<html> <body> --------- Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars IV: Infernus (j) Saturday, May 12, 708 CR And sat bolt upright in a comfortable bed. Sitting in a wicker chair was a handsome fox dressed as a hunter with knives in his vest. He held a flute in his paw-like hands and blew from his narrow snout that delicate melody. The room around them was bathed in the warm colors of autumn, but these colors were comfortable to the eyes. For once there did not appear to be any pain or anything strange about the sensations. Everything felt right from the touch of the quilts on fur, to the scent of cooking flesh and steaming vegetables, to the sound of the fox's gentle melody as if it had been something beloved from youth. The handsome fox blinked open soft blue eyes and his snout opened in a smile that seemed to span years. He lowered the flute and a long sigh escaped his throat. “Mechtilde. Is it you at last?” “Mechtilde?” Blinking and glancing downward, a new surprise came. Sitting in the bed and draped in a soft-white nightgown was the body of a red-furred vixen and not the rat expected. She blinked, trembling a moment as she lifted black-furred paw-like hands; she turned them over and then touched her narrow fang-filled snout. Triangular ears perked on either side of her head. A soft, luxuriant tail was tucked between her legs. She was not a rat as her memories suggested, but a vixen. The fox rose from the wicker chair and came to her side, taking her right hand in his own and holding it to his chest. She could feel strong muscles beneath his warm fur. His gaze was filled with tenderness, patience, weariness, and love. She felt both vulnerable and assured in that gaze. “Is the curse broken, Mechtilde? I'm here. Your Kinder is here.” “I'm Ma...” the name slipped from her mind. The voice she heard was familiar. Kinder was a name that resonated deep within her and stirred feelings of love and memories. The name she thought she'd had and the memories associated with it felt like errant flies that deftly escaped her paws. She could glimpse them, even take them in as a whole, and a whole life they seemed to span, but she could not linger upon any of them. Kinder slipped his other arm around her back, through the long locks of braided fur between her ears, and rested his strong hand upon her shoulder. “Oh please, Mechtilde, tell me you're back to me. I have missed you so.” “I... I don't understand,” she murmured, feeling lost and alone despite the comfortable surrounding and heartening fox. Kinder pulled her into an embrace so that her snout rested against his chest. She could hear his voice, strong and certain build within amidst the pounding of his heart. “There was a curse on you, my sweet Mechtilde. A curse laid by the Rats! You thought yourself one of them no matter what we did. No matter what... I did.” A profound sadness filled him and Mechtilde felt a horror overcome her. How could she see an entire life's memory of a man who'd become a rat and have it only be a curse. This could not be! And so she said, pushing against Kinder, shaking her head and trembling anew. “No, this cannot be! I... I am not a fox. I am not a vixen.” “You are,” Kinder assured her, his snout opening into an inviting smile. She met his gaze and felt a warmth come to her. He was so handsome and sure of himself. His eyes were radiant like a deep lake warmed by hot springs. A part of her wanted to believe him. “You are not only a fox and a vixen, but you are my wife, Mechtilde. My wife of ten years now. Please tell me you remember! Do not break my heart again!” She blinked and tried to remember, looking first at the memories of the rat, but they seemed to drift even further away now. Instead, what she found when she looked within were memories of a fox, a vixen true. Snatches of time as a little kit playing in the woods with her brothers and sisters rushed back to her. The first time she had met Kinder at a festival, staring across the fields at each other, neither daring to say a word to each other or even trying to approach, brought a smile to her snout and a twitch to her tail as it returned. She felt her heart warm as she remembered the first time they had danced together, minstrels playing the very tune Kinder had just serenaded her with. She almost wept when she felt anew the sorrow of losing their first kit even before he had been born, and did let go tears when the memory of their second kit's death from sickness came back to her. She was Mechtilde, wife to Kinder the huntsman, and this was their home in the village at the edge of the forest. And yet, the memory of the rat remained. How could it have all just been a curse? The love the rat felt for his wife and family was so real and so tender. Still, in those memories she could hear her husband's song, and she could her hear own voice speaking. What had happened? “I... I do remember, Kinder. I do,” she admitted with a long sigh. “I'm... I'm just very confused right now.” Kinder took a deep breath and then nodded, wagging his black-tipped tail. “I should not expect any less. I am overwhelmed with relief to have you back, my sweet. There is some food cooking, can I bring you something?” She slipped out of the bed and set her paws on the ground, testing the feel of her legs. They felt weak, but not so weak that she could not stand. “It smells delicious,” she said with a winsome smile to her husband. By the gods was he handsome! The way his smile turned the red fur of snout and cheeks, and the little raising of his ears, it all made her heart flutter. A part of her seemed to assure her that with such desire for her husband there could be no doubt which set of memories was true. “Take me to it.” She held out her hand and he grasped her paw in his. Little black claws pricked through the fur at their wrists, as callused palms rubbed together. They stepped around the bed, and then side by side their fingers threaded together. He stood a head taller than she, and his shoulders were broad with the rigors of outdoor life. She felt drained, and knew that in years past she had a healthy plump that the years of madness had sapped from her. Kinder was strong and would support her. Mechtilde and Kinder stepped out of the bedroom through a cloth-covered door and into a modest chamber with a fire and grill on which a iron platter was set. Strips of flesh sizzled there and the heat of the fire made her feel flush again. Rows of cushions dotted the far wall, and a wooden doorway stood between two windows through which autumn light entered. Another doorway stood off beyond the firepit, this one banded with iron. Something rattled within. Her nose wrinkled with a faint scent of refuse and blood. “Come and sit,” Kinder invited as he guided her toward the cushion. She reclined, grateful for the softness. Her legs were weak, but the strength would return in time. The scent of cooked meat made her ravenous. The scent of refuse felt familiar as well and did not bother her. As her husband took an earthenware bowl and scooped the strips of meat and seared vegetable within she realized that both scents mixed together had come to her in the final moments of the rat madness as well as her husband's melody. This he whistled from his curved tongue as his deep blue eyes cast quick glances to her, confidant and gentle, ears upturned and handsome. He filled a second bowl with what remained on the iron platter and added a log to the fire before bringing both bowls to where she reclined. Mechtilde took the offered bowl in both paw-like hands and cradled them so that her thumb claws just gripped the edges. Kinder sat cross-legged with black-tipped tail swishing behind him, facing her over the lip of his bowl, snout lowered ever so slightly in a whispered prayer her ears inclined but could not catch. She felt entirely too famished to try and recall any prayers, but waited until her husband finished. “Eat my love, my sweet Mechtilde come back to me. Eat.” So saying he dipped his snout into the bowl and began to gorge on the meat and vegetables within. She held the bowl to her snout, ravenous from the scent, and began to east as well. The meat had a stringy quality and a well-seasoned flavor that stirred her memories. She did not ponder what sort of meat it was until her tongue lapped the insides of the bowl to capture all of the juices. She had just eaten rat. And not just rat, but meat strips from the tail of a rat. A rattling sounded through the iron door and she turned her head, a sullen horror touching her. She thought of the rat the curse made her think to be and their family, the gentle love and the children they possessed but which she'd been denied. A sickness overcame her and she had to struggle to hold the bowl in her paws. She lowered it to keep it from breaking but it still fell and clattered on the wooden floor, spinning for a brief second before settling upright. Kinder's ears lifted in question. “Are you well, Mechtilde?” She stammered, one paw clutching at her chest. “I... I just ate rat!” Her fox husband smiled and a short chortle escaped his throat. “Of course my love. It is your favorite; it always has been. This is your own recipe passed down through your family.” Mechtilde's horror increased, though her husband's gentle confidence sought to assure her. “But you said the Rats cursed me! This is not the flesh of just any animal!” He reached out one paw and gripped her wrist, blue eyes limpid. “My love, the Rats did Curse you. There was a revolt among them, and they struck many of our people. They could not reach me, but before they were stopped and returned to their rightful place, they captured you and through you, struck at me. They have always been our food and always shall be.” Mechtilde searched her memories and found everything her husband had told her was true. As a kit she had watched her parents kill captured rats, skin them, and then divide their flesh up for meat for a variety of recipes. She could even recall the day her dam had taught her how to make the choice cuts and how to properly season them so the meat would keep. Her heart fluttered weakly as she recalled her sire tending the pits where they raised the Rats. Their eyes stared back with hatred, the older ones clutching the young ones to their chest, wrapping them in their arms to protect them from the hooks and nets her sire used to draw them out before breaking or cleaving their necks. And with those memories her head turned toward the iron door from which she could hear rattling. “Kinder, please, tell me this isn't real. What do we have behind that door?” “It is how things are, my love,” he offered with a faint smile. “What they did to you still hurts you, I see. Come, let me show you.” He extended a paw and trembling she took it. They stood and crossed the small room to the iron door. The edges flecked with crimson rust. Kinder produced a brass key from inside his vest and slipped into the keyhole. He turned and a click sounded as the tumblers released. Mechtilde felt her heart jump and then fall silent in awe of the sound. The room beyond was somewhat larger than their main room. One side was dominated by a stone cage with iron bars in which cowered five rats. Mechtilde stared at a mother rat, no taller than three feet, clutching around her four frightened children. One corner of the cage was filled with their filth, while bowls of fetid water and grain were placed in the other. The grain had not been disturbed. All of the rats appeared unhealthy as if they had barely eaten in weeks. The other half of the room was dominated by a large table and basin on which was spread the body of a young rat. The head and skin were removed; the skin, white on the underbelly but black along the back, was stretched and drying against the wall, while the head, also skinned, was positioned on the cutting table so that its lifeless eyes watched the cage. Strips of salted meat hung from hooks, but some still remained to be cut free from the flesh. The tail was denuded so that only the sinew around the bones remained. Everything stunk of blood, filth, and death. Kinder took one of the blades from his vest and made an expert cut through the flesh at the dead rat's ribs. “You see, my love? We have always eaten Rats. It is the way of we Foxes. The more you do the more you'll return to your true self and the faster their vicious curse will be wholly broken. Come, see for yourself. You know these cuts as well as I. You have made them all your life.” He offered her the knife and his handsome smile returned. Mechtilde grasped the knife and stared at it. All of her memories showed her exactly what to do with the rat child's corpse. A faltering step brought her to the preparation table. She half turned so that she wouldn't see the rat mother and brood staring at her. The stretched skin stayed in the corner of her eyes. She trembled, wanting to please her husband, but horrified. It felt as if she were being asked to carve her own flesh. Kinder whistled that never-ending and always changing melody, one paw pressed to her shoulder. A shadow besmirched the iron doorway and both their heads turned. Standing taller than the transom yet somehow unaffected by it was a pearl-gray skinned being with sharp, angular features. He was attired in rich silks filled with subtle colors. White hair cascaded from the dome of his head. Ancient eyes regarded her with sympathy, but were hard as steel toward Kinder. “Do not put that knife to flesh if you ever wish to leave this place again. This is not your husband. You are not a vixen.” The voice, ageless and deep, brought the rat's memories to the fore again, and she knew him to be the companion guiding the rat through darkness. She yearned to trust him, but her memories of life as a vixen, and the attraction of Kinder, so dear to her, were hard to deny. Still, his name came to her. “You are Qan-af-årael of the Åelf. How can you be real?” “He is not,” Kinder snapped, a growl fetching his throat. “He is a liar! He would spin a false world about you, Mechtilde. Do not listen to him!” “And you,” Qan-af-årael replied in an even but certain tone, eyes fixed upon the fox, “are Klepnos.” Kinder blinked and shook his head. “Who? My name is Kinder. This is Mechtilde my wife. And you are a liar sent by the rats to steal her from me again! Get your vile presence from our home!” But the Åelf paid him no more attention, merely staring at the vixen with a concerned moue. “Charles, he has lied to you and cast this net over you. Put down the knife and step away from him and the madness will leave. You will see true again.” “Charles,” she murmured, looking over the red and black fur of her arms, legs and tail, and then down at the dead rat child on the preparation table. A moment ago she had scarfed down the meat from its tail and savored it. Now she felt like vomiting. The knife wavered in her hand. “Mechtilde, please, let go of the what the rats did to you and stay here with me,” Kinder begged, his voice warm and smile fetching. Her heart fluttered with desire but it could not take flight. The dead rat, the scent of blood and filth, all of it balked her. “Klepnos has spun an elaborate illusion about you, Charles. He wants you to let go because you are still holding my robes. If you let go of your past you will be consumed by him. Look at the rats in the cage. Look at the skin. That is your family. The skin is your son's.” “He is lying to you. He is an ally of the rats who cursed you. I am your family,” Kinder insisted. He stepped closer to her to get between her and the Åelf, lifting his arms as if to shield her from the interloper. “Just cut free some of the meat and you will put all of this behind you forever.” She glanced at the skin stretched across the rack and imagined it still on the body of the rat dead before her. It would have been of a white rat with a black hood down its back. Glancing into the rat's memories she could see that very rat child and how dear he was. The very child the rat had been seeking and for which reason he had passed into the realm of Klepnos. The name, so familiar to her, but unfamiliar at the same time, now came into clear focus. The firm touch of the fox's paw on her shoulder made her shudder, and she turned her head to stare at the rats in the cell. The mother, though naked and filthy with matted fur and scars, bore the countenance of the rat's wife. The four children with her also matched the memories that had been pressed away from her. A subtle glow, a ruddy hue somewhere between purple and red, pulsed steadily from a stone about the female rat's neck. Her dark gaze held the vixen, resigned to the fate that was before her and her offspring at the blade held in black-pawed hands. While Mechtilde stared at the captured feast the rat's paw stole up to grasp the stone about her neck. “You are a fox, Mechtilde,” Kinder added softly, cold nose nuzzling against her ear. The melody breathed from his throat. “You eat rats. Show him that you do. Show him what you are.” A throb of – something – washed over the vixen, staggering her back a pace. The sudden emanation that was neither sound nor light nor anything Mechtilde could lay a thought upon to put a name to filled her – him! – with such a feeling of Love to which her husband the fox could not compare that the room seemed to list and, for only the briefest of moments, only the female rat seemed upright and Whole. The stone in the grasp of her small paw shone brightly, spears of purplish light leaking between her fingers as she became the bottom of a downward falling funnel for the blink of an eye, the beat of a heart. Into that wellspring of – something – Mechtilde felt herself – himself! – fall, only to jerk back when reality seemed to right itself. She glanced down at the knife in her paw for several seconds and then closed her eyes tight. “No. No! I cannot!” “You must or he will not leave us!” She turned, putting the knife between her and Kinder, snarling at the edge of her jowl. “Why? If you are my husband, why do you not protect me from this stranger? Why is he still here if he is allied with the rats? Why must I choose?” “Because he needs you to let go of me,” Qan-af-årael said in his measured but clear voice. “If you do not let go of me he cannot claim you for himself. You still clutch my robe, Charles, though your senses tell you otherwise.” Kinder shook his head. “He lies to you for his own benefit. He will not leave this place unless he knows the curse on you is truly broken, Mechtilde, my love. That is why you have to prove to him that you are a fox once more. I could throw him out as many times as I like but until you choose he will keep coming back to torment us.” “Klepnos, step back and let him decide.” Qan-af-årael challenged irritably. Kinder sneered over his shoulder at the Åelf but he did take a step back. His snout favored Mechtilde with invitation and warmth. “I love you, Mechtilde. Do not listen to him. He is a liar and wants to destroy your world.” Her ears perked at that, and her grip on the knife tightened. “ 'Your world'? Don't you mean, 'our world'?” She tried to level her angry, surprised glare at her husband but the throbbing glow from the cage kept the corner of her eye and she could not bring herself to fully turn her gaze away from it. The fox blinked and then nodded. “Aye, of course, our world. He will tear you from me again if you let him. Just help me prepare the rest of this rat meat and you'll never need worry about him or those terrible memories again.” Qan-af-årael stared at her in silence awaiting her decision. She glanced at the imprisoned rats one last time before turning back to Åelf and fox. A long sigh escaped her chest. The knife fell to the ground and she stepped over it toward Qan-af-årael. The house vanished in that moment, and with it drained away the memories and form of Mechtilde. Blinking, the rat came to himself and realized that his left hand was still firmly grasping the silken robes draping his guide and protector. Kinder remained as the fox, but his countenance now bore a sadistic moue. He bared his fangs and snarled in frustration for a moment, before stretching his back and letting out an exasperated sigh. “I tried. I wouldn't have driven you completely insane quite so quickly either. You would have had many years to enjoy life as Mechtilde first.” His blue eyes glinted with malice, “And you would have become quite adept at killing rats, especially their young, my sweet vixen! Hah! Even that silly female and her bauble!” And then, the red fox jumped with a flourish before vanishing into a smear of gray. His laughter bounced around them before spreading in an ever widening curl that was sucked away into the distance, ever stretching and never-ending. Charles shuddered as the laughter lingered for nearly a minute before it too had been absorbed in the maelstrom beneath them. “Where are we?” Charles murmured, searching through his thoughts to see what traces of the vixen remained. Little snatches of the images that Klepnos had placed there, and what had happened since he had woken in that bed, but nothing else was left. The sight of his family cowering in prison waiting to be skinned and chopped to bits to feed others made him burn with hatred for the mad daedra. “We stand in witness to the reality of this place,” Qan-af-årael gestured at the wide disk of gray above which they seemed to hover. Charles recognized it from the brief flashes he saw when first arriving and after Hindemar ripped his own eyes out. Around them the disc curved, bending beneath them down into a darkness his eyes could not pierce. A whirlpool of immense proportions, the fluid of which was made from mortal souls all lost in madness. “I would have ended up in there too?” Charles asked, swallowing heavily and tightening his grip on Qan-af-årael's robe. “Not at first,” his guide replied with a gentle touch on his back. “You still have your flesh. Klepnos would have you believe you were whatever he wished you to be so long as he could. By the time your body finally died you would have been so completely insane that he would have been able to absorb every last mote of your being and leave what was left of your soul to be torn to the tiniest shreds in his maelstrom before losing it to the Beyond. He wanted you to kill your own family to make the break in your mind complete, and to get you to let go of the one thing that kept you from his clutches.” “You,” Charles replied. He shuddered, took a deep breath, and then exhaled. He did it again but still he felt weak and strangely violated. “I am sorry you had to endure that. But I dared not break Klepnos's hold on you until I knew we could leave.” Charles blinked and looked up at him. “You found the bridge?” He nodded, a slight gesture accompanied by a slender smile. “It is here and open. Step forward and we continue. I caution you, we are continuing downward. It will only grow worse.” “But I have no choice. Nocturna waits for me above,” Charles grimaced, and then steeled himself. “I trust you to protect me, Qan-af-årael.” So saying, he stepped forward. The maelstrom beneath their feet tipped toward them as if they were falling into its depths. It rushed past with one final scream of insanity before the darkness took them. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>