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

[C. Matthias]

Final section for this Part of the story!

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

Pars IV: Infernus

(z)


Tuesday, June 22, 724 CR - Midnight

Staring through a narrow casement window; more an 
arrow loop than a true portal through which 
anyone was expected to gaze, it took Charlie a 
few moments to realize the silence that had 
descended upon the choir. He turned to find the 
room swathed in deep shadows that cast his sire 
as a form of stark lines pale in the waning light and dark shadows.

“It grows late, son.” Charles said at length with 
a long sigh. Leaning forward from his seat he 
stood with a push upon his knees with both hands. 
“Our families are very likely worried after us.”

Charlie spared a brief glance through the stone 
slot, wondering where the hours had gone. When he 
first came to his sire the sun had been a few 
handspans above the western mountains and now its 
passing was no more than a darkening blue to the 
sky. Metamor had already surrendered to darkness, 
save for torches, and the din of the day had 
given over to a different celebratory din for of 
the night. With an upward glance Charlie saw 
stars twinkling in the deepening blue of the 
evening sky. With the cooling of day into night, 
so too had the worst of his wrath. But not its kernel.

“With some wrath, I wager in my case.” He 
observed ruefully with a swish of his tail across 
the long bench behind him. “And moreso from your 
good wife, the Baroness my mother, on the 
morrow.” He laced his fingers behind his back and 
walked over to stand next to his sire. “After the 
ill dreams I fear this story might bring upon you tonight.”

His sire gave a grunt of humor and nodded before 
shrugging, “It is she who can quiet the plague of 
dark dreams when they come upon me. Leastwise she 
has become accustomed to my occasional nocturnal 
thrashing.” Reaching up he clasped Charlie on the 
shoulder to lean close, “I know this story is 
seemingly overlong and circuitous, but you will 
understand why I am simply not plunging to the 
heart of it swiftly when it is complete.” The 
baron tilted his head to one side and murmured, 
“I am not even describing most of what I saw there; I couldn't.”

Charlie nodded slowly, mollified by his sire’s 
willingness to delve back into memories that had 
to be unpleasant, but still reserved in offering 
him immediate amnesty for what he had witnessed 
in the Baron’s own dreams, and heard admitted by 
his namesake and now Charles. There was much yet 
to be said before Charlie could consider the whole of the matter resolved.

“On the morrow, then?” Charles stepped to the 
door and drew it open, the soft light of votive 
candles spilling across the floor surprising 
Charlie with just how dark it had gotten while 
Charles wove the tapestry of personal – very personal – history.

A young woman polishing a nearby banister looked 
up curiously, mildly surprised at their sudden 
appearance. She smiled softly and bent to her 
task once more as they padded by on unshod, 
rodentine feet. “I shall not be early.” Charlie 
admitted, “Tomorrow is the final day of the 
festival so I will have to attend some of the 
ceremonies. And deal with the disruption I caused today.”

“As well progress with the last battle of the tournament.”

Charlie shook his head, “I already lost at the 
tilt, and the semi-finals of foot should have 
been settled this evening; only the final bout 
remains for tomorrow, as do the last of the 
jousts and the presentations of masterworks from 
the journeymen of the mage guilds. I will not 
participate in any of that.” Reaching the heavy 
doors of the Cathedral, which stood open to let 
in a cool night breeze that swept the candle 
smoke toward the clerestories above, they stepped 
through into the arcade of a small bailey yard.

“I was disqualified!” Charles chuffed, “You should have advanced!”

“Disqualified, how? I forfeit, regardless.” 
Charlie shrugged with the equanimity of youth.

“I used my stone magic during the match. No 
magics were allowed; I disqualified myself.”

Charlie snorted and kicked an errant pinecone 
with one foot, “Better to do that than get 
brained by a child throwing a tantrum with 
swords.” He groused in a self-deprecatory tone. 
Charles clapped him on his upper back with a strong hand.

“Knowing now why you were angry
 I understand.” 
He touched his own doublet, still rent by the 
injury that his son’s anger had caused, “Though 
it still smarts.” They came to another door on 
the far side of the bailey yard, “But worry not, 
son. Go now, I will find you tomorrow and we 
shall complete this lamentable tale.”

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All that stood between the demesnes of Metamor 
and the demesnes of House Sutt were an 
intricately worked pair of doors that towered the 
height of two tall men – or one particularly tall 
animorphed Keeper – at the end of a broad 
corridor that was this night lined with the 
statues of the Keep's past lords. All save the 
last were human while the man-like equine statue 
of Duke Thomas seemed not quite finished; still a 
work in progress. Charlie felt one corner of his 
muzzle draw back in a rueful half-smile, his 
whiskers twitching as he gave the silent marble 
figure a brief salute. The doors to House Sutt 
were intricately worked in scenes of forests. 
Those often changed according to the whim of the 
Keep's benign spirit, Kyia, but always favored 
settings of nature over civilization.

Unchanged, however, was the Sutt crest in the 
center of the doors, bisected on each leaf.

And, as unchanged, was the fact that the hinged 
were expertly crafted and oiled so that the heavy 
doors were easily moved with one hand and made 
not the slightest squeak. Charlies slipped 
through one side and let it drift shut behind 
him, catching it only enough to silence the soft 
thud it would make upon closing.

A single candle had been left burning in a hooded 
sconce just within the door. It provided enough 
light to navigate the short foyer, past the 
cloakroom and waiting room for the servants of 
visiting nobles. Beyond the foyer was the main 
hall for receiving guests or hosting gatherings. 
Tonight, not needed, the room was modest in scale 
– for a Noble's hall – but not grandiose. Charles 
passed through it quietly, his claws clicking 
softly upon polished stone where it was exposed 
between lavishly woven Sondesharan rugs. Beyond 
the parlor a narrower corridor led to the Sutt 
residences proper, both doors standing open. The 
room beyond was lit as dimly as the foyer and, 
where the far wall would be from his vantage, the 
doors to the balcony had been thrown open to the 
cool evening air. Only the torches of the watch 
on the inner bailey wall marred the majestic 
vista of the mountains rising beyond, swathed as 
they were in the night's cloak of darkness.

“It is nice that you still know where you live,” 
a quiet voice intoned from one of the large 
chairs scattered about the common room of their 
residence. Charles stopped two steps within, a 
grimace flattening his ears and drooping his 
whiskers. A soft warble of strings added to the 
quietude of the room, seeming to echo the distant 
susurrus of Metamor's nighttime revelry rather than climb over it.

“I am sorry, father,” Charlie groused, though 
quietly, altering his path toward the chair that 
Malger usually chose. True to form, he found his 
adoptive father ensconced within, leaning into 
the corner of the throne-like chair with an 
indolent slouch, his feet kicked out upon an 
ottoman. Polished brown toeclaws glistened in the 
muted light of a single candle burning on a table 
nearby. In his hands was a small lyre which he strummed with equal indolence.

Only his father, a minstrel by habit rather than 
birth, could efface such a lazy appearance 
without apparent sloth or loss of noble decorum.

“For?” The marten raised a furry brow over a dark 
eye as he turned his gaze from lyre to son. 
“Missing the Duke's feast? For leaving Maysin 
standing a fool, bedecked in tack and bridle, at 
the tourney field gate? For nearly twisting your 
neck from your shoulders leaping from a second floor midden door?”

Charlie's muzzle contorted into a moue of 
consternation and he could not meet his father's 
inscrutable dark stare. The lyre's soft melody 
was a strange counterpoint to the calm rebuke. “For being an ass.”

“For a rat, I must commend you on a believable 
facsimile of such breed,” Malger chided softly. 
“Your mother is a touch more irritated with your 
decorum, my son. Hassan was... confused at your 
display and sudden disappearance. I begged the 
angst of youthful rebellion and, to my surprise, 
King Peleath laughed most heartily. He was a 
rebellious youth, and had many colorful tales to 
tell in that regard. He volunteered to stand in 
your stead for the last melee bouts, by the by.”

“He chose to champion me?” Charlie's ears sprang 
up in surprise. “I had imagined my disqualification!”

“You – should have been, son.” Malger dipped his 
muzzle in a curt nod. “I, in fact, did speak of 
it in light of your rather pointed lack of 
chivalry on the field. The judges could not 
disqualify you, for you used no magic and did not 
strike with un-warded weapons. Baron Matthias' 
shield caused him to use magic when it broke, and 
they ruled in your favor there.”

Charlie scoffed and looked at his paws for a 
moment before letting his eyes drift to the 
distant torches of the night watch adorning the 
wall beyond their balcony. “He became stone that 
I not bludgeon him into the ground, Father.”

“So said, so truth.” Malger leaned forward 
slightly and tilted his head, his muzzle couched 
in an expression of curiosity. “I was informed that you found your sire?”

“I did. He was under Father Felsah's watch in the cathedral.”

“I will assume you apologized appropriately. 
Concerning of what we spoke in the tavern, what 
then did you broach of your sire?”

Charlie laced his fingers behind his back, his 
long tail lashing back and forth with a quiet 
hiss on the rug upon which he stood. He looked at 
his naked paws; the long digits and serviceably 
dangerous claws pale against the intricate 
patterns of the foreign fabric. “Anger. Loss. A 
bargain that still leaves my heart aching and 
me... lost.” He looked up at the last, to meet his father's gaze.

“Confused.”

“Very. But the tale he tells...” His voice faded 
and he shook his head as if to cast out the dark 
thoughts. “Has he told you aught?”

Malger shook his head as well, more slowly. “Not 
the first word. I know nothing past his escape into Shadow.”

“It was a ruse, his petition to Nocturna.”

“Exactly so.” Malger let his fingers tickle over 
the strings of his lyre, individual notes 
floating through the air, a slow dirge spun one 
pluck at a time. “Exactly so. And she knew that it was.”

“And yet she made this bargain?” Charlie gasped, aghast.

“Aye, that she did.” Malger flattened his palm 
against the strings, returning silence but for 
the distant noise of revelry. “Full and well knowing what would come of it.”

“Why?”

Malger looked to his son for several long 
seconds, the memory of a gazelle's soft words in 
his ears returning afresh. Why? “That is for her to say.”

Charlie scoffed with a lash of his tail, whiskers 
and ears backed as he looked to the steady flame 
of the candle behind its polished glass chimney. 
“Such that she would? I doubt that very much.”

“She will, son.”

“I am but a disciple, yanked willy nilly into the 
fold. Why would she deign answer my inquiries?”

Malger once more shook his head, setting aside 
the lyre and resting his folded hands upon one 
knee. “You are her son, Charlie, not merely some 
churl begging a night without omens or dark dreams.”

“Her son?” Charlie snorted incredulously, 
shifting his gaze to his father. “I am a chit in 
a game where the rules are beyond my ken.”

“Has she ever treated you thus?” Malger's voice 
rose slightly, touched to defend his Dreamtime love by his son's surly anger.

Charlie could only shake his head. “No.”

“You are not flesh of my flesh, Charlie, but she 
dotes upon you as much as a grandmother or aunt 
might. Or mother.” He paused, pondering, long 
whiskers drooping as he pursed his lips for a long moment. “It pains her, too.”

“Pains?”

Malger nodded soberly. “You know – what it is I do, on occasion?”

“Oh, aye.”

Malger raised a slow hand to touch a finger to 
his own temple lightly. “Pain shared, taken, and 
kept. Unknowing I claimed the pain of a deity, 
son, and selflessly done for what I thought her 
sake and nothing more. And I keep that which 
pained her, never to surrender it away. That pain 
is the loss of a child, and as much the pain of 
seeing others – Myself, Misanthe, even your dam 
Kimberly – with the love of a child in their 
hearts where she has none.” Leaning back into his 
chair, lost in the shadows of the candle light, 
Malger flexed his fingers, claws briefly glinting 
in the wan light. “And thus, by me she cherishes 
you, as a son.” He leaned forward again, left 
restless by the admission of a truth given to 
none in all the years he had carried it. “So, ask 
her, son to mother; Why. And she will answer.” He 
paused, then chuckled ruefully. “And, but oh, the 
jealousy she sometimes feels for Misanthe. And 
the love. I feel as a moth beholding an inferno.”

“An – interesting tale, Father.” Charlie paced 
away from the chair, crossing to the open doors 
to feel the night breeze riffling his short fur. 
“I will ask. But this thing that my sire did, 
between you and she, still confounds me. Like 
some complex games that toss my fate about like a 
gambler's stones. He never said aught of it?”

“To none, that I know. But I have known that it 
was a dark undertaking. When he awoke he was very 
much a changed man. To the foundation of his very 
soul, I think, that night touched him. And since 
that day he had been plagued by the darkest of nightmares.”

Charlie turned his head slightly to glance back 
over his shoulder. “And you took them not away, as you did for so many others?”

“I – could not. Though I can share without 
Sharing, as I have learned to do, one must ask 
and desire. He does neither.” Malger shifted 
forward to his paws, moving to stand beside his 
son at the doors and look into the darkness. 
Euper and the outer bailey of the Keep glowed 
with witchlight and torch, shifting shadows high 
on the walls of the buildings testament to the 
revel still occurring beyond the quiet 
conversation taking place in a noble house. As a 
minstrel Malger should be out there entertaining, 
or sharing the festivities. Not talking of 
painful histories with a wayward son. “And I 
cannot touch those dark dreams. The centeredness 
of his faith blocks me as soundly as a door of iron.”

“I can...” Charlie protested, but then fell 
silent. What had he seen? How deeply into 
Charles' dreams had he delved? Directly he had 
witnessed only the Bargain that set him on his 
course to become Malger's adopted heir. He shook 
his head. “Nor have I, in truth. I know only that which he tells me.”

Malger's hand rose to rest warmly upon his 
shoulder. “Then let him tell it, as he may. 
Perhaps in releasing it he will find peace from 
his nightmares.” With a squeeze he pushed gently 
at his son. “Seek your bed, Charlie. You must 
arise early. Do not seek Her counsel tonight; 
wait until you have heard your sire's tale unto its completion.”

Charlie scowled across at his father. “Rise 
early? To what end? The tournaments will not 
resume until the sun is a span above the mountains.”

Malger chuckled and raised his brow. “First, to 
break your fast and apologize to your mother. And 
then attend Sutt and Hassan for the culmination 
of the Festival. And congratulate, or 
commiserate, King Peleath's combat in your stead.”

“Ah, and Maysin.” Charlie's shoulders slumped. As 
much as he was aware that Maysin was merely a 
servant, she was still one of his closest friends 
and, most certainly, the closest of his female 
friends. “I have much to atone for.”

Malger chortled warmly and nodded. “As in youth 
do we all, son. Find your rest.”


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And so Pars IV comes to an end!  I do hope you 
all 'enjoyed' it.  I will begin posting Pars V in 
May.  Hopefully by Summer this tale will reach its end.


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

Charles Matthias
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