[Mkguild] Divine Travails of Rats - Pars V. Ascensum (k)

[C. Matthias]

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

Pars V: Ascensum

(k)

Saturday, May 12, 708 CR


They emerged from the fissure onto a broad 
terrace. The mountain stretched upward on their 
left and the terrace would upwards against it. To 
his right he could see across the top of the 
forest from a height dwarfing Metamor's tallest 
towers. The sea stretched in every direction and 
sparkled in the radiance of the sun.

The ground was lush with bright, green grass and 
little bushes but nothing taller than the rat's 
knees. Everything around seemed brighter than 
before and Charles flinched, shielding his eyes 
with his free hand as they emerged onto the 
grassy incline. His Master stared ahead with 
fixed determination and confident mien, only 
turning part way to rest a hand on the rat's 
shoulder and offer him an encouraging glance.

The brighter the sun, the deeper the shadow, Núrodur. You are safe with me.

The thought comforted the rat and together the 
two of them continued walking up the ever so 
gentle slope. At first Charles saw nothing other 
than the waves of grass and the small flowering 
bushes mixed in, but soon he noticed that there 
was far more to see on the mountain terrace. 
Emerging from the green sward were statues of 
exquisite craftsmanship, as if they too had been 
grown from the mountain's surface. Charles found 
himself immediately drawn to regard the nearest 
and seemingly largest of the group.

Before them was the image of a woman kneeling 
with her arms open before her as if she were 
accepting some great responsibility. Her face was 
tilted upward, her cheeks without blemish, her 
eyes open and gentle. Her features suggested 
youth but there was also a matronly quality to 
her. From her gaze, her posture, and her bearing, 
it seemed that she was listening and welcoming 
some message. Charles felt he should know her.

His Master did not pause to consider the statues 
and so the rat did not either. He offered each of 
them that they passed a brief appraisal but 
nothing more. All of them seemed to be people in 
positions that suggested they were either 
accepting some task or relinquishing something of 
great worth; and yet they never seemed to regret 
any of what happened. Charles felt dizzy from so 
many images and after counting more than two 
dozen lowered his eyes into the shadow at his 
Master's feet and pushed them from his mind.

But he found no relief there. As they climbed the 
grass gave way to more than just statues. Broad 
stone steps marred the path, each of them carved 
with some scene. Most of them were of people 
engaged in some activity, though he could not 
recall what at first it was that any of them were 
doing. But after a while, as his dark feet 
stepped over the faces, he realized that many of 
them were rulers or fantastic warriors. He saw 
priests praying with their eyes turned upward 
bearing self-satisfied smiles. He saw a man at 
the foot of a tree staring up at the faces of 
other men and women hanging from the tree like 
ripened fruit. Charles tried to find the grass 
again so that he would not have to stare at all 
of those images, but he did not dare step out of 
his Master's shadow again. Even thinking about it 
made his flesh simmer with heat.

After stepping across a depiction of a vast city 
and tower under construction, he lifted his eyes 
and noted that they were no longer alone on that 
vast mountain terrace. Men and women surrounded 
them on all sides, each of them laboring beneath 
the weight of a heavy stone that crushed into 
their backs. The stones were of such variety that 
the darkened rat could only marvel and name the 
names: basalt, granite, chalcedony, marble, 
flint, anthracite, gneiss, jasper, chert, 
limestone, quartz, pumice, and many, many others 
that he'd known from his days of living as stone. 
For a few moments his gaze fixed upon the rocks 
and some deep recess of his being yearned for the 
comfort and stability of mineral and the majesty of the peak.

The weight of each burden could not have been 
born for more than a few minutes by even the 
strongest of men; even some dragons would have 
struggled beneath such boulders. Yet these 
people, both man and woman alike, bore up the 
weight without collapsing. Their steps were slow, 
inching forward up the gentle slope with little 
shifts of each leg; their feet never left the 
ground and yet they left no trail either for the 
grass crushed beneath them sprang back up faster 
than they could move. Their faces were contorted 
in pain but as he watched them it did not seem to 
him that their greatest agony came from the 
stones. All of them had the letter “P” inscribed seven times on their forehead.

Like the people on the plain below, these were 
also dressed in a variety of attire yet each was 
marred but the constant shifting of the stones on 
their back. Garments rich in purple and crimson 
were now smeared brown around their back, threads 
torn loose so that they sagged along their arms 
and legs. Others bore priestly garments that 
tangled around their legs making it impossible 
for them to move, a tangle that they seemed 
reluctant to fix. A few had even torn the shirts 
from their chest, leaving a trail of finery 
dragging behind them. And then were many others 
whose garments were of the meanest sort and yet 
they moved as slowly as the rest.

His Master did not slacken his pace to allow 
Charles any time to study them as individuals and 
as his shadow did not touch any of them the rat 
was forced to note only these details about each 
in their passage. He lost count of how many they 
passed before he realized that every single one 
of them was talking. Their gaze was fixed either 
on the path before them or the ground with its 
grass and stone tablets, and yet each of them 
spoke as if trying to carry on a conversation 
with those around them. But none of them were listening to one another.

Charles inclined his head as they passed to listen.

“I was Pyralian, son of a great Breckarin. My 
father was prefect of the district of Aachen and 
scion of the great Martain family... I do not know if you have heard his name.”

“I am the great Tardini. My name was celebrated 
by all in Marilyth and my manuscripts admired by 
all learned men. Do you not know my work?”

“I have ten children. My eldest son is a knight 
of great renown. My eldest daughter married the 
Baron of Mitok. Stay and let me tell you of my 
other children and their achievements!”

“I commanded a legion of soldiers and won the 
battle of Vasks over the treacherous Hevagn!”

“No man knows the movement of the stars as do I!”

“I worked a miracle that healed a child on the 
verge of death. My name is still sung throughout Lavelock!”

Charles shook his head, unable to bear the words 
he heard, almost wishing that he would see some 
of them collapse beneath the weight that had 
already bent them over. The disgust flared in his 
skin until he felt the grass smoldering beneath his feet.

It is better not to listen to them, Núrodur.

He lifted his head and saw that his Master had 
half turned his face to offer him a thin smile. 
He did not form a question back to his Master, 
but merely opened his mind to his presence.

Each word they speak is pressed from them by the 
weight upon their back. A life-time of such 
thoughts and desires has created those stones and 
now it must be crushed from them. It is not for 
you to know and experience. You cannot add to 
their burden nor can you cause them any suffering 
which they would feel. Stay with me and we will 
soon leave them behind. You walk in their midst 
only as a stranger; a shadow within a shadow.

And it was true. Though they were all human and 
they spoke tongues he understood and in accents 
familiar, even mentioning places he had once 
lived or seen, none of them were familiar to him. 
They were not his concern. They could neither 
help nor impede his steps and so there was no 
reason to pay the slightest heed to them. His 
Master's shadow did not include them and so he turned them from his mind.

It was easier than he had suspected. He focused 
his gaze on his Master's back and followed after 
him up the long sloping terrace. His feet crossed 
over stone and grass and he could feel the 
different textures but he did not glance to see 
what upon what images he trod. His side always 
took in that which passed him on either side and 
so the people with their stones pressing down 
their backs and ruining their clothes continued 
to slip behind him but other than the hue of 
their skin and the type of rock they bore he knew 
nothing more of them. Even when he saw that there 
was a wolf Keeper bearing a granite block he did 
not avert his attention nor listen to what lament 
slipped from his tongue. The question did arise 
only then, that he had not questioned through his 
journey; how did the souls of men, briefly 
changed to the forms of animals or children in 
the duration of their mortality, remain thus 
changed in the realms beyond life. Were Nasoj's 
curses so powerful that they warped the very soul 
as well as the flesh? Was that the reason the 
curse could not be undone – was it a change of 
the soul itself? His thoughts were troubled, 
waiting for word from his Master whom would have 
no answer for that curiosity, wondering only how 
far they must travel on their road before they 
reached his son. The question passed, as fleeting 
as a breath, before Charles' thoughts turned once 
more to the ever-dwindling shadow of his Master, and the goal ahead.

Ladero.

Into that silence his attention was only arrested 
by the faint echo of the melody he'd experienced 
on the plain. It tugged at him and for a moment 
he thought to turn and seek its source out. But 
even as the intention grew within him, something 
else caught his regard. Ahead of them on the path 
was a familiar face bearing up under the weight 
of a few dozen heavy slabs of limestone stacked 
like a monumental deck of cards. His garments, 
once a rich and luxuriant blue, were now sullied 
and torn so that his pasty white flesh was 
visible, preserved from the burning of the sun 
only by the shadow in which he travailed.

To the rat's astonishment, his Master's shadow 
passed over the shambling man, where it had never 
before touched another loitering below or toiling up the endless path.

Yes, Núrodur, I know the thought you wish to 
have. To this one you may speak for a moment. He 
is known to you. But remember, he may not 
understand who you are for the weight upon him is all he truly knows.

Charles did not step ahead to reach the man 
faster, but waited the few seconds until his 
Master stepped along-side him, bringing the rat 
close to this other. His face was lined with 
strain, and his aquiline nose stretched from each 
intake of breath. The seven letters drawn across 
his forehead were twisted under his burden so 
that they seemed to flow with his blood. His eyes 
were lifted to the ground ahead, but his feet 
moved only the width of the rat's finger and then not again.

“Marquis Camille du Tournemire,” Charles 
murmured, his voice almost a hiss as of stone 
grinding together. “How are you here?”

The Marquis's voice seemed to have a bit of fire 
to it as he replied. “I defeated the slaughtering 
hand of the conqueror Handil Sutt in battle, man 
to man alone. I would see the Marzac swamps 
reclaimed from evil. None could best my hand at 
cards; with nothing more than cards I was as much 
a conqueror as Sutt and his legions. I would 
bring an end to famine in my lands and would make 
them as rich as any the world has ever seen!” He 
groaned and for a moment buckled beneath the weight of the stacked limestone.

Charles lifted one arm to steady him but the 
Marquis, despite his burden, managed to avoid his 
touch. “You were wrong,” the rat noted with a 
sigh. “You became evil. You did horrible things. 
This is all the punishment you receive?”

“I did defeat Handil Sutt! I brought peace to 
Western Pyralis! You were there, Sondecki of the 
Black! You were there at my beck and call.”

“And you betrayed us in the end. You destroyed so many...”

“I had such power... such terrible power.”

“With which you tortured us. You murdered my friends before my very eyes.”

“I raised a beautiful son.”

“You abandoned your son for Marzac!”

“I stopped the evil. I kept the card to the 
Magyars from being burned. I tricked him for you, 
Dazheen! I tricked him for you!” Briefly the 
overburdened man's eyes lifted, seemed to focus 
upon Charles if truly aware that he was there. 
“Darkness requires light; I could touch it – a 
little less at a time, but that is where I laid 
one card; in the Light.” His shoulders rose, 
lifting the stack of weighty slabs briefly, and 
then fell. “Where I could not, in the end, touch 
it. But you, the others, ahh, my armies of 
conquest in a handful of painted cards!”

“You brought pain and anguish to my friends. You stole me from my family!”

“Oh Dazheen, only you could touch cards as I 
could. You alone were my joy in the darkness.”

Charles tightened his hands into fists to keep 
himself from clawing at the man. His voice 
deepened and poured a hot wind against the 
Marquis's face. “You murdered my friends and 
countless others! Why are you not burning with 
the rest! Why did I not find you curled like a 
little beast in the blackness of Ba'al domain! You sadistic monster!”

The Marquis did not even look at him, his eyes 
lifting upward along the path, and a tear 
dribbled down his cheek. “Dazheen, I am guilty. I 
am. I was wrong to think I could cure the jungle. I was wrong.”

The stone slab at the top of the stack slid 
backward and crashed into the ground behind them. 
It shattered so thoroughly that not even a 
remnant of dust remained. The Marquis slid one 
foot forward a few inches. His leather boots had 
worn away enough that his curled toes could be 
seen, and these glimmered a pearly white as they 
slipped free of his Master's shadow.

Charles felt a hand rest upon his shoulder and 
the anger he felt at seeing the man who had 
brought him so much pain subsided. He could still 
feel a fire across his flesh, but now it seemed a 
cool flame, one that soothed rather than seared. 
He lowered his arm and tightened his grip on his 
tail as he stepped away from the Marquis. His 
Master sensed his purpose and the two of them 
continued walking, leaving Tournemire forever behind after only a few steps.

This does not accord with your sense of justice, my Núrodur Nuruhuinë?

Is this all he must do, carry a bunch of stones around?

That is no mere collection of pebbles, my 
Núrodur. It is not your choice as to what comes to those who have died.

But he killed you, Master! Do you not wish more for him?

We must each of us fulfill the purpose for which 
we exist, Núrodur. To some more is given than 
others. To you this has been given. That one 
accomplished much of what he had been given but 
not all. His decisions were not always best, and 
his reasons created that stack of stones which 
bear him down even now and will do so for a time 
longer than you can imagine. Yes, he should not 
have had a hand in killing me, but now that we 
have seen him, spoken with him, and stepped past 
him, he is no longer our concern. He plays no 
further part in our paths. Put him now from your 
mind, Núrodur. We must continue.

I will, Master.

The terrace continued its slow spiral around the 
towering mountain that loomed on their left like 
a brilliant white spike piercing the sky. The 
only heed Charles paid to the men and women 
laboring beneath stone was to note their presence 
on either side as they passed. The further they 
walked the fewer in number they seemed to be. The 
swards of grass and the statues that rose up from 
them seemed to become wider and more diverse but 
they never lingered in any spot long enough for 
the rat's interest to be piqued.

His thoughts were still as the moments slipped 
away. The Núrodur's pace matched that of his 
Master's step for step as they climbed. The path 
angled upward but he felt no fatigue for all of 
their exertion. There was nowhere else to go and 
nothing else to do but to follow and wait. His 
son was ahead and his Master guided him to his son. That was all that mattered.

The slope eventually became steep enough that the 
rat had to climb on all fours to make the ascent. 
He tucked his tail through the sash around his 
waist to keep it from slipping out of the shadow 
and then stretched in its depths as they rose the 
last course of the terrace. A vigilant light 
shone ahead and in the midst of the brilliance he 
could discern figures waiting. What few others 
remained on the path with them were burdened by 
mere slivers of river stone though they too crawled like animals.

The hill leveled out only when they reached the 
source of the light. Another being filled with 
eyes and wings in a profusion that was impossible 
to make sense of appeared to guard a narrow 
passage in a sheer face of rock. No other path 
continued the ascent and no gate barred entry, 
but the cleft was so narrow and the ascent so 
steep that none who still bore the heavy stones 
could ever hope to slip through.

An older woman who had finished the climb before 
them presented herself to the being of eyes and a 
gentle brush of its gossamer wing swept across 
her forehead. One of the letters inscribed there 
disappeared as a brush cleaning away a cobweb. 
Her eyes brimmed with joy as she tilted back her 
head and sang. The being joined his voice to hers 
and the rat trembled as the sound washed across 
him like a river flush with rain.


Beati pauperes spiritu...

Beati pauperes spiritu...


The old woman, garbed in rags torn down her back 
from the rock that had once been fixed there, 
folded her hands before her and with head bowed 
stepped into the passage and was lost to sight. 
The song, only three words but repeated with such 
conviction and depth, echoed in his mind for 
several long seconds before they too faded, 
leaving only a memory and a suggestion of 
something deep and lost. Charles rubbed one 
finger across his smooth forehead half-expecting 
to find letters of his own. But he felt only the 
sultry warmth of the soul tar fused with his flesh.

His Master had not slackened his pace once during 
the invocation and so together they strode past 
the being of eyes who regarded them in a way that 
the rat could not even comprehend. The eyes both 
followed them and ignored them. Its wings were 
stretched to welcome others but not them. They 
stepped beyond and to the narrow passage within 
the face of rock. As they passed within its 
confines the last memory of the song that gave him pause was lost.

----------

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

Charles Matthias
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