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

[C. Matthias]

---------

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

Pars IV: Infernus

(w)

Saturday, May 12, 708 CR


The rat landed on his hands and rolled to his 
haunches, tail sweeping out around him before 
bending against his flank when the tip struck the 
invisible boundary. His master stepped through 
the gap between worlds behind him, long fingers 
brushing across the tip of the rat's tail as they 
let go. Still he felt the warmth of the Åelf's 
presence within his mind and it helped sooth his 
trembling heart. The sight of Baldwin's body 
chopped and chewed dwindled in his thoughts until 
all he could see was the black coating his arms.

 From just above his elbows all the way down to 
the tip of each narrow claw there was no hue to 
be glimpsed. The pink flesh of his hands was 
obscured by the darkness wrenched from the 
condor's spirit. The brown fur that covered his 
arms had been swallowed by the tar so seamlessly 
that it no longer appeared he had fur beneath the 
black. He flexed his fingers, turned over his 
arms, and apart from the lack of fur could feel 
nothing different. He rubbed his hands over his 
arms and felt a smooth texture to rival silk and 
a warmth therein greater than his flesh.

Will it come off? Why speak with his tongue when 
his master knew all of his thoughts already?

When you wake from the dream and your spirit 
rejoins your mortal flesh, Núrodur. Nothing of 
your mortal flesh has been harmed.

The rat twitched his whiskers and then grimaced 
as he stood. Flecks of the tar had struck his 
chest and snout as well, and as he moved he could 
feel them with the fur surrounding them. He 
lifted one hand and found a spot beneath his 
chin, another streak along his left cheek, and 
even a splotch on the inside of his right ear. 
His shoulders and upper chest had been peppered 
with dollops no larger than one of his claws, but 
those dollops had burned through his tunic, 
leaving little holes in the cloth where they had struck.

His dark eyes narrowed at the gray span of stone 
stretching to an infinitesimal point before him. 
There is only one more, Master?

Only one more, Núrodur, and then we reach Beyond.

Charles ground his molars together, wrapped one 
tar blackened hand about the middle of his 
Sondeshike, and strode forward. With a flick of 
his wrist he extended the staff, the brass 
ferrules glimmering in the sullen shadow of the 
bridge. He felt his master's presence following 
close behind, his thoughts touching his mind so 
tenderly that for a moment the rat felt certain 
he could see his own back, with scalloped ears, 
brown fur, red vest and beige tunic, long, scaled 
tail, and crook-shanked legs in a way no mirror had ever shown him.

The bridge narrowed as it always had. He did not 
hesitate; he anticipated the moment and lifted 
the staff before him as he crossed the threshold.

Charles recoiled as he saw his hands wrapped 
about a long stiletto. Before him laying in an 
exquisite canopied bed were Lord and Lady Avery. 
He thrust the stiletto into their necks, blood 
gushing everywhere as they writhed for but 
moments. He stabbed and stabbed until the entire 
bedchamber was one large crimson stain.

And then he was standing next to a cistern. His 
donkey friend James was at his side, drawing out 
water with a ladle. His hands grabbed the donkey 
about the shoulders and shoved his head into the 
cistern. The equine thrashed and kicked with 
hooves, but Charles pressed him firmly down, 
ignoring every blow he was able to land. The 
struggles weakened after several seconds; after 
several more they ceased all together.

Charles laughed as he swung a massive blade back 
and forth, chasing down Lutins as they fled 
before him. The village around him burned and 
screams were everywhere. He lifted mailed boots 
and savored the crunch of bones as wailing Lutin 
children fell beneath him. Their backs bent and 
broke beneath his boots, and their heads bounced 
from the tip of his blade. Even the shaman's 
lithe, ghost white hound shrank away from him in 
fear before he cornered it and crushed its skull 
bodily with his gauntleted fists.

He gasped as the images bombarding him were 
thrust away, and the presence of his master and 
guardian swelled within him. Piercing stabs of 
hate, malevolent cries, inordinate pleasure in 
pain, and all other manner of evil breached the 
wall for mere moments, and the rat could only 
flinch from them, trying to find his center, 
vainly seeking a calm that could never be in this 
place. He was dimly aware that he collapsed and 
that hands, but not his own, kept him from 
bashing his skull against the ground.

Focus, Núrodur! I am here! Focus!

The words penetrated and for a moment shut out 
the din of crying voices in numbers beyond 
counting pressing aginst him to show him the sins 
committed by the owner of each tortured voice. 
The cacophany crashed against him with the 
relentless force of a flash flood overtaking a 
cricket. He was deaf with them, but for the 
powerful, singular voice within his mind that 
muffled them finally to silence and bulwarked 
sanity until he could grasp it once more. Charles 
blinked and for a moment could see, though there 
appeared to be nothing to see. He breathed, 
looked upward, and saw the Åelf shrouded with a 
nimbus of light, darkened by everything else. 
Shadow stretched from hm and in this the rat 
huddled. In every other direction a blackness 
deeper than death cloaked a world barren, flat, 
and utterly freakish. Pale embers limned bodies 
strewn in every direction. Their forms did not 
move, locked forever within their own minds, 
sharing with one another their foulest misdeeds 
until any smidgen of decency was eradicated.

Listen to my voice. See me all around you. They 
have no hold on you. You have sworn yourself to me, Núrodur.

Charles listened, and swallowed. He felt strength 
return to his legs and carefully eased himself 
up. His hands rested in the Åelf's own, the 
Sondeshike pressed between them. Within his mind 
he felt the Åelf surround him, his presence a 
barrier against the evil. Like a watchman at the 
gate, Charles sensed his mind enclosed within his master's gentle grasp.

I in you. And you in me, Núrodur.

He thought nothing for long seconds as he took 
several deep breaths. The air felt thin, but it 
did not choke him as the red dust had, nor did it 
gag him as the ice of Kilyarnie had. It was not 
the physical that was impossible to endure here, 
so, apart from the near absence of any light that 
made it difficult for even his rodent eyes to 
see, he felt no discomfort of any kind. Each 
breath with his mind free to think brought back a 
measure of strength and composure.

The jarring images still came, but they were mere 
wisps, and none lasted long enough to unfold 
their evil. The mere memory of the few he had 
glimpsed on his arrival was enough to make him 
yearn to vomit, but what had he consumed in the 
countless ages he had spent battling his way 
deeper and deeper into the hells apart from the 
vicissitude of the unlamented Loriod? Another 
emotion sprang forward in his heart as his spirit 
reclined in his master's protection – 
indignation. How many souls here now in the taste 
of death still sampled the evil deeds for which 
they had been damned and felt no sting of 
remorse? How many took pleasure in endlessly reviewing their crimes?

Where was the contrition? Where was the justice?

Contrition? There was a sadness to that thought 
that only vivified the rat's sense of disquiet. 
In this place there will be none. Justice? Is it 
not enough that they are here? What more would you do?

Charles closed his eyes for a moment as he 
finally stood to his full height. When he opened 
them he gazed upward into the face of the Åelf. 
Ageless and filled with a grace beyond words, it 
alone of all things was limned by a white light. 
His flesh seemed darkened like all else, but the 
radiance was still there, merely inverted as if 
true colors refused to be shown. His lips offered 
a twinge of a smile, and his eyes provoked a sense of urgency.

Where must we go?

Nowhere. Our arrival in this realm was expected. 
Even now, the Lord of all Daedra sends his 
champion to meet us and bring us. We need only wait for his arrival.

Alarmed, Charles lifted his ears and flicked his 
eyes to either side. In the perpetual moonless, 
starless midnight of a burned-out world there was 
nothing to see. Not even a glimmer or shuffling 
of shadows to suggest that anything even moved in 
this place let alone approached. In his fear an 
image slipped through the walls of his master's 
presence and he saw for a split second a young 
hooded rat-child gazing up at him in fear, while 
his darkened arms grasped the boy's shoulders.

A shifting of the presence within him silenced 
the vision. Charles breathed a sigh of relief, 
and then focused his thoughts. Do we want to 
wait? Surely this champion will try to bring us harm!

The champion will only do as his master bids and 
no more. I sense the Lord of Daedra's purpose in 
this. He waits at the door to make his bid for 
your soul. We must brace him one way or another 
if we are to reach Beyond and reclaim your son 
Ladero. It is simpler and brings less anguish to 
you if we wait for the champion.

What will the Lord of Daedra do?

The Åelf gazed down at him and then stretched out 
one hand, fingers running across the back of the 
rat's head and ears as one might pet a beloved dog. He will tempt you.

Charles felt the fire of indignation return. 
Tempt me? Have they not already tempted me? 
Klepnos with false visions! Revonos with the 
glory of battle unending and the veneer of my own 
life? Suspira with the satiation of any desire I 
could possess! Even Agemnos offered me riches and power! I spurned them all!

The fire in you is good, Núrodur. The Åelf 
counseled as he let his hand rest on the rat's 
shoulders. But do not trust in your own strength. 
Had not the Beast of Revonos recognized your 
allegiance you too would be a collared beast 
entertaining in the pits. Had not I arrived and 
provided a doppelganger, you would have bent the 
knee to Suspira. The Lord of the Daedra is 
stronger and viler than them all. He will strike 
you where you are weakest. Do not listen to him.

I won't. The anger in his thoughts covered a 
quivering fear. Could, after all the anguish of 
the hells, he actually falter mere steps from his goal?

As if in reply he saw his son again, now 
apparently five or six years in age, a child 
beautiful with black fur covering his head and 
down his back and with a white underbelly, 
struggling to get away from grasping hands that 
held him tight. Charles flinched at the image, 
his head turning from side to side as if 
expecting to see the damned whose yearnings pierced his master's veil.

But neither his eyes, nor his ears, nor even his 
whiskers spoke to him of any sign of the beast 
whose thoughts had reached through the Åelf's 
barrier to quicken his gorge. Frustrated, Charles 
turned the Sondeshike over in his hands. The 
familiar motion was a comfort even if his ears 
turned forward in surprise when the whirling 
blade made no whistle through the air. Was there 
even any air for him to breathe? How much of what 
he saw was merely a vision for his mind?

A warmth touched his heart and for a moment the 
bleak eternal night of the hell was no longer 
before him. He could smell the pine needles 
littering the forest floor and the fragrance of 
Spring blossoms drifting in the air. He felt the 
warmth of the sun filtering through the trees and 
basked in the soft susurrus of a gentle breeze 
rustling fresh leaves. A soft hand touched his 
shoulder, and he felt whiskers brushing against 
his cheek fur. He half turned his head; another 
rat with soft green eyes and light tan fur gazed 
at him. His wife, Kimberly. Her muzzle opened, 
and on her tongue he saw a song spring forth. His 
ears turned to hear but it was so faint that not 
even the contour of notes reached him.

A profound sadness struck him in that wordless 
melody. It was both call and plea though for what 
he could not discern. To that tune he placed 
words of his own. Eli, help me to hear. Help me hear the one I love.

But Kimberly closed her mouth, placed her hand 
over the purple stone at her heart, and stepped 
backward into the trees. Charles stretched out 
his arm even as shadows closed over her form. Her 
green eyes met him, vibrant as jade, a wordless 
promise within, and then they too disappeared. 
The forest with all its scents and sounds, faded 
into black. In its place he saw his son again. 
The boy screamed and squirmed, tail lashing, head 
whipping form side to side, little claws digging 
at the arms holding him down. Charles thrust his 
own head side to side to escape the vision. One 
hand clasped Ladero by the neck as the other roved down.

The Åelf pushed his shoulder, jarring him from 
the vision. Charles snarled, swiping the 
Sondeshike into the darkness, incisors grinding 
together deep and painful. Only one thought filled his mind. Where is he?

His master understood. The one whose sin you see? He is not far.

Master, take me to him.

For a moment he feared that his master would 
refuse him this, but after a second of quiet 
regard, the Åelf nodded and gently turned the rat 
by his shoulder. The long-fingered hand, once 
pearl gray but now a dark silhouette like 
everything in the realm, remained on his shoulder. Ware your step, Núrodur.

Charles walked forward, gripping the Sondeshike 
with both hands. The metal felt malleable beneath 
his tar-coated hands. The ground beneath his paws 
crumbled like hardened dirt with each step. 
Beneath him he could see the outlines of human 
and semi-human shapes. Several lay in his path; 
he stepped over them being careful not to touch 
them. The bodies did not move and as his eyes 
traced their contours he wondered if they were 
even capable of movement. A presentiment assured 
him that to even brush their form with his claws 
would join their thoughts to his regardless of 
the barrier his master had erected. He moved 
slowly, determined to touch none of them.

His steps proved true. But as he walked images 
continued to jab him. Always it was of a rat 
Keeper as he imaged one of six or seven years to 
be. Most of the time the rat was hooded like his 
lost Ladero. Other times the fur patterns 
resembled his other two sons, little Charles and 
Erick. Always one of these three, and each time 
they were struggling in vain, for the arms that 
always seemed to be his own over-powered them. 
Each vision lasted but a moment but even so short 
a time was enough to steel him. His fingers 
tightened their grip on the Sondeshike. The fiery 
warmth in the tar seemed to glow a red deeper 
than the blackest crimson. No muscle moved in his 
face; fixed and set the rat had become on the 
direction his master had pointed him.

And then the hand on his shoulder drew him short. 
Charles did not blink, but listened for the 
presence in his mind to speak. The one you seek is at your feet, Núrodur.

Charles glanced downward and even though there 
was no light to illumine features, he recognized 
the outline limned with the faintest effulgence 
from the smoldering tar on the rat's arms. The 
man beneath him bore no clothes to mark the rank 
he'd once possessed in life. Nothing remained but 
for his handsome features locked in perpetual 
gloom. This man who had been servant to Nasoj, 
Suspira and Lilith but had betrayed them all for 
his own ends, now locked in constant reenactment 
of his disgusting predilections, this man who had 
once gutted a wolf Keeper and smeared himself 
with his body fat to survive the cold, this man 
who had led the Long Scouts into a trap that had 
nearly cost them their lives, this man who had 
brutally murdered thousands of innocents without 
the slightest twinge of conscience was now immobile at the rat's feet.

Baron Garadan Calephas.

For all this I now give you my justice.

If the man heard his voice there was no 
indication of it. No slight twitch of his body 
showed that he was aware of the rat's presence at 
all. Charles lifted the Sondeshike above him and 
then drove it downward into the body. The form 
collapsed beneath him and sporadic images of 
agony, murder, and other sins he refused to give 
name to flickered like a storm bolt through his 
mind. Charles smashed the ferrules down again and 
again and again. Each strike brought fresh 
images, of sins that had long ago passed beyond 
counting, all committed or directed by the dark 
figure before him. He felt splatter across his 
legs and arms, sizzling against his flesh as the 
tar had already done. The outline buckled, 
breaking into pieces. He crushed these too.

After but seconds he dropped the Sondeshike and 
tore through Calephas's spirit with his claws, 
rending every mote of flesh from every other. The 
images of his sons became disjointed and finally 
ceased altogether. Charles drove his snout into 
what remained of the flesh, tearing with his 
incisors as well. All he could think were four 
words over and over again. My justice for you! My justice for you!

At some point the rat realized that he was 
kneeling with nothing before him. With a rush of 
elation he tilted back his head an unleashed a 
wordless shriek of satisfaction that echoed from 
his throat only to be lost in the endless expanse 
of night. The presence stilled the ever circling 
ravings with a single clear thought. He is gone. 
Even Oblivion denies that one; his soul has been 
riven from existence entire. By you, my Núrodur, and no other.

Charles took several deep breaths as he knelt in 
the cold dirt. He could feel the tar covering his 
legs and chest, soaking into his fur and burning 
through his trousers and tunic. They each clung 
to his body by narrow strips which had escaped 
the fountain of processed soul. One hand lifted 
to his face which simmered, and he felt the 
smooth blackness stretched across his snout, both 
cheeks, and over his eyes. The scar the Shrieker 
had left around his right eye had been smoothed 
over by the tar so that he could not feel a 
difference between either side of his face.

He lifted that snout, hands falling to find the 
Sondeshike at his knees. Do I have any flesh left, Master?

Yes, Núrodur.

His hands rove across his shoulders and felt both 
his tunic and vest and the fur beneath. Most of 
his chest was lost to the tar, though a thread of 
both tunic and vest circled beneath his 
shoulders. His back where he could reach, and the 
half of his tail nearest his spine, were still 
free of the tar. He grimaced but could not bring 
himself to lament. After he had his son he would 
have flesh again too. It would not be the first 
time he had lost his flesh. He would endure.

Where is the champion?

He is nearly here. Stand close to me.

Charles, hands wrapped about the Sondeshike, 
stood and shifted his paws on the barren ground 
until his shoulders brushed against the Åelf's 
middle. A heat suffused his front as if he were 
sitting by a roaring fire. His tongue and the 
inside of his mouth also felt the strange heat, 
and as he ran his tongue along the inside of his 
mouth he discovered the smoothness of the tar 
coating the inside as well. Had he eaten Calephas 
like he'd eaten Loriod? He could not recall.

----------

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

Charles Matthias
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://lists.integral.org/archives/mkguild/attachments/20150309/aa7c7275/attachment-0001.html>