<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars III: Descensum (l) Wednesday, May 9, 708 CR Charles awoke as if climbing up from a deep well into a black cave where only a crack in the wall brought any light. He struggled against the enclosing darkness first in anger and then in panic when for all of his flailing he could not reach that one surcease from terror, the shaft of light piercing the bitter night. Stones tripped his feet and walls crushed his arms and chest as he scrambled from the well and through the cave. His feet were then fast caught, swallowed by the stone as if by a python, slurping up across his legs and tail, dragging him back away from the crack. Something unseen struck the stone and he felt himself come free. He gripped a hand, cool to the touch and porous like mist, that guided him about the obstructions and turned his fearful heart to one of merciless focus. The goal of light was before him and nothing could prevent him from reaching it. Charles put his hands to the crack, slipping his claws through and heaving with all his strength. The crack widened and beyond he recognized the ceiling of his bedroom. The crack flashed a moment of darkness and he knew he was staring out his own eyes as they blinked. The ceiling swam away and he witnessed the quilt of his bed pushed aside by his arm. Familiar legs and tail slipped from the mattress, and, like a passenger in his own body, he watched himself stretch and then don his attire for the day. It was only when he secured the rat-head buckler about his waist that he felt sensation return to his flesh. And with the awareness of the warmth of his room, the dimness of the light, the gentle breathing of his wife who had not yet stirred from sleep, the distant sleeping of his children and his guests, the scent of candlewax mixed with the odors of several animals, and the feel of wood beneath his paws, finally returned to him control over his own body. Charles left his chambers and then his house, not wanting anyone to see him after that strange fugue. He slipped into the stables, prepared feed for Malicon, and then busied himself mucking out the stall. One hand swatted the flies who objected to his presence, while the other worked the pitchfork. His lips moved, tongue seeking the words of a prayer. Nothing came to him, only the beastly awareness of what surrounded him and the task at hand. By the time he'd finished the rat felt like himself again. He had half a thought of telling his friends who were doubtless waking from their well-deserved slumber in the guest rooms of his home about the strange disconnect he felt both this morning and the previous two. If Marzac were controlling you, it would not relinquish its control. Charles smiled at the thought, comforted and confident again. He offered Malicon a gentle hug around his neck before leading the pony into his freshened stall. “I'll be back for you a little later this morning. We're going to ride to the Narrows again today, my friend.” Malicon lipped at his ear and whickered his approval. ---------- After breaking their fast together, Kayla and Jessica bid them a fond farewell and started on the long ride back to Metamor. James promised both of them that he would keep a close eye on Charles and if he couldn't be there that Garigan would be. Charles promised to let them know if he felt the corruption touch him in any way. They lingered long enough to watch the wagon disappear down the road to the south before claiming their mounts and heading down to the lake to fetch Gibson. The frog was awkward in the saddle, especially since he required the use of parchment and ink if he was to catalog all that he saw of the Narrows and the rat's plans for them. Despite those difficulties he proved a competent rider and did not slow either rat or donkey down as they traversed the forest paths through the clefts in the rock where the Glen overlooked the Narrows. Once they reached the Narrows proper he did bid them wait while he reviewed his notes from the night before as his large yellow eyes studied the land. He asked Charles questions about where he imagined roads, bridges and the like should be, offering suggestions from time to time to ease the financial burden or to point out the engineering challenge of his requests. But for most of the day he was altogether agreeable and the trio were soon awash in possibilities for the wild land bordering both the Glen and the Lakeland. They reached the mountains in the west and the outcropping on which the rat envisioned his keep sometime in the early afternoon. Gibson professed some discomfort at the dryness of his skin so they paused there for a short time and made a fire. They cooked some sausage to eat, while Gibson heated some river water and used it to moisten his green, warty flesh. Once they had eaten and their companion was comfortable again Charles pointed out all that he'd tried to show James two days before. They did not encounter anyone else in their travels though nearly every hour they saw some game from a distance. By the early evening as they returned to the Glen with a very satisfied frog, Charles noticed that James appeared far more at ease and that comforted him. Even if only for the moment, his friend finally seemed to have realized that there was no cause to fear the corruption. Truly the power of Marzac must have been spent by the hyacinth. Two surprises awaited him as he returned home with both James and Gibson in tow. The donkey had no intention of leaving his side and he had promised the frog another meal in gratitude for his help. But he had meant only Gibson and not his wife and supplanting son. Both he found in his home. Natalie conversed with his wife Kimberly as they reclined on his couch sipping warm tea, while Bertram hopped about the room with his children scampering after him, sometimes even catching him and trying to hold onto his legs as he leaped high into the air. His croaking laughter and the delighted exclamation offered by Gibson on seeing his son and wife there felt like a lance rammed up to the pommel into his heart. The second surprise was his wife. About her neck she bore a pendant he'd never seen before, with a sturdy silver strand fixed to a vaguely purplish river stone. The stone was so plain in comparison to the necklace holding it up that he found his eyes drawn first to it and then to his wife's snout and eyes. She stared at him for a single moment with an apprehensive fear whose origin he could not guess. One paw lifted to clasp the stone and the moment passed, her smile returning and brightening her entire face, dark eyes, pink ears, and tan fur, all of it brimming with a warmth that always drove him to greater acts of love. Charles blinked a few times before managing to force a chortle from his throat. “I didn't realize we were having so many guests.” “Oh, the children had so much fun yesterday that I thought we should have little Bertram over more often. He needs playmates too. And Natalie has helped me ready something new and interesting for our supper tonight.” Gibson tilted his head back and sniffed through the small nostrils above his maw. “Are those... honeyed crickets?” The lady frog pouted. “Oh, darling husband, you weren't supposed to spoil the surprise!” Charles was about to offer some rejoinder but found himself surrounded by his children. He scooped the four of them up in his arms and nuzzled them as they excitedly greeted him and grabbed at his face and whiskers. The little frog Bertram looked up at four dangling tails for a moment before he hopped over to his father and wrapped his arms about his leg. Gibson reached down and hoisted him into his arms to hug him against his chest. “Crickets? That sounds horrible.” James asked in disbelief, sticking his tongue out as far as it could go. “They're quite good,” Gibson assured him. “And you are a frog.” “Aye, that I am. But you would do well to try them anyway.” Charles hugged his children one more time before setting them down. “Go clean your hands and then you can have something to eat.” The four of them excitedly scampered up the stairs without that fifth interloper. At least Gibson was holding his son tight; he would have to find some excuse to keep them away. But it was not there that his eyes settled. All of it seemed to be a distraction compared with the gaze of his wife. She stared at him with searching eyes, seeking the answer to some unknowable question. All the while her hand rested atop her heart, the amethyst stone wrapped tightly within. Charles met that gaze, suspicions roiling within his heart that could not be spoken. What is that stone? But a question could. “What is that stone? I've never seen it before.” Kimberly opened her paw so that she alone could look at the medallion, if even she could see it around her snout. “This? Oh, nothing. Just something I fancy.” And with that she slipped it within her bodice so it was no longer in view. She's lying to you. “I see that,” he replied, and then forced himself to turn away. “It has been more than a decade since I last ate a cricket. We used to enjoy them in Sondeshara, so for me at least, glazing them with honey sounds absolutely wonderful.” And though they were very crunchy and sweet to Charles, and though James's expression of complete disgust was one of the most ridiculous and exaggerated facades he'd ever seen the donkey bear, and though his children demanded his attention, and though Gibson reported on the tallies of his estimates for his Narrows plans, he could not help but stare at his wife's bodice and eyes even out of the corner of his own for the remainder of the evening. She lied to him and he would know why. You will. Obey your heart and you will. And that thought, every time it came to him, made him smile. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>