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

[C. Matthias]

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

Pars IV: Infernus

(m)

Saturday, May 12, 708 CR

Charles shuddered, and felt anew the cold sweep 
over him. There was no sensation in his legs 
anymore. His whiskers felt brittle and every 
intake of breath sent a lance of steely ice into 
the middle of his head. His chest shifted only to 
breathe. The trembling of his heart barely 
disturbed any of the muscles that held it in 
place. The plain before him, suffused white and 
gray, seemed to faintly shimmer with blue nimbus. 
Motes of some electric blue dust dotted the sheet 
of ice that pressed them upwards into the empty abyss.

The final words did not haunt so much as present 
themselves as uncaring signs placed aeons ago to 
inform travelers. He did not care. He belonged 
here. Could they be true? Didn't he care?

His heart tried to stir some concern, but it was 
stilled by a cold so deep even the relative 
warmth of his Åelf guide felt painful to him. The 
rat let his mind work instead, reviewing memories 
to see if there had been a time when he had 
cared. He thought on killing Kavelard. The man 
had been dressed in the same red cloak he'd born 
beneath the chrysalis of ice. He'd stood at a 
window with a cool mountain breeze drifting 
through and lofting away the smoke from the pipe 
clutched between his teeth. Charles slipped 
within from a different window, sliding through 
the shadows, hands outstretched to end the 
menace. It would not be the first time he had 
killed, for he had fought in battles many times. 
But it was the first man he'd killed because justice demanded it.

Even as the Sondeck surged in his flesh, he heard 
one of the children give out a sullen cry, that 
of a bad dream disturbing their slumber. Kalevard 
turned to the sound and caught sight of him. 
Charles had rushed, grappled him about the neck 
to silence him. The pipe bounced off his arm, hot 
ash burning his robe. The man's fiery blue eyes 
burned in anger as Charles' fingers tangled 
briefly in his beard before reaching their goal. 
A twist and a thrust of his power and it was done.

The child still cried even as Charles draped the 
brigand's body across the floor and smothered the 
last of the ashes beneath the man's red cloak. 
The complaint fell silent by the time the 
Sondecki slipped without sound from the hall. He 
trembled the entire way back. His fellow 
Sondeckis plied him with strong wine on their return home.

A miserable sadness enveloped him as the sound of 
the child's cry returned to him. How many nights 
had he woken hearing that cry again and again 
before the rigors of the Sondecki life and the 
presence of his Calm brought him a sense of peace 
again? Had he even confessed it? Did it matter?

He pushed himself onward even as he continued to 
crouch. Before him he could see the ice shimmer 
with his own image reflected. The visage was 
distorted so that his eyes appeared to be closed 
peacefully. He blinked and gazed into that 
reflection, bloodied paws stepping, slipping, and 
stepping again. His hands were clasped before him 
in the quiet repose of prayer. The ice was cold, 
but it was all that there was in this place. 
Nothing else mattered. He had no will anymore to 
be anything else. Stillness was all that was left.

Stone may be still but there was striving and 
power within it. There was desire. There was 
purpose. Even as stone Charles had been able to 
love his family and protect his friends. He 
yearned for them. Now, trying to dwell on them 
did nothing. He could imagine his wife's face, 
her whiskers and snout, her delicate ears, soft 
paws, and all the faces of his children, 
especially Ladero his Sondecki son. But each was veiled to him, encased in ice.

Ice did not feel.

Ice did not care.

Ice had no will to even move.

Charles felt nothing, could desire nothing, could will nothing but ice.

The image distorted as the ice in front of him 
shifted aside, revealing an inviting cavity into 
which he could descend. Charles moved one leg 
before the other, stepping into the depression. 
The cavern of ice rose up around him, smooth and 
numbing. He felt nothing as it slid up across his 
legs, tail, and back. His arms lowered before 
him, dipping into the substance and not 
returning, held fast forever. His eye lids 
drooped and his heart slowed, the smoking wick quenched in the embrace.

A thunderclap struck and sundered the world 
around him. Charles blinked and trembled as a 
wash of something intolerable shattered his tomb 
and drove every touch of numbness from him. His 
eyes dashed open, and into view stepped a blaze 
of yellow light. Before him towered the Åelf, 
aflame with silvery black hair and ears drawn to 
sharp points. His simple white garment with its 
wide sleeves and skirt with undulating hem were 
as burnished bronze. The eyes he knew were golden 
erupted in a fiery blue, the same blue of a clear 
day's sky. Ageless skin showered him with a grace 
that pierced the ice wrapped about his heart and 
for a moment he fell to his knees.

And then, the painful sensation became pleasant. 
It had a name. Warmth. That warmth suffused him 
until he felt his heart beating in his chest and 
the numbness and pain in all his limbs were 
driven away. He curled and uncurled his fingers 
and even let his tail slip from around his middle 
and lay across his paws stretched behind him. The 
white encrusting his snout and whiskers melted 
away as the fiery light bathed him in its radiance.

You must keep moving, Charles. Come. She will have seen that.

Charles breathed heavily for a moment, as 
Qan-af-årael's countenance returned to normal. 
His white hair and golden eyes glimmered in the 
fading light. The rat stared in awe as he savored 
his breath, then climbed to his paws, stretching 
his toes gratefully. He glanced at each leg and 
saw that his wounds were healed. He let out one 
last gust of breath and started walking again. 
His thoughts roved to the presence within his mind.

I almost died there.

You almost did. Kalevard spat the last of his 
warmth to induce you to waste your own. You 
should not have listened to anything he said.

The air about him already felt cold again; he 
pulled his tail back beneath his cloak and pulled 
it taut. His breath misted and froze. I had not 
thought on him or any other I killed as a 
Sondecki in a long time. Seeing him and hearing 
him... I forgot what you said. I will not forget again.

Qan-af-årael's presence felt comforting, as if he 
were smiling. There was a residue of warmth still 
in that voice. I know you will not. It is too 
dangerous now to do otherwise. Behold, the Wastelands of Kilyarnie.

Charles lifted his gaze and felt as if the ice 
were clutching his chest again. Before them 
stretched a circular plain that rose upward like 
the top of a dome. The sky was gone and only 
blackness remained where once it persisted. The 
ground was lathered with a crystal blue dust atop 
the thick ice beneath. Strange deformations in 
the dust suggested a vast shape entombed within. 
The dust did not glimmer and nothing within that wasteland moved.

Charles could not will himself forward, though 
his heart beat faster in his chest. What is that dust? It seems inhospitable.

The response was almost laconic. It is the very 
air frozen and fallen. Even with my protection 
you will not survive more than a few minutes 
within this place. This is the abode of the 
mistress of this land. All warmth has been driven 
from here. Our presence will be despised. It is 
certainly known. We must reach the bridge with incredible haste.

Anxious, he cast his thoughts back. Do you know where the bridge is?

I do. I can move with great speed through this 
place, but it is best for you if I carry you. Not 
as you are, but in your animal guise. I will 
cloak you next to my chest, and bury you within 
your garments to keep the bitterness of the void 
at bay for a minute or two longer.

Charles nodded, eyes the blue crystals ahead of 
them warily. The very air itself frozen and 
fallen? How cold must that be? Even in the far 
north where the snows departed the air was always air!

He ground his molars together and, still fully 
clad, imagined himself in his animal form. His 
clothes shifted about as he shrank in stature, 
thumbs withdrawing, back arching, hips 
thickening, thighs and arms shrinking, neck 
swelling until it and his shoulders were 
indistinguishable. Charles collapsed in on his 
clothes, trapped within one of the legs of his 
breeches which fell to the ice with a whump. He 
gasped for breath, and then shut his snout right 
away. There was a little warmth left in his 
clothing, but the frigid air had already crept within.

He curled up tail to nose where he was and felt 
something lifting him and his gear. He could not 
see through the fabric, and remembering the void, 
was grateful for it. Hands felt around the 
clothes until they had encircled him, and then he 
was pressed into something tight. He could feel 
warmth exuding along his back and leaned into it, 
little forepaws gripping the cloth in front of 
him as if he could keep himself in place.

Qan-af-årael's voice felt even more massive 
before, as if Charles' mental proportions had 
shrunk with his body. Do not move and make no 
noise. I only need one thing more from you before 
we enter Kilyarnie. I must accompany you through 
the bridge; it cannot be forced. Will you step across it?

The answer was obvious. I will.

The presence did not leave, but loomed over him, 
its attention briefly split between him and the 
greater goal. Charles settled where he was, 
comfortable as a normal rat, though even in the 
warmth of his protector's vest he could still 
feel the edge of ice stabbing him. He pressed his 
head against the Åelf's chest and for a moment 
felt surprise when he heard no heart beat. Then he recalled why.

Nothing else in this realm was alive save for him.

Charles felt a jerk and then heard a sizzling 
scream resound from every side. He pressed his 
face into the enclosing clothes as a hideous 
chill penetrated within. His paws scraped over 
his head to try and keep the horrible screaming 
out but the noise only grew louder and more 
strident. He felt mists rushing up through the 
garments wrapped around him, each so cold that he 
felt his skin cracking and ice coating his fur. 
He kicked and scrambled against it., burrowing himself against his protector.

He had no sense of time in any of the places they 
had endured, but here the screaming and the chill 
beyond anything he had felt before were only the 
beginning of his agonies. His lungs strained to 
scoop even a thimble of air, and his eyes and 
chest were imbued with a fire that burned every 
mote. He tried to keep them shut, and tried to 
keep his nose from sucking at air that was not 
there. All that was around him beyond the clothes 
was void. There was nothing to breathe.

His head felt like termites were chewing their 
way out through his skull. His eyes pressed 
against the sockets, shifting about and pushing 
outward so that he could not keep them closed. He 
felt blood trickling from his jaw, from around 
his eyes, and out of his ears. He thrashed and 
gasped, sucking against the frozen mist that 
flashed against his splintered paws and tail. 
Cold iron raced across his tongue and all he 
could do was claw and claw and claw at the 
clothes beneath him where the slightest taste of 
air, colder than the bitterest ice, brought relief from the void above.

The screaming came to a stop with a thunderclap 
and he felt jostled in his little cave. The 
emptiness continued to make his entire body spasm 
and blood flow. He hacked and trembled, mouth 
opening to swallow breaths that would not come. 
His blood froze to his fur. He stared into a 
darkness that deepened. He couldn't even conceive of trying to grow again.

And then a gentle hand reached up and touched him 
behind his ears. A sweet warmth radiated through 
him and he felt something powerful peer into his 
mind. Benevolence and majesty. He trembled, but 
lifted his snout, sniffing and trembling his 
whiskers, curious to know. A rush of air filled 
his lungs. A sinuous light danced into his eyes.

The bridge is open.

The words meant nothing to him at first, but the 
presence remained, certain and inviting. He would 
listen to the presence and obey. The bridge to 
beyond. The way was clear. The path was before 
him. He had to take the first step.

Charles climbed out of the cocoon of clothes, 
still fully a rat, and marveled at what he saw. 
In a wide circle the blue dust had evaporated 
into a sultry cone of brilliant azure. Beneath 
them the ice had parted, and a sibilant light 
outlined the suggestion of a portal. In the 
distance amongst the void grew a blue light, the 
only thing he could see that struck him with menace.

She is coming swift. Go now.

Charles climbed onto Qan-af-årael's hand, perched 
on all fours, and leaped. The oasis rushed above 
him as he tumbled tail over toes. He fell 
headfirst into the portal and a welcome blackness swept over him.

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

Charles Matthias
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