<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars I: Disipicio (j) Charlie was not surprised to find his mother straightening the pillows in the Sondesharan parlor. The sun had set several hours ago, and while normally he would be asleep he wasn't quite ready. The laughter, song, jesting, and revelry of Bryn's celebration was still a pleasant memory that he wished to savor. And then there were the many subtle glances, whispers, and ever present jostling for position at the Duke's table by courtiers, wealthy merchants, and diplomats in Metamor for a brief stay whose observation Charlie found such a captivating hobby. What little would be of interest to the Duke was probably already known to his spies, but when it came to intrigue, there was no such thing as practice. In his many years in the Duke's retinue Charlie had become quite adept at the fine art of reading those around him, even without facing them directly, with a simply a slight turn of one ear and the often overlooked range of his peripheral vision. Humans, even those who had lived in Metamor all their lives and suffered their own aspect of its curse, all too often neglected to understand just how wide the visual field of many animorphs was. Or their hearing and sense of smell and taste. Even Charlie's long whiskers told him a great deal about the room around him and those that moved about within. And so, his mind still awash in the boisterous merrymaking and the political intricacies that went paw in paw at any feast offered by the Duke, Charlie sought the solace of the stars. He often liked to set one of the chairs next to a north-facing window, open the panes and rest his feet on the sill while he measured the turning of the stars in the sky. But as he crept down the hallway and heard the soft patting of a paw upon the cushions he knew that he would not be watching the stars. “Even after all these years, Mother,” Charlie said as he admired his mother working away to ensure every one of the pillows was precisely placed, and the proper shape, to be the most pleasing to the eye, “you still have to serve house.” Misanthe lifted her attention from the lounge and folded her paws one over the other. “It is what I was born to do, and taught to do from a very early age. Marrying your father may have given me title and servants of my own, but try as he might there are some things he cannot take away. And one of those is seeing to his – our – House.” Her expression softened at the edges of her muzzle. In the moonlight streaming through the southern windows she seemed luminous. “What keeps you up this late at night?” He glanced at the windows and shrugged his shoulders. “I'm not ready for sleep.” “Our animal forms,” Misanthe said and gracefully sat upon the lounge, “are both of the night. It does not surprise me. Come, sit with me.” He did not make her ask again, immediately striding to the lounge and sitting across from her, one eye watching the window and shaft of starry sky beyond. The moon shone its silvery light upon his mother but was hidden from his view. “Something is troubling you, my son.” Charlie snapped his snout around to face her. “What? I'm just not tired!” “I'm your mother. I've cradled you in my arms and comforted you when you've seen frightful things you did not understand. I've tended your wounds when you and Bryn played too rough. I have rejoiced in your triumphs and your pride, and wept at all of your hurts. I know, my son, when something is troubling you.” Her narrow, predatory muzzle was drawn in a gentle smile that did not reveal any of her sharp white teeth. Despite many years of rough, often brutal, life in her youth the vixen had grown into a poise of regality that belied that youth. He tried to smile at being caught, but in the end lowered his snout. “Seeing the Narrows... seeing my sire, my litter-mates, my mother, it... it made me feel... lost.” Before he realized what was happening, a torrent of words gushed from his tongue as his lithe frame folded in on itself. “Everyone there... they all seemed so full of love for each other and they went out of their way to try and impress me and... invite me to stay. How... how could they give me up? I.. I love you, Father, Suri; I love you as dearly as mine own life but... I just don't understand what happened to bring me here.” He slumped against the pillows and sighed, the pallid darkness of the Narrows tower returned. Misanthe stretched out her arm and pulled him closer. With a heavy sigh he let her draw him against her chest, one large ear pressed in close enough to hear the measured thumping of her heart through fabric, fur, and flesh. In a gentle voice, as one of her paws stroked down the fur on the back of his head, she said, “You know that you share a rare gift, something so rare and so dangerous that it would have driven you mad long ago if not for your father here to help you. He helped me come to understand it in myself, and guide you in mastering it.” He could feel his trimmed claws through his leggings, so tightly was he clutching his knees. “So he must train me. I know that. But why did Father have to adopt me and name me his heir?” His mother's soft, practiced touch soothed his nerves despite his sudden flurry of emotion. Her voice remained calm with a tender lilt that could never fail to pierce to his heart. “Your father adopted you to protect you, Charlie. With what you can do, title and wealth are great assets. They allow you to choose how to use your gift and not another. There is another, and more important reason.” “What is that?” “Do you remember the journey we took when you were so very young? All of us, your litter mates, sire and mother, as well as your father and I down far to the south to the desert land?” He grimaced and flicked his tail to one side. “I know of it, and can see images, and remember some of the stories Father has told of that journey, but no, I don't remember anything of my own.” Her paw rested against his back as she held him close to her chest. “It was a very long journey taking a little over a year. You and your litter-mates were so very young, but so very precocious and sweet. Your gift was already revealing itself when we left Metamor and your father agreed to train you on the voyage. That was all that was intended, training. But something happened on that voyage that changed hearts and minds. Your father discovered that he loved you as a father should, and your sire saw it too. When the voyage was complete, through all of its trials and hardships, you held to your father more and more, and so your sire offered to give you up.” She leaned back and gripped his chin in her own, forcing him to look into her face, snout to snout. “Both your father and your sire love you very much, my son. You are here where you are now, who you are now, because of their love.” As a rat he could not lower his eyes easily, but he did try to avert her gaze. As warm as the glow in his mother's eyes could be, there was an intensity that riveted all who met them. No matter the words, no matter how much he wished them to be true, he could not allow himself to surrender to so simple and so denuded an explanation. He had to know more. “I suppose,” he murmured. “I know they love me, its... just... so hard.” She let go of his jaw and pulled his head in close, wrapping both of her arms about his back, rocking him back and forth as she had done when he was a child. He slipped his arms beneath hers and held tight, breathing in as she breathed out. For several minutes mother and son held each other in the quiet of the late night hour and in the indigo shadows of moonlight. He relaxed at the stroke of her paw behind his ears and the nuzzle of her snout across the top of his head. His toes curled together and his tail tried to find something to brush against but only found the carved lion paw leg to the chaise. With a long intake of breath, Charlie eased himself back. Misanthe let him break the embrace, smiling at the edges of her snout as she looked into his dark eyes. “Could you,” he asked with a slight trembling at the corners of his cheeks, “tell me the story of the voyage?” “I am no story-teller, not like your father.” “Well, at least, how long ago was it? That I was adopted.” She studied him closely for a moment before replying. “It was about fifteen years ago now. June. I remember well because it was the year we never felt a winter. You cried quite often those first few months, but we took you to see your family every week for a year and you stopped crying. And then your sister was born and Bryn was old enough to play; we have been your family ever since. I know it is hard for you to know that your first family gave you to another, but it was done out of love.” He grimaced and nodded, slipping further away from his mother. “I... aye it is hard... but here I am.” He turned his head aside and looked around the wide room. There was no rest to be found here that night. “I think I'm ready to try sleeping now. Good night, mother. I will see you tomorrow.” Her arms fell to her lap, paws primly resting one upon the other, as she gazed up at him with motherly love and concern for the anguish of his inner turmoil. Such would ever come to those who are still finding themselves, she knew, so she would not press. She knew he would come to her if those concerns continued to plague him, as he had done for the last fifteen years and would for the years that still stretched before them. And he could see those very thoughts in her eyes, the curve or her tight jowls, the slope of her shoulders, and the tilt to her ears. But such recollection could not triumph over the present. “Elvmere expects you in the morning for your history and philosophy studies and Master Vidika wants to see you and Bryn in the afternoon for training. And do not forget that you promised Master Hymdal that you would complete your arithmetic lessons after the hunt.” Charlie grunted under his breath and nodded. If it wasn't tutors it would be the Duke with a request of him, or some word of advice through the eyes of youth that he had forgotten in the years behind him. At least Sunday he would have some time to himself. “I will not disappoint him or any of them. Good night, Mother.” He stood and inclined his head respectfully, then turned and walked back toward his chambers. In the deep gloom of the corridor, he cast his eyes at the outline of the door to his father's library. There would be time. He would learn nothing useful tonight, but perhaps tomorrow he would. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>