<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars V: Ascensum (j) Saturday, May 12, 708 CR For a moment there was nothing. And then they arrived. Charles stared out across a vast ocean that stretched to the horizon. Waves rolled across the surface in long, unbroken arcs. The air was bitter with salt, and beneath him he could hear the crash of waves upon rock. A sky bright and blue filled the heavens without a single cloud in sight. He clenched his eyes until only a slit remained, trembling in the fierce light. His master's shadow stretched across him and kept the worst of the light at bay. After so long in the gloom of the hells it was only his longing for light that allowed him to see at all. Charles opened his jaws and sucked in the air, savoring the bite of the sea. His toes dug into the soft earth beneath his feet and felt his heart lift at its purity. He almost laughed as he turned, grateful to finally be free of the deadra and their demesnes. Charles gasped and blinked, lifting one arm to shield his eyes as he stared up and up. Before him, impossibly tall, was a mountain. It rose up from the waves below and stretched beyond his ability to see. The crystal blue sky cloaked the summit, and far above the sun itself cast luminous rays that made the upper reaches glimmer as alabaster. He could only stare a moment before casting his eyes down and pressing his head against his master's chest. You have been too long in darkness, Núrodur. His master's voice filled his thoughts and even soothed the misery in his eyes. Charles took a deep breath, hands gripping the Åelf's robes to steady himself. Where are we? Beyond. Beyond the imaginings of the Daedra lords and the souls beneath their gaze. Those souls that do not fall into their grasp, souls that slip by them as sand slips through fingers, and yet burdened by an evil of their own making, come to this place. You know of it, Núrodur. Charles frowned and tentatively opened his eyes. His paws were still black, and they clutched at his master's white robes as a stain. “Purgatorio...” He gasped and trembled, slipping down until he stood on his knees. “How... how could we come here? We are not dead.” Your son can only be reached from the mount ahead. You know this. You always knew this. Slowly, the rat began to nod, even as he stared at the grass beneath him. Even in his master's shadow it bore a warmth and a simplicity that he liked. It felt like grass should feel. There was no hate bled into the ground, there were no murders or atrocities screamed within its substance. It was grass and it bore him up as it was made to do. Blinking, eyes still smarting from staring at the brilliant mountain, Charles turned his head to stare back down his side and long tail stretched out toward the edge overlooking the sea. His flesh remained black so that he seemed a shadow himself. Against the backdrop of the ever rolling sea he felt a blemish. Why am I still black? I thought we left all of that behind us? It was not the Daedra lords who did this to you, Núrodur, but your own hand. You pushed the bird through the machine to open the bridge. You destroyed souls you found in Ba'al's domain. But remember what I told you – the soul tar cannot return to the mortal world. Your physical body remains where it sleeps; it has suffered no harm. You are safe. Do not be afraid. Charles felt his master's presence touching his thoughts with a gentle assurance. There was confidence in that touch, a certainty that what was spoken was true. The rat breathed deeply and swelled his chest with the salty air. If his master believed it, then he, Núrodur, believed it too. He remained on his knees for the length of several long breaths, blinking his eyes and letting them adjust to the brightness of the mountain and sky. When it no longer hurt to lift his gaze from the shadowed grass at his master's feet, the rat stood and stared at the world around him. They were situated on a small promontory overlooking a vast ocean that stretched around the base of the mountain. The mountain rose up amidst a broad swath of forest in full Summer bloom. While he did not see any animals moving within the field, he could hear the sound of voices and what he thought was distant singing. The mountain was a towering spike larger than any he had ever seen; even the mighty peaks of the barrier range were mere foothills in comparison. The gray slopes that turned to alabaster white where they reached the sky were so steep that they were sheer cliffs cut through by terraced paths that wound steadily upward around the trunk. The angle was too sharp for him to see anything moving on the paths, but near the base and just above the tops of the trees between them he beheld what seemed to be a gathering of people milling about as they began their ascent. Charles pressed his fingers against his snout and breathed across his claws; he yearned for something to chew. “We have to climb to the top of that?” It is where you know you must go to find your son, Núrodur. “Then we had best begin,” the rat said with a slight shrug. He took a deep breath and strode forward past his master toward the lush forest. In the light he stepped and screamed. What had seemed a noon-time day became a blaze of light so fierce he felt as if he'd been hurled into the sun. Deep into his flesh the fire bore so that he was nothing but heat itself. Every part of his being was consumed in that flame and he felt his substance dribble like molted iron down across the ground, burrowing and blackening the sod. And then a darkness swept over him and the wordless voice of his Master pierced the all-consuming agony of flame. You are still alive, Núrodur. I protected you from the evils amongst the Daedra's realm. Now I protect you against the fire of purification you cannot abide in your mortal flesh. You must remain in my shadow if you are to climb this mountain. You must remain in my shadow if you are to see your son again. Núrodur, you are not dead yet and cannot abide the fire that waits to purify the dead. I alone can shield you in this place. Núrodur! The anguish left him slowly. The comforting coolness of his master's shadow stretched outward around him as Charles lay in a crumpled heap at his feet. The grass had been charred by his touch, but already stretched up in fresh green blades that jabbed him with their solidity. The various pains lingered even after his awareness of arms, legs, and a tail returned to his nearly shattered mind. But his master's words guided him back to sense and with it purpose. Charles was himself again. His limbs trembled as he pushed himself to his hands and knees. His tail lay heavily on his toes, nearly limp from anguish and exertion. Charles, fearing it might sway free of his master's shadow and be turned to cinder, grasped the tip in one hand and pulled it close to his chest so that its bulk hung in a loop at his side even after he managed to stand. His trembling and beastly whimpering did not cease either. But his master's shadow was broad and stretched like a wedge behind him. Charles put his other hand at his master's back and gripped his white robes with both fingers and claws. There was an autumnal coolness in his thoughts, soothing and stilling his dream-time flesh. Charles gave no quarrel to his master, and when his master took a step, he lifted the same leg, unsteady though it may be, and set it down upon the sharp grass at the same time as his master set soft shoe to earth. Each step felt an eternity, but by the time they left the promontory and reached the edge of the wood, Charles no longer trembled. The fire that had burned him still simmered in his flesh like a smoking wick that refused to be extinguished, but it no longer caused him any pain. The black rat felt soothed by his master's shadow, and kept his grip tight on the robe so as not to accidentally stumble from it again. His tail bounced against one knee as he pressed the tip to his chest. Despite nearly clinging to his master's back, Charles was able to see the forest as they stepped beneath its leafy boughs. A brilliant panoply of green overshadowed them, blocking their view of the mountain for a time. And even though Charles had traversed much of the known world, the trees and the leaves were not familiar to him. The ground beneath them dipped and wove between each sentinel, their trunks thick with giant whorls and burrs that did not so much mar their bark but glorified it. Some of the leaves were so large that they could have been stretched with poles to make a tent for a dozen men. Others were mere pinpricks of a green so vivid they were impossible to miss. The grass gave way to moss and stone as they ventured deeper into the wood. Charles was surprised when his toes would not breach the surface of the larger blocks thrust up from the earth. Where the rocks of Revonos had enticed him to succumb to their poison, these felt solid and unyielding as rocks had been before he'd become stone himself. Charles made seven attempts to commune with stone before giving up. He was surrounded by a beauty of supernatural majesty and he could partake of none of it. Do not despair. His master's voice was kind and filled with a gracious delight. This place is closed to you for now, Núrodur Nuruhuinë,but it shall not always be so. When I must die? He felt his master smile but nothing more was said within his mind. Merely a sensation that reminded him of his master's promise. His gaze swept across the forest with its beautiful trees, bushes, fronds, flowers, moss, stone, and profusion of grace, and delighted in it. They passed into a broad valley with the forest on either side rising up to form a series of long walls each higher than the last so that there was nowhere for them to go but forward. Reclining on the walls he was surprised to find people here and there. Most were dressed well though some of their raiment seemed archaic if not ancient. None of them glanced at the rat or his master, their eyes turned toward the mountain with longing even though they could neither see it through the trees nor make any attempt to walk toward it. Charles did not recognize any of the faces, and for a time found the strangeness of their clothes more interesting. Some styles he recognized from tapestries hung in Metamor depicting life in earlier centuries. There two men bearing Sondecki cloaks cut in a style unheard of for three centuries, with short cuffs on the wrists and flowing streamers from either shoulder each ending in a stitched emblem of their clan. To them he yearned to speak, but the light from above surrounded them and he dared not enter. The forest valley eventually opened up to a wide plain that came to an abrupt end in the upthrust rock of the mountainside. Here many more humans reclined, and to the rat's delight he even saw a few Keepers though none were familiar. They walked about with apparently nothing more to do during their day. Some sang hymns. Others seemed to have their heads bowed in prayers. A few beat themselves with whips of cord. Some wept. Who are these people? They are many and varied. Some are excommunicate and must abide here a time equal to their separation in life. Others are merely those who let the mundane cares of the world strangle their souls. They could not be held by the Daedra, nor do they receive worse for the desire abides in their hearts. And so they are here; waiting. Charles turned his head from side to side to try and take in the multitudes. He had never seen an army a tenth so vast. For what do they wait? The path to open for them. There is no other direction that they can go anymore. Neither is there for us, Núrodur. Come. Charles followed his master into the plain and into the throng. Even though there were more people gathered in the field beneath the mountain than he had ever seen before gathered in a single place, there was sufficient distance between them that they could walk in their midst without his master's shadow falling on any of them. Their attire was similar to those he saw in the forest, though many also bore garments fitting for his own day. As they passed through their midst he scanned their faces in vain for anyone he knew. He felt somewhat disheartened to see only strangers. As they neared the base of the mountain Charles could finally see that unlike a normal mountain, there was neither defile nor gentle slope at its base. Rather the grass and trees of the field gave way to a vertical cliff that stretched beyond the reach of the largest tree in the Glen. At the top of that cliff he could see the lip of a terrace that wound its way up along the side of the mountain. But where that path began there was no sign. They walked for what seemed many hours through the vast throng of penitents before they finally reached the mountain. People pressed their faces to its smooth surface and wept bitter tears, dried them with their hair, and then kissed the cold stone with tender affection and gratitude. His master turned before they could touch the stone and Charles followed him toward the right. So close to the cliff the sound of singing seemed to coalesce from a million voices into a single harmonious whole. ... Non nobis Domine non nobis: sed nomini tuo da gloriam. Super misericordia tua et veritate tua: nequando dicant gentes: Ubi est Deus eorum? Deus autem noster in caelo: omnia quaecumque voluit fecit. … Beneath it he felt another melody spinning and seeking. His heart trembled and he felt a desperate longing to hear the melody in full. It differed from the chant of the penitents; where their song was one full of understanding with all doubt stripped away, this other melody was jagged with uncertainty. Its tremolo was an anxious throb and its syncopation a sorrowful flutter of the lips. He lifted his ears, ignoring the hymn in hopes of capturing that other voice. The gate is ahead, Núrodur. His master's words brought his attention back to the mountain and he gasped when he beheld the gate. It was not like any gate he had ever seen in any city, nor even like the forest gates in Ava-shavåis. A portal of shimmering light rose up along the mountainside. It was framed by a stone arch but it was not the arch that created the gate; it was the light which upheld the arch. The gate was fronted by three long, stone steps. The bottom step was fashioned from a marble polished so white that no impurity marred it and no speck of dust could settle upon it. The second was black basalt and cracked through the middle from side to side and from top to bottom. The third was a deep red and fashioned from no stone that Charles recognized. Atop the third step was a being of iridescent light and covered in eyes. He could make no sense of its limbs, neither what they were nor how many he had, though it seemed to the rat that the being held a sword. One of the penitents climbed the steps toward that fiery being. Though the steps were no taller than his knee, the man seemed as small as a mouse in a giant's abode as he mounted the three steps. Charles pressed against his master's leg as they stood nearby watching, eyes fixed on the scene. The fiery being seemed to sing as it lowered the sword point toward the penitent's forehead. A blaze of crimson light followed the sword point as the letter “P” was traced seven times. Words, felt more than heard, emanated from the being of incandescent light. “Take heed that thou wash these wounds, when thou shalt be within.” Charles felt his earlier burn kindle in his darkened flesh and only his master's gentle hand stilled the quivering that overtook him. No sound came to his ears and the only scent his nose knew was the charring of his own flesh. To the presence within he whispered his fear. Is there no other way? There are many paths you can choose, Núrodur. But only one path leads to your son. We shall not be turned aside. Fear not. As soon as the thought had settled upon him like a heavy cloak about his shoulders, his Master stepped forward and Charles crept along at his feet to remain in his shadow. They reached the steps even as the fiery being had turned two keys, one of gold and the other of silver, in locks upon the brilliant gate. It opened inward with a rush of harmony as a million voices singing some exultant hymn. Charles could make out nothing of the path beyond the gate, but watched as the penitent strode forward with head bowed past the gatekeeper. Into the path beyond he stepped and the gate pulled gently closed behind him, though it did not shut all the way. A thousand eyes from the being of celestial flame turned from the penitent who vanished into the brightness beyond, settled upon Master and rat who stood but a short distance away. Its sonorous voice, somehow both doomfully thunderous and as gentle as a lover's whisper, spoke. “On this thy first climb no mark is given. Take heed thou dost not spurn this grace. Thy second climb shall be as the rest.” It turned and, without using either key, pressed open the gate. This time Charles could see a path of stone steps rising up through the mountain while light shone down into the fissure from above. His Master ascended the steps with such delicate grace it seemed as if his feet pressed off the very air so that they never touched the stone. Charles crept along behind, uncertainly setting one paw upon the white step; the surface was cool and soft like new-fallen snow. Comforted, he pulled himself up the next step and felt a stab of pain lance into his heart. His darkened paws tightened their grip upon the crack sheared into the black step and forced himself upward, even as he felt a sorrow so deep nearly draw tears from the pitch of his eyes. Just when he thought himself unable to continue he collapsed upon the red step just beneath the gate and the being of a thousand eyes. The stone was warm but not hot to the touch and he found a renewed strength upon it. He pressed down with his hands and for a moment thought he saw pink flesh where the black had covered his fingers. But by the time he stood and followed his Master through the gate the color had faded. The fissure of rock beyond the gate stretched his Master's shadow at first so that Charles felt free to reach out and touch either side. But the more they climbed the shallower it became and soon he was forced to keep close to his master's legs to stay out of the light. He clutched the end of his tail tight in one hand and pulled it taut around his middle. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>