Art and Mystery

The sun had just set, leaving some of its golden glow behind in the sky. The nights were getting colder, the edges of autumn sharpening into winter. I lay in my bed, eyes wandering across the ceiling. My third week in Wosurei had begun and my schedule was identical to the past two weeks. I was caught in a bog of resentment and frustration. Thanks to poking Vris and Daisuke I had learned a decent amount about this world, but nothing that would change my circumstances. I was at a standstill; my best bet was to continue doing as I was asked even as I hated myself for falling in line.

I ran my fingers over the mountain token. Vris had told me that there were five types of tokens: servants, guards, guests, doctors, and royalty. None of them had tokens with mountains on them. Yet another mystery.

Sleep was eluding me even with my muscles screaming for rest. I got up and lit a candle, gazing into the flame for long moments. The scent of tallow filled the air, mild and buttery. I wandered my room aimlessly. The night sky was dazzling with its red pinpricks of light, but the moons were both waning so there wasn’t much else to see. With my window facing away from the palace, I could almost delude myself into thinking I was all alone at a distant outpost.

I drifted to stand in front of the massive mural. The only thing I’d uncovered about it was that it was the oldest piece of art in Sparrow Hall at around six hundred years old. This placed its appearance around the same time as the Seers. I deduced that this depicted a Seer, perhaps even the first Seer, as they stood before the gods to be told how to prevent the End of Days. It reminded me of the apocalypse, how so many cultures throughout history had been sure the world was going to end soon. Any minute now. Except it hadn’t, at least not yet.

I kept the flame well back from the mural as I leaned close to inspect it. The style was reminiscent of wood block prints, though it was the largest wood block print piece I’d ever seen in person. Some people thought they’d never seen a wood block print, but everyone and their cat had seen The Great Wave off Kanagawa, just without knowing the name. Still, there was something in this piece that made it feel more modern. The mural reminded me of Banga-Cosmo 242, a huge piece that took four years to complete by a man named Tatsuteru Kimijima. How long had this mural taken to complete? And by whom? The only clue hinting at an artist was a minimalist plum blossom painted in black ink in the bottom right corner. I had no professor to bounce ideas off, no fellow students to pester for their opinions. That I missed the camaraderie of academia was a sign I was far from alright. I rubbed my eyes and wandered away.

I ended up in my closet, my bleary gaze dancing over myriad colours. Silk and satin, wool and cotton flowed like prismatic rivers. The outfits were soft to the touch thanks to being in impeccable condition. I doubted they’d ever been worn before my arrival. They’d somehow managed to get fairly close to my size. Not perfectly, not to the point where each piece felt tailored. Still, it was close enough to make me feel a flicker of unease as I pondered how they might have known that their next Seer would be a woman of a certain size.

I strolled to the rear of the space, holding up the candle to the back wall. There was a tunnel hidden here, and beyond that a whole labyrinth. I ran my hands over the wall, tapping on it here and there. It seemed solid with no visible handles or levers that might pop it open. My memories of my first night here were foggy, leaving me with little to go off of. There had been a click and he’d tapped a certain place, that was about all I could recall.

Despite my fatigue, I searched the wall again and again. As each minute ticked by, my anger mounted. This shouldn’t have been so difficult. I knew there was a hidden door here, why couldn’t I find it? Sweat built on my brow and heat rushed through me, the kind that seized you whenever you were trying to do something in vain. I was reduced to slamming my shoulder into the wall, trying by force to make it give way. The thuds echoed around me before disappearing into nothing.

I slid down the wall, tears building in my eyes. Damn them. Damn every single person here, and damn the gods most of all. I let the tears fall, taking care not to start sobbing, just quietly exorcising the frustration from my body. Crawling around, I found the box of handkerchiefs tucked under a lavender robe. The soft material was bliss on my heated cheeks.

I leaned back on my hands to stretch which caused the wood beneath me to groan. I froze. Maybe the wall was a dead end, but how about the floor? On my hands and knees, I tested every bit of mat to check for abnormalities. The closet, as with the rest of my room, was covered in mats like tatami over top of wood. Yawns overtook me as I searched. I wasn’t going to go to bed without being certain I’d searched everywhere.

Just as I was about to give up, I pulled back a piece of mat to find an indent in the floor. It was a shallow divot, too shallow to be felt when walking over it. I pressed at it and was rewarded when it sank down like a button with a sharp click. The back wall groaned as it slid away. Dark stone walls lead into pitch blackness. Seeker Len must have pretended to hit a spot on the wall to close the door, or else there was more than one way to operate these doors.

I shivered, then gathered my resolve. I was about to step into the shadows when I paused. The likelihood of getting lost down there was incredibly high, so I’d need something to mark my way. I searched the closest and managed to find a discarded sewing kit with a spool of red thread. I fastened one end to a pair of boots tucked against the wall in such a way that they couldn’t be easily moved. Armed with my thread and my candle, I set off into the tunnel.