand could rest on 
his back and nearly span its length from tail root to neck.

Flush both with embarrassment and irritation at 
himself, he turned his head from side to side, 
sniffing the air and surprised to find no scent 
but those they carried with them. A limitless 
nothing shrouded everything in any direction he 
glanced, something so odd that it turned his eyes 
away as if they were lodestones. Beneath him and 
extending forward beyond any distance he could 
fathom was a gray path. The bridge.

No stones or wood were used to fashion this 
bridge. It was of a single piece, smooth and 
remarkable only in its perfection. In width he 
doubted if two men could walk side by side and 
with no rails guarding them from tumbling off the 
side he felt a disquieting vertigo whenever he 
looked more than a few feet ahead.

Charles lowered his snout back to his tail and 
paws and took a long deep breath. He felt no air 
rush into his lungs and yet felt neither pain nor 
panic at its absence. All that remained was his 
indignation at being so easily cowed, and a 
renewed determination to face the new horrors 
that awaited them on the other side of the bridge.

But first the rat had to recover his dignity. He 
willed himself to grow in size and return to the 
most human shape the Curses of Metamor allowed. 
His long tail slid behind him as short, squat 
legs stretched and pushed the rest of him upward 
in the midst of his tangled garments. Thumbs 
emerged from his paws, returning once more to 
clawed hands, as his snout dwindled in measure to 
return some semblance of human proportions to his eyes and face.

The hand and presence at his side backed away to 
give him room to right himself. In shrinking in 
size he had shrunk out of his clothes and now 
that he had returned to normal Charles found 
himself with only a single leg in his pants and 
both arms trapped within his tunic. His scouting 
cape nearly fell from the side of the bridge 
before Qan-af-årael put a soft boot in its 
middle. Charles fidgeted with his garments for a 
moment until he'd righted each, and then bent down to claim the cloak.

As on either side, there was nothing beneath the 
bridge. He swayed unsteadily for a moment as his 
eyes trained on the gray surface, only to feel a 
shiver race through him when he saw that it had 
no thickness. He stood upon a single scrap of 
paper in the midst of a barren abyss bereft of 
all sight, sound, and scent. He wished that he 
could see even a single star in the firmament, 
either above or below, but there was nothing.

Charles closed his eyes as he wrapped the cloak 
about his shoulders and fixed its clasp.

“Is it safe?” he asked in a whisper. His words 
did not echo, but they seemed louder than the 
thundering of that brobdingnagian horror hunting 
them across the plain. The tremble of a 
frightened squeak was discernible in his speech.

In comparison the Åelf's voice felt smooth and 
inoffensive, as suited to this emptiness as it 
was to the lofty forested towers of his ancient 
home. “It is safe for now. But we should not 
linger here long. The mistress of night did not 
know we were in her domain, nor does he who lives 
below know we are coming into his. The longer we 
stay here the sooner they will learn of us. Are 
you ready to continue, Charles?”

The rat nodded and pulled his cloak tight, fixing 
his eyes on the ancient one. Upon him he could 
gaze for an eternity and never lack for 
confidence. But with haste pressing upon them, he 
too felt pressed, turning and walking carefully 
along the gray bridge toward the other end.

The ground beneath him felt neither warm nor 
cold, and though it was as smooth as glass, he 
did not ever once feel his paw slip. He felt as 
if he were walking across immaculate snow and 
leaving no prints. Before him the bridge 
stretched as if to infinity, lost amidst the 
darkness which permitted no eye's inspection. He 
continued to step forward, one paw before the 
other, tail swaying ever so slightly from side to 
side though never off the path. Behind him he 
felt rather than saw Qan-af-årael's presence, 
ever there but allowing Charles to lead.

The bridge contracted as if the limitless expanse 
were nearing his grasp. He had a strange 
sensation of swelling to immense proportions as 
if he too had become a giant balancing upon the 
bridge by the tips of his toes. And then the 
bridge stopped and the world opened in a wash of light.

Charles stumbled as he left the bridge, finding 
himself in a bath of yellow brilliance and 
suspended a few feet from the ground. Into this 
ground he tumbled and groaned, shielding his eyes 
from the flood of light. He gasped and felt air 
return to his lungs, though it had a pungent 
quality, too sweet as to be febrile. Behind him 
he heard the Åelf land with more grace, but it 
took several seconds rubbing his eyes before he could open them.

He had walked from the deepest night into the 
noon day sun. Above them the sky was clear though 
jaundiced, with a brilliant sun that hovered far 
nearer than their own ever could. From this he 
averted his eyes, gazing around them and beneath 
them. All around he saw row upon row of plants: 
flowers of every shape and hue, bushes twisted 
and sculpted with devilish taint, short trees 
bearing fruit, nuts, and cones, and layered with 
mushrooms along their trunks. Everything was 
neatly cultivated and carefully planned.

A garden.

Charles rubbed his eyes a few more times as he 
stood up. They were standing on a path of tightly 
fit stones that ran straight in either direction. 
Beyond the line of trees he could see stone walls 
partitioning the room with glass canopies 
overhanging the trees. Additional panes could be 
added to enclose the entire area, but for the moment all was open to the sky.

Not just a garden, he realized, but a greenhouse.

He bent down to peer at a tall stemmed flower 
near the path when Qan-af-årael gripped his 
shoulder. “Do not touch them,” he advised in a 
quiet voice, barely above a whisper. “They will be poisoned in some way.”

“They look healthy,” Charles noted, even as he 
warily leaned away. The flower, lavender with 
nine soft petals framing a bulbous yellow head, 
was nothing he had ever seen before. Innocuous, 
but appealing to both eye and nose, it seemed to 
beckon him to come closer. His fingers yearned to 
rub the soft velvet of its petals, and his nose 
hungered to breath its delicate aroma.

“The master of this place cultivates such life 
only to observe as his poisons and plagues make 
everything wither and die. This garden will kill 
anything that disturbs it until the day it is 
burned to the ground in readiness for his next experiment.”

Charles exhaled, feeling rather vulnerable. 
“Where is the bridge to the next realm?”

“I must first know this place a little better 
before I am certain. It is not here, and that is 
all I know of it at this moment. Choose a 
direction and we shall follow it. When I am 
certain I will guide you. But in any of these places we should not linger.”

The rat nodded and, eyes better if still smarting 
from the bright sun, glanced along the path. 
There did not appear to be any difference in 
going left or right, and so started walking in 
the direction the bridge had pointed. Though the 
flowers, both tall and petite, had been planted 
up to the edge of the stone path, he saw no weeds 
or creepers trying to work their way between the 
close-fitting stones. Nevertheless he walked in 
the middle of the path, keeping a wary eye out. 
For all he knew even the very air could be filled 
with a poison he had already consumed. But until 
he felt nausea or palsy he had to assume he'd been spared.

The room beyond was another garden in a similar 
state of upkeep. There was no sign of a gardener 
nor anything that moved. Charles was used to 
spotting rabbits or moles furrowing holes even in 
the Keeps' well tended gardens. But here there was only the plants.

The path continued without turning or forking 
through three more rooms. Each room was a few 
hundred paces in length and each of them appeared 
to be one part of a vast greenhouse. There were a 
few clouds that drifted across the sky above but 
they always seemed to avoid the too large sun. 
And though the temperature never seemed to 
change, the foliage seemed to vary from the bloom 
of Spring through the vibrancy of Summer to the 
apex of Autumn. In one room he found brilliant 
purple, yellow, and cherry blossoms dotting the 
trees, the next was lush with broad green leaves, 
while a third glowed with bronze and crimson 
light. And despite the Åelf's warning, nothing in 
any of the chambers appeared to be deprived of the least vitality.

And then he came to another chamber and 
immediately put a hand over his shout. What had 
once been a lovely garden in the throes of Spring 
now was riddled with mildew and decay. Along 
either side of the path he could see wilting 
flowers, drooping bushes, and trees with sickly 
white growths pressing out through their bark. 
Leaves were corroded by veins of a bright, almost 
iridescent green fungus. Red pustules oozed from 
barren branches on all the bushes. The garden 
soil was littered with dead petals, leaves, and 
collapsed stems of flowers now shriveled and 
gooey. The air reeked with a rancid miasma that made the rat gag.

He stepped back out of the room, wrapped his 
cloak over his snout, and charged back in. 
Charles moved as quickly as he could without 
making any noise. He felt Qan-af-årael rushing 
along behind him but the ancient one was also 
preternaturally silent. The rooms that followed 
were no better, and in some cases worse than that 
first. The range of disease and putrefaction that 
choked the air and nauseated the eyes seemed to have no limit.

But eventually the path which had stretched 
forever before them reached a branch. Charles 
paused only long enough to glance in either 
direction before settling on the right fork. This 
led into a long stone hallway with several 
alcoves that seemed to break apart the air. With 
each division they passed the air grew fresher. 
After the seventh the rat felt comfortable 
lowering his cloak and taking a deep breath. He 
waited only a moment for the Åelf to do the same.

They stood in the passage enjoying the fresh air 
for a few seconds before the rat asked in a low 
voice, “Do you know where the bridge is?” Though 
nothing here sought to gorge on their flesh at 
least in Lilith's realm he had not been afraid to breath or touch anything.

Qan-af-årael closed his eyes and made a stilling 
gesture with one hand. His long fingers seemed to 
be lifted by some other agency as he 
concentrated. Charles rocked from one paw to another as he waited.

“It does not seem far away,” the Åelf said after 
nearly a minute of silent contemplation. The rat 
cast furtive glances in either direction, though 
it was impossible to see beyond the next fork in 
the hall. His ears strained for any sound but 
nothing came, not even the brush of wind across 
his whiskers. “Follow the right path ahead. But 
be careful. We are leaving the gardens behind.”

Charles was not sure what he expected to find 
down the right path but certainly not what 
greeted them at the end of another long series of 
alcove chambers. The passage opened up into an 
even larger space than had been set aside for 
each of the gardens. The stone walls spread out 
in a perfect rectangle to three times the 
distance in each direction. The stone path 
branched at regular intervals around deep pits 
fashioned from the same stone. Little baubles 
were affixed to iron posts above each though 
Charles could not divine their purpose. Coming 
from each was the stink of animal flesh.

Unable to resist, Charles peered over the nearest 
pit. The walls dropped fifteen feet to a flat 
bottom that sloped down to each side. In one 
corner he saw a rancid pool of water, and in the 
opposite corner a puddle of urine and droppings. 
Sprawled on all fours in the middle was a small 
mare. Her hide was falling off in patches and 
misshapen lumps pressed against several of her 
ribs and legs. Blotchy pustules smeared beneath 
her soulless eyes and a yellow froth trickled 
from between her shriveled lips. One eye roved in 
the unmoving head to find the rat up above and then she stared at him uncaring.

Charles stepped back and dug his claws into his 
palms. “What is this place?” His eyes stole 
across the many pits within the large room. He 
lost count after thirty and wasn't even half way done.

“Quiet,” Qan-af-årael cautioned, tapping his arm 
and motioning him to step back. His eyes fixed 
upon something in the distance. Charles did not 
waste time trying to see what; a rat's eyes would 
never compare at distances. They retreated to one 
corner where they could hide behind pits whose 
walls were just tall enough to conceal them. 
Crouching low, they waited for several seconds 
before they heard the sound of footsteps from the other end.

Charles sucked in his breath and held it. He 
strained his ears, one hand spread across his 
chest to keep the pounding of his heart from 
echoing against his ribs. There were a pair of 
creatures to judge from the disjointed steps. A 
part of him yearned to peer around the side of 
the wall but the rest of him remembered the 
diseased horse and the decaying gardens. A flash 
of madness from that thing on the plain stilled 
whatever nascent desire to sate his curiosity 
remained. He quivered, whiskers trembling, and hoped he would never see them.

Their pace was slow. They would take a dozen 
steps, and then they would stop for a long time 
before taking another twelve steps. He could hear 
some faint clicking sounds as of crickets 
chirping. Charles swallowed and fought to keep 
from gasping when he realized it was the two creatures who made that noise.

At first he tried to count the number of times 
that they stopped but after seven he stopped 
caring. Their path through the room seemed 
methodical and systematic. They swept from left 
to right along a single row, and then right to 
left along the next. Their clicks would grow 
closer and more irritated, and then they would 
recede and their hateful speech would leave his ears.

Above them the sun remained in its place. Charles 
bristled beneath its constant and now sweltering 
rays. He itched all along his back and down his 
legs. His muscles strained from his crouched 
position. He leaned ever slightly against the 
wall of the pit and wished he hadn't. Though 
pleasantly cool to the touch, there was also a 
thin film coating it. As quietly as he could he 
rubbed his fingers clean on his cloak, flexing 
them and hoping he would still find flesh there when he was finished.

His head sprang upward at the sound of terrified 
screaming. Somewhere in one of the pits in the 
center of the chamber they had a human captive. 
Charles stuffed the edge of his cloak between his 
incisors and gnawed to keep silent. The scream 
rose in pitch for a moment before dying off only 
to start again after a gasp of breath. The 
clicking, chirping insect speech continued as if 
this were no more a remarkable occasion than a cloud drifting across the sky.

Qan-af-årael set one hand on the rat's shoulders 
as he quivered, tail thumping back and forth 
against Åelven boots. He reached around his free 
arm and grabbed his tail and clutched it tightly 
to his chest as his incisors tore a hole into his cloak.

The screaming continued with its rise and fall 
for several unbearable minutes. And then it 
turned into a shriek before falling completely 
silent. The clicking voices carried an air of 
self-satisfaction that made Charles bite a second 
hole in his cloak. And then, as if nothing else 
had happened, they continued on their way 
inspecting the other pits. A faint moaning echo 
followed them but even that died away shortly 
after the insect-things finished their next victim.

Charles was able to regain control of his 
breathing, but the wait was excruciating. Surely 
they could sneak along the exterior wall while 
the creatures were investigating a pit on the far 
side. He half turned his head to the Åelf to 
suggest this when another scream erupted from 
their next pit. Only this one was blended with 
the howling whine of a dog. Neither man nor beast it was another Keeper.

He bit into his cloak once more and shifted his 
stance, leveling up his head to peer just past 
the wall. A good fifty paces away he saw them. 
They were vaguely man-shaped, but even in a dark 
corridor without a single candle to the light the 
way it was clear that they anything but men. 
Eight spindly arms stretched from either side of 
their bright green torso, each ending in a pair 
of black claws, and with these they manipulated 
various instruments both long and spectral. Their 
heads were those of crickets with huge compound 
eyes, waggling antennae, and gyrating mandibles.

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

Charles Matthias
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