718 Vhalar 14...
Everything was dark. From the blackness of the sky to the shifting shadows beneath the inky surface of the bottomless lake, the only light was a dull, grey line along the horizon. The landscape was flat and expansive, murky water in every direction, and there was not a single ripple upon the water’s face.
There was a steady beat, a rhythmic, organic pulsing that seemed to come from both everywhere and nowhere. It was the sort of sound felt in the bones, in the soul, and it was relentless. One, two. One, two. One. One. One, two, one, two. Over and over again, until the repetition was lost in the sheer permanence of its presence.
But there too was calm. It wasn’t something so gentle as peace, nor anything so rending as emptiness. The water, the sky, the air, the sound… each seemed a part of the other and the other of each. Harmony, order, balance… but most of all, calm.
He stood in the centre of it all. His eyes were open, but he saw nothing. His ears listened, but all he heard was the persistent pulse of time. His skin was bare, body exposed, but he felt only the still air, no breeze nor gentle flurry. He could taste the soft, sweet copper of blood. He could smell the sweat of fear, the tears of rage, the sharp bite of bile.
How wonderful.
Then, there was an interruption, a disturbance. The darkness - his darkness - was torn asunder; a great wound in the sky that proved blacker than any shadow he’d ever known. One, two, one, two, one, two. The rhythm increased, the pattern simplified. The grey line on the horizon began to blur, the fine line between above and below fading.
From within the great abyss emerged something. Something familiar only… not familiar. It was a woman. A she. A her. An “other”, and she didn’t belong.
He opened his mouth to speak, but there were no words. His body remained where it was, firmly planted upon the surface of the lake, stubbornly refusing what commands he gave it. All the while, the “other” approached; closer and closer she came, bringing with her a rising tension, a budding refusal of her presence.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wro-
“Which one is it today, Mathias Moreno?” Her voice, sharp and clear, triggered something just out of his reach in his mind, a distant memory that teased and teased but gave no more than a torn page from the book. He knew this woman. He knew her voice. He knew her and yet he had never seen her before in his life.
But she clearly knew him. Or at least his name.
Again his mouth opened, this time words would have flowed easily if he had had the mind think of them first. Instead, he merely managed a soft and quiet whisper. “Who are you?”
It wasn’t the question, not really. He knew who she was, in the same way, he knew that stars lived in the sky and that water was wet and that time moved ever onward and that stone was hard. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t know why she was there or what she was doing.
But he knew he knew who she was. He just… didn’t.
Everything was dark. From the blackness of the sky to the shifting shadows beneath the inky surface of the bottomless lake, the only light was a dull, grey line along the horizon. The landscape was flat and expansive, murky water in every direction, and there was not a single ripple upon the water’s face.
There was a steady beat, a rhythmic, organic pulsing that seemed to come from both everywhere and nowhere. It was the sort of sound felt in the bones, in the soul, and it was relentless. One, two. One, two. One. One. One, two, one, two. Over and over again, until the repetition was lost in the sheer permanence of its presence.
But there too was calm. It wasn’t something so gentle as peace, nor anything so rending as emptiness. The water, the sky, the air, the sound… each seemed a part of the other and the other of each. Harmony, order, balance… but most of all, calm.
He stood in the centre of it all. His eyes were open, but he saw nothing. His ears listened, but all he heard was the persistent pulse of time. His skin was bare, body exposed, but he felt only the still air, no breeze nor gentle flurry. He could taste the soft, sweet copper of blood. He could smell the sweat of fear, the tears of rage, the sharp bite of bile.
How wonderful.
Then, there was an interruption, a disturbance. The darkness - his darkness - was torn asunder; a great wound in the sky that proved blacker than any shadow he’d ever known. One, two, one, two, one, two. The rhythm increased, the pattern simplified. The grey line on the horizon began to blur, the fine line between above and below fading.
From within the great abyss emerged something. Something familiar only… not familiar. It was a woman. A she. A her. An “other”, and she didn’t belong.
He opened his mouth to speak, but there were no words. His body remained where it was, firmly planted upon the surface of the lake, stubbornly refusing what commands he gave it. All the while, the “other” approached; closer and closer she came, bringing with her a rising tension, a budding refusal of her presence.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wro-
“Which one is it today, Mathias Moreno?” Her voice, sharp and clear, triggered something just out of his reach in his mind, a distant memory that teased and teased but gave no more than a torn page from the book. He knew this woman. He knew her voice. He knew her and yet he had never seen her before in his life.
But she clearly knew him. Or at least his name.
Again his mouth opened, this time words would have flowed easily if he had had the mind think of them first. Instead, he merely managed a soft and quiet whisper. “Who are you?”
It wasn’t the question, not really. He knew who she was, in the same way, he knew that stars lived in the sky and that water was wet and that time moved ever onward and that stone was hard. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t know why she was there or what she was doing.
But he knew he knew who she was. He just… didn’t.
