II. A Stroll Through the Wilderness

Soren’s eyes creaked open. A warm, soft, amber glow had enveloped his body. As he stirred about, he realized he was being carried by someone, or something. Before he could make out the figure he caught sight of a titanic cathedral in the distance bathed by its own ray of light, spires atop the towers flanking the central entrance reaching high beyond sight, while the structure sprawled beyond what should have been the west facade and east end out of the light; it was as if a dozen cathedrals, or even more, had been put together into one undulating mass, yet the entrance towered above it all, obscuring even the mountain behind it. Soren gazed ahead, mouth agape, before he turned back to look at the figure which carried him. He saw a woman, her lips lightly pursed as she hummed a melody Soren did not recognize, but found soothing all the same. Looking straight ahead as she walked, she spoke,

“Lies guarantee us the deepest sleep. Isn’t that amusing?”

Soren blinked a few times, searching for words he could speak. Her pointed nose cast a shadow across her smooth, symmetrical face. Her snow-white skin paled against the amber glow which enveloped her as well. Her eyes, which glistened in the light, were perfectly white where the iris and pupil would be, gradating to black at their edges—and that blackness of her eyes reflected nothing at all.

A bejeweled coif sparkled as she walked, beneath which a black veil rested over a long, black gown. The woman looked down at him, and he felt himself struck with a deep fear as her eyes seemed to pierce his own, seizing his breath and body. She smiled lightly, and Soren released his breath with a relaxed sigh, yet curiously, as if out of instinct.

“You need more rest,” she said, “but you are not safe here. Poor child.”

The woman gently stroked his cheeks, causing Soren to flinch as he felt her hands on his face. Wait, he thought. What the hell am I doing here?

He shifted in her arms to look around and beneath him. He was far enough above ground that his eyes widened, brow furrowed, at the woman’s apparent height; she could easily have been at least seven feet tall. The amber light illuminated the dirt road beneath and ahead of him, perhaps fifteen feet. Looking across the expanse of darkness before the structure, he now saw the patches of light across the black sky flickering like candles choking on the last of their wax. In flashes he saw disheveled barns, thatched wooden cottages, stone castles, crystalline guard towers with armored men frozen still within their walls—

“Please, my love,” said the woman. “This is a very bad place to become fussy.”

“And what—what is this place? Who are you?” asked Soren. He turned to look behind her, where he saw nothing but unending darkness. He recalled that woman and her bleeding black eyes, her jaw coming apart, her pleading, all flashing in his mind.

“That woman. What happened to her? Where is she?”

The woman smiled again, more widely now, as she continued walking.

“Terrible, isn’t it? Such are the wages of sin,” she replied.

“As for your other questions, remember the rewards of virtue; you must be patient. I can assure you there’s no need to rush ahead. How terrible that would be, too, if you did.”

Each time she spoke, Soren almost shivered instinctively, yet her voice, gentle, high-pitched, warm, restrained his nerves. He shifted in her arms some more to look around, yet when he tried to force himself down, his body would not obey, locking into place. His heart began to race, breath quickening—the amber glow then revealed a shadowy humanoid figure approaching from behind them, dragging a rusted sword across the ground. Its steel-plated armor seemed to be on the verge of falling apart.

It grew closer, and Soren saw half its wrinkled head was missing, down the middle; out of the gaping head came a small, thin, equally wrinkly hand, almost the size of a child’s, holding a sharply pointed dagger, aimed toward the woman. It quickened its pace, quiet but for the jostling of dying metal on its body. The one eye it had was almost entirely rolled into the back of its skull, its mouth stuck open in a yawn.

“Wa—wait—” Soren stammered as the figure closed in. He tried moving his arms to point, failing, as if they had been dismembered.

“Hmm?” The woman looked down at Soren, blinking with a flattened expression. Her brow rose before she relaxed, smiling again.

“Oh, you must be seeing Halliferd behind me. A troublesome little thing, he was,” she said, looking back as she walked. “Weren’t you, Halliferd?”

Halliferd’s dagger-wielding hand rose in the air as he came within striking distance, the ashy skin on his arm crackling as more of it emerged from the head. Soren closed his eyes, praying that the darkness of his slumber would return for him. Praying to whom?

“No, Soren.” She spoke in a low tone rumbling through him, and in an instant, Soren’s eyes opened, eyelids twitching as he tried to keep them shut. Her face became severe, eyes widened as the blackness at their edges crept toward the glistening whiteness—

“Look.”

He saw hands lunging out of the darkness toward Halliferd, all pale, long-fingered, wrinkled, attached to impossibly long arms, slashing what little flesh remained on his body with long black jagged fingernails. The dagger suddenly stopped in place, inches from reaching the woman’s head; one of the hands gently unpeeled the fingers wrapped around the blade’s hilt before taking and thrusting it into Halliferd’s half-head, while a few others now turned to a black ooze, draining into the open, bloodless wounds they had created. Halliferd’s lone eye rolled down, staring at Soren, whose tense face softened for just a moment as he felt a sudden need to cry.

The woman continued her stroll.

As Halliferd faded from the amber light, Soren last saw the remaining hands receding into the darkness, tearing chunks of his body away as he collapsed to the ground—all as quietly as the figure had approached but for its armor and sword.

“Now do you understand why it isn’t safe? Such impetuousness with your tossing and turning,” the woman said, heaving a deep breath before sighing calmly. Her smile had returned.

Soren felt ill as everything he had seen spun his thoughts into vertigo. The ground beneath him may as well not have existed. He desperately wanted sleep, but nothing came. Then, all at once, his heart and breathing slowed. While he fought to keep his eyelids open now, he saw the woman looking upon him again. That same smile, that same piercing gaze shattering the windows of his mind, locking up his body.

“How…” he began, with a choking voice as his wakefulness was smothered,

“How do you know my name?”

His lips parted to speak more before she held a finger to them.

“You are not safe here, but you are safe with me. Our sanctuary awaits, be not deceived...” The woman stroked his cheeks with her hands, each pass lulling Soren into further tranquility.

Then all was quiet, and Soren heard nothing as his eyes shut as if anchored.