<html> <body> --------- Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars IV: Infernus (w) Saturday, May 12, 708 CR The rat landed on his hands and rolled to his haunches, tail sweeping out around him before bending against his flank when the tip struck the invisible boundary. His master stepped through the gap between worlds behind him, long fingers brushing across the tip of the rat's tail as they let go. Still he felt the warmth of the Åelf's presence within his mind and it helped sooth his trembling heart. The sight of Baldwin's body chopped and chewed dwindled in his thoughts until all he could see was the black coating his arms. From just above his elbows all the way down to the tip of each narrow claw there was no hue to be glimpsed. The pink flesh of his hands was obscured by the darkness wrenched from the condor's spirit. The brown fur that covered his arms had been swallowed by the tar so seamlessly that it no longer appeared he had fur beneath the black. He flexed his fingers, turned over his arms, and apart from the lack of fur could feel nothing different. He rubbed his hands over his arms and felt a smooth texture to rival silk and a warmth therein greater than his flesh. Will it come off? Why speak with his tongue when his master knew all of his thoughts already? When you wake from the dream and your spirit rejoins your mortal flesh, Núrodur. Nothing of your mortal flesh has been harmed. The rat twitched his whiskers and then grimaced as he stood. Flecks of the tar had struck his chest and snout as well, and as he moved he could feel them with the fur surrounding them. He lifted one hand and found a spot beneath his chin, another streak along his left cheek, and even a splotch on the inside of his right ear. His shoulders and upper chest had been peppered with dollops no larger than one of his claws, but those dollops had burned through his tunic, leaving little holes in the cloth where they had struck. His dark eyes narrowed at the gray span of stone stretching to an infinitesimal point before him. There is only one more, Master? Only one more, Núrodur, and then we reach Beyond. Charles ground his molars together, wrapped one tar blackened hand about the middle of his Sondeshike, and strode forward. With a flick of his wrist he extended the staff, the brass ferrules glimmering in the sullen shadow of the bridge. He felt his master's presence following close behind, his thoughts touching his mind so tenderly that for a moment the rat felt certain he could see his own back, with scalloped ears, brown fur, red vest and beige tunic, long, scaled tail, and crook-shanked legs in a way no mirror had ever shown him. The bridge narrowed as it always had. He did not hesitate; he anticipated the moment and lifted the staff before him as he crossed the threshold. Charles recoiled as he saw his hands wrapped about a long stiletto. Before him laying in an exquisite canopied bed were Lord and Lady Avery. He thrust the stiletto into their necks, blood gushing everywhere as they writhed for but moments. He stabbed and stabbed until the entire bedchamber was one large crimson stain. And then he was standing next to a cistern. His donkey friend James was at his side, drawing out water with a ladle. His hands grabbed the donkey about the shoulders and shoved his head into the cistern. The equine thrashed and kicked with hooves, but Charles pressed him firmly down, ignoring every blow he was able to land. The struggles weakened after several seconds; after several more they ceased all together. Charles laughed as he swung a massive blade back and forth, chasing down Lutins as they fled before him. The village around him burned and screams were everywhere. He lifted mailed boots and savored the crunch of bones as wailing Lutin children fell beneath him. Their backs bent and broke beneath his boots, and their heads bounced from the tip of his blade. Even the shaman's lithe, ghost white hound shrank away from him in fear before he cornered it and crushed its skull bodily with his gauntleted fists. He gasped as the images bombarding him were thrust away, and the presence of his master and guardian swelled within him. Piercing stabs of hate, malevolent cries, inordinate pleasure in pain, and all other manner of evil breached the wall for mere moments, and the rat could only flinch from them, trying to find his center, vainly seeking a calm that could never be in this place. He was dimly aware that he collapsed and that hands, but not his own, kept him from bashing his skull against the ground. Focus, Núrodur! I am here! Focus! The words penetrated and for a moment shut out the din of crying voices in numbers beyond counting pressing aginst him to show him the sins committed by the owner of each tortured voice. The cacophany crashed against him with the relentless force of a flash flood overtaking a cricket. He was deaf with them, but for the powerful, singular voice within his mind that muffled them finally to silence and bulwarked sanity until he could grasp it once more. Charles blinked and for a moment could see, though there appeared to be nothing to see. He breathed, looked upward, and saw the Åelf shrouded with a nimbus of light, darkened by everything else. Shadow stretched from hm and in this the rat huddled. In every other direction a blackness deeper than death cloaked a world barren, flat, and utterly freakish. Pale embers limned bodies strewn in every direction. Their forms did not move, locked forever within their own minds, sharing with one another their foulest misdeeds until any smidgen of decency was eradicated. Listen to my voice. See me all around you. They have no hold on you. You have sworn yourself to me, Núrodur. Charles listened, and swallowed. He felt strength return to his legs and carefully eased himself up. His hands rested in the Åelf's own, the Sondeshike pressed between them. Within his mind he felt the Åelf surround him, his presence a barrier against the evil. Like a watchman at the gate, Charles sensed his mind enclosed within his master's gentle grasp. I in you. And you in me, Núrodur. He thought nothing for long seconds as he took several deep breaths. The air felt thin, but it did not choke him as the red dust had, nor did it gag him as the ice of Kilyarnie had. It was not the physical that was impossible to endure here, so, apart from the near absence of any light that made it difficult for even his rodent eyes to see, he felt no discomfort of any kind. Each breath with his mind free to think brought back a measure of strength and composure. The jarring images still came, but they were mere wisps, and none lasted long enough to unfold their evil. The mere memory of the few he had glimpsed on his arrival was enough to make him yearn to vomit, but what had he consumed in the countless ages he had spent battling his way deeper and deeper into the hells apart from the vicissitude of the unlamented Loriod? Another emotion sprang forward in his heart as his spirit reclined in his master's protection – indignation. How many souls here now in the taste of death still sampled the evil deeds for which they had been damned and felt no sting of remorse? How many took pleasure in endlessly reviewing their crimes? Where was the contrition? Where was the justice? Contrition? There was a sadness to that thought that only vivified the rat's sense of disquiet. In this place there will be none. Justice? Is it not enough that they are here? What more would you do? Charles closed his eyes for a moment as he finally stood to his full height. When he opened them he gazed upward into the face of the Åelf. Ageless and filled with a grace beyond words, it alone of all things was limned by a white light. His flesh seemed darkened like all else, but the radiance was still there, merely inverted as if true colors refused to be shown. His lips offered a twinge of a smile, and his eyes provoked a sense of urgency. Where must we go? Nowhere. Our arrival in this realm was expected. Even now, the Lord of all Daedra sends his champion to meet us and bring us. We need only wait for his arrival. Alarmed, Charles lifted his ears and flicked his eyes to either side. In the perpetual moonless, starless midnight of a burned-out world there was nothing to see. Not even a glimmer or shuffling of shadows to suggest that anything even moved in this place let alone approached. In his fear an image slipped through the walls of his master's presence and he saw for a split second a young hooded rat-child gazing up at him in fear, while his darkened arms grasped the boy's shoulders. A shifting of the presence within him silenced the vision. Charles breathed a sigh of relief, and then focused his thoughts. Do we want to wait? Surely this champion will try to bring us harm! The champion will only do as his master bids and no more. I sense the Lord of Daedra's purpose in this. He waits at the door to make his bid for your soul. We must brace him one way or another if we are to reach Beyond and reclaim your son Ladero. It is simpler and brings less anguish to you if we wait for the champion. What will the Lord of Daedra do? The Åelf gazed down at him and then stretched out one hand, fingers running across the back of the rat's head and ears as one might pet a beloved dog. He will tempt you. Charles felt the fire of indignation return. Tempt me? Have they not already tempted me? Klepnos with false visions! Revonos with the glory of battle unending and the veneer of my own life? Suspira with the satiation of any desire I could possess! Even Agemnos offered me riches and power! I spurned them all! The fire in you is good, Núrodur. The Åelf counseled as he let his hand rest on the rat's shoulders. But do not trust in your own strength. Had not the Beast of Revonos recognized your allegiance you too would be a collared beast entertaining in the pits. Had not I arrived and provided a doppelganger, you would have bent the knee to Suspira. The Lord of the Daedra is stronger and viler than them all. He will strike you where you are weakest. Do not listen to him. I won't. The anger in his thoughts covered a quivering fear. Could, after all the anguish of the hells, he actually falter mere steps from his goal? As if in reply he saw his son again, now apparently five or six years in age, a child beautiful with black fur covering his head and down his back and with a white underbelly, struggling to get away from grasping hands that held him tight. Charles flinched at the image, his head turning from side to side as if expecting to see the damned whose yearnings pierced his master's veil. But neither his eyes, nor his ears, nor even his whiskers spoke to him of any sign of the beast whose thoughts had reached through the Åelf's barrier to quicken his gorge. Frustrated, Charles turned the Sondeshike over in his hands. The familiar motion was a comfort even if his ears turned forward in surprise when the whirling blade made no whistle through the air. Was there even any air for him to breathe? How much of what he saw was merely a vision for his mind? A warmth touched his heart and for a moment the bleak eternal night of the hell was no longer before him. He could smell the pine needles littering the forest floor and the fragrance of Spring blossoms drifting in the air. He felt the warmth of the sun filtering through the trees and basked in the soft susurrus of a gentle breeze rustling fresh leaves. A soft hand touched his shoulder, and he felt whiskers brushing against his cheek fur. He half turned his head; another rat with soft green eyes and light tan fur gazed at him. His wife, Kimberly. Her muzzle opened, and on her tongue he saw a song spring forth. His ears turned to hear but it was so faint that not even the contour of notes reached him. A profound sadness struck him in that wordless melody. It was both call and plea though for what he could not discern. To that tune he placed words of his own. Eli, help me to hear. Help me hear the one I love. But Kimberly closed her mouth, placed her hand over the purple stone at her heart, and stepped backward into the trees. Charles stretched out his arm even as shadows closed over her form. Her green eyes met him, vibrant as jade, a wordless promise within, and then they too disappeared. The forest with all its scents and sounds, faded into black. In its place he saw his son again. The boy screamed and squirmed, tail lashing, head whipping form side to side, little claws digging at the arms holding him down. Charles thrust his own head side to side to escape the vision. One hand clasped Ladero by the neck as the other roved down. The Åelf pushed his shoulder, jarring him from the vision. Charles snarled, swiping the Sondeshike into the darkness, incisors grinding together deep and painful. Only one thought filled his mind. Where is he? His master understood. The one whose sin you see? He is not far. Master, take me to him. For a moment he feared that his master would refuse him this, but after a second of quiet regard, the Åelf nodded and gently turned the rat by his shoulder. The long-fingered hand, once pearl gray but now a dark silhouette like everything in the realm, remained on his shoulder. Ware your step, Núrodur. Charles walked forward, gripping the Sondeshike with both hands. The metal felt malleable beneath his tar-coated hands. The ground beneath his paws crumbled like hardened dirt with each step. Beneath him he could see the outlines of human and semi-human shapes. Several lay in his path; he stepped over them being careful not to touch them. The bodies did not move and as his eyes traced their contours he wondered if they were even capable of movement. A presentiment assured him that to even brush their form with his claws would join their thoughts to his regardless of the barrier his master had erected. He moved slowly, determined to touch none of them. His steps proved true. But as he walked images continued to jab him. Always it was of a rat Keeper as he imaged one of six or seven years to be. Most of the time the rat was hooded like his lost Ladero. Other times the fur patterns resembled his other two sons, little Charles and Erick. Always one of these three, and each time they were struggling in vain, for the arms that always seemed to be his own over-powered them. Each vision lasted but a moment but even so short a time was enough to steel him. His fingers tightened their grip on the Sondeshike. The fiery warmth in the tar seemed to glow a red deeper than the blackest crimson. No muscle moved in his face; fixed and set the rat had become on the direction his master had pointed him. And then the hand on his shoulder drew him short. Charles did not blink, but listened for the presence in his mind to speak. The one you seek is at your feet, Núrodur. Charles glanced downward and even though there was no light to illumine features, he recognized the outline limned with the faintest effulgence from the smoldering tar on the rat's arms. The man beneath him bore no clothes to mark the rank he'd once possessed in life. Nothing remained but for his handsome features locked in perpetual gloom. This man who had been servant to Nasoj, Suspira and Lilith but had betrayed them all for his own ends, now locked in constant reenactment of his disgusting predilections, this man who had once gutted a wolf Keeper and smeared himself with his body fat to survive the cold, this man who had led the Long Scouts into a trap that had nearly cost them their lives, this man who had brutally murdered thousands of innocents without the slightest twinge of conscience was now immobile at the rat's feet. Baron Garadan Calephas. For all this I now give you my justice. If the man heard his voice there was no indication of it. No slight twitch of his body showed that he was aware of the rat's presence at all. Charles lifted the Sondeshike above him and then drove it downward into the body. The form collapsed beneath him and sporadic images of agony, murder, and other sins he refused to give name to flickered like a storm bolt through his mind. Charles smashed the ferrules down again and again and again. Each strike brought fresh images, of sins that had long ago passed beyond counting, all committed or directed by the dark figure before him. He felt splatter across his legs and arms, sizzling against his flesh as the tar had already done. The outline buckled, breaking into pieces. He crushed these too. After but seconds he dropped the Sondeshike and tore through Calephas's spirit with his claws, rending every mote of flesh from every other. The images of his sons became disjointed and finally ceased altogether. Charles drove his snout into what remained of the flesh, tearing with his incisors as well. All he could think were four words over and over again. My justice for you! My justice for you! At some point the rat realized that he was kneeling with nothing before him. With a rush of elation he tilted back his head an unleashed a wordless shriek of satisfaction that echoed from his throat only to be lost in the endless expanse of night. The presence stilled the ever circling ravings with a single clear thought. He is gone. Even Oblivion denies that one; his soul has been riven from existence entire. By you, my Núrodur, and no other. Charles took several deep breaths as he knelt in the cold dirt. He could feel the tar covering his legs and chest, soaking into his fur and burning through his trousers and tunic. They each clung to his body by narrow strips which had escaped the fountain of processed soul. One hand lifted to his face which simmered, and he felt the smooth blackness stretched across his snout, both cheeks, and over his eyes. The scar the Shrieker had left around his right eye had been smoothed over by the tar so that he could not feel a difference between either side of his face. He lifted that snout, hands falling to find the Sondeshike at his knees. Do I have any flesh left, Master? Yes, Núrodur. His hands rove across his shoulders and felt both his tunic and vest and the fur beneath. Most of his chest was lost to the tar, though a thread of both tunic and vest circled beneath his shoulders. His back where he could reach, and the half of his tail nearest his spine, were still free of the tar. He grimaced but could not bring himself to lament. After he had his son he would have flesh again too. It would not be the first time he had lost his flesh. He would endure. Where is the champion? He is nearly here. Stand close to me. Charles, hands wrapped about the Sondeshike, stood and shifted his paws on the barren ground until his shoulders brushed against the Åelf's middle. A heat suffused his front as if he were sitting by a roaring fire. His tongue and the inside of his mouth also felt the strange heat, and as he ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth he discovered the smoothness of the tar coating the inside as well. Had he eaten Calephas like he'd eaten Loriod? He could not recall. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>