<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars V: Ascensum (n) Saturday, May 12, 708 CR When they passed beyond the cleft Charles could see another path of stone climbing up along the mountain. The air was clear again and the sun shone bright. But when he tried to open his eyes he saw nothing but darkness. The ash had scoured him blind. Master! I cannot see! Be not afraid, Núrodur. The injury is not serious and will be healed. For now, feel through which you abide and trust in what I show you. Charles tightened his grip on his Master's cloak and let his eyelids droop closed. Through his Master's gaze he could see the new terrace upon which they stood. The stone path stretched a good dozen paces from the side of the mountain to an abrupt edge overlooking the cliff down. On every side he could see and feel the rush of people as they darted to and fro. Some ran up the path and others ran down. Some would run toward the edge and then bank at the last moment only to bounce back off the mountain face to do it again. Not a one of them paused in their running to even try to catch their breath. In the chaotic mix his Master stepped and Charles followed. The angle of the path was not steep but he could tell that they were climbing upward. Each step required him to lift his foot just a little from the pool of shadow beneath him. And despite the fact they walked in the middle of the path, not a single one of the souls running rampant about them came close enough to step in that shadow. Charles could feel the reverberation of their pounding steps but of them he could not catch more than a brief glimpse. Into his mind he saw a beautiful woman with determined gaze traveling through a hilly country. But the image slipped away from him before he could study it more. The pounding of feet on rock was so loud that it took Charles a moment to realize that not only was everyone running about but that they were also shouting as they ran. Their voices were clear and overlapping. Not a one of them sounded fatigued from their ceaseless activity. But their passage was so quick he only caught snatched of what any of them had to say. “I lingered too long when my friends were in need.” “Why go today when we can tomorrow?” “I should have acted! I should have...” “The Mother acted in haste.” “Why do anything? It never works...” “Pelain did not hesitate at the mountain!” “Loose the arrow! Loose the arrow!” “To sleep and to dream! What else have I done!” “Benedicta tu inter mulieres et benedictus fructus ventris tui!” Charles wished he could shut the voices out but no matter how he turned his head over covered his already folded ears their voices continued to intrude. What was worse was that he heard many of them speaking in languages he neither knew nor recalled ever hearing before. Their voices especially came to him as if taunting him to understand. He also attempted to swipe his arms at any of the people running past, but as he could only see through his Master's eyes he never even came close to anyone. His hands constantly snatched at empty air. He felt like a caged beast on a cart swiping its paw through the bars at any who passed by or stopped to gawk. The only thing he could touch was the shadow at his feet. After several minutes of flailing his arms like a fool he let them fall to his side and drag along the ground. Around him he sensed the running and cavorting of the souls no matter which direction they went. He could feel his Master's feet stepping one after the other. They were measured and unhurried and yet their pace was a challenge to match. The shadow stretched and shifted with each step, covering this rock and then that, moving forward to meet his feet and then sliding to one side and then the other as the rocks shifted their angle from the sun. Charles could feel the cool of the rock and the warmth of the sun that had touched them as the shadow passed over each. Little snatches of grass that clung to the mountain that had yet to be trampled underfoot by the souls in their zealous rush, bent beneath the flow of shade as if it were not merely a lack of light but a tangible film of its own. He marveled at the sensations and in that astonishment for the first time since he had heard the stomping of the runners was no longer distracted by their cacophony. He felt a strange elation at knowing where his Master stepped without having to hold onto his cloak. He lifted his arms for a moment before crouching down and putting them on the ground too. He followed after on all fours, submersing as much of himself in the cool shade as he could. For the first time since entering the gate he felt the heat in his flesh abate. He did not even need to see with his Master's eyes and let the vision there fade until it was a mere glimmer of light. But it was always there as his Master was always there. Núrodur Nuruhuinë. I am. Núrodur Nuruhuinë. I am, Master. He sensed a hesitation then in the presence about him, as if a question were being asked that he could never be privy to. And then he felt a moment of solitude as the hesitation and with it his Master's focus left him. Their pace quickened up the side of the mountain and the rat scampered after as low to the ground as he could. Though he did not hear the voices of everyone shouting around him anymore, he still felt the thumping of their feet on the rock. But even that was a pleasant thrumming like a gentle massage after a weary day of labor. To this he allowed his thoughts to wander even as he felt through the shadow, pushing it to reach out to those many feet. In the sound he surprised himself to hear a pattern begin to emerge like a ship from fog. There was a meter and a rhythm that repeated over and over again, gaining in strength and clarity. And as the rat twisted his head back and forth in time to the beat, he heard something more within it. Not only was there a beat but there was also a melody. As the individual notes blended together into both song and harmony, Charles felt burdened by a great sadness. It spoke of loss, a loss he himself felt. But it was not the son that was lost. Charles turned his head toward the edge of the path and the sea below that he might better hear it. Behold, Núrodur. We approach one that you once knew. Charles stood from the shadow and, with one last blind glance toward the edge of the cliff, let his focus return to the window of light he received from his Master's vision. The path swelled into view and the sun's illumination gave it warmth and color. His attention quickly found the one of whom his Master spoke. Running in a circle and chasing his own black-and-white striped tail was the Weathermonger Yonson. Even in death he retained the shape of the lemur that he'd born for but a single year of his life. Yonson's golden eyes were wide disc as large as plates and his arms stretched outward to grasp at the end of his tail as he dashed in an ever tightening circle. How he did not fall down from dizziness the rat could not imagine. Upon his brow the letter “P” was inscribed four time and like the rest he shouted with every breath in his lungs. Curious, Charles listened to what words came from his short snout. “I did not do enough! I thought I was clever but I was frightened! I did not do enough! I thought I was clever but I was frightened! I did not do enough! I thought I was clever but I was frightened! I did not do enough!” On and on he continued repeating those same words. Charles opened his mouth to interject, but then shook his head and dropped back to all fours. He will not hear me anyway, Master. No he will not. Very good, Núrodur. You have learned. Yonson ran a circle about them without ever touching them, his paws dancing through the shadow for a moment before they left him behind. The rat sank back into shadow and remained there trailing obediently after his Master. He was not sure how long it was that they walked before they reached the top of the terrace. He shrank as far into the shadow as he was able as they stepped past the being of eyes and wings. Though he could only see him through his Master's vision, he felt as a bit of parchment shriveling as it was consumed by flame in its presence. He hissed and seethed as they entered the fissure, until his Master's voice touched his mind once again. You have done well to come this far, Núrodur. Three terraces more await us. And then we shall have your son. Charles scraped his claws against the stone, searing it as he did, eager to finish the journey at long last. As they climbed through the fissure he pondered what his boy looked like, trying to remember every detail of his little Ladero. His fur had been dark on his head and down his shoulders as if he wore a black cloak and hood. His chest and arms had been covered in white fur and his claws were the same. He had dark eyes like all his other children, but alone of all of them his seemed brighter than the soft, black fur around them. His tail had been a piebald mix of both as if at the last he couldn't decide which color he preferred. He felt a small smile grace his snout as he recalled the sound of his son's voice. He had not even been two months old when Charles had been forced to leave his family behind at the Glen, and so he had no words to offer his father. But each of his children had already learned to squeak and those squeaks were as unique as their fur. Ladero's had been pitched high, but with a little curl at the end as if he were going to dip into song. Charles yearned to hear it again. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>