<html> <body> --------- Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars IV: Infernus (v) Saturday, May 12, 708 CR Charles rubbed his hands together to wipe the feel of it from his flesh as he lifted his gaze to the condor. He yearned to reach out and embrace him, even as part of him wanted to batter him about the skull with his Sondeshike. All he managed in the mix of such confusion was a long-breathed name. “Baldwin.” The former Long Scout lifted his beak and backed a single step from him. His voice was coarse and grating. “Charles Matthias. I recognize you even with the scarred face. I recognize you even without that cloak.” He stood and stretched out his wings and for a moment the rat recalled the Raven Queen's nightmarish presence, but it was a fleeting similarity; one quick to flee. There was a measure of insubstantiality about the condor that made him only a pale shadow to the Raven. There was no danger to his soul from this dead thing. Charles met the condor's stare and then gestured along the road. “The path for your redemption is this way. Come with me, Baldwin. I entreat you as one Long Scout to another.” The suggestion made the bird sneer. “I betrayed them and no longer bear their emblem. Do not waste such honors on me.” “You regret your betrayal?” Baldwin laughed, a horrible screeching sound that grated his ears. He backed his soft, saucer-shaped ears beside his head and drooped his whiskers. But before he could amend his question, the condor took a step forward along the road, curious eyes cast in that direction. “Of course I regret it. It ended with my death! My name is now a curse amongst the Longs; of that I am sure.” “Your name is never spoken.” The condor glared forward and folded his wings along his back. His beak bobbed forward and back with each step, dark eyes turned inward, smoldering over those words. Charles walked an arm's length at his side, while his master followed only a pace behind, unobtrusive but ever-present in the rat's mind. No words or ideas were suggested to him to help him; for the moment Qan-af-årael acted only as a confidant bulwark of strength. Against Baldwin no such strength need by assayed. “Never?” “Not since your funeral. Your family was told you were killed during the defense of Long House as was everyone else. The Longs all know, as does the Duke, what really happened.” Baldwin fluttered his wings but said nothing for several seconds. Charles stared past the top of his red-skinned head at a human being driven through a grinder, curls of black mucus spilling forth like sausage. He did not avert his eyes, but let them glide across the scene until they passed to a new machine. The road continued beneath his paws, the distance remaining uncertain before them. How far had they come already? How long had it taken to find Baldwin again? With an indrawn sigh the condor remarked. “Misha was honorable in that at least. He knew I had been estranged from my family and still shielded them.” He squawked and hunched forward. “I don't suppose he is sending them my pay?” Charles shrugged. “I have not lived at Long House since February of last year so I cannot say what arrangement Misha has made.” Neither said anything for a few paces and so the rat ventured the question that had lain on his heart from the moment he had heard the news almost a year and a half-before. “Why did you do it, Baldwin? Why did you betray the Longs and Metamor?” The dead Long Scout tilted his head back as if staring into the sky to offer Eli an uncouth opinion. “Arrogance. Greed. They both played a role. I was commander of a company of soldiers at Three Gates. I'd just been promoted a few months before. And then I was turned into this, this...” He thrust out his wings toward the path ahead as if they were an abomination. “I became the condor you see now. Metamor's armies were decimated and my company was mostly dead; my second had died a dog with an arrow through his neck only a moment before the counter curse restored what little of our man-shape it could. Our forces had to be reorganized. A week after Three Gates my command was gone and I was tasked with aerial patrols.” Baldwin hunched forward again, though his wings were still partly extended, the claws at one end twitching and grasping at the air. “Misha Brightleaf asked me a month later to join the Long Scouts. My combat skills and my bravery at Three Gates marked me as a good candidate. I eagerly accepted. I was the very first he asked – the very first! – and I knew I would be leading my own team once we had enough scouts to make a second. Instead, when the time came, he put Craig in charge. And when Misha no longer led the teams himself, he raised Lisa – a woman born and now a child! – to Team Leader. I who had proved my mettle and proved my ability even before Three Gates was left without any distinction; I was the flier and that's all I would ever be. “I told Misha many times that he needed to bring more fliers into the Longs but he refused. Mammals always prefer other mammals! So, for all of this, I found myself resenting Misha.” Charles grimaced and nodded as he listened. He recalled Baldwin griping that he was the only flier amongst the Longs one of the few times they had shared drinks together. The conversation had ended not long after when a bunch of dogs caused a ruckus at the Deaf Mule that had everyone fighting and then most everyone singing. Baldwin had been a new friend in those days; simpler days before all of his cares and woes. But Baldwin did not give him time to reminisce. “Two years before I was killed, I was met by one of Nasoj's spies and offered gifts merely to listen to his offer. It is a hazard we Long Scouts face, but, as angry toward Misha as I was, I did not do what I should have done. I kept the gifts and said nothing of the spy. A year later and the spy returns with more gifts. This time, full of resentment, I listened. And within days I became a traitor. I gave up Craig and Caroline. Honestly, I didn't care if Craig lived or died; I hoped Caroline would die just to make Misha suffer. “In the end when it was only Craig who suffered death I even thought perhaps now Misha would finally give me what I deserved, command of my own team. I even told myself I would find a way to benefit from such a position, passing more information to Nasoj's men, and from them receiving word of Lutin encampments they did not care about that I could claim credit for routing.” The condor snorted, a disgusting sound that seemed more a retch. “But even that was not to be and that woman Laura was given Craig's command instead. In that moment, when asked to help with the winter attack, I gladly promised to bring Nasoj's men into Long House in exchange for riches and power of my own.” He swung his head back and glared down his hooked beak at the rat. “And that is the traitor you wish to redeem.” Charles took a deep breath, the sound of talons and claws striking metal beneath them the only echo in the endless, cavernous building. For several seconds he pressed his tongue against the back of his incisors, pondering how pride had led to resentment and finally to hatred in the condor's soul. This bird, once a faithful defender of Metamor and who had shed blood for her had turned to her enemies for the power and riches he thought he deserved. Could he be redeemed? His right eye flicked upward toward Qan-af-årael who was already watching him. Deep blue eyes in the midst of his ivory-limned face and flowing black hair never wavered in their regard for him. They were both sentinel and master, seeing into the rat's heart and mind to guide it, but also seeing beyond the rat to all who would threaten him. Charles felt in that intense and yet soft glance a powerful assurance that stilled the nascent anxiety that had crept into his heart while listening to the condor. Resolute, the turned his snout to fix the bird with a gentle smile. “Baldwin, do not doubt me when I say that all of us can be redeemed from our sins. You have done much that is horrible, but you can still be redeemed.” The condor offered a guttural squawk. “How, perchance, do you think it possible? I am already in the grasp of the daedra and cannot leave.” “Not as you are, no,” Charles agreed, one eye noting the lip of the funnel beyond the next stretch of machines. No sign of the demon imp's sliced body remained. “But a truly selfless act done for one whom you have transgressed will suffice. By that you will be redeemed and by that you will be free of the daedra's traps. And when you do this, you will know peace in your heart and love for your fellow Keeper that you once knew.” Charles offered him a genuine smile and added, “My friend.” Baldwin half turned his head and something burned in his eyes. Contempt? Incredulity? Charles did not have time to ponder before the bird swung his face away. In a low warble the condor said, “We were never friends.” “I thought we were.” Charles drooped his whiskers and eased a pace away from Qan-af-årael to walk closer to the former Long. “I wanted to be.” “You were just one more instance of that damn fox ignoring my merit. I pretended with you and with all the others.” A bitterness filled his voice as he half-turned his head to stare at the last machine before the funnel. It was formed by a series of pistons driving down into a narrow chambers. Several humans were crushed together in each chamber, pulverized bones piercing through flesh along arms, legs, and what used to be chests. The black tar squeezed from every pore and what remained of their faces, smeared across the glass or pounded into the hollow cracks of bones and sinew of their fellow damned, were locked in perpetual screams. Baldwin said nothing as he gazed hard at each. Only when they passed the very last of them and the chamber opened up around the funnel into which Charles had to convince Baldwin to fling himself did the condor speak again in a low, reedy tone. “I was your enemy.” Charles stopped a pace from the lip of the funnel and his master paused two paces further back. He could feel the Åelf's scrutiny with both eyes and mind. The presence within him assured him of one thing; he would not belong to Agemnos. In that he would trust. “Enemy then, perhaps. But now you can be a true friend, Baldwin. We need go no farther than this.” He gestured at the funnel and the turning gears at its base. Baldwin's beak followed where the rat pointed and his eyes narrowed as he inspected the sloping walls and iron gears, each tooth coming to a sharp point, interlaced with dozens of others in a vicious combination. They turned no faster tan a water wheel in mild current, but no human strength could balk those gears in their course. All flesh that fell to those teeth would be ripped to pieces. And from the look of disgust and trepidation in the condor's eyes, Charles saw that he knew it too. “What is this place? Why did you bring me here?” “This is where you will redeem yourself, Baldwin. Beneath those gears is the passage I need to follow to leave this realm. I am searching for the soul of my son who was stolen from my family. If I have any hope of finding him I must pass through that gateway. But Agemnos has blocked it by that machine and the only way for it to open is if a mortal soul passes through the machine first. I was told I could only free one soul and I chose you. If you wish to leave this place and to make amends for all that you have done in your treachery, you need only fling yourself into this machine for my sake. Please, Baldwin, it is my only hope.” The condor blinked, stared at him, tilted his head to peer down into the funnel, and then stared at the rat again. His voice warbled with incredulity. “I would never have leaped into such a pit even before I turned against Misha and Metamor! I certainly will not do it for you, Charles!” Charles ground his molars together even though he'd expected such a refusal. “You have no other choice. There is no way for you to leave this place. You can either return to the vats where you will be processed into their soul tar so that nothing remains of you, or you can leap into this pit and while suffering greatly, still retain some part of yourself as you go Beyond. If you remain, you can never be redeemed and will never know peace. You will be nothing but a traitor. But if you go then you will know peace and your name will be spoken of with love and admiration. You must see the wisdom in that.” Baldwin thrust out his wings, the right catching the rat beneath the snout. “Peace? Peace! There is no peace for the damned!” Charles winced from the pain but did not show it. “You don't have to be damned.” The condor glared at him, turning away from the funnel and stepping forward, one talon scratching at the metal floor. The sound grated in his ears and made his whiskers and tail droop. “I. Am. Damned!” His words were uttered with such fire that his whole frame seemed brazen. Shadows stretched across the machines, flashing darkness over the mouth of the funnel. Charles stepped back, his toes resting in the silhouette of his master thrown upon the floor. His thoughts flew back to the Åelf, a sudden anxiety filling him that needed strength. A single plea flew through his thoughts and into the other. Help me. The reply, a gentle caress that settled within as a fallen leaf settles upon the surface of a still lake, came without hesitation. I will, Núrodur. He felt his master's long, slender fingers rest upon his shoulder. A slight push was all it took to drive the rat forward three steps until the long shadow of the Åelf touched the condor as well. Charles extended his arms, palms outstretched, claws spread away as much as he could, a calm resolve overcome his countenance and manner. His voice felt deeper and words seemed to flow from the presence and across his tongue as if he were but a sieve for water. “Baldwin of Metamor, hearken to my voice.” The condor had begun to turn away in disgust when those words struck him. His wings, spread wide as if he were ready to take flight in the endless building, lowered and the little clawed fingers he bore at the end quivered. His dark eyes in ruddy face paled and remained transfixed. The skin twitched as if he yearned to fling himself into the funnel merely to escape the rat's powerful regard. “You are full of bitterness. All your life you were denied what you believed should be yours. You let that bitterness turn to hatred and you struck at those you admired and loved. You still, in your diseased heart clamor for Misha's approval. You want it. You need it. And you cannot have it and that rankles you more than any other raving pain these machines do to you. You know I am right. Speak it! Admit it! You hate him because you still want something from him.” Baldwin almost stumbled backward, but the strange power that filled Charles, Núrodur of the Lord of Colors, held the bird Keeper firmly in place. The funnel yawned a few paces to their right, the gears buzzing as they spun one against another. Dark eyes trembled, and he shook his beak back and forth. “No! I... I cannot... I...” Baldwin tipped back his head and let out a hideous screech that made the air shimmer. The light twisted around them in that moment, but they remained beneath his master's shadow. Charles reached out and clasped the bird on the shoulder, gripping him tight, his claws digging into his dark feathers. “Tell me. What do you want from Misha?” Baldwin yanked backward but the rat felt a power, different from his Sondeck, but seemingly endless in its potency, tighten his muscles even firmer than stone. The condor gasped, struggling and heaving his chest, but he could no more lift it than he could his wings. The air felt heavy, and before him the bird began to wither. “I... I want... I...” The rat relaxed his grip for a moment but did not let go. His eyes brightened and in a soft voice, he said, “Go on. Tell me.” “I... I want...” Baldwin swallowed and took a deep breath, eyes closing. A tear perched at the edge of one lid. “I want him to see. I want Misha to see that I can do more than just fly. I want Misha to see that I can plan and that I can lead! I want Misha to see that I am worth the coffers of Metamor and worth the rank of captain I was denied! I want Misha... I want them all to see that I am an extraordinary warrior and leader! I want it! I wanted it more than anything!” Charles gripped the condor on the shoulder, and then pulled him forward. His other arm wrapped about the bird's neck as he drew him into a tight embrace. Baldwin, the words finally free, fell against the rat's free shoulder and gasped a series of squawking cries, weeping for each bitter loss that had curdled his heart. Charles breathed deeply as he held the shaking bird, a tingling energy passing from him and through the mottled and battered feathers of Baldwin's neck and back. Behind him and within him he felt his master smiling. With one last firm hug, Charles eased the condor back for a moment and then unclasped the cloak from his shoulders. Baldwin still trembled and stared in confusion as if he could not decide if he was more angry with himself or with the rat so he did not notice Charles hold out the torn cloak with the crossed bow and axe heraldry for the Longs face up. “You may have this back and reclaim your honor, Baldwin. Misha will see that you can do more than just fly. Misha will see that you are a leader. Misha will see that you are a great warrior. You will battle your own fear and defeat it. You will battle your own love of your life and defeat it. And you will do it all to come to the aid of a fellow Long.” Baldwin blinked and his wing-claws stretched out to touch the fabric, dark eyes only beginning to see the heraldry he'd once proudly worn offered to him again. His voice, warbled and subdued, murmured, “I cannot take this. I am not worthy of it.” “You are,” Charles assured him, extending it closer so that the end of the cloak brushed the condor's chest feathers. “Now come, don this and serve one more time as a Long. Redeem yourself. I will speak of you and what you do this day to Misha. He will praise your name until he has no more breath to speak.” The power flowed through him from his master, and Charles took the cloak and draped it between the condor's wings. Baldwin, trembling and uncertain, was unable to resist. The rat clasped it around his neck and then unfurled it down until the torn ends reached half-way down the bird's tail feathers. With one hand pressed upon Baldwin's back, he guided him to the lip of the funnel. “Only one thing remains, my friend. Step over the threshold and open the way for me to reach my son. Be a Long Scout again.” Baldwin gazed downward and his breath caught in his chest. “And there will be peace in my soul?” “Everlasting peace.” The condor bobbed his head in a quick nod and then closed his eyes tight. He stretched out one leg over the emptiness and then stumbled in place. He blinked and then trembled, his voice confused. “I cannot... something is there. I cannot go down.” His master's voice was sure, but for once he did not feel a smile, only a resignation to that assurance. You must push him. Agemnos will not let him go willingly. Charles pressed down on Baldwin's shoulders. “I will help you.” The condor stumbled at the sudden shove, his talons breaking through whatever barrier had kept him out of the funnel. He tilted forward, wings spreading but smacking uselessly against the metal on either side. Charles tensed his legs to steady himself, but the exaggerated momentum carried him forward until they were both sliding down the funnel. A hand grasped his tail and a squeak of protest escaped his throat before they were brought to a jarring stop, Baldwin's talons scraping the metal cone inches above the serrated gears. The whirring roar of each tooth grinding against one another made his muscles ache. Baldwin's eyes went wide in terror and he tried to brace his talons on either side of the funnel. The metal was too slick for his wings or wing claws to find any purchase, but his talons did seem to hold him back for a moment. “Wait!” he squawked, shaking his head back and forth as he scrambled. “I... I can't! Not like this!” Push. I have you, Núrodur. Charles said nothing as he pressed firmly on the condor's shoulders, shoving him down the last few inches toward the machine. Baldwin shrieked and clawed and scraped but he slid down beneath the rat's paws. For a moment it appeared that his fellow Long Scout had managed to brace himself with his legs cock-eyed a hair's breadth above the twisting maw of gears. But then a tooth clipped one of his talons and his leg slipped out from under him. Baldwin screamed, wings stretching upward to try and grasp Charles, but the rat pushed his claws away each time, offering his friend a wan smile between gentle presses on his shoulders. The machine chewed on his yellow scaled legs, spitting droplets of black tar against the side of the funnel as it ground the bone and flesh to mash. The condor's eyes were wild and desperate, fixed on Charles with a plea. He will be at peace when this is over. Charles could feel the blood rushing to his head as he dangled by his tail. Each time he pressed on the condor's shoulders he felt for a moment as if he were standing on his hands, and then the machine would draw his friend downward another few inches. The jagged gears groaned and strained as they bit through bone, rending the flesh and sending it every direction in a ghastly spray. But even though it seemed as if the fountain were red with blood and bile, when it struck the metal walls of the funnel it was black as ink. Despite having his legs chewed up to his thighs into shreds by the machine, Baldwin still struggled as if he possessed all of his strength. Desperate, the condor stretched his wings and flapped up and down. But the funnel was too tight and all he managed was to smack his wings against the enclosing walls like a butterfly trying to bore a hole through a stone wall. Each time it seemed as if he had driven himself free of the clenching metal, but then either he would sink back into its jaws, or the rat would stretch out his arms and shove him back down. The machine chewed through the last of Baldwin's yellow scaled thighs and ripped into his tail feathers, sending a torrent of dander into the air that made the rat's whiskers and nose twitch as if tickled. Charles shook his head once and then pushed down again, even as he felt his master easing him a little further down in the funnel to give him better leverage. Though the Åelf gripped him by the tail, he felt no pain there, nor strain in any of his muscles. He winced only at the spectacle of his fellow Long torn apart by Agemnos' blasphemous machine. He will be at peace. The gears lapped at the torn edge of Charles' Long Scout cloak now draped across Baldwin's neck and shoulders. And then the fabric pulled taut as the threads were severed and stretched. The condor started to twist as the machine pulled him in to his waist, the last remnants of his tail torn free and splattered as shadowy ichor on the walls of the funnel, across the axe in the heraldry, and even onto Charles' arms. There it stayed and stained his fur. The rat ground his molars together and ached for something to gnaw upon as he pushed harder, his arms now stretched nearly straight. Baldwin managed to lift one of his wings and hooked one of his claws in the rat's tunic. His dark, beady eyes locked onto the rat's own, his voice a quivering thing filled with an indescribable agony. Every mote of flesh devoured in the pitiless jaws of the machine still suffered even though severed and pulverized. The black tar now smeared the walls so thoroughly that there was no purchase anywhere. It drained into little openings between the teeth of the gears, but even more slowly than the machine consumed the bird, so that undulating ripples wound their way down, as of layer upon layer of molasses dripping and coursing through itself. Hoisting himself up a few inches through sheer force of will, Baldwin brought his hooked beak inches from the bottom of Charles' snout. It was enough for his words to be heard. “Charles! Please! Have mercy!” You are. The strength in that assurance warmed him ad renewed the strength in his limbs. He straightened his back as much as he could, and nodded at the condor whose lower half was being churned through the black-stained gears that shimmered in the strange light and hummed as they spun. He pitched his voice and though he did not shout, he knew his words would be heard. “I am. You will know peace. Thank you, Baldwin.” He tightened his grip on the condor's shoulders so that his claws bit into the flesh and shoved downward with all of his strength until his arms could go no further. Baldwin's claw tore through the rat's tunic and cut a rivulet of blood down his right arm as he struggled to keep hold. But his torso struck the gears and his whole frame stiffened as they bent him down, pinching his belly to his spine, and erupting all of the flesh there in a fountain of black. The tar shot upward, smearing the condor's beak and the rat's forearms and hands. No pink flesh was visible anymore. For a moment the slickness burned like lye, but the pain subsided into a vague discomfort within a blink. Not so Baldwin whose turned his head from side to side attempting to snap his beak at the rat's arms. Charles felt the hard edges of the condor's beak brushing against his arms, but nothing more than that. The gears pulled him downward to his chest, his wings shredded behind him and sucked down into the dark confines, ripped feather by feather apart. The Long Scout cloak tore into four sections as the gears pulled it in different directions, severing the heraldry of bow and axe until even these were swallowed and turned to powdery ash. The clasp about Baldwin's neck snapped from the pressure and the condor gave one more piercing wail. Charles lost his grip on the bird's shoulders as the machine no longer needed his help in pulling the soul within. Tears streamed from Baldwin's eyes and he murmured words over and over again as the last of his limbs were chewed free and his chest was reduced to a slimy puddle of gore on which his head wobbled. Charles inclined his ears forward and his heart beat faster as he heard the words wept into the fall of night. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Forgive me! Forgive...” The gears ripped into his neck and the condor's head bounced once before falling between two of the spinning gears. The bones snapped and the flesh gave way, folding in on itself until all that was left atop the machine was the mash of flesh and obsidian gore sliding down the rat's arms and the sides of the funnel. The machine whirred a moment longer, now the only voice speaking, until all of the mash and tar was drawn within. Charles dangled, hands clasping and unclasping as he stared at where a moment before someone he had once, long ago, called a friend had been. And then the gears stopped spinning. A long series of clicks echoed within, and the gears withdrew into the sides of the funnel somewhere out of sight. Beneath them glimmered a silver radiance unmarred by the black tar. Charles breathed a long sigh and trembled. He shut his eyes and tried to hold back the tears that suddenly yearned to blossom there. Baldwin had repented. He had been redeemed. He now knew peace. I am with you. Agemnos has no hold over you. Charles grimaced for a moment longer and then stretched out his arms toward the silver light shimmering beneath him. Above him he felt a sudden tug on his tail as his master jumped, and then both he and the Åelf hurtled downward and into the bridge. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>