<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars VI: Acceptio (f) Wednesday, June 23, 724 CR, Evening For a moment Baron Matthias lowered his head, resting one hand atop his brow, eyes narrowed to dark slits as if afraid he would see something else should he close them entire. Charlie gnawed on his chewstick as he stared in wonder and a bit of horror at his father. That the guide's intentions were for ill he had suspected almost from the start, but the depths to which he had pushed the man who'd given him life surpassed all but the vilest of dreams he'd witnessed; he could count them on a single hand and still have fingers untouched. How had his father even regained sanity after this, let alone gone on to father many more sons and daughters and found a noble House? “I know that look,” the Baron said with a biting whisper. “I know it, Son. I've seen that same turn of the eye in my looking glass many a morning when my dreams bring it all back. How could I still be a man... or even a Rat!” Above them they could hear the sound of many feet and a good number of hooves milling about. Some of the Keepers were leaving the stands to refresh themselves at the many vendors scattered around the tourney fields and in Keeptowne proper. Others remained to converse with friends and family they had not seen in months about the spectacle mages and musicians had finished not long before. His adoptive father, the Duke, and the foreign King were likely among those who were taking their leave; they would retire to the Keep with family and retinue for one last evening of private festivity. Charlie would be expected to join them. He wouldn't dare leave his father's side now. “Aye, Father. I want to know.” Charles lifted his head, ears tilted back. Even the horses descended of Rheh lifted their snouts to regard the dust settling from the planks overhead and the many footfalls. “There is no more time tonight, is there?” Charlie shook his head and dug his claws into the honey-coated chewstick. “Please, Father. Finish your tale. I cannot let that nightmare be the last thing I hear of your struggle. I cannot let you remain... Núrodur Nuruhuinë!” But his father took a long, deep breath and rose from the bale of hay. He stretched out one arm to give the nearest horse an affectionate pat along the cheek. “Thank you, friend.” In the dim light, Charlie thought he saw the dull glint of granite just at the sleeve of his father's tunic. The moment was brief as the Baron turned toward his son and gestured for him to stand. “I will not let you miss another night with your friends, especially when you have already promised to accompany them this evening.” “How did you...” A warm smile crossed his father's cheeks even as he tapped one of his ears with a claw. “My days of scouting are behind me but I do know how to use these still. Now come. Our family is returning to the Keep as well. I can tell you the rest as we walk. There will be so many others celebrating that none will overhear.” Our family. Charlie found his chest swell with sudden anticipation at those two words. He stood and stepped swiftly to his father's side. Before he knew what he'd done he wrapped an arm about the shorter rat's shoulders. “True enough. Now tell me, Father, how it was you finally broke free.” The horses whinnied and stomped their hooves as together they walked from the stables to join the festive throng. ---------- Saturday, May 12, 708 CR The final cleft began as all that others had with layer upon layer of rock rising up on either side to frame a sliver of sky overhead. The sky was a shimmer of gold and silver as if the clouds were reliquaries of light. The light cascaded into the fissure so that planes of subtle radiance stacked one on another as they ascended. Each new level they touched filled him with a more intense burning that forced him tighter and tighter against his Master's heels. Despite the walls on either side the shadow contracted for the first time since they had begun. Núrodur Nuruhuinë hissed at the light as he sizzled beneath its touch. Neither made any noise that he could discern, only the sensation of a fiery anguish digging ever deeper into his substance and his willing an expression of that pain were known to him. Like a thousand brands his substance was scoured, digging beyond the surface and penetrating deep within. He felt himself shrinking with each new band of light they crossed, and with it he felt something slip away. A layer of crimson brilliance stretched across the fissure and through it his Master climbed. He followed, unable to do anything else, and felt himself stricken anew. For a moment he could still hear the sound of the beast-man's voice as he argued with his Master. Confidant in mien and yet incomprehensible to him in intent, it had persisted with him even as he had seared the life from his soul and rendered him less than ash. Yet through the light he passed and the fire burning deep within him stripped him of that sound. It is necessary, Núrodur Nuruhuinë. You must be purified of all that which is not of the shadow. Do not fight it, but allow it to happen. His Master's presence was immediate, rushing upon him as the vanguard of fire. In any direction his thoughts and sense turned there he found his Master. And with the touch of his Master's thoughts came the image of the darkened garden again, and the companionship of his son altered to be as he was, a creature of his Master's shadow. The coolness of the image, the emptiness of its expanse, was a respite from the touch of light and fire that was his only lot in this place. And it will persist as long as you hold back that which is not of the shadow. All of it, Master? All of it. They crossed a threshold of vermillion in their climb. The fissure walls pressed tight against them. The fire delved deeper, searing every thought. He tried to recall the shape of the beast-man but even conjuring the image filled him with an agony that sent him cowering into the darkest corner of his mind. There he found the solace of the shadowed garden. From a distance as vast as his existence, he witnessed the shape of the beast-man disperse from his thoughts. A sullen disquiet touched him in that recess, but he could not quite determine why or what it had been he'd even been trying to remember. Every piece that you hold, Núrodur Nuruhuinë, must be relinquished. The Felikaush is gone but for his words. Of these too you must be purged for they are not of the shadow. Uncertain, his thoughts framed words in return. But they seem important, Master. What they are and what they seem are two different things. They do not come from my shadow and thus they are not to be trusted. Listen to me. Obey me, Núrodur Nuruhuinë, as you have sworn to do. Relinquish them. A thin veneer of sunlight stretched across the fissure and through it they passed. The fire which had not abated in him delved further. The letter that he'd glimpsed in the moment before natural flames had consumed it and made it all but illegible became incandescent in his mind. He recoiled from it as every mote of its memory scalded him, pressing him inward. The blinding light spread apart, the paper shredding into fragments that stretched into a band that circumscribed his substance. Everything beyond it was lost to him. Everything that touched it was an agony pure without relief. He yearned to shriek but he could not. A place entirely draped in my shadow awaits you. Let it go. There had been words there. Important words. The ruins of all that would not submit await you. A place to be intertwined with your son. The words only distract you. Master... I am. Please... Let them go. He curled ever inward, turning his attention into the deeper darkness, thoughts seeking the balm of the promised shadow-garden. The brilliance evaporated though the fire remained just beyond its edges. He trembled within the shadow, wondering what he had held onto that he'd thought so important. There was no answer to the question. There couldn't be. Whatever it was had been utterly effaced from him. A different question arose: what remained? Only one image seemed to linger deep within his being. A vast hall filled with people of all shapes, humans and beast-men in every variety though what they were he could no longer name. Down the main aisle proceeded two figures, one a reptilian beast and the other the rat lady in the alabaster-white dress. In her bodice nestled a medallion of river smoothed amethyst. Their pace was measured, but she seemed to reach his side in moments. Words came from her mouth, distant and difficult to hear through the roar of flames. She offered him a gloved hand which he took. There was nothing else not of his Master's shadow. He sensed a boundary of verdant light. His Master's pace seemed to quicken even as the path through the fissure grew steeper and tighter. They broke the next wall of light so quickly that Núrodur Nuruhuinë did not even have time to recoil. Another conflagration raged against his being. Gaps were torn through the single memory he possessed, rending it into scattered moments. His Master wished him to relinquish them all. His Master sought to reunite him with his son. Why then did he not wish to let go of this impurity as his Master desired? He cast his thoughts across each remnant – a brief glimpse of the two figures walking down the aisle, scattered faces from the gathered throng, the elegant white dress, the two gloved hands holding one another, the stone of purple, the words, the rodent face hidden behind a gossamer veil – before letting one go. The faces of the many creatures who had gathered for the celebration – whatever celebration that it was – slipped from his thoughts to be incinerated at the periphery of his being. He would have whimpered if he could. The agony... It will persist as long as you are impure. Master... I cannot bear it... Then you must let go, Núrodur Nuruhuinë. It is the only way. They continued to climb. There was nothing more to be said. He did not even look at anything beyond the shadow for there was only light of every painful hue. Inscrutable impressions crisscrossed the walls of the fissure, and there was a verdigris that had been missing before but was now too remote for him to ponder. The clouds above that he knew must be there were veiled by an impenetrable anguish. All that was left to him was his Master's thoughts and the recluse of shadow and the scattered images of the rat lady. An azure nimbus bore down upon him. Into it a cobalt flame seared throughout. Silent, unable to even hiss, the first of the images was snatched from his grasp. The twin figures of the rodent lady in white and the reptilian beast in red scattered to a vapor that slipped free. He felt constricted within an ever-narrowing space, the shadow dwindling until it was nearly beneath his Master's feet. Where was there left for him to turn? The fissure is nearly at an end, Núrodur Nuruhuinë. Your son awaits. You will bring him into the shadow and together you will be purified and in my peace forever. Your shadow, Master. In your shadow. Yes. In my shadow. Master... I am much more than that, Núrodur Nuruhuinë. I provide all that you need. My thought will be your thought. My will shall be your will. In your shadow. Yes. The fires consuming him seemed a little less when he repeated his Master's thoughts. And yet, even though the agony was impossible to bear, he kept looking back at the images he still held. They were paltry and few and all now of a single figure, a lady with the appearance of a rat garbed in white. Her fur was rich as cream and her eyes a deep, dark blue. Her hand held his own. His hand gripped hers. She spoke to him but he had no more ears to hear. To her and her alone he willed a single question into being: why do you matter to me? A layer of indigo light rushed across him and with it the dress of alabaster was gone. The excruciating pain consumed all that he was. He could not even squirm out of its way for it was everywhere. The shadow had contracted so that he could feel his Master's feet step down upon him. There was nowhere left to turn. He had to let go of this rat lady or be completely consumed by the flame of light. Without choice he let slip another shattered image. It vanished in a brilliant dazzle of winking stars. His awareness turned to the next and saw her hand in his and he stopped. The hand holding hers was not black, nor was it a furnace that scorched the ground with its passage. It did not burn all that it touched. And yet he knew that it was his hand. How could that be? She mattered to him. He did not understand how or why, only that she did. Three images remained of this lady. Their hands clasped, her face moving with spoken words drowned by the flames, and the stone nestled in her bodice that seemed to repeat the words. There was nowhere he could turn except inward. He pressed the memory down into a single mote, shrinking and shrinking them into an infinitesimal space at the very center of what remained of his being. The flames pressed in on him but with each new advance he shrank that image, one overlaid atop the other, until they were once more safe from his Master's forge. Through a purple barrier they stepped and the flames drove down into the tiny point at the bottom of a well stretching infinitely inside. The roar consumed all in his mind. He saw nothing beyond the shadow in that moment. He heard nothing but the searing of every last fiber that still had form. He felt nothing but a constant misery. And over it all was his Master; powerful, dominating, omnipotent, his true lord and master. All he was and had been was effaced that he might exist solely for him. He was Núrodur Nuruhuinë. He was shadow. He was death. He shrieked. The flame erupted from his being and lashed out in a wave that rushed across the top of the fissure and out along the pinnacle of the mountain. Lush grass bent in that wave, and the branches of trees rattled, leaves rustling in its passage. Waters burbling in their passage paused for a moment before resuming their course. Even the golden clouds filling the sky seemed to tremble. There was no more pain. His Master's thoughts were firm and he felt them shape his thoughts. Awareness filled him as he glimpsed all about them through his Master's vision. He heard through his Master's ears. He felt the air against his Master's skin. He could smell the sweet fragrance through his Master's nose. Like a shadow should. His Master stood in a lush garden filled with trees burdened by plump fruit pleasing to the eye. Little streams meandered through the trees, with bright flowers decorating the bank in long rows. Grains waved in the wind where the trees parted. Vines climbed upward along tall stone markers festooned with grapes and olives. Figs, pomegranate, apples, oranges, and dates hung from branches and filled the air with a heady scent of plenty. Grass and moss a vibrant green covered every mote of earth so that no dirt could be seen. All was lush and vivacious. Birdsong filled the air with melody. It is now time to claim your son. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>