<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars III: Descensum (i) Tuesday, May 8, 708 CR The trip back to the Glen suffered several detours and delays as the path Charles choose ran through a narrow ravine that had been blocked by several downed trees. By the time he reached home it was past time for the evening meal and his children were nearly ready for bed. He slept fitfully and woke well before morning, sore and suffering that strange disconnect he'd felt the previous morning. He was able to fight through the fog and dress himself. Only this time his paws did not carry him toward the stables; rather he found himself wandering across the Glen commons toward the small graveyard within the northern trees. The towering sentinels swayed like masts at sea and the muddy earth gripped his paws like a thousand clawing hands. For a moment he felt as if he were going to drown, his throat clenching shut so tight that he felt claws digging at his collar only to gasp in surprise to discover that they were his own. All of that even before his eyes glimpsed the familiar stone cross marking his son's grave. Charles stopped and stared without seeing for several seconds, noting rather the pink specks amidst crystalline shards in the granite marker, the moss covering the earth, and a butterfly with iridescent red and green wings crawling across a wildflower sprung up before the marker. The rat flexed his hands, beginning to feel the cool, morning air through them. His whiskers trembled with a breath of wind. His tail dragged through the soft coating of moss. And then is heart tightened and he fell to his knees, eyes overflowing with tears. A sob clutched his throat which he fought to hold back as he bent over, claws hammering into the earth while his snout dove into the moss. He rubbed his head from side to side, moistening the cold ground with his tears. He is not here anymore. His flesh is a feast for worms. Charles dug his claws into the moss and growled deep in his chest. A fury built in him to challenge the sorrow. He ripped at the moss covering his boy's body, tearing huge gouges free and revealing the loam beneath. You cannot find him here. He paused, shutting his eyes and squeezing a tear from each. The tear from his left eye slid down through his cheek fur and was lost within. The tear from his right eye gathered in the ruined flesh beneath where it pooled for a moment before dropping silently into pile of moss in his hands. What would others say if they saw you digging up the grave? Charles took several deep breaths to gather his wits. But the racing of his heart would not slow but beat loud like the thundering footfalls of a charging army. The trembling in his flesh, born of grief and rage, neared palsy. Stone does not feel so. The idea seemed as plausible as anything else. He willed his flesh to granite and granite it became. With it his breathing and heart stopped, and his skin hardened until it trembled no more. At ease and cold like the earth, Charles stretched forth his hands to straighten the moss he'd torn. It would never be the same, but at least a cursory glance would reveal nothing amiss. Slow and methodical, he smoothed out the gouged earth and greenery until he was satisfied. A stone arm stretched out and latched onto the center of the cross marker showing his son's grave. Jeweled eyes fixed upon that bit of stone, even as his hand sunk within its form. But the marker was silent as if there were no tenant remaining. Charles probed the grave for a few fruitless minutes before drawing back his arm and slowly letting the cold granite melt into soft flesh again. By the time the basalt vein had returned to scar-flesh, the rat had turned his back on Ladero's grave and was walking toward the commons. “Eli, help me,” he murmured beneath his breath, eyes casting heavenward into the verdant boughs and snatches of dawn blue sky. They glimmered with the wind, providing only a cascade of color in reply to his prayer. Charles opened wide his mouth, tongue slipping out through the gap between his incisors and right molars to dangle breathless and moist, thirsting for something he could not name. He smelled the sharp musk before he heard the touch of his clawed feet on the soft earth. Charles closed his jaws but did not turn. “Garigan?” “Aye, master. Are you all right?” “I will be.” He closed his eyes and let his snout drop slowly to his chest. He flexed his toes as he breathed, the earth pressing in beneath his claws. “How long have you been watching me?” The ferret standing a short distance behind him clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and whistled through the gap where his front teeth had been carved out. “Since just before you visited... your son.” “It was the first time in... two weeks now. I have never let such a long stretch pass.” He half-turned and saw his friend and fellow Sondecki garbed in scouting attire with a green sash tied about his upper left arm. Over a year ago Charles had gathered with Jerome and Krenek to raise the ferret to the rank of Green; now Krenek was dead and Jerome had been corrupted by some strange beast mage far to the north and Charles rarely had the time to dedicate to his Sondecki charge. His presence was always comforting. “I often visit where I spread Shelley's ashes,” he murmured with a brief sideways glance toward the mountain peaks in the west. “I know it is not the same, but...” “You understand the pain,” Charles finished for him. “Aye. Is there anything I can do for you, master?” “If you are free, keep me company for now.” “I shan't be missed. Are you going to go to the Narrows again today?” “They are my lands now. I do have a responsibility to learn them and protect them.” Charles grimaced and then nodded. “I am going to ready Malicon and then go see if James is ready to ride. You can come with us if you'd like.” “As far as I am able,” Garigan replied and then ducked his head once in a sinuous contortion only a ferret could perform. He then stepped to the rat's side and offered him a smile. “Let us see to your steed together, master.” Charles cast a quick glance to the Heavens in gratitude before continuing on his way to the stables. ---------- Garigan and he spoke a little as Charles brushed Malicon's coat and readied his tack. He avoided looking into the corner where his vine lurked, though he did catch a glimpse or two of the curling green leaves almost whimpering in their call to him. Rat and ferret spoke of the sorts of training they would do later that summer, as well as pondered what could be done about Jerome when he finally returned to Metamor. Of the latter neither had any inkling of what really to expect and so Charles' ideas were guesses and hopes more than anything else. But of the former Charles had many plans; plans he had born in his heart not for the ferret but for his own son. Try as he might he could not stop his heart from wandering back to the grave. Halfway through sentences his voice would trail into silence, punctuated by snorts from Malicon for him to continue or new questions from Garigan meant to jar him from unpleasant reminiscence. Even attempts to speak of his four living children only made him miss the one more deeply. After several such lacunae the ferret asked him instead of the Narrows; of his new land Charles had no difficulty speaking. Both of them were surprised when, while the rat was still securing the saddle to Malicon's back, they heard a pair of hooves walking toward the stables. A moment later James appeared in the doorway with a grave expression on his snout, but friendly eyes. “Sir Charles! I'm glad I caught you; we cannot go to the Narrows today. Oh, good morning, Garigan, I didn't see you there.” “Good morning, James,” Garigan replied, stepping back a pace as Charles climbed over the paddock door to brace his friend. “James! What do you mean we cannot go to the Narrows today? Has something happened?” “Nothing ill for the Glen at least. A messenger arrived a short while ago with a message for us. Jessica, Kayla, and Rickkter are on their way here now to meet with us. It's Tuesday.” Charles and Malicon chuffed at the same time. “I thought we agreed we did not need to meet this week. We were all together at Lake Barnhardt only a few days ago.” He doesn't trust you. “I am sorry, Charles, but I sent for them. I fear for you. What happened yesterday...” He betrayed you. Garigan frowned and turned to the rat, one claw plucking at the green sash about his arm. “What happened yesterday, master?” And the seeds of doubt spread. Charles sighed and shook his head. “You may as well join us, Garigan. We are meeting because of the corruption of Marzac. It's touched everyone else so far; all except me. I don't relish repeating the story and I will have to tell them what happened. You can hear it then.” “That seems fair.” “Thank you.” James lowered his ears and stepped closer. “How are you this morning, Charles?” “Well enough. It seems I'll have a good excuse now to spend most of the day with my family.” “And no fallen trees to block your way,” the donkey added with a smile that slowly brightened his face. His long tail swished behind him and he took another step closer, lifting one arm as if asking whether he could embrace the rat in a brotherly hug. You must allay his suspicions as best you can. Charles chuckled and then obliged him, returning the hug with a few pats to the donkey's back. “Well, if I'm not going anywhere today, I will break my fast with my family. James, Garigan, you are both welcome to join us.” Garigan smiled with an arched eye. “A chance to watch you and Lady Kimberly try to keep four little rats still long enough to eat? I'd be honored!” ---------- Both ferret and donkey were put to good use at the Matthias table by helping to spoon a porridge of oatmeal, sausage, and berries into their designated child for the morning. None of his children appreciated being spoon fed and would rather stick their hands into the porridge and then stick their hands in their mouths, or on the table, or on each other, or anywhere else to make a mess. All the while they squeaked with all the power in their lungs, repeating the handful of words and phrases that they knew – a list that grew day by day – with the most frequent being, “Nay!” and “Don't wanna.” There were no quiet meals in the Matthias home. Charles felt immeasurably better when his eyes were kept on his youngest daughter little Baerle while he fed her, but when they swept over the rest of his family, he felt that nagging emptiness return. Why couldn't there be a fifth child here? Why did he have to die? Because the gods did nothing. He hated both the question and the answer and so kept his focus on helping his little girl who waxed cooperative and sweet one moment and the next offered so shrill a squeak that his ears rang. He wondered anew how Kimberly was able to maintain any order at all in their home. It's easier for her with only four instead of five. He nuzzled his daughter's head fur between her ears to keep his morose thoughts at bay. ---------- There was a little time before their friends from Metamor would arrive and so Charles opted to visit the merchant Gibson whom he hoped would help him determine what he would need to cultivate the Narrows. Gibson had once owned the house in which Charles and his family lived but had built for himself something closer to the lake to better suit his and his family's amphibious nature. Just as the Matthias family were rats, Gibson's family were all frogs. Both Garigan and James accompanied him down the winding track to the small lake called Spring just south of the Glen commons. At first he was glad of their company; now he felt as if he were being crowded and wished they would let him handle this errand on his own. He said nothing though and focused on the task ahead. Gibson's home by the lake was beneath one of the massive trees overlooking the water, with a little enclosed path down to a boathouse; a small row boat bobbed lazily where it was tied. Squatting over the dock with a pair of oars in his arms was the merchant frog. His yellow eyes brightened when he saw them and his large mouth opened wide. “Sir Charles! James, Garigan, to what do I owe the pleasure?” His throat bobbed in a pleased warble. “I've come to ask for your help, Master Gibson,” Charles replied. “I intend to cultivate and protect the Narrows and wanted your advice on what I will need. Could you be of assistance?” The frog turned the oars over with his webbed hands and bent his long legs as if stretching them. “I would be glad to help. Perhaps I can come by your home later this afternoon and we can discuss it then?” If you agree you will not be able to protect the Narrows today. “I was rather hoping we might be able to ride out there this afternoon if that would not be too much trouble for you.” Gibson croaked and did his best to grimace. His jawline was too firm to form proper expressions but the disappointment was clear. “I'm afraid I cannot leave the Glen today. But tomorrow I can. Besides, if we discuss it this afternoon we can make better plans for tomorrow. I have a great deal to prepare before I head to Metamor next month for trading. I hope you understand, Sir Charles; I mean no offense to you.” Charles bit back his disappointment and irritation. “This afternoon will have to do then. I should be free by then.” “It is a beautiful day, finally warm enough for my taste. Do you mind if I bring my son with me? It'll be the first time he's been able to enjoy the Spring.” “Of course. I will see you this afternoon then.” Charles turned and nearly bumped into both ferret and donkey who stood right behind him. They both backed up and offered apologies, but he forced a smile and shook his head. “Let us go wait for our friends!” Hopefully they will understand. But do not trust in it. All the way back up the hill to the Commons, even though the frog warbling a disjointed tune as he stowed his lake gear was the only one making any noise, he could hear James's scrutiny. It wasn't a feeling, but an actual sound, a vibration echoing from his narrowing eyes, lowered ears, and the flexing of his supple lips. Charles stepped faster in vain to escape it. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>