[Mkguild] Divine Travails of Rats - Pars VI. Acceptio (f)

[C. Matthias]

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

Pars VI: Acceptio

(f)


Wednesday, June 23, 724 CR, Evening


For a moment Baron Matthias lowered his head, 
resting one hand atop his brow, eyes narrowed to 
dark slits as if afraid he would see something 
else should he close them entire. Charlie gnawed 
on his chewstick as he stared in wonder and a bit 
of horror at his father. That the guide's 
intentions were for ill he had suspected almost 
from the start, but the depths to which he had 
pushed the man who'd given him life surpassed all 
but the vilest of dreams he'd witnessed; he could 
count them on a single hand and still have fingers untouched.

How had his father even regained sanity after 
this, let alone gone on to father many more sons 
and daughters and found a noble House?

“I know that look,” the Baron said with a biting 
whisper. “I know it, Son. I've seen that same 
turn of the eye in my looking glass many a 
morning when my dreams bring it all back. How 
could I still be a man... or even a Rat!”

Above them they could hear the sound of many feet 
and a good number of hooves milling about. Some 
of the Keepers were leaving the stands to refresh 
themselves at the many vendors scattered around 
the tourney fields and in Keeptowne proper. 
Others remained to converse with friends and 
family they had not seen in months about the 
spectacle mages and musicians had finished not 
long before. His adoptive father, the Duke, and 
the foreign King were likely among those who were 
taking their leave; they would retire to the Keep 
with family and retinue for one last evening of 
private festivity. Charlie would be expected to join them.

He wouldn't dare leave his father's side now.

“Aye, Father. I want to know.”

Charles lifted his head, ears tilted back. Even 
the horses descended of Rheh lifted their snouts 
to regard the dust settling from the planks 
overhead and the many footfalls. “There is no more time tonight, is there?”

Charlie shook his head and dug his claws into the 
honey-coated chewstick. “Please, Father. Finish 
your tale. I cannot let that nightmare be the 
last thing I hear of your struggle. I cannot let 
you remain... Núrodur Nuruhuinë!”

But his father took a long, deep breath and rose 
from the bale of hay. He stretched out one arm to 
give the nearest horse an affectionate pat along 
the cheek. “Thank you, friend.” In the dim light, 
Charlie thought he saw the dull glint of granite 
just at the sleeve of his father's tunic. The 
moment was brief as the Baron turned toward his 
son and gestured for him to stand. “I will not 
let you miss another night with your friends, 
especially when you have already promised to accompany them this evening.”

“How did you...”

A warm smile crossed his father's cheeks even as 
he tapped one of his ears with a claw. “My days 
of scouting are behind me but I do know how to 
use these still. Now come. Our family is 
returning to the Keep as well. I can tell you the 
rest as we walk. There will be so many others 
celebrating that none will overhear.”

Our family. Charlie found his chest swell with 
sudden anticipation at those two words. He stood 
and stepped swiftly to his father's side. Before 
he knew what he'd done he wrapped an arm about 
the shorter rat's shoulders. “True enough. Now 
tell me, Father, how it was you finally broke 
free.” The horses whinnied and stomped their 
hooves as together they walked from the stables to join the festive throng.

----------

Saturday, May 12, 708 CR


The final cleft began as all that others had with 
layer upon layer of rock rising up on either side 
to frame a sliver of sky overhead. The sky was a 
shimmer of gold and silver as if the clouds were 
reliquaries of light. The light cascaded into the 
fissure so that planes of subtle radiance stacked 
one on another as they ascended. Each new level 
they touched filled him with a more intense 
burning that forced him tighter and tighter 
against his Master's heels. Despite the walls on 
either side the shadow contracted for the first time since they had begun.

Núrodur Nuruhuinë hissed at the light as he 
sizzled beneath its touch. Neither made any noise 
that he could discern, only the sensation of a 
fiery anguish digging ever deeper into his 
substance and his willing an expression of that 
pain were known to him. Like a thousand brands 
his substance was scoured, digging beyond the 
surface and penetrating deep within. He felt 
himself shrinking with each new band of light 
they crossed, and with it he felt something slip away.

A layer of crimson brilliance stretched across 
the fissure and through it his Master climbed. He 
followed, unable to do anything else, and felt 
himself stricken anew. For a moment he could 
still hear the sound of the beast-man's voice as 
he argued with his Master. Confidant in mien and 
yet incomprehensible to him in intent, it had 
persisted with him even as he had seared the life 
from his soul and rendered him less than ash. Yet 
through the light he passed and the fire burning 
deep within him stripped him of that sound.

It is necessary, Núrodur Nuruhuinë. You must be 
purified of all that which is not of the shadow. 
Do not fight it, but allow it to happen.

His Master's presence was immediate, rushing upon 
him as the vanguard of fire. In any direction his 
thoughts and sense turned there he found his 
Master. And with the touch of his Master's 
thoughts came the image of the darkened garden 
again, and the companionship of his son altered 
to be as he was, a creature of his Master's 
shadow. The coolness of the image, the emptiness 
of its expanse, was a respite from the touch of 
light and fire that was his only lot in this place.

And it will persist as long as you hold back that which is not of the shadow.

All of it, Master?

All of it.

They crossed a threshold of vermillion in their 
climb. The fissure walls pressed tight against 
them. The fire delved deeper, searing every 
thought. He tried to recall the shape of the 
beast-man but even conjuring the image filled him 
with an agony that sent him cowering into the 
darkest corner of his mind. There he found the 
solace of the shadowed garden. From a distance as 
vast as his existence, he witnessed the shape of 
the beast-man disperse from his thoughts. A 
sullen disquiet touched him in that recess, but 
he could not quite determine why or what it had 
been he'd even been trying to remember.

Every piece that you hold, Núrodur Nuruhuinë, 
must be relinquished. The Felikaush is gone but 
for his words. Of these too you must be purged for they are not of the shadow.

Uncertain, his thoughts framed words in return. 
But they seem important, Master.

What they are and what they seem are two 
different things. They do not come from my shadow 
and thus they are not to be trusted. Listen to 
me. Obey me, Núrodur Nuruhuinë, as you have sworn to do. Relinquish them.

A thin veneer of sunlight stretched across the 
fissure and through it they passed. The fire 
which had not abated in him delved further. The 
letter that he'd glimpsed in the moment before 
natural flames had consumed it and made it all 
but illegible became incandescent in his mind. He 
recoiled from it as every mote of its memory 
scalded him, pressing him inward. The blinding 
light spread apart, the paper shredding into 
fragments that stretched into a band that 
circumscribed his substance. Everything beyond it 
was lost to him. Everything that touched it was an agony pure without relief.

He yearned to shriek but he could not.

A place entirely draped in my shadow awaits you. Let it go.

There had been words there. Important words.

The ruins of all that would not submit await you. 
A place to be intertwined with your son. The words only distract you.

Master...

I am.

Please...

Let them go.

He curled ever inward, turning his attention into 
the deeper darkness, thoughts seeking the balm of 
the promised shadow-garden. The brilliance 
evaporated though the fire remained just beyond 
its edges. He trembled within the shadow, 
wondering what he had held onto that he'd thought 
so important. There was no answer to the 
question. There couldn't be. Whatever it was had 
been utterly effaced from him. A different question arose: what remained?

Only one image seemed to linger deep within his 
being. A vast hall filled with people of all 
shapes, humans and beast-men in every variety 
though what they were he could no longer name. 
Down the main aisle proceeded two figures, one a 
reptilian beast and the other the rat lady in the 
alabaster-white dress. In her bodice nestled a 
medallion of river smoothed amethyst. Their pace 
was measured, but she seemed to reach his side in 
moments. Words came from her mouth, distant and 
difficult to hear through the roar of flames. She 
offered him a gloved hand which he took. There 
was nothing else not of his Master's shadow.

He sensed a boundary of verdant light. His 
Master's pace seemed to quicken even as the path 
through the fissure grew steeper and tighter. 
They broke the next wall of light so quickly that 
Núrodur Nuruhuinë did not even have time to 
recoil. Another conflagration raged against his 
being. Gaps were torn through the single memory 
he possessed, rending it into scattered moments.

His Master wished him to relinquish them all. His 
Master sought to reunite him with his son. Why 
then did he not wish to let go of this impurity 
as his Master desired? He cast his thoughts 
across each remnant – a brief glimpse of the two 
figures walking down the aisle, scattered faces 
from the gathered throng, the elegant white 
dress, the two gloved hands holding one another, 
the stone of purple, the words, the rodent face 
hidden behind a gossamer veil – before letting one go.

The faces of the many creatures who had gathered 
for the celebration – whatever celebration that 
it was – slipped from his thoughts to be 
incinerated at the periphery of his being. He would have whimpered if he could.

The agony...

It will persist as long as you are impure.

Master... I cannot bear it...

Then you must let go, Núrodur Nuruhuinë. It is the only way.

They continued to climb. There was nothing more 
to be said. He did not even look at anything 
beyond the shadow for there was only light of 
every painful hue. Inscrutable impressions 
crisscrossed the walls of the fissure, and there 
was a verdigris that had been missing before but 
was now too remote for him to ponder. The clouds 
above that he knew must be there were veiled by 
an impenetrable anguish. All that was left to him 
was his Master's thoughts and the recluse of 
shadow and the scattered images of the rat lady.

An azure nimbus bore down upon him. Into it a 
cobalt flame seared throughout. Silent, unable to 
even hiss, the first of the images was snatched 
from his grasp. The twin figures of the rodent 
lady in white and the reptilian beast in red 
scattered to a vapor that slipped free. He felt 
constricted within an ever-narrowing space, the 
shadow dwindling until it was nearly beneath his 
Master's feet. Where was there left for him to turn?

The fissure is nearly at an end, Núrodur 
Nuruhuinë. Your son awaits. You will bring him 
into the shadow and together you will be purified and in my peace forever.

Your shadow, Master. In your shadow.

Yes. In my shadow.

Master...

I am much more than that, Núrodur Nuruhuinë. I 
provide all that you need. My thought will be 
your thought. My will shall be your will.

In your shadow.

Yes.

The fires consuming him seemed a little less when 
he repeated his Master's thoughts. And yet, even 
though the agony was impossible to bear, he kept 
looking back at the images he still held. They 
were paltry and few and all now of a single 
figure, a lady with the appearance of a rat 
garbed in white. Her fur was rich as cream and 
her eyes a deep, dark blue. Her hand held his 
own. His hand gripped hers. She spoke to him but he had no more ears to hear.

To her and her alone he willed a single question 
into being: why do you matter to me?

A layer of indigo light rushed across him and 
with it the dress of alabaster was gone. The 
excruciating pain consumed all that he was. He 
could not even squirm out of its way for it was 
everywhere. The shadow had contracted so that he 
could feel his Master's feet step down upon him. 
There was nowhere left to turn. He had to let go 
of this rat lady or be completely consumed by the flame of light.

Without choice he let slip another shattered 
image. It vanished in a brilliant dazzle of 
winking stars. His awareness turned to the next 
and saw her hand in his and he stopped. The hand 
holding hers was not black, nor was it a furnace 
that scorched the ground with its passage. It did 
not burn all that it touched. And yet he knew 
that it was his hand. How could that be?

She mattered to him. He did not understand how or why, only that she did.

Three images remained of this lady. Their hands 
clasped, her face moving with spoken words 
drowned by the flames, and the stone nestled in 
her bodice that seemed to repeat the words. There 
was nowhere he could turn except inward. He 
pressed the memory down into a single mote, 
shrinking and shrinking them into an 
infinitesimal space at the very center of what 
remained of his being. The flames pressed in on 
him but with each new advance he shrank that 
image, one overlaid atop the other, until they 
were once more safe from his Master's forge.

Through a purple barrier they stepped and the 
flames drove down into the tiny point at the 
bottom of a well stretching infinitely inside. 
The roar consumed all in his mind. He saw nothing 
beyond the shadow in that moment. He heard 
nothing but the searing of every last fiber that 
still had form. He felt nothing but a constant 
misery. And over it all was his Master; powerful, 
dominating, omnipotent, his true lord and master. 
All he was and had been was effaced that he might exist solely for him.

He was Núrodur Nuruhuinë. He was shadow. He was death.

He shrieked.

The flame erupted from his being and lashed out 
in a wave that rushed across the top of the 
fissure and out along the pinnacle of the 
mountain. Lush grass bent in that wave, and the 
branches of trees rattled, leaves rustling in its 
passage. Waters burbling in their passage paused 
for a moment before resuming their course. Even 
the golden clouds filling the sky seemed to tremble.

There was no more pain. His Master's thoughts 
were firm and he felt them shape his thoughts. 
Awareness filled him as he glimpsed all about 
them through his Master's vision. He heard 
through his Master's ears. He felt the air 
against his Master's skin. He could smell the 
sweet fragrance through his Master's nose. Like a shadow should.

His Master stood in a lush garden filled with 
trees burdened by plump fruit pleasing to the 
eye. Little streams meandered through the trees, 
with bright flowers decorating the bank in long 
rows. Grains waved in the wind where the trees 
parted. Vines climbed upward along tall stone 
markers festooned with grapes and olives. Figs, 
pomegranate, apples, oranges, and dates hung from 
branches and filled the air with a heady scent of 
plenty. Grass and moss a vibrant green covered 
every mote of earth so that no dirt could be 
seen. All was lush and vivacious. Birdsong filled the air with melody.

It is now time to claim your son.


----------

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

Charles Matthias
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