The Trials Ch. 02

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You can thank COVID-19 for this finally getting posted.

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Fera stepped into a small tunnel, built only to accommodate a single person walking through comfortably. Along the tunnel were doorways to a few other rooms like the one she had been in, though empty and bare of furnishings. The tunnel let out into a round, domed chamber, all carved from the same gray speckled stone and lit in the same unseen way. Large stone doors twice her own height stood at two opposing ends, shut tightly and appearing unmovable. Indeed they were, which she concluded after pressing firmly against each. The small side passage that she emerged from was set at an angle to one of the doors, unobtrusive and discreet. Centered in the chamber was a pedestal, standing in what would be a shallow pool if there were any water to fill it. Fera stepped down the small embankment, noticing that the floor within the basin had a different texture from the rest of the stone. She peered at the top of the pedestal, which bore a symbol. It had smooth curves which sometimes came together and sometimes diverged. The symbol meant nothing to Fera and she stepped away.

Along the walls were carvings portraying a rich scenery. The focus of the mural, located to the same side of the room as she had emerged from, showed a man and woman embracing with abandon, surrounded by wavy lines. Near the couple the lines were chaotic and disordered, but as her eyes followed them away from the center they began to flow in a more orderly fashion, coming together a and turning about each other to form increasingly complex patterns which developed into recognizable scenes. From raging oceans to flaming mountains, from tempestuous storms to barren wastelands, the scenes progressed with continuity around the room. But as she followed them, the scenes became more peaceful, eventually showing idyllic flowering meadows and majestic animals in tall forests. At the opposite end of the circle the lines all straightened into a fine radial array terminating at the head of another man. He sat cross-legged in a relaxed but straight posture, his hands resting on his knees and his eyes closed in a serene expression. Following the mural back along the other side she saw that the artwork was intentionally built around the doors set in the wall, including her own entrance.

Fera turned again. There was something about the art on that side... Yes, on the other side of the room, positioned symmetrically to her own entrance, was a forest scene that had an uncharacteristic path leading deeper into the trees. She walked to it and looked closely. There was no trace of a door; perhaps it was included for aesthetic reasons. She reached out and pushed lightly, not expecting anything to happen. To her surprise the stone shifted slightly, creating the outline of an arched door. Moments later it began to slide down with a barely audible grinding sound, revealing another passage. Fera was not exactly sure how it happened, but by the time the door had descended it was flush with the floor, leaving no evidence that it had been there at all.

Fera looked down the passage. It made a right turn at the far end, so that she couldn't see what lay beyond. She proceeded, still uncertain as to what she was doing here. She found herself standing at the entrance of a grand hallway, certainly larger than the domed chamber. At first she was confused: facing Fera was a jagged stone wall. The floor of the hall was above her head, the whole seeming to have shifted under the buckling of the earth so that the two levels were now offset. Strange, since it seemed that the walls could move as they wished. Fera heaved herself up, careful not to scratch herself on the jagged stone, and looked about.

Periodic arches crossed the ceiling, their columns segmenting the walls into recessed panels. Centered in each of these was an empty frame with the same texture as the basin, and below each frame was a deeply carved symbol. Fera walked down the hall slowly. The silence that lay over the hall was immense, putting her in a peculiar state of mind. It was as though the absence of sound pressing in allowed her own thoughts to expand to fill the space. Only the sound of her bare feet against the floor and the slight whispers of skin against skin traversed the void. As she walked her head swung back and forth, looking at the symbols as she passed. Their forms were quite distinct from each other, each clearly conveying something different from the next, but Fera could not begin to guess at what they might mean.

One of the symbols caught her interest and she walked to examine it more closely. The symbol was at chest height with the frame sitting above, causing her to look up slightly to see its entirety. The symbol's shape counterintuitively made her think of things being missing. She reached out to touch the symbol. The surface of material within the frame shifted slightly, as though a canvas drawn taught at the moment of her contact.

With her fingers touching, the impression of "missing" grew from a concept into a sensation. She could feel that something was missing that should be there. And... somehow, she knew that it never would. The material within the frame began to undulate slightly, as though reconfiguring itself to create slight gradients and impressions. From where she was standing, the frame took up most of her field of view. The subtle patterns did not register as anything meaningful to Fera, yet they seemed to reinforce the sensation. As she focused more its meaning expanded: something was missing and it could never be replaced. The feeling that things should not have been this way, but the absolute certainty that it could not be changed. The frame continued to move, more energetic now. It presented continuously varying patterns, flowing from one configuration to another with increasing complexity but seeming always to refine itself into a more coherent arrangement. It was as though it were reflecting her own thoughts -- a mirror held to her mind, but only reflecting those things which reinforced the growing sensation.

Fera's hand trembled; somehow her palm was now flat and firmly against the wall. Grief welled up inside her. Her throat tightened; she swallowed and took ragged breaths. The patterns swirled, too fast to focus on any one, but the brief glimpses dwelled in her mind even as they were replaced by others. She saw the family she had left behind. She saw her failures, saw villages she and her companions had failed to protect. She saw all the things she had lost. She saw the faces of friends, many of whom had died only a week before. It was overwhelming. Tears rolled down her cheeks in a stream. Lost!

Fera cried out, tearing her hand away and collapsing to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. The grief washed over her in waves, waxing and waning. Even as the sensation receded it merely left room for a new wave to come crashing down. For a time she kept her face buried damply in her elbow, her body sprawled on the floor. Later, she mustered the coordination to sit against the pillar with her knees tucked in. Attempts to take deep breaths often came up short. Slowly, with concentration, the emotion subsided. Even thinking of it abstractly brought it welling back up again.

As she was able to regain some sense of focus, her first thought was one of uncertainty: what would have happened if she had not moved away? Up until the last moment she could not sense any end in sight. She had been to the brink, and she had looked beyond to see and endless chasm. Fera shuddered, this time not only from the grief that still lingered. Eventually she looked up, fighting back one last pang of sadness as she laid her eyes on the symbol. It was glowing with a strong, diffuse light. She supposed that was a good thing. She continued to sit for a while, just breathing and occasionally glancing at the glowing stone, though mostly staring at nothing. Finally Fera stood, her eyes now dry, and swept her gaze across the hall again. There were so many of them. She moved to the next one.

...

Our story takes place on the eastern end of the vast Sheera plains, bounded respectively by the Kianos Ocean to the south and the immense Iontahc range to the north. The mountains run almost perfectly east to west in an unbroken chain, while the Kianos ocean gently sweeps up to meet the eastern tip of the range. Somewhere in the distant west the range begins as an unassuming smattering of hills -- but for most concerned it is nearly impassable. The phrase "crossing the Iontahc" was commonly used as an expression of futility. A brave few have managed to venture to the other side through the least impassable passes; on returning, they unanimously reported desolation beyond. The modern reader can attribute this to the rain shadow effect: moist air from the ocean sweeps across the plains and up the side of the mountains, where it cools and precipitates, supporting an old forest. Any moisture that does reach the other side remains dissolved as the elevation falls and the temperature rises. Thus, as one side is wet and green, the other side is dry and gray.

The most remarkable landmark occurs at the eastern end of the chain: as though challenged by the size of the ocean, the Iontahc range reaches a climax, with the tallest mountains, the Edoron, looming half again as high as the rest. The Edoron mountains are young; their features are pronounced, not yet soothed by the rain that falls on their slopes nor the ocean that laps at the cliffs which cogently mark the end of the Sheera plains. For several miles beyond the cliffs there extends mortal shoals that remain unnavigable for even the most experienced sailors, the rocks seeming to burst forth with the youthful exuberance of the growing mountains. While much of the Edoron mountains are too high for anything but ice, the sprawling base and intricate valleys are rich with life. Navigation of the corridors and passes of the Edoron mountains are an area of expertise held only by the natives, if by anyone at all.

The confluence of the cliffs, the mountains, and the desert beyond serve to make the inhabitants of the Edoron one of the most isolated peoples. No one knows how long the Cognitians had dwelled there, nor when they last had contact with the outside world, but it was sufficient for profound linguistic divergence by the time the Scutum arrived. The majority of the Cognitians were killed in the initial attacks, but a few souls scattered beyond adjacent ridges survived, ignorant of the bloodshed nearby. After the spoils were taken and the thirst for blood subsided, the more thoughtful of the Scutum leadership took an interest in the society they had just destroyed. There was an abundance of architecture, crafts, tools, art, and still other detritus whose purpose was entirely unknown and which intrigued a particular general named Pontus.

Pontus ordered a search for survivors in the mountains, of which at least a few were found. These he brought back to interrogate, though he underestimated the incompatibility of their languages. Days stretched to weeks and progress, though meager, did accrue. After a more than generous rest, the Scutum leadership agreed it was time to move on -- the journey down the mountain would be slow, especially incumbered with spoils as they were. Indeed, they could not carry everything that they would wish to take. But Pontus found himself unable to leave what he was certain must be of profound importance. He kept his regiment and stayed behind, to the great distress of the other generals, while the rest of the Scutum descended.

Farther down in the hills, the Scutum leadership made the uncharacteristic decision to create a permanent settlement in a particularly advantageous location. This was motivated in part by the ongoing difficulty of carrying their loot, and in part by their desire to linger and wait for Pontus. Meanwhile, Pontus continued his work with the survivors, establishing a more permanent residence amidst their ruins and gradually learning more about them. Unfortunately, not every Cognitian native -- particularly not those dwelling alone in the mountains -- knew all there was to know about Cognitia. No one knows just how much information was lost in the end. Pontus heard the news of the new settlement below and committed fully to staying in place. And so, by some twisting of fate, the nomadic Scutum became lodged in the mountains just like their predecessors. Perhaps it was the mountain's doing.

...

Fera stifled gags as she wiped her hand against the nearby column in a futile effort to rid herself of the disgust she felt coating her body. That one could burn for all she cared, and she didn't feel the need to push it further. She felt like she had been here for an eternity, experiencing a lifetime of emotions in one perpetual waking dream. At one point she had been so angry as to strike the stone wall with her bare fist, and had paced for half an hour before calming enough to move on.

Some were pleasant, but those carried their own risks. One symbol had kindled a joy and exuberance so profound that it threatened to engulf her -- perhaps to drown her and sweep her happily into oblivion, leaving behind a drooling corpse. It was only her first experience, knowing that there might be no return, that drew her back. Another symbol instilled a tranquility so profound that she had almost forgotten to hold on to her own existence. Surprisingly, the most dangerous one might have been curiosity. Even as it threatened to overwhelm her, she wanted to know what would happen if she pushed just a little farther. Over time it became evident that the glow that developed on the symbol varied in intensity from one to the next. Those which she had been most strongly taken by tended to glow the brightest. She saw that anger, curiosity, and sorrow were foremost. But tranquility, despite how close she had come to losing herself, only just surpassed the disgust that she had barely bothered with.

Fera leaned against the wall, searching for the motivation to continue. Perhaps the lethargy from the previous mirror still had a hold on her. Most of all, she wasn't sure what she was doing. She had visited nearly all of the symbols, but didn't know what she had accomplished. Did she merely need to visit them all? Did the intensity of the glow matter? She pushed herself from the wall and walked tiredly to the next one.

Fear. She knew it would be here somewhere. She had been dreading this one... or was that the mirror, exerting its influence? The unease seeped into her, like cold water seeping into her clothing if she had been wearing any. Oh gods. As it gripped her she felt the urge to turn, but she knew there was nothing there and she couldn't look away. She felt so exposed. Her muscles were tensed, ready to dash away in an instant. She had to move. This was madness! There was no need to stay here, to throw her life away. Standing in that spot, she knew she was in mortal danger. She... "I don't want to die!"

Fera leapt aside, breaking the contact. She was astonished to find no blow landing where she stood, no thunderous crash as doom descended. She crouched, wild-eyed, one hand splayed against the wall and the other gripping a fluted column with white knuckles, searching for what must surely be coming for her. But there was nothing. She began to feel shame replace the fear, even as her eyes still darted. What had happened to her? She had never been so cowardly, even in the face of death. Damn this place for manipulating her so! The symbol glowed brightly, as if to mock her.

Angrily she worked to banish the fear that lingered, standing and walking calmly -- or at least purposefully -- to the next symbol. This one just so happened to bear the depths of shame. Shame for her cowardliness mere moments ago, and shame for living where her comrades had died. Shame for nearly every decision she had made in her life... for being who she was, and for forcing others to experience her miserable existence. Fera let her hand drop, not deserving to keep it there any longer. She left the mirror feeling worthless. But there was only one more. At least she could vacate this strange place and go waste away in a less troublesome spot.

Fortunately, the last mirror kindled determination. It swept aside the shame; there was no room for such foolishness. She had reflected all the symbols and it was time to leave. With one last survey of the hall she turned toward the archway. Nothing had happened upon her leaving the last mirror, and she supposed it was obvious in hindsight that the central pedestal in the chamber below was key. Fera marched briskly, her fatigue masked for the moment by her sense of purpose. She reached the ledge she had climbed so long ago and let herself down with a painful jolt to the balls of her feet, dropping the remaining distance to land in a crouch.

Clearly the symbol on the pedestal represented another emotion, and the floor with its odd texture would be the mirror. Fera reached out to place her hand on the surface, emptying her mind and listening to her feelings, searching for what would emerge as she had now done so many times before. At first she didn't feel anything except her own mixture of determination, caution, and curiosity for this new format. Then a subtle warmth suffused her. The floor began to stir, as expected, but unlike she expected it began to rise up. The others had remained essentially flat, changing only in texture. This one continued to protrude, creating a formless monolith as tall as herself, maybe taller. Fera's concern grew, but the other emotion now stirring gently within her led her to dismiss it.

The formless shape began to shrink nonuniformly, developing features as some parts receded while others remained. Soon it had an unmistakable humanoid shape. She watched in fascination as more features emerged. A neck, a chin, a nose, a pair of ears, a mouth. And then the eyes. Suddenly it was not just some object -- they were looking at her. Fera felt a surge of panic and the features began to dissolve, becoming less distinct. Of course... It was a reflection. The eyes re-emerged. The presence of this other being brought new meaning to the feeling that held her. As she watched the face grew more distinct. The jaw became more angular, the forehead more pronounced, and the neck a little wider. Her gaze drifted down. Yes, it was a man. The calves rippled slightly and she saw that his feet, now fully formed, were no longer attached to the floor. She brought her eyes back up to his, and he blinked. It was all so sharp -- she could see each hair on his head and watched his pupils focus as he truly saw her. Then he smiled.

Fera felt herself flush as her stomach turned slightly. She felt not unlike her first time standing in front of the battle-maidens, a nervous girl putting herself before those she aimed to join. But she certainly hadn't felt this... this desire. He took a step, moving from opposite the pedestal to her left. He raised his hand, bringing it to rest on hers as she kept it in contact with the symbol. The contact sent a shiver through her, and oddly it was then that she noticed a faint pinkish cast to the room. It was emanating from the stone ring encircling the basin, a soft glow that seemed to brighten and dim slightly with each breath she took. He took her hand into his, removing it from the pedestal. She worried that breaking contact with the symbol would halt the process, but the feelings did not abate and the man still stood before her.

She brought her other hand gingerly to his chest, feeling the reality of it. His flesh gave way slightly, as flesh would. He was warm to the touch. She drew nearer and his other hand enfolded her upper arm. The warmth felt good after hours spent naked in this stone cavern. It seemed to spread from her arm, melting into her and thawing her. Closer. Her hand moved to his neck, to cup his face as she craned her neck slightly to meet his lowering lips. The glow about them strengthened, though she could hardly have noticed in that moment. Fera had no idea what to do -- she had never been here before. She didn't know why she had even put her mouth to his! A small flitting of panic came. But he seemed to know what to do.