<html> <body> --------- Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars IV: Infernus (e) Saturday, May 12, 708 CR When the light returned to eyes and mind, Charles first felt a hand resting on his back. It was a long-fingered hand, large, gentle, and warm. He quivered beneath it, molars grinding and paws scratching at the ground, tail curled up around him as close as possible. There was cloth about him, some tough and some loose, wrinkled and bundled like heavy blankets. Beneath him the ground felt strong and unyielding; against this his claws, short but sharp, could do nothing. The hand drew him back. He blinked several times as the paralyzing anxiety faded. A sense of indignation settled in its place, focusing his nerves and his attention. His eyes focused on his prodigious snout and beyond to his thumbless paws and the piles of clothing bunched around him. His back arched as he huddled on his haunches with the tip of his tail beneath his nose. Not as small as a normal rat, but small enough that a hand could rest on his back and nearly span its length from tail root to neck. Flush both with embarrassment and irritation at himself, he turned his head from side to side, sniffing the air and surprised to find no scent but those they carried with them. A limitless nothing shrouded everything in any direction he glanced, something so odd that it turned his eyes away as if they were lodestones. Beneath him and extending forward beyond any distance he could fathom was a gray path. The bridge. No stones or wood were used to fashion this bridge. It was of a single piece, smooth and remarkable only in its perfection. In width he doubted if two men could walk side by side and with no rails guarding them from tumbling off the side he felt a disquieting vertigo whenever he looked more than a few feet ahead. Charles lowered his snout back to his tail and paws and took a long deep breath. He felt no air rush into his lungs and yet felt neither pain nor panic at its absence. All that remained was his indignation at being so easily cowed, and a renewed determination to face the new horrors that awaited them on the other side of the bridge. But first the rat had to recover his dignity. He willed himself to grow in size and return to the most human shape the Curses of Metamor allowed. His long tail slid behind him as short, squat legs stretched and pushed the rest of him upward in the midst of his tangled garments. Thumbs emerged from his paws, returning once more to clawed hands, as his snout dwindled in measure to return some semblance of human proportions to his eyes and face. The hand and presence at his side backed away to give him room to right himself. In shrinking in size he had shrunk out of his clothes and now that he had returned to normal Charles found himself with only a single leg in his pants and both arms trapped within his tunic. His scouting cape nearly fell from the side of the bridge before Qan-af-årael put a soft boot in its middle. Charles fidgeted with his garments for a moment until he'd righted each, and then bent down to claim the cloak. As on either side, there was nothing beneath the bridge. He swayed unsteadily for a moment as his eyes trained on the gray surface, only to feel a shiver race through him when he saw that it had no thickness. He stood upon a single scrap of paper in the midst of a barren abyss bereft of all sight, sound, and scent. He wished that he could see even a single star in the firmament, either above or below, but there was nothing. Charles closed his eyes as he wrapped the cloak about his shoulders and fixed its clasp. “Is it safe?” he asked in a whisper. His words did not echo, but they seemed louder than the thundering of that brobdingnagian horror hunting them across the plain. The tremble of a frightened squeak was discernible in his speech. In comparison the Åelf's voice felt smooth and inoffensive, as suited to this emptiness as it was to the lofty forested towers of his ancient home. “It is safe for now. But we should not linger here long. The mistress of night did not know we were in her domain, nor does he who lives below know we are coming into his. The longer we stay here the sooner they will learn of us. Are you ready to continue, Charles?” The rat nodded and pulled his cloak tight, fixing his eyes on the ancient one. Upon him he could gaze for an eternity and never lack for confidence. But with haste pressing upon them, he too felt pressed, turning and walking carefully along the gray bridge toward the other end. The ground beneath him felt neither warm nor cold, and though it was as smooth as glass, he did not ever once feel his paw slip. He felt as if he were walking across immaculate snow and leaving no prints. Before him the bridge stretched as if to infinity, lost amidst the darkness which permitted no eye's inspection. He continued to step forward, one paw before the other, tail swaying ever so slightly from side to side though never off the path. Behind him he felt rather than saw Qan-af-årael's presence, ever there but allowing Charles to lead. The bridge contracted as if the limitless expanse were nearing his grasp. He had a strange sensation of swelling to immense proportions as if he too had become a giant balancing upon the bridge by the tips of his toes. And then the bridge stopped and the world opened in a wash of light. Charles stumbled as he left the bridge, finding himself in a bath of yellow brilliance and suspended a few feet from the ground. Into this ground he tumbled and groaned, shielding his eyes from the flood of light. He gasped and felt air return to his lungs, though it had a pungent quality, too sweet as to be febrile. Behind him he heard the Åelf land with more grace, but it took several seconds rubbing his eyes before he could open them. He had walked from the deepest night into the noon day sun. Above them the sky was clear though jaundiced, with a brilliant sun that hovered far nearer than their own ever could. From this he averted his eyes, gazing around them and beneath them. All around he saw row upon row of plants: flowers of every shape and hue, bushes twisted and sculpted with devilish taint, short trees bearing fruit, nuts, and cones, and layered with mushrooms along their trunks. Everything was neatly cultivated and carefully planned. A garden. Charles rubbed his eyes a few more times as he stood up. They were standing on a path of tightly fit stones that ran straight in either direction. Beyond the line of trees he could see stone walls partitioning the room with glass canopies overhanging the trees. Additional panes could be added to enclose the entire area, but for the moment all was open to the sky. Not just a garden, he realized, but a greenhouse. He bent down to peer at a tall stemmed flower near the path when Qan-af-årael gripped his shoulder. “Do not touch them,” he advised in a quiet voice, barely above a whisper. “They will be poisoned in some way.” “They look healthy,” Charles noted, even as he warily leaned away. The flower, lavender with nine soft petals framing a bulbous yellow head, was nothing he had ever seen before. Innocuous, but appealing to both eye and nose, it seemed to beckon him to come closer. His fingers yearned to rub the soft velvet of its petals, and his nose hungered to breath its delicate aroma. “The master of this place cultivates such life only to observe as his poisons and plagues make everything wither and die. This garden will kill anything that disturbs it until the day it is burned to the ground in readiness for his next experiment.” Charles exhaled, feeling rather vulnerable. “Where is the bridge to the next realm?” “I must first know this place a little better before I am certain. It is not here, and that is all I know of it at this moment. Choose a direction and we shall follow it. When I am certain I will guide you. But in any of these places we should not linger.” The rat nodded and, eyes better if still smarting from the bright sun, glanced along the path. There did not appear to be any difference in going left or right, and so started walking in the direction the bridge had pointed. Though the flowers, both tall and petite, had been planted up to the edge of the stone path, he saw no weeds or creepers trying to work their way between the close-fitting stones. Nevertheless he walked in the middle of the path, keeping a wary eye out. For all he knew even the very air could be filled with a poison he had already consumed. But until he felt nausea or palsy he had to assume he'd been spared. The room beyond was another garden in a similar state of upkeep. There was no sign of a gardener nor anything that moved. Charles was used to spotting rabbits or moles furrowing holes even in the Keeps' well tended gardens. But here there was only the plants. The path continued without turning or forking through three more rooms. Each room was a few hundred paces in length and each of them appeared to be one part of a vast greenhouse. There were a few clouds that drifted across the sky above but they always seemed to avoid the too large sun. And though the temperature never seemed to change, the foliage seemed to vary from the bloom of Spring through the vibrancy of Summer to the apex of Autumn. In one room he found brilliant purple, yellow, and cherry blossoms dotting the trees, the next was lush with broad green leaves, while a third glowed with bronze and crimson light. And despite the Åelf's warning, nothing in any of the chambers appeared to be deprived of the least vitality. And then he came to another chamber and immediately put a hand over his shout. What had once been a lovely garden in the throes of Spring now was riddled with mildew and decay. Along either side of the path he could see wilting flowers, drooping bushes, and trees with sickly white growths pressing out through their bark. Leaves were corroded by veins of a bright, almost iridescent green fungus. Red pustules oozed from barren branches on all the bushes. The garden soil was littered with dead petals, leaves, and collapsed stems of flowers now shriveled and gooey. The air reeked with a rancid miasma that made the rat gag. He stepped back out of the room, wrapped his cloak over his snout, and charged back in. Charles moved as quickly as he could without making any noise. He felt Qan-af-årael rushing along behind him but the ancient one was also preternaturally silent. The rooms that followed were no better, and in some cases worse than that first. The range of disease and putrefaction that choked the air and nauseated the eyes seemed to have no limit. But eventually the path which had stretched forever before them reached a branch. Charles paused only long enough to glance in either direction before settling on the right fork. This led into a long stone hallway with several alcoves that seemed to break apart the air. With each division they passed the air grew fresher. After the seventh the rat felt comfortable lowering his cloak and taking a deep breath. He waited only a moment for the Åelf to do the same. They stood in the passage enjoying the fresh air for a few seconds before the rat asked in a low voice, “Do you know where the bridge is?” Though nothing here sought to gorge on their flesh at least in Lilith's realm he had not been afraid to breath or touch anything. Qan-af-årael closed his eyes and made a stilling gesture with one hand. His long fingers seemed to be lifted by some other agency as he concentrated. Charles rocked from one paw to another as he waited. “It does not seem far away,” the Åelf said after nearly a minute of silent contemplation. The rat cast furtive glances in either direction, though it was impossible to see beyond the next fork in the hall. His ears strained for any sound but nothing came, not even the brush of wind across his whiskers. “Follow the right path ahead. But be careful. We are leaving the gardens behind.” Charles was not sure what he expected to find down the right path but certainly not what greeted them at the end of another long series of alcove chambers. The passage opened up into an even larger space than had been set aside for each of the gardens. The stone walls spread out in a perfect rectangle to three times the distance in each direction. The stone path branched at regular intervals around deep pits fashioned from the same stone. Little baubles were affixed to iron posts above each though Charles could not divine their purpose. Coming from each was the stink of animal flesh. Unable to resist, Charles peered over the nearest pit. The walls dropped fifteen feet to a flat bottom that sloped down to each side. In one corner he saw a rancid pool of water, and in the opposite corner a puddle of urine and droppings. Sprawled on all fours in the middle was a small mare. Her hide was falling off in patches and misshapen lumps pressed against several of her ribs and legs. Blotchy pustules smeared beneath her soulless eyes and a yellow froth trickled from between her shriveled lips. One eye roved in the unmoving head to find the rat up above and then she stared at him uncaring. Charles stepped back and dug his claws into his palms. “What is this place?” His eyes stole across the many pits within the large room. He lost count after thirty and wasn't even half way done. “Quiet,” Qan-af-årael cautioned, tapping his arm and motioning him to step back. His eyes fixed upon something in the distance. Charles did not waste time trying to see what; a rat's eyes would never compare at distances. They retreated to one corner where they could hide behind pits whose walls were just tall enough to conceal them. Crouching low, they waited for several seconds before they heard the sound of footsteps from the other end. Charles sucked in his breath and held it. He strained his ears, one hand spread across his chest to keep the pounding of his heart from echoing against his ribs. There were a pair of creatures to judge from the disjointed steps. A part of him yearned to peer around the side of the wall but the rest of him remembered the diseased horse and the decaying gardens. A flash of madness from that thing on the plain stilled whatever nascent desire to sate his curiosity remained. He quivered, whiskers trembling, and hoped he would never see them. Their pace was slow. They would take a dozen steps, and then they would stop for a long time before taking another twelve steps. He could hear some faint clicking sounds as of crickets chirping. Charles swallowed and fought to keep from gasping when he realized it was the two creatures who made that noise. At first he tried to count the number of times that they stopped but after seven he stopped caring. Their path through the room seemed methodical and systematic. They swept from left to right along a single row, and then right to left along the next. Their clicks would grow closer and more irritated, and then they would recede and their hateful speech would leave his ears. Above them the sun remained in its place. Charles bristled beneath its constant and now sweltering rays. He itched all along his back and down his legs. His muscles strained from his crouched position. He leaned ever slightly against the wall of the pit and wished he hadn't. Though pleasantly cool to the touch, there was also a thin film coating it. As quietly as he could he rubbed his fingers clean on his cloak, flexing them and hoping he would still find flesh there when he was finished. His head sprang upward at the sound of terrified screaming. Somewhere in one of the pits in the center of the chamber they had a human captive. Charles stuffed the edge of his cloak between his incisors and gnawed to keep silent. The scream rose in pitch for a moment before dying off only to start again after a gasp of breath. The clicking, chirping insect speech continued as if this were no more a remarkable occasion than a cloud drifting across the sky. Qan-af-årael set one hand on the rat's shoulders as he quivered, tail thumping back and forth against Åelven boots. He reached around his free arm and grabbed his tail and clutched it tightly to his chest as his incisors tore a hole into his cloak. The screaming continued with its rise and fall for several unbearable minutes. And then it turned into a shriek before falling completely silent. The clicking voices carried an air of self-satisfaction that made Charles bite a second hole in his cloak. And then, as if nothing else had happened, they continued on their way inspecting the other pits. A faint moaning echo followed them but even that died away shortly after the insect-things finished their next victim. Charles was able to regain control of his breathing, but the wait was excruciating. Surely they could sneak along the exterior wall while the creatures were investigating a pit on the far side. He half turned his head to the Åelf to suggest this when another scream erupted from their next pit. Only this one was blended with the howling whine of a dog. Neither man nor beast it was another Keeper. He bit into his cloak once more and shifted his stance, leveling up his head to peer just past the wall. A good fifty paces away he saw them. They were vaguely man-shaped, but even in a dark corridor without a single candle to the light the way it was clear that they anything but men. Eight spindly arms stretched from either side of their bright green torso, each ending in a pair of black claws, and with these they manipulated various instruments both long and spectral. Their heads were those of crickets with huge compound eyes, waggling antennae, and gyrating mandibles. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>