<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars V: Ascensum (k) Saturday, May 12, 708 CR They emerged from the fissure onto a broad terrace. The mountain stretched upward on their left and the terrace would upwards against it. To his right he could see across the top of the forest from a height dwarfing Metamor's tallest towers. The sea stretched in every direction and sparkled in the radiance of the sun. The ground was lush with bright, green grass and little bushes but nothing taller than the rat's knees. Everything around seemed brighter than before and Charles flinched, shielding his eyes with his free hand as they emerged onto the grassy incline. His Master stared ahead with fixed determination and confident mien, only turning part way to rest a hand on the rat's shoulder and offer him an encouraging glance. The brighter the sun, the deeper the shadow, Núrodur. You are safe with me. The thought comforted the rat and together the two of them continued walking up the ever so gentle slope. At first Charles saw nothing other than the waves of grass and the small flowering bushes mixed in, but soon he noticed that there was far more to see on the mountain terrace. Emerging from the green sward were statues of exquisite craftsmanship, as if they too had been grown from the mountain's surface. Charles found himself immediately drawn to regard the nearest and seemingly largest of the group. Before them was the image of a woman kneeling with her arms open before her as if she were accepting some great responsibility. Her face was tilted upward, her cheeks without blemish, her eyes open and gentle. Her features suggested youth but there was also a matronly quality to her. From her gaze, her posture, and her bearing, it seemed that she was listening and welcoming some message. Charles felt he should know her. His Master did not pause to consider the statues and so the rat did not either. He offered each of them that they passed a brief appraisal but nothing more. All of them seemed to be people in positions that suggested they were either accepting some task or relinquishing something of great worth; and yet they never seemed to regret any of what happened. Charles felt dizzy from so many images and after counting more than two dozen lowered his eyes into the shadow at his Master's feet and pushed them from his mind. But he found no relief there. As they climbed the grass gave way to more than just statues. Broad stone steps marred the path, each of them carved with some scene. Most of them were of people engaged in some activity, though he could not recall what at first it was that any of them were doing. But after a while, as his dark feet stepped over the faces, he realized that many of them were rulers or fantastic warriors. He saw priests praying with their eyes turned upward bearing self-satisfied smiles. He saw a man at the foot of a tree staring up at the faces of other men and women hanging from the tree like ripened fruit. Charles tried to find the grass again so that he would not have to stare at all of those images, but he did not dare step out of his Master's shadow again. Even thinking about it made his flesh simmer with heat. After stepping across a depiction of a vast city and tower under construction, he lifted his eyes and noted that they were no longer alone on that vast mountain terrace. Men and women surrounded them on all sides, each of them laboring beneath the weight of a heavy stone that crushed into their backs. The stones were of such variety that the darkened rat could only marvel and name the names: basalt, granite, chalcedony, marble, flint, anthracite, gneiss, jasper, chert, limestone, quartz, pumice, and many, many others that he'd known from his days of living as stone. For a few moments his gaze fixed upon the rocks and some deep recess of his being yearned for the comfort and stability of mineral and the majesty of the peak. The weight of each burden could not have been born for more than a few minutes by even the strongest of men; even some dragons would have struggled beneath such boulders. Yet these people, both man and woman alike, bore up the weight without collapsing. Their steps were slow, inching forward up the gentle slope with little shifts of each leg; their feet never left the ground and yet they left no trail either for the grass crushed beneath them sprang back up faster than they could move. Their faces were contorted in pain but as he watched them it did not seem to him that their greatest agony came from the stones. All of them had the letter “P” inscribed seven times on their forehead. Like the people on the plain below, these were also dressed in a variety of attire yet each was marred but the constant shifting of the stones on their back. Garments rich in purple and crimson were now smeared brown around their back, threads torn loose so that they sagged along their arms and legs. Others bore priestly garments that tangled around their legs making it impossible for them to move, a tangle that they seemed reluctant to fix. A few had even torn the shirts from their chest, leaving a trail of finery dragging behind them. And then were many others whose garments were of the meanest sort and yet they moved as slowly as the rest. His Master did not slacken his pace to allow Charles any time to study them as individuals and as his shadow did not touch any of them the rat was forced to note only these details about each in their passage. He lost count of how many they passed before he realized that every single one of them was talking. Their gaze was fixed either on the path before them or the ground with its grass and stone tablets, and yet each of them spoke as if trying to carry on a conversation with those around them. But none of them were listening to one another. Charles inclined his head as they passed to listen. “I was Pyralian, son of a great Breckarin. My father was prefect of the district of Aachen and scion of the great Martain family... I do not know if you have heard his name.” “I am the great Tardini. My name was celebrated by all in Marilyth and my manuscripts admired by all learned men. Do you not know my work?” “I have ten children. My eldest son is a knight of great renown. My eldest daughter married the Baron of Mitok. Stay and let me tell you of my other children and their achievements!” “I commanded a legion of soldiers and won the battle of Vasks over the treacherous Hevagn!” “No man knows the movement of the stars as do I!” “I worked a miracle that healed a child on the verge of death. My name is still sung throughout Lavelock!” Charles shook his head, unable to bear the words he heard, almost wishing that he would see some of them collapse beneath the weight that had already bent them over. The disgust flared in his skin until he felt the grass smoldering beneath his feet. It is better not to listen to them, Núrodur. He lifted his head and saw that his Master had half turned his face to offer him a thin smile. He did not form a question back to his Master, but merely opened his mind to his presence. Each word they speak is pressed from them by the weight upon their back. A life-time of such thoughts and desires has created those stones and now it must be crushed from them. It is not for you to know and experience. You cannot add to their burden nor can you cause them any suffering which they would feel. Stay with me and we will soon leave them behind. You walk in their midst only as a stranger; a shadow within a shadow. And it was true. Though they were all human and they spoke tongues he understood and in accents familiar, even mentioning places he had once lived or seen, none of them were familiar to him. They were not his concern. They could neither help nor impede his steps and so there was no reason to pay the slightest heed to them. His Master's shadow did not include them and so he turned them from his mind. It was easier than he had suspected. He focused his gaze on his Master's back and followed after him up the long sloping terrace. His feet crossed over stone and grass and he could feel the different textures but he did not glance to see what upon what images he trod. His side always took in that which passed him on either side and so the people with their stones pressing down their backs and ruining their clothes continued to slip behind him but other than the hue of their skin and the type of rock they bore he knew nothing more of them. Even when he saw that there was a wolf Keeper bearing a granite block he did not avert his attention nor listen to what lament slipped from his tongue. The question did arise only then, that he had not questioned through his journey; how did the souls of men, briefly changed to the forms of animals or children in the duration of their mortality, remain thus changed in the realms beyond life. Were Nasoj's curses so powerful that they warped the very soul as well as the flesh? Was that the reason the curse could not be undone – was it a change of the soul itself? His thoughts were troubled, waiting for word from his Master whom would have no answer for that curiosity, wondering only how far they must travel on their road before they reached his son. The question passed, as fleeting as a breath, before Charles' thoughts turned once more to the ever-dwindling shadow of his Master, and the goal ahead. Ladero. Into that silence his attention was only arrested by the faint echo of the melody he'd experienced on the plain. It tugged at him and for a moment he thought to turn and seek its source out. But even as the intention grew within him, something else caught his regard. Ahead of them on the path was a familiar face bearing up under the weight of a few dozen heavy slabs of limestone stacked like a monumental deck of cards. His garments, once a rich and luxuriant blue, were now sullied and torn so that his pasty white flesh was visible, preserved from the burning of the sun only by the shadow in which he travailed. To the rat's astonishment, his Master's shadow passed over the shambling man, where it had never before touched another loitering below or toiling up the endless path. Yes, Núrodur, I know the thought you wish to have. To this one you may speak for a moment. He is known to you. But remember, he may not understand who you are for the weight upon him is all he truly knows. Charles did not step ahead to reach the man faster, but waited the few seconds until his Master stepped along-side him, bringing the rat close to this other. His face was lined with strain, and his aquiline nose stretched from each intake of breath. The seven letters drawn across his forehead were twisted under his burden so that they seemed to flow with his blood. His eyes were lifted to the ground ahead, but his feet moved only the width of the rat's finger and then not again. “Marquis Camille du Tournemire,” Charles murmured, his voice almost a hiss as of stone grinding together. “How are you here?” The Marquis's voice seemed to have a bit of fire to it as he replied. “I defeated the slaughtering hand of the conqueror Handil Sutt in battle, man to man alone. I would see the Marzac swamps reclaimed from evil. None could best my hand at cards; with nothing more than cards I was as much a conqueror as Sutt and his legions. I would bring an end to famine in my lands and would make them as rich as any the world has ever seen!” He groaned and for a moment buckled beneath the weight of the stacked limestone. Charles lifted one arm to steady him but the Marquis, despite his burden, managed to avoid his touch. “You were wrong,” the rat noted with a sigh. “You became evil. You did horrible things. This is all the punishment you receive?” “I did defeat Handil Sutt! I brought peace to Western Pyralis! You were there, Sondecki of the Black! You were there at my beck and call.” “And you betrayed us in the end. You destroyed so many...” “I had such power... such terrible power.” “With which you tortured us. You murdered my friends before my very eyes.” “I raised a beautiful son.” “You abandoned your son for Marzac!” “I stopped the evil. I kept the card to the Magyars from being burned. I tricked him for you, Dazheen! I tricked him for you!” Briefly the overburdened man's eyes lifted, seemed to focus upon Charles if truly aware that he was there. “Darkness requires light; I could touch it – a little less at a time, but that is where I laid one card; in the Light.” His shoulders rose, lifting the stack of weighty slabs briefly, and then fell. “Where I could not, in the end, touch it. But you, the others, ahh, my armies of conquest in a handful of painted cards!” “You brought pain and anguish to my friends. You stole me from my family!” “Oh Dazheen, only you could touch cards as I could. You alone were my joy in the darkness.” Charles tightened his hands into fists to keep himself from clawing at the man. His voice deepened and poured a hot wind against the Marquis's face. “You murdered my friends and countless others! Why are you not burning with the rest! Why did I not find you curled like a little beast in the blackness of Ba'al domain! You sadistic monster!” The Marquis did not even look at him, his eyes lifting upward along the path, and a tear dribbled down his cheek. “Dazheen, I am guilty. I am. I was wrong to think I could cure the jungle. I was wrong.” The stone slab at the top of the stack slid backward and crashed into the ground behind them. It shattered so thoroughly that not even a remnant of dust remained. The Marquis slid one foot forward a few inches. His leather boots had worn away enough that his curled toes could be seen, and these glimmered a pearly white as they slipped free of his Master's shadow. Charles felt a hand rest upon his shoulder and the anger he felt at seeing the man who had brought him so much pain subsided. He could still feel a fire across his flesh, but now it seemed a cool flame, one that soothed rather than seared. He lowered his arm and tightened his grip on his tail as he stepped away from the Marquis. His Master sensed his purpose and the two of them continued walking, leaving Tournemire forever behind after only a few steps. This does not accord with your sense of justice, my Núrodur Nuruhuinë? Is this all he must do, carry a bunch of stones around? That is no mere collection of pebbles, my Núrodur. It is not your choice as to what comes to those who have died. But he killed you, Master! Do you not wish more for him? We must each of us fulfill the purpose for which we exist, Núrodur. To some more is given than others. To you this has been given. That one accomplished much of what he had been given but not all. His decisions were not always best, and his reasons created that stack of stones which bear him down even now and will do so for a time longer than you can imagine. Yes, he should not have had a hand in killing me, but now that we have seen him, spoken with him, and stepped past him, he is no longer our concern. He plays no further part in our paths. Put him now from your mind, Núrodur. We must continue. I will, Master. The terrace continued its slow spiral around the towering mountain that loomed on their left like a brilliant white spike piercing the sky. The only heed Charles paid to the men and women laboring beneath stone was to note their presence on either side as they passed. The further they walked the fewer in number they seemed to be. The swards of grass and the statues that rose up from them seemed to become wider and more diverse but they never lingered in any spot long enough for the rat's interest to be piqued. His thoughts were still as the moments slipped away. The Núrodur's pace matched that of his Master's step for step as they climbed. The path angled upward but he felt no fatigue for all of their exertion. There was nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but to follow and wait. His son was ahead and his Master guided him to his son. That was all that mattered. The slope eventually became steep enough that the rat had to climb on all fours to make the ascent. He tucked his tail through the sash around his waist to keep it from slipping out of the shadow and then stretched in its depths as they rose the last course of the terrace. A vigilant light shone ahead and in the midst of the brilliance he could discern figures waiting. What few others remained on the path with them were burdened by mere slivers of river stone though they too crawled like animals. The hill leveled out only when they reached the source of the light. Another being filled with eyes and wings in a profusion that was impossible to make sense of appeared to guard a narrow passage in a sheer face of rock. No other path continued the ascent and no gate barred entry, but the cleft was so narrow and the ascent so steep that none who still bore the heavy stones could ever hope to slip through. An older woman who had finished the climb before them presented herself to the being of eyes and a gentle brush of its gossamer wing swept across her forehead. One of the letters inscribed there disappeared as a brush cleaning away a cobweb. Her eyes brimmed with joy as she tilted back her head and sang. The being joined his voice to hers and the rat trembled as the sound washed across him like a river flush with rain. Beati pauperes spiritu... Beati pauperes spiritu... The old woman, garbed in rags torn down her back from the rock that had once been fixed there, folded her hands before her and with head bowed stepped into the passage and was lost to sight. The song, only three words but repeated with such conviction and depth, echoed in his mind for several long seconds before they too faded, leaving only a memory and a suggestion of something deep and lost. Charles rubbed one finger across his smooth forehead half-expecting to find letters of his own. But he felt only the sultry warmth of the soul tar fused with his flesh. His Master had not slackened his pace once during the invocation and so together they strode past the being of eyes who regarded them in a way that the rat could not even comprehend. The eyes both followed them and ignored them. Its wings were stretched to welcome others but not them. They stepped beyond and to the narrow passage within the face of rock. As they passed within its confines the last memory of the song that gave him pause was lost. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>