<html> <body> --------- Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars IV: Infernus (l) Saturday, May 12, 708 CR He well remembered the many winters at Metamor he had lived, and most especially the last two in which he'd been forced to survive in the elements as a scout for both Metamor and the Glen. In each case he had been better prepared for the elements with warmer cloaks, breeches, and tunics. He'd even had boots for his paws on the coldest of days to keep his toes from freezing. The rest of the time wrappings had been sufficient. Now he had nothing but a tunic, breeches, and torn cloak suitable for the Spring. And when he had journeyed into the Barrier Range he had been trapped in a stone body. The iciness had been frightening in the sense that he feared having water seep into his body and then expand when it froze, cracking the granite sinews of his form. His fears had been the fears of stone, not of flesh. Now he was beginning to understand the misery his companions on that journey had endured. His body yearned for a single fire, and he began to regret not lingering beneath the legs of the warm people. Flakes of snow drifted through the air and began whitening his dark cloak. One of them drifted into his cowl and settled in the ruined flesh over his right eye, melting only slowly. The icy water dribbled into his eye. He blinked and shifted about as he walked, rubbing his face against the inside of his cowl to dry it. As he did so the cowl fell away from his snout and the cloak back down around his lower legs. More snow settled onto his whiskers and nose as if drawn to him. At first he twitched whiskers and snout to dislodge as much of the snow as he could. But as the minutes rolled past and the snow thickened in the air he stopped bothering. There was too much snow to fight and it was a distraction from his efforts to keep placing one paw in front of the other. He felt a sullen resignation weighing on his heart. The snowfall seemed only to emphasize the futility of his efforts. Each step expended more of his precious energy allowing this place to steal more and more of his heat. Were he to keep still the rat could conserve that warmth for much longer. And were he to do that, he knew, he would never see his son again. Charles pushed on, digging his claws into the flesh of his tail enough to register a little pain. The agony in his legs increased with each step and so he dug his claws tighter and tighter to turn his mind from their pain. His other hand clutched the cloak tight, so tight that it was hard to breath. Every gust of air from his snout misted before him, blinding him even more than the snowfall. Ice laced his whiskers and coated the tip of his snout. His paws, chapped, cracked and began to bleed. He shifted his thoughts toward that wall against which the presence of his guardian reposed. His request tumbled through his thoughts. Master Åelf, is there any way you can give me warmth? The cold is... There was a note of regret in the reply. Any spell I cast in this place will draw the attention of its mistress. If your life is threatened I will do what is necessary to preserve it. But we should avoid drawing attention to ourselves for as long as we can. You can endure more than this, Charles. I am here with you. Despite the refusal, he did feel some comfort in the assurance. Charles gave a quick nod of his head to show he understood even as he continued to stumble through the snow. The ice encrusted ground was now coated with a layer of snow a hand deep, and through it the cracks in his paws left a spattered crimson trail. While forcing himself to walk, Charles forced his thoughts toward his family. He walked this horrible way through the crucible of a soul to reach his lost son. A smile touched the edge of his snout as he remembered the day of his birth. The horrible news that the child was tangled in his umbilical cord and the great risk that Lady Avery, Jo, and Burris took in cutting open his wife to draw the child out, all of that fear had been erased in the moment when the child had been placed in his arms and he knew not only that his fifth child would live, but the flickering power of the Sondeck filled him too. How well he could remember the leap in his heart at that sensation, the kindling of a kindred soul whose life would be forever tied to that of his father, a certainty that he would continue in his father's steps, and eventually take his father's duties as his successor. The hours they would spend together reaching for their Calm, singing the Sondlatharos, kneeling before the Sondecki shrine to bask in its power, and practicing arts beyond the ken of mortal men. Their union would be so complete that no force on earth could have torn them apart. Save for death. If not for Marzac he would have been there when the Sondtodt struck Ladero. He would have known what to do and whom to seek to save his son's life. With Garigan's aide they could have kept the tear from spreading and brought him to Sondeshara where he would have been healed. True, Charles would have had to endure the judgment of his clan, but that was a small price to pay to have his son with him. His heart stiffened when he recalled the offered price to Nocturna to bring Ladero back. But it had been a ruse only, one that gave him access to the world beyond. The queen of dreams could exact nothing from him when the victory was of his own doing. For a time these thoughts warmed him enough to keep moving. He even drew to mind his wife and other children so that he might delight in their memory and their eager, loving faces. But he did not struggle against the elements for their sake and so inevitably they would fall from his thoughts. Only Ladero was left. But to what end was he enduring this? To glimpse his son and say goodbye? Was a mere goodbye worth the effort he expended. Was it worth the shedding of his blood, the raping of his mind, and the torture of his flesh? The snow rose to two hands and he had to lift his legs to forge through. No wind blew to thwart him, but the cold deepened and his arms shook as if palsied. He stared past white whiskers, a snout flecked with ice, and the edge of his cowl coated with flakes that would not melt. He felt no heat in him, only the bitter cold sinking through fur, flesh, and settling into his bones. His heart throbbed with yearning for his son, but bit by bit that too surrendered to a mere yearning for some glimmer of warmth that would justify lifting one paw after another. He trudged on, the presence at his side moving closer so that he could feel his cloak brushing against Qan-af-årael's side. There was a suggestion of warmth there still and so he leaned into it, trembling. Charles wanted to fall into his guardian's arms and curl against him just for even a moment to escape the freezing chill. By the time the snow was as high as his knees the air began to thin even further. The snow continued to fall but grew sparse and finally abated altogether. Each step took several seconds as he was forced to climb through the snow, his hands slipped free of the cloak to push enough of the fresh-fallen snow away so his legs could step over them. The chapped flesh on his paws bled some and then froze gray and scarlet as if it were drops of rubies imbedded in granite. His tongue was too cold to whimper no matter the pain. His body yearned only for rest. With the snow cleared Charles caught sight of something ahead along one of the peculiar angles. It was not, as he expected, another group of men clustered together in attempt to to steal warmth. Rather it was a single man standing with arms clutches to his chest, head lowered with chin on chest, and legs anchored to the ground by encasing ice that reached past his knees. Unlike Charles he appeared to have been dressed for colder climes, with two layers of fur-lined tunics and breeches, and a red-skinned cloak atop it all which was now pinched to his legs beneath the ice. His face was covered in a beard that had once been a ruddy brown but which now was white with frost. Icicles framed his eyes and dangled from his ears. His eyes were closed, but as the rat and Åelf trudged through the snow they blinked open and met them with a sudden glimmer of disdain. Lips cracked and bleeding opened, and in a voice hoary with disuse, the man spoke. “Do you not recognize me, Sondecki? Your form may be that of a beast but I recognize you.” Charles was taken aback, but at the touch of the Åelf kept moving forward. Like the group of men earlier this man seemed to swell in size as they neared. But their pace was so slow that he still only appeared to be a very large man. Each agonizing step thrust him taller by one or two hands. The mention of Sondecki drove the rat into the vaults of memory as he searched the cold-scarred face for some hint of identity. But of all those he'd known from his years in Sondeshara this face had never been amongst them. He felt no glimmer of the Sondeck in this man, and even amongst the many people who made Sondeshara their home but had no share in their talent, this face and this voice was not to be found. “You do not recall?” His voice felt drained of energy as if it struggled to make itself known. His breath was not even warm enough to cause a mist, and every exposed bit of flesh was frostbitten and cracked. “Do not dwell on your friends or neighbors for I was neither. We only saw each other once, but in that last moment I looked in your eyes and saw your soul. You were hard, determined, and naïve. You had no inkling of what you truly did.” The edge in the man's voice, faint but present, pushed Charles' thoughts in other directions. If he were not a friend and not a neighbor then he could only be an enemy of the Sondeckis. Charles dwelt on the many foes he had once faced and felt his heart sink, the chill wrapping about it more firmly. Even thoughts of his son did not penetrate the bitter ice that gripped it. He opened his mouth to speak and regretted it. A rush of cold air drove down into his throat and filled him. He shut his mouth but it was too late. His limbs would no longer move, his heart thrummed for a moment before quieting to a sullen tremble. His paws sank deep into the snow where the hardening ice began to grasp them. The Åelf gripped his shoulder and dragged him from his sudden repose, a flicker of warmth extending down his arm and into his chest. Charles tucked his head to his chest and yearned to weep but nothing escaped his throat. He felt ice encrusting his cheeks where tears dribbled. The flesh of his paws tore again and the bloody trail resumed. He thrust his mind toward the wall and the presence seeping across its battlements. There he found the strength and will to keep moving forward. A single coherent thought drifted up from his diminished being toward his protector. He is Kalevard of the Darkündlicht mountains and the first man I was sent to kill. Kalevard now stood more than twice his height. His gloved hands were balled into fists then trembled as if trying to flex. “You remember now. It is fitting you would become a rat. Skulking in darkness you came to my fortress. While my wife and children slept you entered my chambers and broke my neck. And for what? For what crime did I commit against your clan?” Charles tried to move his legs but still the Åelf had to drag him. Unable to even stretch out his arms he nevertheless tried to shift so that he would be pressed against his protector's side. Qan-af-årael seemed to anticipate his desire and let his still warm arm slip beneath his left shoulder and hoist him up. The rat leaned against his legs and belly, eyes never leaving Kalevard. He raided villages and plundered them. He sold captives into slavery. What I did was necessary. Kalevard's voice felt brittle. He seemed to want to call forth passion but there was none left in his heart. “I was generous. I never kept anything for myself when any of my people were cold and hungry. I protected them and brought them glory.” Charles gave his head a little shake. Generous with his own people but brutal to anyone else. Hard, blue eyes fixed on the rat. “I never attacked your people or put one to the sword. Those few I captured were always returned.” Ransomed! “I saw to the needs of all my people. I was a just leader. Even our slaves were treated well. I gave command that no slave could be beaten more than twenty lashes for any offense save murder. And for all of that you kill me with my wife and children in the next room. Not one hour before I had kissed them on their heads when I put them to sleep. Not one hour.” Charles' thoughts were weary, but he could not let this man justify himself. The children of villages he raided were sold into slavery and never saw their families or homeland again. Each of these thoughts were offered to his protector who accepted them without offering judgment. The Åelf continued to steady Charles and press him along the path. By the time Kalevard towered above them like a giant the febrile warmth he felt brought back his ability to stand on his own. Charles pulled his cloak so tight that the cowl pressed his frozen ears against the side of his head. He took his next steps without wavering. “Pathetic Sondecki rat. What are you doing here at all? Will you not even speak against these charges? You are nothing but vermin. Now who is lord and master whose whims you obey? You are not worth crushing beneath my boot.” The closer they came to Kalevard the shallower the snow became. Not that it had snowed less, but the lower layers had all condensed into ice. Every step pressed it firmer together, and though each step became easier to make, each one brought the grip of the ice back to his toes. His will, battered and sullen, was sufficient only to keep moving forward. He did not even bother dwelling on the brigand's words. “You left my wife and children without a father! Do you even know what happened to them? Do you even care?” His eyes flicked upward at the towering figure. A dozen steps more would bring them beneath his legs. Already they stood no taller than his knees. The ice holding him fast was laced with blue as of wintry vines stretching and growing as it consumed this man. The lever of snow and ice had completely absorbed the man's ankles so that his feet were mere smears of color. Three steps more and Charles found his mind wandering back to that brigand's camp high in the Darkündlicht peaks. Carved from the walls of the mountains in a shallow valley where the sun pierced three times a day for two hours each, it afforded them ample protection and several easy passes from which to descend on the villages which clustered on the verdant slopes overlooking the Sondesharan desert. It also gave them access to the passes southward and into those lands it was a simple matter to barter in slaves. But until Kalevard had wrestled control of the brigands they had been an occasional nuisance. Under his leadership they had destroyed several smaller villages, slaughtering all of the men and taking the rest for slaves. Charles well remembered that night as he slipped unseen through their defenses. Newly made a black the task had been given to him by lot; still he had not come alone as his friends waited on the outskirts in case an alarm would sound. The sound of drunken warriors carousing and celebrating their victory echoed from their halls. Dogs bayed and snapped at each other over meaty bones in the streets. A bitter-tasting black smoke rose from most every hall and home. Kalevard ruled from the largest hall and into that Charles crept, draped black in his new robe, confidant of the many villages that would be spared with the shattering of the brigand alliance. Charles yearned to lift his snout and glare in defiance at the frozen giant, but could feel no impulse to do so. Why waste any more warmth on him? He continued walking, noting only the way the ice climbed Kalevard's legs. “You don't care, do you?” Kalevard asked, his voice losing any sense of inflection with each word he breathed. Charles and his protector stepped between his legs, which were nothing but towers of ice that swelled and stretched across more and more of his form. The flow of ice between his ankles rose beneath them like the crest of a wave. “You don't care at all what evil you do. You don't care. You don't care, Sondecki.” Charles narrowed his eyes as he shivered, his paws slipping across the ice and his own blood. The ancient one steadied him and guided him through the arch of ice and leg. They emerged on the other side to witness a sky gone dark, gray only at the edge above their heads. All else seemed to drawn upward into an emptiness that was nowhere and everywhere in that midnight vault. Charles crouched and held his tail tight. “You stole my family from me, Sondecki. And you say nothing to me. You do not care.” The voice did not echo from above, but seemed more remote as if Kalevard receded into the void. His words, faint, became taut and subsumed by the insistent crawling of ice. “You do not care. You belong here. Like me.” And then all was still and silent again. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>