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

[Jason Gillespie]

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

Pars V: Ascensum

(j)


Saturday, May 12, 708 CR

For a moment there was nothing. And then they arrived.

Charles stared out across a vast ocean that 
stretched to the horizon. Waves rolled across the 
surface in long, unbroken arcs. The air was 
bitter with salt, and beneath him he could hear 
the crash of waves upon rock. A sky bright and 
blue filled the heavens without a single cloud in 
sight. He clenched his eyes until only a slit 
remained, trembling in the fierce light.

His master's shadow stretched across him and kept 
the worst of the light at bay. After so long in 
the gloom of the hells it was only his longing 
for light that allowed him to see at all. Charles 
opened his jaws and sucked in the air, savoring 
the bite of the sea. His toes dug into the soft 
earth beneath his feet and felt his heart lift at 
its purity. He almost laughed as he turned, 
grateful to finally be free of the deadra and their demesnes.

Charles gasped and blinked, lifting one arm to 
shield his eyes as he stared up and up. Before 
him, impossibly tall, was a mountain. It rose up 
from the waves below and stretched beyond his 
ability to see. The crystal blue sky cloaked the 
summit, and far above the sun itself cast 
luminous rays that made the upper reaches glimmer 
as alabaster. He could only stare a moment before 
casting his eyes down and pressing his head against his master's chest.

You have been too long in darkness, Núrodur. His 
master's voice filled his thoughts and even 
soothed the misery in his eyes. Charles took a 
deep breath, hands gripping the Åelf's robes to steady himself.

Where are we?

Beyond. Beyond the imaginings of the Daedra lords 
and the souls beneath their gaze. Those souls 
that do not fall into their grasp, souls that 
slip by them as sand slips through fingers, and 
yet burdened by an evil of their own making, come 
to this place. You know of it, Núrodur.

Charles frowned and tentatively opened his eyes. 
His paws were still black, and they clutched at 
his master's white robes as a stain. 
“Purgatorio...” He gasped and trembled, slipping 
down until he stood on his knees. “How... how 
could we come here? We are not dead.”

Your son can only be reached from the mount 
ahead. You know this. You always knew this.

Slowly, the rat began to nod, even as he stared 
at the grass beneath him. Even in his master's 
shadow it bore a warmth and a simplicity that he 
liked. It felt like grass should feel. There was 
no hate bled into the ground, there were no 
murders or atrocities screamed within its 
substance. It was grass and it bore him up as it was made to do.

Blinking, eyes still smarting from staring at the 
brilliant mountain, Charles turned his head to 
stare back down his side and long tail stretched 
out toward the edge overlooking the sea. His 
flesh remained black so that he seemed a shadow 
himself. Against the backdrop of the ever rolling sea he felt a blemish.

Why am I still black? I thought we left all of that behind us?

It was not the Daedra lords who did this to you, 
Núrodur, but your own hand. You pushed the bird 
through the machine to open the bridge. You 
destroyed souls you found in Ba'al's domain. But 
remember what I told you – the soul tar cannot 
return to the mortal world. Your physical body 
remains where it sleeps; it has suffered no harm. 
You are safe. Do not be afraid.

Charles felt his master's presence touching his 
thoughts with a gentle assurance. There was 
confidence in that touch, a certainty that what 
was spoken was true. The rat breathed deeply and 
swelled his chest with the salty air. If his 
master believed it, then he, Núrodur, believed it too.

He remained on his knees for the length of 
several long breaths, blinking his eyes and 
letting them adjust to the brightness of the 
mountain and sky. When it no longer hurt to lift 
his gaze from the shadowed grass at his master's 
feet, the rat stood and stared at the world 
around him. They were situated on a small 
promontory overlooking a vast ocean that 
stretched around the base of the mountain. The 
mountain rose up amidst a broad swath of forest 
in full Summer bloom. While he did not see any 
animals moving within the field, he could hear 
the sound of voices and what he thought was distant singing.

The mountain was a towering spike larger than any 
he had ever seen; even the mighty peaks of the 
barrier range were mere foothills in comparison. 
The gray slopes that turned to alabaster white 
where they reached the sky were so steep that 
they were sheer cliffs cut through by terraced 
paths that wound steadily upward around the 
trunk. The angle was too sharp for him to see 
anything moving on the paths, but near the base 
and just above the tops of the trees between them 
he beheld what seemed to be a gathering of people 
milling about as they began their ascent.

Charles pressed his fingers against his snout and 
breathed across his claws; he yearned for 
something to chew. “We have to climb to the top of that?”

It is where you know you must go to find your son, Núrodur.

“Then we had best begin,” the rat said with a 
slight shrug. He took a deep breath and strode 
forward past his master toward the lush forest.

In the light he stepped and screamed. What had 
seemed a noon-time day became a blaze of light so 
fierce he felt as if he'd been hurled into the 
sun. Deep into his flesh the fire bore so that he 
was nothing but heat itself. Every part of his 
being was consumed in that flame and he felt his 
substance dribble like molted iron down across 
the ground, burrowing and blackening the sod.

And then a darkness swept over him and the 
wordless voice of his Master pierced the 
all-consuming agony of flame. You are still 
alive, Núrodur. I protected you from the evils 
amongst the Daedra's realm. Now I protect you 
against the fire of purification you cannot abide 
in your mortal flesh. You must remain in my 
shadow if you are to climb this mountain. You 
must remain in my shadow if you are to see your 
son again. Núrodur, you are not dead yet and 
cannot abide the fire that waits to purify the 
dead. I alone can shield you in this place. Núrodur!

The anguish left him slowly. The comforting 
coolness of his master's shadow stretched outward 
around him as Charles lay in a crumpled heap at 
his feet. The grass had been charred by his 
touch, but already stretched up in fresh green 
blades that jabbed him with their solidity. The 
various pains lingered even after his awareness 
of arms, legs, and a tail returned to his nearly 
shattered mind. But his master's words guided him 
back to sense and with it purpose. Charles was himself again.

His limbs trembled as he pushed himself to his 
hands and knees. His tail lay heavily on his 
toes, nearly limp from anguish and exertion. 
Charles, fearing it might sway free of his 
master's shadow and be turned to cinder, grasped 
the tip in one hand and pulled it close to his 
chest so that its bulk hung in a loop at his side 
even after he managed to stand. His trembling and 
beastly whimpering did not cease either.

But his master's shadow was broad and stretched 
like a wedge behind him. Charles put his other 
hand at his master's back and gripped his white 
robes with both fingers and claws. There was an 
autumnal coolness in his thoughts, soothing and 
stilling his dream-time flesh. Charles gave no 
quarrel to his master, and when his master took a 
step, he lifted the same leg, unsteady though it 
may be, and set it down upon the sharp grass at 
the same time as his master set soft shoe to earth.

Each step felt an eternity, but by the time they 
left the promontory and reached the edge of the 
wood, Charles no longer trembled. The fire that 
had burned him still simmered in his flesh like a 
smoking wick that refused to be extinguished, but 
it no longer caused him any pain. The black rat 
felt soothed by his master's shadow, and kept his 
grip tight on the robe so as not to accidentally 
stumble from it again. His tail bounced against 
one knee as he pressed the tip to his chest.

Despite nearly clinging to his master's back, 
Charles was able to see the forest as they 
stepped beneath its leafy boughs. A brilliant 
panoply of green overshadowed them, blocking 
their view of the mountain for a time. And even 
though Charles had traversed much of the known 
world, the trees and the leaves were not familiar 
to him. The ground beneath them dipped and wove 
between each sentinel, their trunks thick with 
giant whorls and burrs that did not so much mar 
their bark but glorified it. Some of the leaves 
were so large that they could have been stretched 
with poles to make a tent for a dozen men. Others 
were mere pinpricks of a green so vivid they were impossible to miss.

The grass gave way to moss and stone as they 
ventured deeper into the wood. Charles was 
surprised when his toes would not breach the 
surface of the larger blocks thrust up from the 
earth. Where the rocks of Revonos had enticed him 
to succumb to their poison, these felt solid and 
unyielding as rocks had been before he'd become 
stone himself. Charles made seven attempts to 
commune with stone before giving up.

He was surrounded by a beauty of supernatural 
majesty and he could partake of none of it.

Do not despair. His master's voice was kind and 
filled with a gracious delight. This place is 
closed to you for now, Núrodur Nuruhuinë,but it shall not always be so.

When I must die?

He felt his master smile but nothing more was 
said within his mind. Merely a sensation that 
reminded him of his master's promise. His gaze 
swept across the forest with its beautiful trees, 
bushes, fronds, flowers, moss, stone, and 
profusion of grace, and delighted in it.

They passed into a broad valley with the forest 
on either side rising up to form a series of long 
walls each higher than the last so that there was 
nowhere for them to go but forward. Reclining on 
the walls he was surprised to find people here 
and there. Most were dressed well though some of 
their raiment seemed archaic if not ancient. None 
of them glanced at the rat or his master, their 
eyes turned toward the mountain with longing even 
though they could neither see it through the 
trees nor make any attempt to walk toward it.

Charles did not recognize any of the faces, and 
for a time found the strangeness of their clothes 
more interesting. Some styles he recognized from 
tapestries hung in Metamor depicting life in 
earlier centuries. There two men bearing Sondecki 
cloaks cut in a style unheard of for three 
centuries, with short cuffs on the wrists and 
flowing streamers from either shoulder each 
ending in a stitched emblem of their clan. To 
them he yearned to speak, but the light from 
above surrounded them and he dared not enter.

The forest valley eventually opened up to a wide 
plain that came to an abrupt end in the upthrust 
rock of the mountainside. Here many more humans 
reclined, and to the rat's delight he even saw a 
few Keepers though none were familiar. They 
walked about with apparently nothing more to do 
during their day. Some sang hymns. Others seemed 
to have their heads bowed in prayers. A few beat 
themselves with whips of cord. Some wept.

Who are these people?

They are many and varied. Some are excommunicate 
and must abide here a time equal to their 
separation in life. Others are merely those who 
let the mundane cares of the world strangle their 
souls. They could not be held by the Daedra, nor 
do they receive worse for the desire abides in 
their hearts. And so they are here; waiting.

Charles turned his head from side to side to try 
and take in the multitudes. He had never seen an 
army a tenth so vast. For what do they wait?

The path to open for them. There is no other 
direction that they can go anymore. Neither is there for us, Núrodur. Come.

Charles followed his master into the plain and 
into the throng. Even though there were more 
people gathered in the field beneath the mountain 
than he had ever seen before gathered in a single 
place, there was sufficient distance between them 
that they could walk in their midst without his 
master's shadow falling on any of them. Their 
attire was similar to those he saw in the forest, 
though many also bore garments fitting for his 
own day. As they passed through their midst he 
scanned their faces in vain for anyone he knew. 
He felt somewhat disheartened to see only strangers.

As they neared the base of the mountain Charles 
could finally see that unlike a normal mountain, 
there was neither defile nor gentle slope at its 
base. Rather the grass and trees of the field 
gave way to a vertical cliff that stretched 
beyond the reach of the largest tree in the Glen. 
At the top of that cliff he could see the lip of 
a terrace that wound its way up along the side of 
the mountain. But where that path began there was no sign.

They walked for what seemed many hours through 
the vast throng of penitents before they finally 
reached the mountain. People pressed their faces 
to its smooth surface and wept bitter tears, 
dried them with their hair, and then kissed the 
cold stone with tender affection and gratitude. 
His master turned before they could touch the 
stone and Charles followed him toward the right. 
So close to the cliff the sound of singing seemed 
to coalesce from a million voices into a single harmonious whole.


...

Non nobis Domine non nobis:

sed nomini tuo da gloriam.
Super misericordia tua et veritate tua:

nequando dicant gentes: Ubi est Deus eorum?
Deus autem noster in caelo:

omnia quaecumque voluit fecit.





Beneath it he felt another melody spinning and 
seeking. His heart trembled and he felt a 
desperate longing to hear the melody in full. It 
differed from the chant of the penitents; where 
their song was one full of understanding with all 
doubt stripped away, this other melody was jagged 
with uncertainty. Its tremolo was an anxious 
throb and its syncopation a sorrowful flutter of 
the lips. He lifted his ears, ignoring the hymn 
in hopes of capturing that other voice.

The gate is ahead, Núrodur.

His master's words brought his attention back to 
the mountain and he gasped when he beheld the 
gate. It was not like any gate he had ever seen 
in any city, nor even like the forest gates in 
Ava-shavåis. A portal of shimmering light rose up 
along the mountainside. It was framed by a stone 
arch but it was not the arch that created the 
gate; it was the light which upheld the arch. The 
gate was fronted by three long, stone steps. The 
bottom step was fashioned from a marble polished 
so white that no impurity marred it and no speck 
of dust could settle upon it. The second was 
black basalt and cracked through the middle from 
side to side and from top to bottom. The third 
was a deep red and fashioned from no stone that 
Charles recognized. Atop the third step was a 
being of iridescent light and covered in eyes. He 
could make no sense of its limbs, neither what 
they were nor how many he had, though it seemed 
to the rat that the being held a sword.

One of the penitents climbed the steps toward 
that fiery being. Though the steps were no taller 
than his knee, the man seemed as small as a mouse 
in a giant's abode as he mounted the three steps. 
Charles pressed against his master's leg as they 
stood nearby watching, eyes fixed on the scene. 
The fiery being seemed to sing as it lowered the 
sword point toward the penitent's forehead. A 
blaze of crimson light followed the sword point 
as the letter “P” was traced seven times.

Words, felt more than heard, emanated from the 
being of incandescent light. “Take heed that thou 
wash these wounds, when thou shalt be within.” 
Charles felt his earlier burn kindle in his 
darkened flesh and only his master's gentle hand 
stilled the quivering that overtook him. No sound 
came to his ears and the only scent his nose knew 
was the charring of his own flesh.

To the presence within he whispered his fear. Is there no other way?

There are many paths you can choose, Núrodur. But 
only one path leads to your son. We shall not be turned aside. Fear not.

As soon as the thought had settled upon him like 
a heavy cloak about his shoulders, his Master 
stepped forward and Charles crept along at his 
feet to remain in his shadow. They reached the 
steps even as the fiery being had turned two 
keys, one of gold and the other of silver, in 
locks upon the brilliant gate. It opened inward 
with a rush of harmony as a million voices 
singing some exultant hymn. Charles could make 
out nothing of the path beyond the gate, but 
watched as the penitent strode forward with head 
bowed past the gatekeeper. Into the path beyond 
he stepped and the gate pulled gently closed 
behind him, though it did not shut all the way.

A thousand eyes from the being of celestial flame 
turned from the penitent who vanished into the 
brightness beyond, settled upon Master and rat 
who stood but a short distance away. Its sonorous 
voice, somehow both doomfully thunderous and as 
gentle as a lover's whisper, spoke. “On this thy 
first climb no mark is given. Take heed thou dost 
not spurn this grace. Thy second climb shall be 
as the rest.” It turned and, without using either 
key, pressed open the gate. This time Charles 
could see a path of stone steps rising up through 
the mountain while light shone down into the fissure from above.

His Master ascended the steps with such delicate 
grace it seemed as if his feet pressed off the 
very air so that they never touched the stone. 
Charles crept along behind, uncertainly setting 
one paw upon the white step; the surface was cool 
and soft like new-fallen snow. Comforted, he 
pulled himself up the next step and felt a stab 
of pain lance into his heart. His darkened paws 
tightened their grip upon the crack sheared into 
the black step and forced himself upward, even as 
he felt a sorrow so deep nearly draw tears from the pitch of his eyes.

Just when he thought himself unable to continue 
he collapsed upon the red step just beneath the 
gate and the being of a thousand eyes. The stone 
was warm but not hot to the touch and he found a 
renewed strength upon it. He pressed down with 
his hands and for a moment thought he saw pink 
flesh where the black had covered his fingers. 
But by the time he stood and followed his Master 
through the gate the color had faded.

The fissure of rock beyond the gate stretched his 
Master's shadow at first so that Charles felt 
free to reach out and touch either side. But the 
more they climbed the shallower it became and 
soon he was forced to keep close to his master's 
legs to stay out of the light. He clutched the 
end of his tail tight in one hand and pulled it taut around his middle.

----------

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

Charles Matthias
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