<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars V: Ascensum (m) Saturday, May 12, 708 CR But when they reached the next terrace, Charles only opened his eyes a moment before shutting them tight again in pain. A choking smoke filled the air of the terrace, leaving all a vast plain of rock. The acrid smoke made his nose squirm and so clouded the air that it seemed darker than night. Yet the scratching pain the roughness had inflicted on Charles seemed to matter not a whit to his Master who kept his eyes open and gazed with unrivaled calm upon the scene. They had arrived at the third terrace and its environment was only one more through which they must pass. His Master did not slow his pace and Charles, after rubbing his hands across his face and pressing his eye lids firmly down across his eyes to keep out the least particle of smoke, hastened to follow him. Yet even the indeterminate window of barren rock beneath the choking blanket was only one vision that came to him. Slipping into his consciousness with an even greater vivacity was a scene set in a massive temple with intricate stone-work below, columns as wide as a horse was long, and a heavy ceiling far overhead. A group of men with long beards and flowing robes argued with a young child not yet entering into maturity who was dressed in the garb of a commoner. There was nothing about the child's physical appearance that distinguished him – though all had the bronzed skin of desert life that Charles himself had once borne – and yet there was something indescribably beautiful about him. He glowed with this inner glory as he dealt with the incredulous and sometimes ill-tempered men. Charles felt a strange sense of loss as his mind was captured by the vision, a seeing that was error but not false. Who was this child? Had he not known? Into the vision another two figures stepped, a woman and a man, both also dressed in common clothes that seemed poor compared to the beautiful robes garbing the bearded men who disputed with the child. The mother and father, Charles knew, but there was more. He had seen the woman before. Her beauty was deeper than her sun and sand-roughed skin. In regarding her the rat felt a measure of the comfort and simplicity he'd experienced when stepping upon the white step just before the gate. Her voice was the first to join the images with sound. Fili quid fecisti nobis sic ecce pater tuus et ego dolentes quaerebamus te. There was anguish in the voice, but no anger. No recrimination in the question. Merely a desire to understand. The response was offered with a love that made the child seem the wiser and the one with authority. Quid est quod me quaerebatis nesciebatis quia in his quae Patris mei sunt oportet me esse. The boy then stood and took his mother's hand and left the bearded men to argue amongst themselves. And with that the vision faded leaving him alone with his Master's gaze of smoke. Charles tightened his grip on the cloak and followed after, gasping for breath, his voice wheezing through the choking fume. Though the taste was bitter and made him yearn to cough, he seemed able to breath it in anyway. He lifted his head toward his master though the view that filled his mind did not change. Did you see it too? I did, Núrodur. It is an example for those dwelling in this place. There are many others that they continue to see. Were we to remain here for a time we would see them and also the reason why they must pass through this place of smoke. It pains you, Núrodur? It does, Master. Even as the admission came to him he felt the fire in his flesh simmer. His Master's presence soothed the pain from the heat though the heat remained. You know this place, Núrodur, for you have crafted it of your own. It is a heritage that you share with many others. Through my eyes you may see them again ere we leave here for the terrace above. Do not be afraid. Do not waver. The light will return. In my shadow you remain. No harm can come to you. Together they walked across the stony path. Unlike the previous two terraces where the grass sward had smoothed out the path so that they made a gentle climb even when the road became steep, here the rock was jagged with numerous faces so that they would be climbing up one moment and then crossing level ground the next. Charles briefly attempted to slip his feet into the stones but the soul tar permeating his flesh prevented him from even wiggling a claw through its substance. Though even with his Master's vision they could only see a short distance ahead before the smoke became too thick to penetrate, they still began to glimpse other people in the murk. They witnessed mostly men but women too wandering and blindly groping about the stones, their faces contorted both from the pain without and some interior anguish that Charles assumed came from some vision they experienced but which they were spared. Their attire was a mix of styles from tunic and breeches to robes to heavy fur-lined cloaks. Some wore the ruins of bronze armor and others dented plate. The first whose shape captured his attention was a Keeper in the shape of a squat thistle-furred boar. His snout was twisted and wrinkled with a sullen fury as he cupped one arm over his belly. He stumbled toward them and so in the few moments before they continued past he could see that the flesh was split there as if he'd been disemboweled. Charles wished he could remember the boar soldier's name. Nor was he the only Keeper or fantastic creature they passed as they struggled through the smoke and up the disjointed face of rock. A bear Keeper also stumbled by them, though his back was to them so Charles saw only his outline. And then he glimpsed as a silhouette in the form of a falcon spreading his wings and tilting back his head to offer a screeching lament. Crawling across their path was a man cursed into the shape of a lizard with a mottled brown scales and a blunt snout; across his back, completely stripped of any garments so that he more resembled a beast than a man, were several cuts from a blade that seared deep and exposed pearl-white bone. Chasing after him was a child of no more than twelve who waved his arm about as if he were swinging a sword; he tripped over the lizard's tail, smashed his face into the stone, and then climbed back up and ran off into the darkness. It was only as they stepped past a strange creature with long tail, sharp claws, and hunched posture that was covered in both scales and feathers who cried a chittering wail as it beat its head against the stone that Charles first noticed men in tattered robes bearing a heraldry he remembered. Though there robes were of various colors and most were shredded and hung in strips, the symbol they bore on their breast appeared untouched by the ravages they had suffered. He saw a red shield in which had been inscribed a upturned hand; nestled with the palm was an alabaster sword whose tip reached into the fingers. Sondeckis. Charles felt his heart pound in his chest and warmth filled not just his skin but his whole being at the sight. Through his Master's eyes he noted their faces, hoping to find some hew recognized. But the Sondeckis order had lasted for millennia and every year a dozen or more would suffer violent deaths. In times of war there would be hundreds who would fall in battle. How many of them still walked this terrace, stumbling in the smoke of rage that choked them and kept them here? None of those he saw were of the Sondeckis of his day. All of them were brothers in the order but strangers still. Their faces were set in a rictus of pain as they clenched shut their eyes. Scowls of fierce anger as of a Sondecki untrained were frozen there, and he felt a terrible pity for them. Could they not find their Calm? For a moment Charles thought to seek his own but could not remember what it had been. A wave of frustration filled him and his flesh simmered; he could feel the scorch marks beneath his Master's shadow left behind by his every step. Do you wish to feel as they? His Master's thought was curious, or so Charles sensed. He wanted to take a deep breath to help still the torrent of his own Sondeck denied peace, but hacked on the smoke as soon as he tried. He swept one arm before his face to clear the air but there was nothing to clear. The very air and smoke were one and the same. When he finally stopped coughing he willed his thought to be clear. They are of my order. They are family to me. They are Sondeckis! Like my son! Why are they here? Because they must be here. Do you see all Sondeckis here? No. But there are so many! There is one you know. See. Charles almost blinked open his eyes but allowed himself to sink deeper into the window through his Master's gaze. Ahead of them along the path, just visible through the smoke and darkened subtly by the lay of his Master's shadow, stood a man garbed in a tattered black robe. Disheveled hair just as black hung down to his neck and fell across his ears. Long-fingered hands were pressed to his chin as he bowed his face, lips moving as if he were praying. His broad face, marked by the letter “P” five times, brought back memory after memory to the rat and tears tried to force their way through his eye lids. “Krenek!” He cried, his voice piercing the thick cloud and echoing back to him from the mountainside. His fellow Sondecki lowered his hands and lifted his head though he did not turn toward them. Charles stretched out an arm beyond his Master, stepping so close that his face brushed his robes. This one you love, do you not, Núrodur? There is no greater pain I received from Marzac than having to fight this man, Master. We shall wait while you speak to him. Say what you must. But we cannot bring him with us nor move him a step closer to the next terrace until it is his time. Charles waited until they had reached his childhood friend and dearest brother among the Sondeckis. His Master turned slightly so that Charles could Zagrosek full in the face through his Master's eyes, but he could not see himself in that gaze. Zagrosek's eyes were pressed shut but there were no lines of pain as there had been in the others. It was not peace but a strange resignation that lurked there behind his friend's countenance. “Krenek! Can you hear me?” “Charles.” Krenek almost seemed to smile as he lowered his fingers from his chin and folded one hand into a fist and wrapped the other about it. “Charles, how I wish I could have found you before... before...” “It wasn't your fault,” Charles assured, trying to reach out an arm to console him but only able to see through his Master's eyes he could not find him. “You had no idea that the Marquis had been corrupted by so terrible a force. You could never have suspected it. What happened after was not your fault!” “Oh, Charles. There is so much we have done. There is so much that we were wrong about. How I wish I could tell you.” “I am here, Krenek. There is nothing for you to tell. We are Sondeckis. We did our duty.” Krenek tilted his head forward as if he were looking down at the rat with fondness. His voice was soft beneath the choking smoke; it did not seem to have the same stifling effect on him as it had on the others they had passed. “Charles, we thought we were servants of justice. We turned our rage to that end. We did, oh we did. But did we? Oh Charles, did we truly serve justice?” “Of course we did, Krenek! We feel it in our bones. Every injustice makes our blood boil and our Sondeck fill with indignation!” Even mentioning it made the rat's body swell. He could almost feel himself sinking into the stone as his feet burned them. “Justice... justice..” Krenek struck his chest three times with his fist and shook his head. “How strange it appears the same as vengeance when our gorge rises and our ire blossoms. Charles, do you remember when we sought Totzesond for Soud?” The scene returned to his mind as if he had been transported back to that moment. Still garbed in Red, he and seven other Reds, his friends Zagrosek, Ladero, and Jerome amongst them, had been on a training mission south of the Darkündlicht mountains guided by two blacks. On their return journey they had become aware that they were being followed by an unseen group. For a week they had slept but two hours each night in a vain attempt to outdistance whoever pursued them. Exhausted and miserable from uncertainty, they continued onward to the mountain pass that would lead them back to the Sondesharan desert and the safety of home. “I remember it,” Charles replied with a nod. His words hissed through his teeth like steam from a kettle. “Kankoran!” “Oh, Charles, do you remember our wrath against the Kankoran?” The day before they entered the mountains it became clear that they would not escape those who chased them. One of the two blacks who had guided and protected them on their journey through the fields of Makor, Soud, volunteered to remain behind to learn who followed them and promised, if it was innocent to rejoin them later, and if it was not to provide them as much time as he could. They never saw Soud again but heard the clamor of his battle from the treacherous mountain pass.. The other black, Brothus, urged them to continue on. Zagrosek felt the sting of Soud's death for their sake more deeply than the rest. “I remember it, Krenek. I remember that night about the fire. I remember your passion, your thirst for justice for Soud's sake. I remember you calling for Totzesand! My heart burned with fire to hear it. I stood by your side and joined you in the call even when Brothus, the coward, told us we went to our deaths.” Zagrosek shook his head and unleashed a long sigh, his dark hair falling into his face and obscuring his features. “Charles, Charles, I cannot believe that I let myself be guided by such wrath. I called for Totzesand, but why did I do so? Justice? Soud gave his life that we might escape. I destroyed his death.” “You destroyed his murderers!” Though they failed to convince Brothus the black to seek the justice of death for Soud's murder, all eight of the Reds agreed and they backtracked to an outcropping to prepare an ambush for the Kankoran who'd killed him. Five Purples followed them, one bearing Soud's Sondeshike as a trophy. The very sight of a Kankoran brandishing a Sondeshike made his flesh burn deep into his bones. The rat clenched his hands and gaped his jaw, his words coming not in even tones but in cries. “You destroyed those thieves and murderers! They needed to die!” “I put all of our lives at risk for the sake of bloodlust. For the sake of wrath. Oh Charles, what evil I did to you to convince you to join me in that fight!” The first of the Kankoran was thrust from the ledge before they even realized the Sondeckis were there. The other four fought with a ferocious tenacity matched only by the zeal of Zagrosek. Charles had yearned to watch his friend grapple with the Kankoran wielding the Sondeshike but he had his own life to defend. One of the Kankoran had forced him to the edge of a deep chasm and with another series of punches and kicks or blows of magic would have sent him hurtling to his death. But Ladero had come and struck from behind, saving Charles from the fall. A few moments longer and they had been victorious in the fight, and every Kankraon lay dead at their feet or at the bottom of the chasm. Even Brothus, assuring them that they went to their death and refusing to join them in the call for Totzesand, was there to help protect them as was his duty, but no fire of justice burned in his veins. “They were going to kill us, Krenek! They were murderers and would have killed us too.” But his friend could only shake his head. He beat his chest with his fists and wept. “My dear Charles. I thought I loved justice. I did. I know I did. But that day I let it become vengeance. I let justice be led by wrath. I celebrated by taking Soud's Sondeshike for my own. What other evils have I done with it? How much blood has it shed?” “No, Krenek! You saved our lives! I will not believe this about you!” “I hated the idea of a Kankoran holding our weapons...” Charles saw in his mind a image of a raccoon holding a long staff. He snarled, slashing with his arms until the image was torn apart. “I hated it so much..” Zagrosek lifted his head and for a moment it seemed as if he would open his eyes. But though the muscles in his face shifted, his eye lids never lifted. “And taking that Sondeshike... what did it do to me? Oh Charles, what did it do to you whom I loved more than any other as my dearest brother! Have you learned yet? Have you?” “Learned what, Krenek?” But he turned his face away and pressed his hands against his cheeks. His fingers trembled and dug at the skin of his forehead as if he would tear it free. But the flesh remained intact. Charles stretched out his arm but could not find where to place it to touch his friend. “What do I need to learn, Krenek? Why are you speaking like this? You were a good man and a great Sondecki!” When he lifted his gaze there was a look of peace on his features, though one filled with melancholy. “Oh Agathe. Despite what it made us do, I did love you. I wish you would have accepted that.” “Krenek! It's me, Charles Matthias. Talk to me here! That... that... woman cannot help you!” “Agathe, forgive me for not doing better. I wish I had been stronger. I wish... it is past now. All of it. All of it gone from us. I only hope you have a little love for me.” “Krenek Zagrosek! Listen to me!” Charles slashed his arms in front of him but could not find purchase. Had he even been talking to his friend at all? Had anything he said been heard? He screamed in protest and blinked open his eyes, determined to find him. The smear and touch of smoke lanced into his brain and he gasped from the pain. The only glimpse he had before he fell down to the ground scratching at his face was of Zagrosek several feet in front of him turning and walking away at an angle from their path. Even his Master's vision could not penetrate the cloud of ash that obscured him after a mere five paces. Charles continued to scream and beat at the ground with his hands and arms when he wasn't clawing at his face. The pain in his eyes was more than just having a gust of smoke blown into them. He felt as if a handful of still hot ash had been smeared into his eyes and even now sizzled away the delicate flesh. A brief memory of something hotter than a forge striking his face and marring it forever ran through his mind. A gentle touch rested upon his back and he felt a wall settle down in his mind between him and the pain in his eyes. The pain did not diminish, but no longer did it control him. He remembered his Master and his purpose, and though his frustration at being duped by his friend and this place through which they journeyed remained, his thoughts regained their clarity. He did not know you. He hears only the voices of this place. Hear my voice, Núrodur. It is time we continued our journey. But why can they not see me? Why can I not speak to them? And, Master, why does he say such things? Because you are not here in the way that he or any of the others are, Núrodur. I have let you speak to them only so that you could understand this. That is the only thing you need to learn from them. This is not your place, Núrodur. We come only to claim your son. Do you understand? Aye, Master. We are near the passage to the next terrace. Come. Charles lifted one hand to find his Master's robe and felt a small relief when his fingers curled about the soft fabric. He stepped from the small hole his rage had rent in the rocks and followed blindly after his Master, seeing only that which his Master's eyes provided. But there was nothing but smoke and ash choking the air and so he lost interest, allowing even that window to dim in his mind. He breathed in and out, feeling the little pinpricks of flame catching in his lungs. The heat suffusing his limbs swelled and receded the same. Somewhere in the distance he heard a familiar song. He listened for a time but could not remember any of the words. Eventually he glimpsed another being of light filled with eyes and a cleft in the mountainside. He moved his legs and followed into that cleft, allowing nothing to come into his mind to disturb him. The journey would go faster that way. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>