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

[C. Matthias]

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

Pars IV: Infernus

(k)

Saturday, May 12, 708 CR


When Charles stepped off the end of the bridge 
into the infinitesimal gap he felt a curious 
stillness greet him on the other side. He blinked 
and twitched his whiskers, ears lifted for any 
sound, tail turning behind him in expectation of 
his guardian's arrival. The realm about him was 
washed out and gray, with a featureless plain 
stretching in every direction. The sky was leaden 
and dark. The ground was cold as on a night in 
early Spring when the mountain slopes had yet to 
thaw. There was a soft hush in the air as of a 
gentle autumn breeze catching at dead leaves. 
What few scents he tasted were muted. Everything around him felt cold.

What he did notice, unlike Klepnos's realm, was 
that in the distance he could see people huddled 
together. They were too far away for his eyes to 
discern any details, but their general shape was 
unmistakeable. For a brief moment he felt 
heartened to see other people. And then he 
recalled where he was and shuddered from more 
than the chill in the air. These people were all 
dead; and the further he descended in this pagan 
realm the worse these people would be.

A warming presence filled the space behind him 
and Charles turned toward his protector and 
guide. Qan-af-årael stood tall as a sapling with 
folded hands before him, golden eyes surveying 
the sullen landscape. His gaze lowered to the rat 
and a subtle smile played across his cheeks 
before a graver cast overtook his already gray 
features. In that barren landscape with 
oppressively colorless sky what few pigments 
remained to the Åelf were drained as well.

He set one hand on Charles' shoulder and the 
solid assuring presence of the Åelf filled not 
just his senses but his mind as well.

Do not use your voice unless you have no other 
choice. The very air will steal your warmth. It 
will steal it anyway, but you should not hasten it.

Charles nodded to show ascent and concentrated 
his thoughts in reply. I have felt colder than 
this. How much worse will it get?

We have been here but moments. It will never warm 
and will grow much, much colder ere we find the 
bridge. Qan-af-årael removed his hand but the 
presence within him remained. It felt as if he 
were not alone inside his flesh, but that through 
the sharing of minds there were two within him, 
himself and a great companion in whom he could 
trust to guide and protect him. There seemed to 
the rat some sequacious impulse inherent to the 
connection, as of an inchoate bearing from a 
compass that still spun. Insouciant, he turned 
from the Åelf, and gestured with the sweep of one arm.

Which way should we go? Everything appears the same here.

Cold and gray, and yet tinged with the blue of ice, he almost added.

In this place I do not believe it matters. All directions lead to Kilyarnie.

Charles wrapped his arms about his chest and 
grimaced. He did not need to think the question for it to be clear.

But the ancient one's thoughts were no comfort. 
His voice felt brittle in his mind, as if it were 
cool iron. It will not make sense until we are 
there. For now you must start moving and keep 
moving. Do not stop walking for any reason.

Charles nodded, glanced around at the vast gray 
plain, hesitating only a moment before picking 
the direction ahead of him. He raised one 
long-toed paw, stepped forward, and set it down 
again. No sharp knives or strange sensations met 
him. Only the barrenness of permafrost, the 
slight crunching of frozen ground beneath his 
weight, was there to greet him. His other paw 
lifted and swung forward past its sibling to 
crush more of the barren earth, leaving an 
impression of long toes and narrow sole behind.

The first two steps felt tentative, but 
thereafter his pace quickened and Charles soon 
strode across the cold plain without hesitation. 
His cloak billowed around him at first, but he 
quickly grasped it with either hand and pulled it 
tight around him to keep what warmth he still 
felt within. His tail he swung around his side 
until it could be looped about his middle; it 
hurt to have it twisted so much, but it was 
better than having it freeze. His toes and ears 
hurt from the cold after only a few minutes of 
walking. In mid-step he pulled the cowl of his 
cloak up over his head and felt some relief.

The sides of the cowl narrowed his vision; the 
blur of his whiskers and snout were ever before 
him. His breath misted in the air and clung to 
his whiskers. He flicked them from time to time 
when he felt that mist turning to ice. The rat shivered and kept walking.

Qan-af-årael was hidden by the cowl, but he could 
hear the crush of his boots on the ground to his 
right. The cold, already bitter and deeper than 
when he had emerged from the bridge, muted his 
scent, and there was a subtle disconnect in his 
presence, as if he were both at his side and some 
distance away. His mental being however felt 
nearer still; even though his thoughts did not 
intrude upon him they were always there on the 
other side of a little wall. At the breath of 
invitation Charles knew his protector and guide 
would come. The paltry barrier between them could never keep him out.

The plain ahead of him did not vary even after 
what felt like hours of walking. There was no 
breeze at all, leaving everything to feel as 
still as stone. The sky bore down upon them so 
that it felt as if the void of stars was within 
an arrow's reach. Charles bent forward, one hand 
clutching his tail, the other holding his cloak, 
nose sniffling through his own breath.

The groups of people clustered together he saw at 
a distance generally seemed to stay at a 
distance. What little of the plain he could see 
between the sides of his cowl hurt his eyes to 
follow too closely. Unlike Klepnos's realm which 
made no sense in any direction, here what 
happened if he glanced to either side was 
consistent in its incongruity. But it did not 
move as the real world did and that made it difficult to observe.

As long as Charles stared straight ahead at the 
point on the non-existent horizon toward which he 
walked, then only the way his vision seemed to 
stretch into infinity bothered him. Perspective 
was maintained along that straight path. But 
should his eyes veer a short distance – as a rat 
he could not keep them from veering as the shape 
of his head made him prefer to focus on what 
happened on either side of him – then he saw 
everything rushing away as if twisted on some 
giant disc, so that objects which had appeared 
near the path he followed would rush away like a Lutin fleeing the axe.

But there was something even stranger. A slight 
angle difference in either direction from the 
point directly ahead of him also seemed to remain 
fixed in place. And should he stare at something 
between those points that were fixed, the more he 
walked, the nearer they seemed to his 
destination! It was if he were walking through 
bubbles of soap, all sense of distance and 
perspective distorted so that he could no longer 
tell what was far away and what was near at all. 
The many groups of people he saw huddled together 
would one moment appear to be within shouting 
range and then the next they would be flung away 
off to his side to disappear beyond the folds of 
his cowl. Others seemed as if he would never near 
them only to be thrust within view for a moment's 
breath before they too were sucked away by the cold.

In a moment of curiosity, Charles turned his head 
as he walked to stare to his left. His impression 
of a vast disc on which everything turned was 
insufficient to describe what in those few 
seconds he witnessed. Groups of people, the 
slightest variations in the permafrost, all of it 
moved back and forth, here and there in a series 
of spirals whose intricate patterns were a 
mystery to him. It made him feel nauseated. He did not try it a second time.

But as disturbing as the strange way everything 
moved around him, he would not make the mistake 
of closing his eyes. All he heard was the crunch 
of the ground beneath his numb paws and the 
similar sound that came from the fall of 
Qan-af-årael's boots. As he forced his legs to 
take each step, he peered across the wall at the 
edge of his mind and whispered a question.

Why is it impossible to tell how far away anything is here?

The presence of his companion shifted to that 
wall, like a bank of fog climbing the ledge 
around Metamor. Because all paths here lead to 
Kilyarnie. Distance does not mean the same thing 
here as we are used to. Imagine you are walking 
on the inside of a vast funnel. If you do not 
walk straight toward the bottom, objects on one 
side will veer away from you, while those on the 
other will remain close for a time. It is not 
quite what we do here, but the idea is similar.

Charles tried to imagine what it might be like to 
walk along the inside of a funnel, but had 
difficulty grasping it. Qan-af-årael's presence 
intruded on his pondering as of a gate captain 
warning his people of an enemy without.

It is the least dangerous aspect of this place. 
We still tread its periphery. You must stay as 
warm as you can; do not turn to stone here or you 
will not survive to reach Kilyarnie much less the bridge.

Charles shuddered and gave a quick nod. He tried 
to quicken his pace but even with his Sondeck 
could only manage a little speed. He risked 
lifting one paw to adjust the cloak so that the 
tip of his snout was covered; this did expose one 
of his legs more than he would like – the section 
removed by Tallakath's gardeners and the section 
he'd given up to garb one of Tallakath's victims 
now haunted him – but it allowed him to breathe somewhat warmer air.

Though he could not be certain how long he had 
been walking, nor how far they had come or how 
far they had to go, but one thing that he did 
know was that the air had grown colder. The 
ground beneath his feet was sprinkled with ice 
crystals that added a shimmer of white to the 
dusky gray of the permafrost. The clouds above 
them seemed thinner than before, and from time to 
time they would open up to reveal the bleakness 
of a night sky. That black void felt much nearer 
as if the sky itself were only as tall as 
Metamor's cathedral and not spanning the expanse of mountains.

Charles shivered beneath the cloak and kept walking.

To his surprise, one of the groups of people 
huddled together appeared in view along one of 
the angles that seemed to stay fixed. He watched 
them for a time as he tried not to think of the 
pain in his legs and paws. At first he could make 
nothing out but as they closed he saw that there 
were more than a dozen men and women all pressed 
as closely as they could together. Charles first 
thought that they had done so for mutual benefit, 
helping to keep each other warm for just a bit 
longer. But as the group drew closer along that 
fixed angle, he realized that mutual benefit had 
nothing to do with what he saw.

The two dozen or so were formed in the middle by 
four larger men who had their arms wrapped about 
eight others, holding them in tight so there was 
no space between their flesh. The next eight out 
also had their arms wrapped about one or two 
others, keeping them as close as they possible 
could to steal their warmth. The dozen men and 
women on the outermost ring were there against 
their will. Not that, to judge by their blank 
expressions and their ice covered extremities, 
they had any will left to object. Their arms hung 
limply at their sides, fingers and toes all blue 
and swollen from frostbite. Their faces were 
sallow, with ice coating their hair, lashes, and 
beards. Their eyes were open and frozen in place, 
a sheen of pale blue coating them.

The next ring in, having exhausted the warmth of 
those on the outside, were also beginning to show 
the effects of the cold. Their flesh, where 
visible, had traces of frostbite, and their 
expressions were fixed in a rictus of 
resignation. Only the four larger men in the 
middle still seemed determined to keep the ice at 
bay; only they still had warmth around them to 
steal. And yet, not a one of them moved; they did 
not even blink. They were as frozen in place as 
those poor souls whose fires had already gone out.

Charles pulled his cloak more tightly about his 
chest and whimpered under his breath. He feared 
what would happen should they draw too close to 
this group of warmth-stealing souls, but his path 
from which he could not make himself deviate 
brought them right to him. His eyes ever stayed 
upon them as they neared, swelling and larger 
until he could see how they rose up above him. As 
a rat he was used to being a head or two shorter 
than most of his friends, but for some reason – 
or perhaps merely from the whims of the mistress 
of this barren place – the frozen human souls 
appeared to tower above him. He knew he should be 
at eye level with their chest, but instead he 
felt he had to glance upward just to find their knees.

And then, as they reached the edge of that 
collection of souls their swollen feet, frozen to 
the ground so that they were actually encased in 
slopes of ice, framed him as the roots of his tree in Glen Avery did.

Charles passed in between the ankles, head bowed 
ever so slightly to hold in his warmth. Veins of 
blue laced the ice that stretched across the 
ground from foot to foot. His claws found some 
purchase in the ice, but still he slipped and 
stumbled. Qan-af-årael steadied him with a single 
hand, and a nearness of presence urged him to 
keep walking. The rat did so, right into the 
center of that mass of thieving souls.

The second ring of souls were not encrusted by 
ice, though their extremities, some clad and some 
not, were all beginning to show the signs of it. 
Crystals formed along the edge of their feet; he 
saw swollen toes on some. Before him a pair of 
boots rose upward to an impossible height, 
greater than that of Metamor castle. And yet the 
sky still seemed to bear down on them ever 
closer. Had Charles and Qan-af-årael shrunk to 
the size of grasshoppers, or was this just one 
more strange distortion inimical to this realm?

The air in between the legs and feet of the 
innermost ring had a tinge of warmth to it. He 
could for the first time smell the sweat of flesh 
and hear the twinge of a heart beat in the giants 
above him. For a moment he considered pausing to 
allow that warmth to fill him. He could wait a 
few moments here. His shivering would still, the 
pain in his legs and paws from exposure would be 
healed. All he had to do was linger for a time and he would be himself again.

But how long a time? Would he become like these 
four thieves, unable to move for fear that they 
would lose what little heat they could still 
steal? At the wall in his mind he felt the 
presence of his guardian urging him onward, as if 
he were in agreement with this subtle warning.

Charles kept walking. The cooler air returned the 
moment he passed into the second circle of legs, 
and he resumed shivering when he stepped past the 
ice-caked legs of the frozen souls. When at last 
he emerged from beneath them he saw that the 
permafrost had completely surrendered to the ice. 
The vast plain of this barren realm was now 
covered for as far as his eyes could penetrate in 
a sheet of dull white ice. Gray, thin clouds 
sagged beneath the weight of the void pressing 
down on them from above. The pain in his legs 
grew worse with each step, but he continued to 
walk, shivering in his flesh and chittering in his teeth.

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

Charles Matthias
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