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

[C. Matthias]

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

Pars V: Ascensum

(n)

Saturday, May 12, 708 CR


When they passed beyond the cleft Charles could 
see another path of stone climbing up along the 
mountain. The air was clear again and the sun 
shone bright. But when he tried to open his eyes 
he saw nothing but darkness. The ash had scoured him blind.

Master! I cannot see!

Be not afraid, Núrodur. The injury is not serious 
and will be healed. For now, feel through which 
you abide and trust in what I show you.

Charles tightened his grip on his Master's cloak 
and let his eyelids droop closed. Through his 
Master's gaze he could see the new terrace upon 
which they stood. The stone path stretched a good 
dozen paces from the side of the mountain to an 
abrupt edge overlooking the cliff down. On every 
side he could see and feel the rush of people as 
they darted to and fro. Some ran up the path and 
others ran down. Some would run toward the edge 
and then bank at the last moment only to bounce 
back off the mountain face to do it again. Not a 
one of them paused in their running to even try to catch their breath.

In the chaotic mix his Master stepped and Charles 
followed. The angle of the path was not steep but 
he could tell that they were climbing upward. 
Each step required him to lift his foot just a 
little from the pool of shadow beneath him. And 
despite the fact they walked in the middle of the 
path, not a single one of the souls running 
rampant about them came close enough to step in 
that shadow. Charles could feel the reverberation 
of their pounding steps but of them he could not 
catch more than a brief glimpse.

Into his mind he saw a beautiful woman with 
determined gaze traveling through a hilly 
country. But the image slipped away from him before he could study it more.

The pounding of feet on rock was so loud that it 
took Charles a moment to realize that not only 
was everyone running about but that they were 
also shouting as they ran. Their voices were 
clear and overlapping. Not a one of them sounded 
fatigued from their ceaseless activity. But their 
passage was so quick he only caught snatched of what any of them had to say.

“I lingered too long when my friends were in need.”

“Why go today when we can tomorrow?”

“I should have acted! I should have...”

“The Mother acted in haste.”

“Why do anything? It never works...”

“Pelain did not hesitate at the mountain!”

“Loose the arrow! Loose the arrow!”

“To sleep and to dream! What else have I done!”

“Benedicta tu inter mulieres et benedictus fructus ventris tui!”

Charles wished he could shut the voices out but 
no matter how he turned his head over covered his 
already folded ears their voices continued to 
intrude. What was worse was that he heard many of 
them speaking in languages he neither knew nor 
recalled ever hearing before. Their voices 
especially came to him as if taunting him to understand.

He also attempted to swipe his arms at any of the 
people running past, but as he could only see 
through his Master's eyes he never even came 
close to anyone. His hands constantly snatched at 
empty air. He felt like a caged beast on a cart 
swiping its paw through the bars at any who passed by or stopped to gawk.

The only thing he could touch was the shadow at 
his feet. After several minutes of flailing his 
arms like a fool he let them fall to his side and 
drag along the ground. Around him he sensed the 
running and cavorting of the souls no matter 
which direction they went. He could feel his 
Master's feet stepping one after the other. They 
were measured and unhurried and yet their pace 
was a challenge to match. The shadow stretched 
and shifted with each step, covering this rock 
and then that, moving forward to meet his feet 
and then sliding to one side and then the other 
as the rocks shifted their angle from the sun.

Charles could feel the cool of the rock and the 
warmth of the sun that had touched them as the 
shadow passed over each. Little snatches of grass 
that clung to the mountain that had yet to be 
trampled underfoot by the souls in their zealous 
rush, bent beneath the flow of shade as if it 
were not merely a lack of light but a tangible 
film of its own. He marveled at the sensations 
and in that astonishment for the first time since 
he had heard the stomping of the runners was no 
longer distracted by their cacophony.

He felt a strange elation at knowing where his 
Master stepped without having to hold onto his 
cloak. He lifted his arms for a moment before 
crouching down and putting them on the ground 
too. He followed after on all fours, submersing 
as much of himself in the cool shade as he could. 
For the first time since entering the gate he 
felt the heat in his flesh abate. He did not even 
need to see with his Master's eyes and let the 
vision there fade until it was a mere glimmer of 
light. But it was always there as his Master was always there.

Núrodur Nuruhuinë.

I am.

Núrodur Nuruhuinë.

I am, Master.

He sensed a hesitation then in the presence about 
him, as if a question were being asked that he 
could never be privy to. And then he felt a 
moment of solitude as the hesitation and with it 
his Master's focus left him. Their pace quickened 
up the side of the mountain and the rat scampered 
after as low to the ground as he could.

Though he did not hear the voices of everyone 
shouting around him anymore, he still felt the 
thumping of their feet on the rock. But even that 
was a pleasant thrumming like a gentle massage 
after a weary day of labor. To this he allowed 
his thoughts to wander even as he felt through 
the shadow, pushing it to reach out to those many feet.

In the sound he surprised himself to hear a 
pattern begin to emerge like a ship from fog. 
There was a meter and a rhythm that repeated over 
and over again, gaining in strength and clarity. 
And as the rat twisted his head back and forth in 
time to the beat, he heard something more within 
it. Not only was there a beat but there was also 
a melody. As the individual notes blended 
together into both song and harmony, Charles felt 
burdened by a great sadness. It spoke of loss, a 
loss he himself felt. But it was not the son that 
was lost. Charles turned his head toward the edge 
of the path and the sea below that he might better hear it.

Behold, Núrodur. We approach one that you once knew.

Charles stood from the shadow and, with one last 
blind glance toward the edge of the cliff, let 
his focus return to the window of light he 
received from his Master's vision. The path 
swelled into view and the sun's illumination gave 
it warmth and color. His attention quickly found 
the one of whom his Master spoke. Running in a 
circle and chasing his own black-and-white 
striped tail was the Weathermonger Yonson. Even 
in death he retained the shape of the lemur that 
he'd born for but a single year of his life.

Yonson's golden eyes were wide disc as large as 
plates and his arms stretched outward to grasp at 
the end of his tail as he dashed in an ever 
tightening circle. How he did not fall down from 
dizziness the rat could not imagine. Upon his 
brow the letter “P” was inscribed four time and 
like the rest he shouted with every breath in his 
lungs. Curious, Charles listened to what words came from his short snout.

“I did not do enough! I thought I was clever but 
I was frightened! I did not do enough! I thought 
I was clever but I was frightened! I did not do 
enough! I thought I was clever but I was frightened! I did not do enough!”

On and on he continued repeating those same 
words. Charles opened his mouth to interject, but 
then shook his head and dropped back to all fours.

He will not hear me anyway, Master.

No he will not. Very good, Núrodur. You have learned.

Yonson ran a circle about them without ever 
touching them, his paws dancing through the 
shadow for a moment before they left him behind. 
The rat sank back into shadow and remained there 
trailing obediently after his Master.

He was not sure how long it was that they walked 
before they reached the top of the terrace. He 
shrank as far into the shadow as he was able as 
they stepped past the being of eyes and wings. 
Though he could only see him through his Master's 
vision, he felt as a bit of parchment shriveling 
as it was consumed by flame in its presence. He 
hissed and seethed as they entered the fissure, 
until his Master's voice touched his mind once again.

You have done well to come this far, Núrodur. 
Three terraces more await us. And then we shall have your son.

Charles scraped his claws against the stone, 
searing it as he did, eager to finish the journey 
at long last. As they climbed through the fissure 
he pondered what his boy looked like, trying to 
remember every detail of his little Ladero. His 
fur had been dark on his head and down his 
shoulders as if he wore a black cloak and hood. 
His chest and arms had been covered in white fur 
and his claws were the same. He had dark eyes 
like all his other children, but alone of all of 
them his seemed brighter than the soft, black fur 
around them. His tail had been a piebald mix of 
both as if at the last he couldn't decide which color he preferred.

He felt a small smile grace his snout as he 
recalled the sound of his son's voice. He had not 
even been two months old when Charles had been 
forced to leave his family behind at the Glen, 
and so he had no words to offer his father. But 
each of his children had already learned to 
squeak and those squeaks were as unique as their 
fur. Ladero's had been pitched high, but with a 
little curl at the end as if he were going to dip 
into song. Charles yearned to hear it again.

----------

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

Charles Matthias
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