Chapter 12: Between Us Stood A Mirror

I have never been afraid of darkness, and it has been a long time now since I've found it to be an inconvenience. Hidden spaces, silent corners, the blindness of a realm I cannot perceive, these are the things that frighten me. The omnipresent shadow engulfing Tarthas, however, is merely the breath of the wild world and as adept at giving succor as it is concealing danger. A cloak can shroud a child as well as it can a blade. And so I sat and I watched, a thing of the night, cold and pale and watchful. This moment was a strange one for me. I somehow managed to effectively divide my attention, so that as I performed my duty, I also stood watch over the change happening within me. An awareness was growing, awakening, stirring restlessly as one does in those fitful moments before consciousness returns.

From where I sat, I could see the faint, sallow bleed of the moon through the high black ceiling. I contemplated on the strangeness of how I viewed the two luminaries and the thick, granular firmament they faintly glowed through. The things one always knows can never seem strange. But somehow the dark and cold of Tarthas was foreign to me, though I'd known nothing else. I wondered if it was because of all the pain I'd seen caused by the severance from the fabled lifegivers beyond the sky. Or perhaps it was because of the old tales I'd paid so much attention to. I wondered too if it may have been some instinct was ingrained into all of us from our ancestors, a blood memory of a time where the sky was clear and let the light shine down. A time when the world was warm, except for the lands of Yomi, which surround the gates at the top and bottom of the world that even the Dolomites were silent about. If I had read all the many maps stored in the librarium correctly, our island was not far from one of the two Yomis.

When my watch was nearing its uneventful end, I let my gaze drift upward into the dust storm above. The sickly, green-blue light of Lune showed me a glimpse of a ravaging tempest in the far heights. Many guesses had been made as to the height of our firmament, but from what I could see not a one of them could have come close. The Sun and moon must have been bright indeed to show what they could from such a vast distance. The flecks of dirt and rock swirling in the moon's pale blood must have been the size of mountains.

Of all the wild tales, the one that tickled my fancy the most was that of the two worlds that were so enraged at each other that their rulers called upon the Fates of either side and rammed their worlds together, each thinking theirs would prove stronger and pulverize the other. This offered many explanations to me. I always wondered what could be the purpose of two luminaries of varying color, as that seemed to be the chief difference. Legends of the Sun told of it giving heat and nourishment for plants, and elevating the consciousnesses of all speaking people. The two worlds could each have had a different colored Sun, and what we called the moon might be the Sun of the other world. Also, the other world could have been the home of the tyflochs and other speaking kindreds who varied greatly from us, the giants, and other two legged mammalian speakers. When our worlds collided, surely denizens of each were thrown to the other, and the storm or mountains floating between could easily be the wreckage of our point of impact.

Ah, but there were many flaws with the tale as well. If two worlds collided, then how could there be any left of either? And could two worlds, separated by infinite sky, truly give birth to beings who could live on both? True, Tarthas was less treacherous to some ilks than others, but all could breathe the air where it was clean, and all saw the same shapes and heard the same sounds. If there were a land that was truly alien to ours, it seemed to me that all things would be completely opposite of what we here knew. And so my mind did this moreska dance throughout the remainder of my watch, until I looked down from the sky and dug through my memory for the name of my relief. The name failed to resurface, but I remembered the beefy Vandal with the scar that ran through the middle of his stitched right eye. He was sleeping close to where I was, and would be easy to find and wake. Two glowing orbs of cyan light hovered six feet above the ground, and a giant's cubit from me. There was no mistaking that they were eyes.

Could this have been the source of my fear? I hurriedly tried to stifle it before the creature watching me sensed my hackles rising. If only I could move my eyes independently from each other, I might have been able to scry the wall over the arches, but I felt it a safe assumption that this was the grotesque who's eyes had shimmered. I did not deem them bright enough to indicate the construct was still active. Many dead golems still show a measure of luminescence after they've gone inert. A living construct's eyes always glow brightly. I hoped that this grotesque was only barely alive, and had ambled down to observe us because in its construed mind there were no other courses to take. But there was a constancy to its stare that warned me this was not so. My hope then leapt to the side and grabbed onto another ledge, speculating that the Vandals knew the gargoyle still functioned, and were ready to come to rescue before it acted harshly. Even when a visitor's intentions are innocuous, protector golems often lash out at, as most guard structures that have long stood abandoned and are only most commonly sought by plunderers.

I did my best to calm my quickening heart, and worried at the dampening of my brow. Were there a shade lighter than my own pure white, I would have turned it then. I longed for the weird, sallow light that shone in the room beneath the arch. Seeing nought but those unblinking automaton eyes was unbearable. My mind betrayed my childish attempts at wrestling down my fear with vivid silhouettes of baleful beasts surrounding those eyes. I imagined dripping wet skin, viscera dangling from a mouth lined with translucent fangs and a rigid, flesh piercing proboscis. What I could tell of its shape, and I only knew this from the rushing of wind and the scratching on stone, was that it was winged, and its fingers were tipped with very long claws. I then wished with all my being to not be seen, for the darkness of the world to envelop me so thoroughly and so lovingly that not a single photon of light could seep through. I spoke sweet nothings to the darkness in my mind, promised it undying loyalty, gushed poetic over its beauty and power, but the apparition did not fade or lose interest, and I felt walls raising around my mind, one at a time, higher than I could climb, and icy water was pouring in and taking from me my breath and will and ability to move.

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