<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars III: Descensum (b) Tuesday, June 22, 724 CR – Early Evening He wasn't quite sure how long he'd remained there crying, but eventually he'd been able to lift his head and stare out over the city as he chewed his stick into splinters. Charlie could not think clearly and for a time, admiring the city and pondering the joys and struggles of its inhabitants was all he could do. Despite the activity of the festival, there were always many coming and going from the Keep itself. These he watched in particular, hoping he might recognize his father amongst them. He finally found Malger in the company of many rats. Charlie winced as he saw his father riding back to the Keep alongside his sire and the rest of his kin. So small they were from such a height, but even at that distance he could see the weight of years piling upon their shoulders. His sire was haggard and slumped in the saddle, with his mother by birth putting her hand to his side to steady him. Or perhaps merely to comfort him. He should not judge too quickly. As he stared down from a bird's loft upon his kin, hurting as he did, he could not help but remember other happier moments with each. He could easily see the beaming pride in his father's face the first time Charlie had helped him defeat a nightmare plaguing the people of Metamor. Both in the Dream and without his father had held him tight in pride and love. He had boasted of his exploits to his mother and younger sister, his words a cornucopia of never-ending accolade. How well he could recall the first time that Malger had invited him to play music with him and his friends. He had felt so small and intimidated, but he'd held the flute tight in his little hands and blew such gentle and delightful notes that all of them were forced to applaud. Malger had smiled to him, and even kissed him on the brow. And he remembered why he'd chosen to play the flute that day – it was his father's choice in instruments and he wanted to be like his father. But Charlie did not have such memory of Malger alone. Well could he remember the many visits he had made to the Glen in his youth while his birth family still lived in the tree. He remembered climbing that tree up into its high branches with his sire and his brother Erick. He had been afraid at first because he wasn't used to such heights, but his sire had been so gentle and told him he could hold onto his back if he got scared. For his sire Charlie would prove he wasn't scared and jumped from branch to branch with both of them without stumbling and without once complaining. But still at the end he had held tight to his sire who also kissed him on his brow. And then, as Charlie stared out over the sky above Keeptowne, he could not help but remember what his sire had done for him when he was ten. The dragons Lindsey and Pharcellus had come to Metamor for a time, and they had even visited the Matthias family while Charlie was also visiting. They had just moved into the new Keep in the Narrows and so much of the land was striped to provide wood and stone for construction. His sire had surprised him by arranging for the two of them to take a ride on the back of Pharcellus. His sire had even held him out in his arms so he could pretend that he was flying instead. Charlie sighed as he lost sight of his father and sire and the rest of the Matthias clan as they disappeared within the Keep. Yes, he admitted to himself, he did love his family. What son wouldn't? But his first father had sold him and now he learned that Nocturna had sought him in particular. Was that why he could see into dreams? They had always told him he'd been born with the gift, but what if it had only been given by Nocturna herself at that moment? He had no answer for the question, only more hurt. And yet, to the very man who had caused this hurt, the very man he both loved and felt such fury toward, this man, his sire, a rat like himself, was the only one who could provide him the answers. And to this man his mother bid him apologize. Charlie stewed over these thoughts and many others for a candlemark more before finally forcing himself to his feet. He turned from the balcony and the view of Metamor and started in search of his sire. Even as his feet carried him down the cold, stone steps, his tail bumping and sometimes dragging across their age-worn surface, he was forced to admit that he had no idea where to find his sire. Was he in one of the many rooms of Long House with the rest of his family weeping as he confessed to them what their elder brother had meant with his outburst? Or was he hiding somewhere else in the Keep, too ashamed to admit to them his guilt? Like you? He could almost hear Bryn's snort in the rebuke. I don't have anything to be ashamed of! Even as the self-righteous retort welled in his mind he felt anew the tenderness in his cheek. He lifted one paw and touched the flesh where his mother's paw had struck him not one hour before. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. If he wished to be a man then he had to act like a man. Charlie swallowed and continued down the steps. Narrow windows let in just enough breeze to keep the air fresh and cool. Through some the slanted light of the sun cast shafts of golden brilliance against the inner wall of the spiraling stairs. No lamplighter would climb these steps as there were no lamps to light. While his eyes were sufficient for what little starlight would penetrate those narrow windows should he change his mind and linger longer, he would rather descend the tower while he still had the sun. His hands fell to his sides and gripped the loose fabric of his trousers. His claws dug into the seams and his incisors yearned once more for a stick to chew, but even should he return for the splinters he'd left on the tower floor above they could not sate him a single bite. Instead his teeth chattered beneath quivering jowls, his whiskers a trembling blur of white at the bottom of his vision. The stairs stretched beneath him as endless and as changeless as any place in Metamor could be. He both hated it and savored it. Part of him wanted to get speaking with his sire over with so he could find Bryn and maybe Sig too and get drunk at one of the taverns. Another part of him wished to forestall seeing his sire again for as long as possible. Just what do you hope to learn from him anyway? He sighed and lowered his snout, his pace slowing. I want to learn the truth. You know the truth. Dreams cannot lie to you. He tightened his grip on his trousers, claws tearing a hole in the expensive fabric. “But they don't show everything either.” He picked up his pace, focusing his mind on that one truth, the one he could never deny. It stilled his anger and piqued his hunger. If there was more to know as his father and mother assured him, then he would learn of it no matter what he had to do. There is another reason you go to your sire. He could hear his mother's voice with her at once gentle but stern reprimand. You have to apologize for your poor behavior. It may be the last thing he wanted to do, but his father and mother, Duke Thomas, and all of his tutors had taught him better than that. He would be a man and do the right and noble thing. Even if there is absolutely nothing your sire can say to deserve forgiveness for what he did to you. Charlie swallowed bile and kept on walking down the steps. It took him only a few minutes to reach the bottom of the tower stairs; an atrium with braziers on either side brought the room and doorway into the rest of the Keep. He took a deep breath and glanced at the walls, tail thumping down the last of the steps behind him. “Kyia, I don't know where my sire is. But if he is in the Keep, can you bring me to him straightaway? You have my gratitude either way.” He chastened himself for that last bit of equivocation but what was said was said. Charlie walked to the doorway at the end of the atrium and stepped through. Beyond was a short hall that turned to the right only twenty paces ahead. The sun shone through the tall windows on his left and he blinked uncomfortably, shielding his eyes with one arm for a moment before they adjusted to the brightness. He cast his glance at the floor where it was darker; the sun had already ventured far enough to the west that its rays could not strike the floor. At the very least, he noted, he had the hallway to himself. He walked as quickly as he could. Not because he felt rushed, but because he feared he would stop walking again. And that is precisely what he did when he rounded the corner to come face to face with the ornate arched doors leading into the Follower cathedral. He blinked as his eyes roved across the sculpted bronze scenes set into the doors of key moments from the Canticles. Though Kyia could have fashioned more intricate and grander designs if Bishop Hough had asked, the youthful prelate preferred to commission the design as a parish community. The final panels depicting the ascension of Yahshua at the apex of the double doors had been finished last year, and to that scene his eyes lifted. The bronze Yahshua was risen in the air above the assembled apostles whose stylized faces gazed up in awe, arms lifted over their heads in wonder and worship. Surrounding Yahshua were angels ready to welcome Him into the Follower Heaven. One arm was lifted up to the welcoming angels while the other was lowered in invitation toward the men below. No wonder Bryn was so adamant in his faith; the Follower god invited them to come with simplicity, ardor, and love. The offer was always open; the invitation would continue to be made. Charlie lowered his eyes, sucked in his breath, and marched to the doors. There were too many Keeper scents to tell if his sire had come this way, but it seemed reasonable to suppose he had sought solace in the arms of his faith. Charlie carefully drew one of the heavy doors open and stepped through as quietly as he could. There was always a parishioner or two kneeling in prayer in the sanctuary and he didn't want to disturb them. He was surprised to find over a dozen gathered toward the front of the sanctuary near the rail but only two near the doors. Of those two, he barely saw his fellow rodent next to the gargantuan reptile attired in heavy black mail with a red cross whose arms were all the same length stained onto the rings. The mail was split down the back so it could actually be removed as it was impossible for anything to be lifted over his head with his wide frill and three horns blocking the way. One yellow eye in the head that weighed as much as Charlie opened and slid toward him, a gray beak in the midst of his mottled brown scales creaked open a wordless command. A massive hand lowered from where it had been folded in prayer to touch the small rodent's back. The mouse at his side was garbed in a black robe with a cowl hanging against his back that covered him almost completely apart from his long feet and tufted tail poking out behind him as he knelt. His ears were as large as the rest of his head, and a bushel of white whiskers graced his graying snout. And on his robe as a stain of blood was a crimson cross. At the touch of the giant reptile's hand, the mouse lifted his head, his fingers tangled in prayer beads, and looked first to the sentinel and then to where the sentinel watched. Charlie grimaced but nodded to the Questioner who rose from where he knelt after making the sign of the yew toward the high altar and tabernacle. Unsearchable green eyes met him. “Young Lord Sutt, you are here seeking your sire?” Although Charlie was not a stranger in the Cathedral, he usually only came when invited by his friends to celebrate some special moment in their lives or on some errand for his father. Although he could not be certain, this might have been the first time he had come to the Follower Cathedral in Metamor of his own accord. Knowing that, he could not fault Father Felsah's inquiry. “Aye, I am,” he replied in a quiet voice to match the jerboa's own. Felsah nodded and turned his snout toward a pair of doors at the rear of the sanctuary that led to choir practice rooms and storage chambers for the Cathedral. “Your sire has been here for some time. Why do you seek him?” “As if you don't know? There are matters we need to discuss; privately.” His sharp retort did not register on the jerboa's face, but Sir Zachary's heavy eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That you shall have, but your sire is not alone. He was joined a few minutes ago by Master Abafouq. You will want to wait outside until they are finished.” A faint smile graced the edge of his snout. He had always liked the Binoq mage and felt a measure of sympathy for him ever since the first time he had stumbled into one of his dreams of his home deep beneath the mountains. But why would it be he that would come visit his sire and not Kimberly or one of his siblings? Why were they not here with the Baron to give comfort? “Thank you,” Charlie said with a quick nod and a turn toward the choir door. Felsah clicked his tongue against his teeth in reproach. The rat turned back with a glance. “What?” Felsah's eyes flicked toward the altar. “Would you enter and leave any other house without showing honor to her master?” Charlie chided himself for forgetting that show of respect. He bent one knee toward the tabernacle and straightened. He glanced at the jerboa with one eye, but Felsah had already returned to his place kneeling at the three-horned knight's side. The rat continued toward the choir door, pausing just outside to listen. At first he heard nothing beyond except the faint shuffling of soft-booted feet behind the door. There was more noise from the stirring of the few at prayer than there was on the other side of the door where his sire and Abafouq lurked. His legs began to pain him from standing still for too long but he kept listening. As Charlie lifted one leg to stretch it out, balancing on the other and with one hand gripping the crenelations along the door frame, he heard somebody other than his sire sigh on the other side of the door. “Well, I am not seeing any magic that is unusual for you. Being you is unusual enough! When I look at you, and I am thinking that it has always been this way since the belfry, I see the magic of the Curse, the Sondeck, that little touch of the Wind Children, and the spells I imbued you with so you could, as stone, be living. That is all I am seeing on you, Charles.” “Really?” That was his sire's voice. Charlie's claws dug into the stone as he pressed his ear so close against the door that his cheek was flush with the banded hickory it had been fashioned from. “Nothing has changed at all? I thought surely you would see something.” “You speak as if something has happened to you, other than your dramatic ejection from the tourney this afternoon.” “I suppose I deserved it.” His sire's voice was suddenly pained and then all went quiet; for a moment he cursed Abafouq's poor choice of words. But the Baron was not silent for long. “It started happening a few months ago. Whenever I have changed into stone with any injury, that part of my body does not return to flesh with the rest of me. At first it was little cuts I received; enough to worry me, but not enough to worry anyone else. Last month I was in an accident and I broke my leg. The flesh... the flesh is fine, but beneath it... I think the bone is stone. It does not move as fast as my right leg anymore.” Charlie swallowed, remembering how his sire had seemed to favor his left leg in the fight. And that one vicious cut across his chest. His stomach tightened. “And today after I stopped my son, well... see for yourself.” Even as the Binoq sucked in his breath, Charlie felt a mix of shame and righteous indignation. He wasn't the one who had bargained away his eldest son's soul. He must have turned his heart to stone to do so horrible a crime, what difference did it make if the rest of him did as well? “Hmmm, can you feel my finger touching your stone flesh?” “Aye, I feel that.” “And you are able to move even the parts of you that are stone?” “Aye, I can do that too.” “Then it may be that whatever protection you were having from Akkala to keep you flesh is starting to go away. I will be studying this if I have your permission to so do. I would like to see you transform into stone and back again; perhaps there is something there that is keeping your injuries from taking on flesh again.” “I've kept this from my family up until now. I can hide these from others, but not from Kimberly or my manservants! Kimberly will hold it in her heart and never speak of it, but my servants... I fear that all will know of this ere the year closes.” Abafouq's reply was quiet again, and uttered only after several seconds of thought. “I do not think that is what you really fear.” “Nay, I fear it, but it is not what scares me. Abafouq, you saw me before when I was stone and forced to live as stone. Away from the mountains I could almost pretend to be normal. I had to force myself to smile and to laugh and I had to pretend to sleep when I was not on watch, but at least I wasn't tempted to a mountain's slumber anymore. If I return to stone, and with no way to become flesh again for the rest of my life, I fear what I may end up doing. I fear the temptation of mountain to stone!” “I will do what I can for you, Charles. Perhaps Jessica and our other friends can help unravel this mystery. That is, if you be providing permission for me to tell them.” “Please, if you think they can help. I asked for you because you know more about stone magic than anyone else.” “There is Master Murikeer,” Abafouq pointed out. “He lived for a time with a spirit of the mountain and learned many secrets.” “I count him amongst my friends; speak with him too. But you are the one who gave me the ability to move and speak as stone. Who better to take the first look?” “You speak true. Now before I go, show me your change and I will watch what happens to the stone.” Charlie closed his eyes and waited, doing his best to keep still. For nearly a minute he heard nothing but the creaking of wood beyond the door. One of the Followers gathered to pray coughed. Sir Zachary shifted his tail about and thumped it against a stone column. Otherwise he heard only the rise and fall of his breath and the pounding of his heart. “Your change is a confusing thing. Even Metamor's Curses make more sense to me than this.” Abafouq's already higher pitched voice almost squealed like a frightened mouse. “The stone I always see when I study you becomes... how am I thinking... more solid... more present. And when the flesh returns the stone recedes. It is like a glacier in summer. It withdraws some, but it can still be felt. And there are some places where the sun does not shine as brightly that the glacier does not withdraw. These places are like this; the stone is not withdrawing” “Well that is something at least,” Charles said with a long sigh. “A place for you and the others to begin.” “To begin, aye,” Abafouq agreed. “Are you needing anything more?” “Nay, thank you, Abafouq. I will remain here for now.” “If I see Kimberly or your family?” “Tell them I am fine and will rejoin them tonight.” Charlie heard them embrace, and then realized that the Binoq would be leaving by way of the door he had his ear pressed against. With a twist that would have delighted Vidika, Charlie moved from the door to hide tail and all behind a stone rail between two columns. A statue of Mother Yanlin treading upon a serpent greeted him there, and he felt a reproving glance from Sir Zachary who was still watching him. If his behavior were too disruptive that giant would ask him to leave, and if he refused would snatch him up and carry him out like a sack of potatoes. From out the choir door stepped the small man-like creature known as a Binoq. His stout but light frame, and a stature smaller than the rats, made him distinctive even in Metamor. Neither was he a midget nor a child, but something that a human eye would recognize as different even if they could not say why. Charlie watched him walk toward the Questioner. They shared a few whispered words that he couldn't discern. And then Abafouq bowed his head respectfully toward the altar and headed out the main doors. His gaze cast briefly to where Charlie hid and he offered a sympathetic smile. Before Charlie could react he was gone. Felsah was watching him too. The jerboa gestured to the choir door with an outstretched paw and a bland expression. Charlie felt like a fool, but he still rose and maneuvered around the columns and rail for the private altar toward the choir door. Abafouq had left it ajar, but only the glow of a lantern around the edges was visible beyond. Charlie put one hand to the wood, took a breath, and pushed it open. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>