III. Awakening

Soren awoke to the voices of two women. He turned to see them standing near an arched wooden door, looking at each other. He tried moving in his bedding, blankets constricting him like a serpent’s coil, then fear, then sweating. He closed his eyes, leveled his breathing, and waited. He heard them move closer.

“...anyhow, I must be going now, off to see Cybele.” Soren opened an eye slightly to see a young woman wearing a white coif with inky black hair cropped at the shoulders in thin, straight strands, with snow-white skin, sitting on a chair at the far end of the room. Her voice was darker, dourer than he expected of her youthfulness, and she wore a silvery-gray tunic beneath a pure white scapular. 

She spoke to another young woman standing next to her, who wore a plain white coif with a thin, narrow gray veil which was open at the back, letting her silvery hair reach her waist. A faint reddish hue pervaded her otherwise grayish pale skin, which was covered by a tunic and scapular both as white as the other woman’s skin. Both their tunics completely covered their bodies, albeit somewhat loosely, and except for their hands and wrists. He swiftly shut the eye again.

“Another recent arrival? I haven’t heard the name,” said the reddish girl, with a lilting voice, light and quiet.

“Yes, she came two cycles ago. A very sweet girl, very young. Rather thin, too.”

“Don’t pick on the young ones, Sophia.” Sophia laughed.

“Oh, you know how it is. They’re often the most broken of all our lambs. I would never do that.”

“And it’s not a laughing matter, either.”

Sophia rose to her feet. “He’s going to wake up soon. Be prepared.”

“Yes, yes, I know what to do. And you take care of that girl.”

“My heart bleeds with compassion for those sorry souls. You needn’t remind me. Blessings of the Saint be upon you, Sister Maria.”

“You should work on your delivery. Isabeau would slap you for that tone of voice.” Sophia laughed again as she left the room. Her feet were bare, as were Maria’s.

Isabeau. He would not forget that name.

Maria lifted the chair and set it beside Soren with a thud; Soren jumped at the noise, and cursed under his breath. He feigned a state of freshly begotten wakefulness, opening his eyes, blinking.

“Oh, did that wake you? Apologies, though it suggests the time was ripe.”

Soren felt the bile of his ignorance rising within him. First that poor woman with bleeding eyes, then in the arms of that terror of a woman, that creature behind her, the vast, infinite horizon of darkness; now, again, constrained against one’s will?

“Where am I?” he asked, flatly. Maria’s laugh sang. He began to find it obnoxious despite how perfectly pleasant she sounded.

“You’re just like the rest of them, so desperate for ground to stand on. Do you not feel even a tinge of the peace it offers? Without fail it’s the first question everyone asks. Besides, what does it have to do with finding out who you are, really?”

“This is not funny,” he growled. Her smile faded. “I know that wherever I am and whatever this place is, I should not be here, or there, or anywhere in this blasted land. I should be at—at home.” The girl tugged at the length of her hair, pursing her lips. She took a deep breath such that her soul seemed to breathe in too.

“What would you be doing if you were ‘home’?” Soren’s mind went blank. From the blade resting upon his neck to the bedding’s heavy coils constricting his body, he searched within himself, but nothing came. Between blinks Maria’s white eyes flickered into total blackness the color of ink. She seemed to be studying him now.

“And just like the rest of them,” she said, in a low, melancholic voice, “you can’t remember what your home was. I’m sorry, Soren, but I can’t tell you everything you want to know. It would distract from the nurturing we hope to do, for your sake. But in due time, all knowledge will be laid bare, because you will grasp it through your own will; this is the nature of our sanctuary.”

He scoffed, tried rising from his bedding again; it coiled tighter with every movement. He turned his head to the ceiling, drained of emotion.

“So,” he said, fists clenched beneath the bedding, “I am a prisoner, then?”

“No, not at all,” said Maria. “After you have gotten more rest, which you clearly need, you will be able to walk freely. But you can’t now, not in your condition.”

Rest, he thought. Why do I need more rest? Did that woman carrying me not give me enough?

“And I’m supposed to lie here and do nothing until that happens?”

Maria bit her lip. “Well—yes. I’m sorry.”

Soren moved again to rise, and just as the cloth had begun loosening, so it tightened the more he struggled. The girl laid her hand on Soren’s head, petting his hair.

“Please, don’t. You’ll only cause yourself more pain. I will return again in a time. Things will change as you go on here, because this is inevitable. You have much to learn about your new world, but trust me when I say you must be taught gently, slowly. Be patient; remember the rewards of virtue.”

“That you would ask such a thing of me…” he said, barely able to conceal his contempt, his fury at this prolonged deception. “After all that I’ve been through. Now answer my questions. Who is Isabeau? How do you know my name? Is she that woman who was carrying me somewhere? How can you—” Soren began to thrash about, the bedding further constricting him with each movement, his sweat and heat trapped within as he struggled to breathe. Panting, he turned to Maria and saw her sullen, downcast. He felt his heart soften, face losing almost all tension.

“I…” She crossed her arms tightly. “I must go now. Please, just… just rest. I will return soon for you, for we do have much to discuss, don’t we?” She smiled at him weakly before rising and walking to the door.

A knotted pang of fear rose in his stomach, nauseating him. Her body, her voice, her entire presence somehow put him at ease despite his desperate desire not to be so, but now he was not so sure where that began and ended. He shut his eyes, and with a deep sigh as his breathing slowed, said,

“For how long will you be gone?”

He heard her stop, hesitating, before she spoke,

“Time is not so measured here. There’s too much of it. Good-bye, Soren.”

The door shut behind her.