<html> <body> Inchoate Carillion, Inconstant Cuckold By Charles Matthias The forests just to Glen Avery's south were lined with hills and sharp, shallow valleys cutting through their midst. The beginning of Metamor river flowed through a cleft in the rock that varied from twenty to thirty feet deep, lined on either side by tall pines and alder that were replaced by the giant redwoods as one neared the Glen. Ice covered the river, and snow covered everything else. Through this winter white trekked the Glen scouts. They moved in groups of four in a wide circle around the Glen, snouts grim and beastly eyes dour. Gone was the usual verve with which they welcomed the task of guarding their woodland home. There was no pleasure in this work. Even the sky was thick with dark clouds that cast deep shadows through the snow-packed dells. Every tree, every hillock, and every stone seemed to brood with the shadow of Metamor's plague. For James the donkey, the plague was a hideous thought that frightened him; Kayla was still at Metamor, as were Kimberly and the children. He prayed fervently for their safety each night and each morning. And there was the fear that despite everything they did, the plague would still ravage the Glen. But most of all, James's mind continued to revolve around a certain opossum and a certain rat. In a few days time they would be traveling together through the mountains and every glance, every word that she said to Charles would be one more word, one more glance, one more hope that would not be given to him. James ground his teeth in frustration as he dwelt on it. He may as well have been invisible for all that he tried to offer to her. It was just one more instance of what had come upon him in Metamor; a donkey was nothing. A donkey was good for nothing but work; no donkey would ever receive recognition. Ignored at Metamor, and now ignored at the Glen. And ignored by the one person he wanted to notice him in favor of somebody already married. James wouldn't stand for it, but he was at a loss as to what he could do about it. Tolling. Berchem, the skunk leading their little squad, was irate at him for bringing the cracked brass bell, but he was not going to leave it behind now. As they stalked between the trees, keeping beneath their lowest boughs, skunk, Ralph the vole with a missing tooth, Anson the arctic fox, and finally James, they each kept their hands and paws near their weapons, ready to draw them at the slightest sound. Even as late in the season as it was, the snow blanketing the forest made every noise crisp as crackling ice. At the impulse, the veritable sonorous suggestion that echoed through his mind like the distant summons to Liturgy, James lowered his gaze and stroked one hoof-like nail across the surface of the bell. The hard edge of his finger rubbed along the smoothed edge of the crack, and felt a frightening thrill like a man laying with a prostitute. The clapper rested against the bottom edge, both puzzle and challenge. His breath fogged the glistening surface, revealing his face anew every few seconds, curved and distorted so that his snout swelled beyond even the ridiculous proportion of his ears. As he tilted the bell resting against his thigh, ropey tail swatting the surface of the snow behind him, he discovered that he could see everything about him. From the steep incline at his right overlooking one of the many culverts infesting this portion of the woods, to the towering trees overhead topped by the black and gray cloud-choked sky, to the path ahead of him replete with uncovered ground where his friends had already passed. James marveled at how much his bell could reveal to him through its reflections. His rapturous gaze continued for several seconds before the import of what he saw actually penetrated his wonder. He snapped his long head up and cursed under his breath. The vole was already a good two dozen paces ahead of him and waving for him to catch up. James let the bell fall back to his side and strode after him, taking only two steps before his hoof slipped on a rock and he tumbled awkwardly to his right. Ralph darted back to catch him but it was too late. James's legs splayed beneath him and he slipped head over hooves down the steep incline. His mountain climbing experience saved him. James grabbed a tree as he spun past and was able to swing his legs beneath him, righting his posture and keeping himself from crashing into the ice-slick rocks below. His grip on the tree was tenuous though, and after straightening himself out, he slipped the rest of the way down into the darkened culvert, and thumped into a thicker than expected cushion of snow. A small white hare darted out of a burrow in surprise, looking at him with alarm. The sudden movement made James's heart beat faster, and his right hand yanked the bell from its place at his side and he struck the clapper against the brass bore. The wave of sound echoed against him like a fist driving into his chest. The hare's ears lifted, and then the body jerked backward into the snow, smearing it red. Tolling. James blinked and gasped as he pressed the edge of the bell into his thigh, the throbbing lip biting into his hide as the peal died. Cautiously, he leaned forward to stare at the new hole in the snow, trembling in fear at what he might see. “James, are you all right?” Ralph called down to him from the top of the slope. He ignored the vole just long enough to peer into the hole ringed with a crimson spray. Most of the hare's body was still intact, but the sides of its head were punctured as if a knife had plunged from its brain out through its ears. Even so brief a glimpse as a heartbeat was enough to make him fall back into the snow drift and cover his snout in horror. He yanked his right hand back away from the bell, but it quickly returned, trying to understand how it could have burst the rabbit's brain with the sound of a single note. “I'm down here,” he called back up to the vole. Anson and Berchem were at Ralph's side; the fox lowered a rope while the skunk tied it off. “Nothing's broken. On me.” Even so, his eyes returned to the gaping hole from which a single foot poked up and remained still. He brushed a few tears from his eyes with his left arm before the rope was finally in reach. ---------- The road rose steeply as it took a direct route along the slope of the mountains. Through the trees on their left, Charles could see Mt. Nuln with its small plateau peak still covered in snow. Beyond the first line of mountains the true peaks were visible, these sporting snow all year round. In another month, the grasses and heath would emerge even on Nuln's upper slopes. How well Charles remembered the battle to drive Calephas from his hidden perch two years ago. But it was not to that memorable mount that the road took them. Rather, once the trees started to dwindle in stature until they were nearly completely replaced by scrub, the air growing cold and bitter, the ground layered with flows of ice frozen and thawed over and over again with each new day the sun shined, the road turned sharply to the north through a high ravine between the mountains. The walls of rock on either side were widely spaced at first, but grew narrower the further into the formation they ventured. The raven-haired woman smiled, even as her breath turned to mist before her, scintillating in the bright sun. “Welcome to the Gateway,” she said with sweep of one arm. Dupré looked at the cliff-walls suspiciously and gestured to one of the many rock formations well away from the cliffs. “We should take a rest here. The air is too thin to risk exhausting ourselves.” “We don't seem that high up,” Alexander offered with a mild bark. “We are,” Captain Sobol replied, pointing back along the south. “You can see the Glen clearly from here.” Although the forests were thick and their height rose and fell with the hills, the redwoods of the Glen were unmistakeable. Charles and Saulius gasped as they looked back at the Valley from their new vantage. The land fell away before them in a series of rolling and crumpled hills, coated as if a cake with a thick layer of conifers of all varieties, each sporting a frosting of ice and snow that glimmered with the sunlight. One swath nestled in the crook of the mountains was blasted clear where the rock from the sky had struck four years earlier, yet even there the grasses and little pines were sprouting. As the land sloped away from them the height of the trees only diminished for a short distance before rising up like a thousand towers of emerald and chalcedony. It was impossible to see past the Glen, and with its mighty spires reaching up to brush the foot of Mt. Nuln the equally impressive Mt. Kalegris was hidden from them. “Are we level with them?” Sir Dupré asked as he brought his steed about. “The tops of those trees I mean.” “If not slightly above,” Samantha said with a broad smile. “You can almost see Metamor Keep from here. I wager if we built another tower here that we could.” Sir Dupré glanced at the two women and bleated a dry chuckle. “I suppose you want me to convince Nestorius to invest in another tower then?” “Eventually,” Sobol said with a shrug. “It would be a good idea.” “You'll need more than a tower,” Charles said with a shake of his head. “Where does the Gateway lead? Are there any secret paths to the Giantdowns I've not been told of?” And given that he was a Long Scout, he would know if there were any. Misha had never mentioned anything, and he'd certainly never referred to this crevice as a gateway before. Samantha shook her head, watching as the two youths dismounted and began scouting the rock formation. “The Gateway doesn't lead you into the Giantdowns. It leads to a small clearing much like this; nobody lives there but for wild animals. There used to be a signal tower there, but it hasn't been used for generations.” “Why not rebuild it?” Sir Saulius suggested. “It's secluded and earth tremors have made the ground there unsuitable for it. Besides, Hareford is too far down the slopes to see it. We can see it from Eagle Tower, but very few others can. And there's no need. There used to be a path to the Giantdowns from the north of the Gateway, but again, the earth tremors closed that off many years ago. To get into the mountains from the north you'd need to row to the far edge of the Sea of Souls. I can't imagine trying to cross through the Dragon mountains from there.” “Neither can I,” Charles replied. “But Calephas did it two years ago. Which is why we are going to be coming back this way in a few days.” The ram watched him quietly for a moment as Sir Saulius proceeded to explain their plan as best he understood it. The talismans were familiar to Samantha and to Sobol, but the other three had never heard of them. When the rat knight finished speaking, Dupré rode closer to them and said, “Since you are going to be coming back this way, care to join me as we venture a little further in. I'd like to see this for myself before heading back to Hareford.” He glanced over at Captain Sobol. “We'll only be gone a short time. I can trust that you will keep watch here.” Sobol frowned, quite unhappy that the ram would be leaving them, but she could only nod her head and sigh. “Very well. If you are gone too long, we'll have to come in after you.” “We shan't tarry long,” he assured her, then dismounted and handed his reins to the dog. “Just a quick look is all.” Charles and Saulius dismounted as well and followed the ram back toward the narrow cleft between the tall mountains. Charles contemplated turning his arm to stone and visiting the mountains and the many stones around him, but each time he readied himself for the change, a flash of Guernef descending from the sky to beat him with words that pounded like a pickaxe on granite would overwhelm him and change his mind. While the other five tended the horses and broke out some vittles to replenish themselves, the ram and two rats walked further along the road, admiring the mountains rising up on either side. The path wound between alternating walls of rock and broad slopes up to the snow-topped peaks on either side. Most of the road was covered in snow disturbed only by wild animals, so they had to lift their legs to make their way through the mush. With the sun shining as brightly as it was, despite the frigid nature of the air, the snow was melting at last. The road bent to the northwest and quickly put a ridge between them and the other five riders. The ram, who'd been quietly observing the mountains, moving horizontal pupils from side to side, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, let out a long sigh once they could no longer hear their companions. “I am sorry to drag you away like that,” he admitted in a low voice. “But things have been very tense for me in Hareford these last few days. I needed someone I could talk to who I could trust.” “Thou hast ne'er met either of us,” Saulius said with equal solicitude. “Why art we more trustworthy than they?” Dupré cast a quick glance backward, then rubbed the tip of his curling horn with one finger as he thought. After several paces he spoke again. “You aren't of Hareford. And, what I have heard of you endears me to you. You are both honorable and warriors of distinction. And, like me, you are foreign to this land. The Curses keep us here, aye, but this is not where we grew up.” “Nay,” Charles admitted with a faint sigh. “This is very far from where I grew up.” “I didn't want to come here,” Dupré admitted. “But there is much to love here and I hope in time I will love it as I should. I asked you both here,” he gestured with a wave of a two-fingered hand at the mountains leaning in on either side as if they were trying to listen, “for selfish reasons. Charles, what I have heard of your exploits is astonishing. I cannot believe that you have not been made a knight yet.” Saulius frowned but said nothing. “One thing I have heard is that you saw a certain man die, the very man who is responsible for stealing my family away.” Charles blinked, one hand lifting to touch the scar over his right eye. The flesh there was burnt and leathery to the touch. The name of the man rose up like a bad air from a mine. “Marquis Camille du Tournemire.” Dupré spat on an exposed rock as he kicked his hooves through the snow. “The bastard died, did he not?” “He did,” Charles replied in a soft voice. “Horribly. But it is not such a joyful memory for me.” The ram glowered. “I want to savor it.” Charles narrowed his eyes and frowned. “He was a victim too. He didn't want to do Marzac's bidding.” Dupré gestured at his woolen hide and his curled horns. “That man used his cards to make me turn into a monster. I tried to kill my wife because of his manipulation! Now she hates me and is seeking to annul our marriage. My father-in-law is trying to turn my eldest son and my two other children against me. I can never see them again. And it's because of that Marquis! Tell me, please, how did he die?” Charles shuddered at the ram's sudden vehemence. The anger had come as if summoned from a great depth, like a wine being aged to perfection. At first, he felt it better not to feed that anger, but something in the ram's words caught his heart. This man was one who could understand what the plague was doing to him, and may yet still do. This man, the ram who'd been exiled to Metamor, could never see his beloved family again. How could he deny him this? “I too know what it is like to be separated from family. My own is trapped in the walls of Metamor and I have no idea if I will ever see them again before my soul goes to Eli. The Marquis had us trapped inside an ancient chamber known as the Hall of Unearthly Light. It was built by the Åelf Prince Yajakali almost eleven thousand years ago.” Saulius listened with a thoughtful moue crossing his snout, while Dupré rubbed the lobe of one ear between hoof-like fingers. “I cannot even imagine a time so long ago. Where is this Hall of Unearthly Light?” “Where was you mean,” Charles added with a malicious grin. “That place no longer exists. What came to pass after the Marquis's death has obliterated it. We barely escaped with our lives. But, the Marquis. He was using his cards to defeat our strongest magic user, an Åelf named Qan-af-årael, perhaps the oldest living being in the world. At least he had been. He was mortally wounded in the fight. “But one of our own, Kayla, a skunk with some magical talent, managed to escape her bonds, and while the Marquis was occupied, crept up behind him. Before she could strike, a hand reached out of the Marquis's cards, a hand and arm covered in flame, and grabbed him by the throat. The flame consumed him, and then Kayla drove an eastern dagger through his back. When she took it out, and when the flaming arm disappeared, there was nothing left of his body but a smoldering pile of ash and bone.” Dupré rolled his tongue behind his lips as he kicked another pile of snow aside. He took several deep breaths as they continued along the Gateway road. “I am sorry to hear of your family. I pray that they will be returned to you safely.” “I already lost one child to illness last year; I wasn't even here to be with him.” Charles lowered his snout and balled his paws into fists. “But thank you, Sir William.” “You will see him again too,” Dupré replied quietly. “Aye, thou shalt see him again,” Saulius added, placing a paw on his shoulder and squeezing even through the mail shirt. “He hath gone to Eli, thou knowest this.” “Aye,” Charles replied. He lifted his snout and looked at the ram. The exiled knight turned back slightly, meeting his gaze. “I hope that you are able to see your family again. I hope they still love you.” Dupré swallowed and put one hand over his chest. “I know that my eldest does... I believe the others do as well.” He stopped walking and lifted his head to the sky, eyes trailing the long jagged rocks reaching up the snowy summits above. “I am glad that man is dead. It won't restore to me what I have lost. But at least there is some justice still.” He turned fully around and looked at both rats. “I am a Metamorian now, and I'm trying to be a good one. But it's not easy for me.” Charles shrugged a bit. “I understand, but why tell us? Should not your friends and fellow warriors at Hareford hear it from you?” “Indeed,” he admitted with a faint laugh. “Thank you for telling me, and for listening to me. I am very, very glad to have met you both. If ever you come to Hareford, I will make sure that you are appropriately received. Now, let's return before they start to worry too much about us.” Charles fell into step alongside the ram and realized that he quite liked this man. He knew that Duke Thomas and his advisers had to be very suspicious of him, but Charles decided then and there that this was one who could be trusted. It would be a shame when they had to say goodbye later that day. He needed others who understood. Together the three of them walked back in silence through the occluded passage between the mountains. Though they knew where they trod, they were all irretrievably lost in their own thoughts. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias !DSPAM:4e810189215782366718218! </body> </html>