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

[C. Matthias]

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

Pars IV: Infernus

(l)

Saturday, May 12, 708 CR


He well remembered the many winters at Metamor he 
had lived, and most especially the last two in 
which he'd been forced to survive in the elements 
as a scout for both Metamor and the Glen. In each 
case he had been better prepared for the elements 
with warmer cloaks, breeches, and tunics. He'd 
even had boots for his paws on the coldest of 
days to keep his toes from freezing. The rest of 
the time wrappings had been sufficient. Now he 
had nothing but a tunic, breeches, and torn cloak suitable for the Spring.

And when he had journeyed into the Barrier Range 
he had been trapped in a stone body. The iciness 
had been frightening in the sense that he feared 
having water seep into his body and then expand 
when it froze, cracking the granite sinews of his 
form. His fears had been the fears of stone, not 
of flesh. Now he was beginning to understand the 
misery his companions on that journey had 
endured. His body yearned for a single fire, and 
he began to regret not lingering beneath the legs of the warm people.

Flakes of snow drifted through the air and began 
whitening his dark cloak. One of them drifted 
into his cowl and settled in the ruined flesh 
over his right eye, melting only slowly. The icy 
water dribbled into his eye. He blinked and 
shifted about as he walked, rubbing his face 
against the inside of his cowl to dry it. As he 
did so the cowl fell away from his snout and the 
cloak back down around his lower legs. More snow 
settled onto his whiskers and nose as if drawn to him.

At first he twitched whiskers and snout to 
dislodge as much of the snow as he could. But as 
the minutes rolled past and the snow thickened in 
the air he stopped bothering. There was too much 
snow to fight and it was a distraction from his 
efforts to keep placing one paw in front of the 
other. He felt a sullen resignation weighing on 
his heart. The snowfall seemed only to emphasize 
the futility of his efforts. Each step expended 
more of his precious energy allowing this place 
to steal more and more of his heat. Were he to 
keep still the rat could conserve that warmth for much longer.

And were he to do that, he knew, he would never 
see his son again. Charles pushed on, digging his 
claws into the flesh of his tail enough to 
register a little pain. The agony in his legs 
increased with each step and so he dug his claws 
tighter and tighter to turn his mind from their 
pain. His other hand clutched the cloak tight, so 
tight that it was hard to breath. Every gust of 
air from his snout misted before him, blinding 
him even more than the snowfall. Ice laced his 
whiskers and coated the tip of his snout. His 
paws, chapped, cracked and began to bleed.

He shifted his thoughts toward that wall against 
which the presence of his guardian reposed. His 
request tumbled through his thoughts.

Master Åelf, is there any way you can give me warmth? The cold is...

There was a note of regret in the reply.

Any spell I cast in this place will draw the 
attention of its mistress. If your life is 
threatened I will do what is necessary to 
preserve it. But we should avoid drawing 
attention to ourselves for as long as we can. You 
can endure more than this, Charles. I am here with you.

Despite the refusal, he did feel some comfort in 
the assurance. Charles gave a quick nod of his 
head to show he understood even as he continued 
to stumble through the snow. The ice encrusted 
ground was now coated with a layer of snow a hand 
deep, and through it the cracks in his paws left a spattered crimson trail.

While forcing himself to walk, Charles forced his 
thoughts toward his family. He walked this 
horrible way through the crucible of a soul to 
reach his lost son. A smile touched the edge of 
his snout as he remembered the day of his birth. 
The horrible news that the child was tangled in 
his umbilical cord and the great risk that Lady 
Avery, Jo, and Burris took in cutting open his 
wife to draw the child out, all of that fear had 
been erased in the moment when the child had been 
placed in his arms and he knew not only that his 
fifth child would live, but the flickering power of the Sondeck filled him too.

How well he could remember the leap in his heart 
at that sensation, the kindling of a kindred soul 
whose life would be forever tied to that of his 
father, a certainty that he would continue in his 
father's steps, and eventually take his father's 
duties as his successor. The hours they would 
spend together reaching for their Calm, singing 
the Sondlatharos, kneeling before the Sondecki 
shrine to bask in its power, and practicing arts 
beyond the ken of mortal men. Their union would 
be so complete that no force on earth could have torn them apart.

Save for death.

If not for Marzac he would have been there when 
the Sondtodt struck Ladero. He would have known 
what to do and whom to seek to save his son's 
life. With Garigan's aide they could have kept 
the tear from spreading and brought him to 
Sondeshara where he would have been healed. True, 
Charles would have had to endure the judgment of 
his clan, but that was a small price to pay to have his son with him.

His heart stiffened when he recalled the offered 
price to Nocturna to bring Ladero back. But it 
had been a ruse only, one that gave him access to 
the world beyond. The queen of dreams could exact 
nothing from him when the victory was of his own doing.

For a time these thoughts warmed him enough to 
keep moving. He even drew to mind his wife and 
other children so that he might delight in their 
memory and their eager, loving faces. But he did 
not struggle against the elements for their sake 
and so inevitably they would fall from his thoughts. Only Ladero was left.

But to what end was he enduring this? To glimpse 
his son and say goodbye? Was a mere goodbye worth 
the effort he expended. Was it worth the shedding 
of his blood, the raping of his mind, and the torture of his flesh?

The snow rose to two hands and he had to lift his 
legs to forge through. No wind blew to thwart 
him, but the cold deepened and his arms shook as 
if palsied. He stared past white whiskers, a 
snout flecked with ice, and the edge of his cowl 
coated with flakes that would not melt. He felt 
no heat in him, only the bitter cold sinking 
through fur, flesh, and settling into his bones. 
His heart throbbed with yearning for his son, but 
bit by bit that too surrendered to a mere 
yearning for some glimmer of warmth that would 
justify lifting one paw after another.

He trudged on, the presence at his side moving 
closer so that he could feel his cloak brushing 
against Qan-af-årael's side. There was a 
suggestion of warmth there still and so he leaned 
into it, trembling. Charles wanted to fall into 
his guardian's arms and curl against him just for 
even a moment to escape the freezing chill.

By the time the snow was as high as his knees the 
air began to thin even further. The snow 
continued to fall but grew sparse and finally 
abated altogether. Each step took several seconds 
as he was forced to climb through the snow, his 
hands slipped free of the cloak to push enough of 
the fresh-fallen snow away so his legs could step 
over them. The chapped flesh on his paws bled 
some and then froze gray and scarlet as if it 
were drops of rubies imbedded in granite. His 
tongue was too cold to whimper no matter the 
pain. His body yearned only for rest.

With the snow cleared Charles caught sight of 
something ahead along one of the peculiar angles. 
It was not, as he expected, another group of men 
clustered together in attempt to to steal warmth. 
Rather it was a single man standing with arms 
clutches to his chest, head lowered with chin on 
chest, and legs anchored to the ground by 
encasing ice that reached past his knees. Unlike 
Charles he appeared to have been dressed for 
colder climes, with two layers of fur-lined 
tunics and breeches, and a red-skinned cloak atop 
it all which was now pinched to his legs beneath 
the ice. His face was covered in a beard that had 
once been a ruddy brown but which now was white 
with frost. Icicles framed his eyes and dangled 
from his ears. His eyes were closed, but as the 
rat and Åelf trudged through the snow they 
blinked open and met them with a sudden glimmer of disdain.

Lips cracked and bleeding opened, and in a voice 
hoary with disuse, the man spoke. “Do you not 
recognize me, Sondecki? Your form may be that of a beast but I recognize you.”

Charles was taken aback, but at the touch of the 
Åelf kept moving forward. Like the group of men 
earlier this man seemed to swell in size as they 
neared. But their pace was so slow that he still 
only appeared to be a very large man. Each 
agonizing step thrust him taller by one or two hands.

The mention of Sondecki drove the rat into the 
vaults of memory as he searched the cold-scarred 
face for some hint of identity. But of all those 
he'd known from his years in Sondeshara this face 
had never been amongst them. He felt no glimmer 
of the Sondeck in this man, and even amongst the 
many people who made Sondeshara their home but 
had no share in their talent, this face and this voice was not to be found.

“You do not recall?” His voice felt drained of 
energy as if it struggled to make itself known. 
His breath was not even warm enough to cause a 
mist, and every exposed bit of flesh was 
frostbitten and cracked. “Do not dwell on your 
friends or neighbors for I was neither. We only 
saw each other once, but in that last moment I 
looked in your eyes and saw your soul. You were 
hard, determined, and naïve. You had no inkling of what you truly did.”

The edge in the man's voice, faint but present, 
pushed Charles' thoughts in other directions. If 
he were not a friend and not a neighbor then he 
could only be an enemy of the Sondeckis. Charles 
dwelt on the many foes he had once faced and felt 
his heart sink, the chill wrapping about it more 
firmly. Even thoughts of his son did not 
penetrate the bitter ice that gripped it.

He opened his mouth to speak and regretted it. A 
rush of cold air drove down into his throat and 
filled him. He shut his mouth but it was too 
late. His limbs would no longer move, his heart 
thrummed for a moment before quieting to a sullen 
tremble. His paws sank deep into the snow where 
the hardening ice began to grasp them.

The Åelf gripped his shoulder and dragged him 
from his sudden repose, a flicker of warmth 
extending down his arm and into his chest. 
Charles tucked his head to his chest and yearned 
to weep but nothing escaped his throat. He felt 
ice encrusting his cheeks where tears dribbled. 
The flesh of his paws tore again and the bloody trail resumed.

He thrust his mind toward the wall and the 
presence seeping across its battlements. There he 
found the strength and will to keep moving 
forward. A single coherent thought drifted up 
from his diminished being toward his protector. 
He is Kalevard of the Darkündlicht mountains and 
the first man I was sent to kill.

Kalevard now stood more than twice his height. 
His gloved hands were balled into fists then 
trembled as if trying to flex. “You remember now. 
It is fitting you would become a rat. Skulking in 
darkness you came to my fortress. While my wife 
and children slept you entered my chambers and 
broke my neck. And for what? For what crime did I commit against your clan?”

Charles tried to move his legs but still the Åelf 
had to drag him. Unable to even stretch out his 
arms he nevertheless tried to shift so that he 
would be pressed against his protector's side. 
Qan-af-årael seemed to anticipate his desire and 
let his still warm arm slip beneath his left 
shoulder and hoist him up. The rat leaned against 
his legs and belly, eyes never leaving Kalevard.

He raided villages and plundered them. He sold 
captives into slavery. What I did was necessary.

Kalevard's voice felt brittle. He seemed to want 
to call forth passion but there was none left in 
his heart. “I was generous. I never kept anything 
for myself when any of my people were cold and 
hungry. I protected them and brought them glory.”

Charles gave his head a little shake. Generous 
with his own people but brutal to anyone else.

Hard, blue eyes fixed on the rat. “I never 
attacked your people or put one to the sword. 
Those few I captured were always returned.”

Ransomed!

“I saw to the needs of all my people. I was a 
just leader. Even our slaves were treated well. I 
gave command that no slave could be beaten more 
than twenty lashes for any offense save murder. 
And for all of that you kill me with my wife and 
children in the next room. Not one hour before I 
had kissed them on their heads when I put them to sleep. Not one hour.”

Charles' thoughts were weary, but he could not 
let this man justify himself. The children of 
villages he raided were sold into slavery and 
never saw their families or homeland again.

Each of these thoughts were offered to his 
protector who accepted them without offering 
judgment. The Åelf continued to steady Charles 
and press him along the path. By the time 
Kalevard towered above them like a giant the 
febrile warmth he felt brought back his ability 
to stand on his own. Charles pulled his cloak so 
tight that the cowl pressed his frozen ears 
against the side of his head. He took his next steps without wavering.

“Pathetic Sondecki rat. What are you doing here 
at all? Will you not even speak against these 
charges? You are nothing but vermin. Now who is 
lord and master whose whims you obey? You are not 
worth crushing beneath my boot.”

The closer they came to Kalevard the shallower 
the snow became. Not that it had snowed less, but 
the lower layers had all condensed into ice. 
Every step pressed it firmer together, and though 
each step became easier to make, each one brought 
the grip of the ice back to his toes. His will, 
battered and sullen, was sufficient only to keep 
moving forward. He did not even bother dwelling on the brigand's words.

“You left my wife and children without a father! 
Do you even know what happened to them? Do you even care?”

His eyes flicked upward at the towering figure. A 
dozen steps more would bring them beneath his 
legs. Already they stood no taller than his 
knees. The ice holding him fast was laced with 
blue as of wintry vines stretching and growing as 
it consumed this man. The lever of snow and ice 
had completely absorbed the man's ankles so that 
his feet were mere smears of color.

Three steps more and Charles found his mind 
wandering back to that brigand's camp high in the 
Darkündlicht peaks. Carved from the walls of the 
mountains in a shallow valley where the sun 
pierced three times a day for two hours each, it 
afforded them ample protection and several easy 
passes from which to descend on the villages 
which clustered on the verdant slopes overlooking 
the Sondesharan desert. It also gave them access 
to the passes southward and into those lands it 
was a simple matter to barter in slaves.

But until Kalevard had wrestled control of the 
brigands they had been an occasional nuisance. 
Under his leadership they had destroyed several 
smaller villages, slaughtering all of the men and 
taking the rest for slaves. Charles well 
remembered that night as he slipped unseen 
through their defenses. Newly made a black the 
task had been given to him by lot; still he had 
not come alone as his friends waited on the 
outskirts in case an alarm would sound. The sound 
of drunken warriors carousing and celebrating 
their victory echoed from their halls. Dogs bayed 
and snapped at each other over meaty bones in the 
streets. A bitter-tasting black smoke rose from 
most every hall and home. Kalevard ruled from the 
largest hall and into that Charles crept, draped 
black in his new robe, confidant of the many 
villages that would be spared with the shattering of the brigand alliance.

Charles yearned to lift his snout and glare in 
defiance at the frozen giant, but could feel no 
impulse to do so. Why waste any more warmth on 
him? He continued walking, noting only the way the ice climbed Kalevard's legs.

“You don't care, do you?” Kalevard asked, his 
voice losing any sense of inflection with each 
word he breathed. Charles and his protector 
stepped between his legs, which were nothing but 
towers of ice that swelled and stretched across 
more and more of his form. The flow of ice 
between his ankles rose beneath them like the 
crest of a wave. “You don't care at all what evil 
you do. You don't care. You don't care, Sondecki.”

Charles narrowed his eyes as he shivered, his 
paws slipping across the ice and his own blood. 
The ancient one steadied him and guided him 
through the arch of ice and leg. They emerged on 
the other side to witness a sky gone dark, gray 
only at the edge above their heads. All else 
seemed to drawn upward into an emptiness that was 
nowhere and everywhere in that midnight vault. 
Charles crouched and held his tail tight.

“You stole my family from me, Sondecki. And you 
say nothing to me. You do not care.” The voice 
did not echo from above, but seemed more remote 
as if Kalevard receded into the void. His words, 
faint, became taut and subsumed by the insistent 
crawling of ice. “You do not care. You belong 
here. Like me.” And then all was still and silent again.


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

Charles Matthias
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