VII. The Hall of Life

“So… this is the ‘Hall of Life’?” Soren asked as he set down the teacup on the table, now empty.

“Indeed. And, you may not believe this, but there is only one Hall of Life in the entire Cathedral. Not everyone gets to see it.” Sophia spoke as she sipped on her third cup of tea. She was smiling, gently so.

“That’s quite extraordinary, isn’t it?” said Maria, who nursed a fifth cup. Soren was mildly disturbed by this, but he also loved a good cup of tea.

“Yes… I suppose it is,” said Soren, who now looked above at the vaulted ceilings again. He wasn’t sure if he saw something move high in the distance, and decided, at least for the sake of his sanity, not to think about it, to the extent that he could.

He then turned to the portraits, and he was much more certain that their faces and bodies seemed to be shifting ever so slightly between blinks. On occasion, he felt an impending force of sight from the thousands of portraits, as though all were looking at him simultaneously. Then his head began aching again, his heart beginning to quicken, before he turned back toward the table.

“This is a collection, of course. Commissioned by many dear patrons across the cycles we have spent here. Ah,” said Sophia, now plaintive in tone. “Even I don’t remember them all at this point. Do you, Maria?”

“All of them? Well,” Maria replied, mildly smirking, “perhaps more than you, Sophie.” Sophia giggled.

“These people. All of them came here before?” Cybele had asked suddenly while looking over the portraits herself. She had yet to speak a word until now. Her voice was curiously between an alto and soprano in pitch, yet heavy in overall tone. Soren had never quite heard a voice like it. Further still, he was more curious than shocked at her sudden speaking.

“Oh, yes,” said Sophia, whose face tensed slightly as she watched Maria pour herself a sixth cup with no less milk and sugar than the last. “That, I can be certain of.”

“Why?” asked Cybele. Maria performed that same motion of the eyeless men once more, filling the tea kettles and dishes for milk and sugar.

“Oh, various reasons,” said Maria. “But—”

“They all died. That is, a second time. And I’m sure the two of you know about the ‘second death’,” said Sophia, who set down a now empty cup.

Soren and Cybele glanced at each other before turning to Sophia. Maria cleared her throat, opened her mouth as if to speak, yet said nothing, folding her hands into her lap.

“I’m… familiar,” said Soren. “But if I recall… it was only rumored.” Soren groped for that fleeting grasp on his memories again, but could not summon anything. Why, he thought. Yet another question.

“Yes, you were among those who debated the matter. Or so it seems,” said Sophia, who rested her head against her hands. “You remain quite turbulent within yourself, alas. But as Maria has said, that will clear in due time.”

“Through adversity,” Maria said suddenly; it seemed she had blurted out her response.

“Adversity?” asked Soren, mildly astonished this time.

“They’ve told me the same thing,” said Cybele, as her gaze turned to Soren. “It would seem I’ve been here a little longer than you.

“And yes, I remember being taught about… that. What a horrible thing. To think that the ‘second death’ is real—”

“Please, Cybele, your blasphemy will not be tolerated here or anywhere. I’ve told you this already,” said Maria, whose brow had narrowed as she looked at Cybele.

“Anyhow, each portrait on that wall—each of them once sat here within the Hall, just like yourselves. We honor their struggles this way. And upward and onward, cycle after cycle, as the Hall builds new wall, higher ceiling, so on and so forth. I’m really quite fond of this place,” said Sophia, smiling brightly at Soren.

“And there’s a little thing you two may also have heard of, called ‘faith’. And that is indispensable here. Do not forget this.”

“I have no doubt about that,” said Soren sternly. “If there is one thing I will not suffer, it is being lectured about faith.”

Sophia shut her eyes, shrugged, and stood up. “I suppose we shall see. We should be moving along now. Don’t you think so, Maria? Or would you like another pot of tea first?”

Maria blushed, setting down a half-finished cup.

“Forgive me, Sophie, but…”

“Yes, I know,” said Sophia. “It has been a long time. And now our little flock has had a proper start to their journeys here. Tea and relaxation are good for the mind. Aren’t they? Soren?”

Soren stood up now. He leaned upon the table with his fists, and sighed.

“I will admit: it was a damn good cup of tea.”

Maria smiled softly, while Sophia laughed. Cybele stood with Soren, nodding, with a flat expression.

“Don’t worry, perhaps we’ll find you a briar and some tobacco later,” said Sophia. “Now, then.”

With a wave of her hand, a hole in the wall opposite of them, where Annabelle had emerged, was created again from stone dissolved into dust. Inside it was utterly dark and without light.

“We must be proceeding to the Livian Nave, next,” said Sophia, who cast the beating light in her hand again. “Follow behind me, dears.”

Soren stiffened, aching to ask his questions again, but he now felt increasingly wary of when would be best to do so. I cannot let these people drag me wherever they want for long, he thought.

And did they hear that?

He noticed Cybele looking upon him again. She quickly turned to look forward at Sophia, walking with a brisk pace, while Maria followed behind.

“Sister Sophia. There is one question I would like to ask before we go on,” said Cybele.

Sophia stopped suddenly, turning on her heels back toward Cybele. Maria turned sideways to face Sophia, downcast.

“Go on,” said Sophia.

Soren saw Cybele swallow sharply. She took a deep breath, shutting her eyes, before opening them again, wide and sharp.

“What happens at—at the end of all this? To us?”

Soren’s eyes widened in shock as he quickly relaxed them again. He remained facing away from Sophia and Maria.

“If all goes well,” said Sophia, “you will leave this place. You will return to the world whence you came. That is all I can say for now.”

Maria brought her hands to her chest, as if pleading. “Sophie—”

“Anything else?” asked Sophia, facing Soren and Cybele, the two of whom looked at each other before turning back to Sophia.

Cybele nodded no. Soren said nothing.

“Very well. Let us proceed.”

Maria sighed in exasperation before resuming her stride next to Sophia. Soren suspected they were speaking to each other, perhaps so quietly that he may not have been able to hear them even if he were standing right next to them, but this was conjecture, although it was, he thought, certainly a reasonable one. Then he looked behind him at Cybele, who was a few feet away, and still wore a dispassionate countenance.

“Eh… Cybele, was it?” he asked.

Cybele looked at him in turn. “That’s right,” she said.

“Do you think they’re talking to each other right now?”

Cybele looked ahead as Sophia entered the hole in the wall, lighting a small corridor. Maria walked ahead of Sophia, turning right at a corner, while Sophia turned back toward them with a gentle smile.

“They could be,” replied Cybele. “They have every reason to while we are out of earshot. But what of it? It’s not like we’ll ever catch them in the act.”

Soren mused. That is likely, he thought.

“Let us speak more later. I think it would do both of us good,” he said.

“If you say so,” said Cybele.

As the two of them approached the hole in the wall, Soren looked back at the table. The seats had not been set back to how they were before they sat down, yet now, they were. He looked then at the portraits around the hole as he came closer to them. Their fixed expressions and eyes did not move, but he was certain that he heard a whisper, feminine and high in pitch, above and behind him. He looked rapidly in both directions, and saw nothing.

A portrait to the immediate left of the hole depicted a young peasant girl standing within a shed, upon what appeared to be a farm. The sky was bright blue, flowers and greenery blossoming at the edges of the frame beneath a high sun. As he moved closer, he saw that the girl held a look of despondency, and she was looking upon something out of the frame with apparent fear.

Soren wanted to enter the painting, though of course, he could not. And for a brief moment, the girl’s eyes seemed to meet his own.

He walked through the hole yet stout in mind. The image of that girl would not leave him, but he would keep it quiet, deep beneath himself. Or so he hoped.

Soren and Cybele turned the corner within the hole as Sophia moved ahead and onto a wooden platform, creaking, rotting, and musty. Maria pulled a lever in the wall, and the platform moved with a jolt that nearly knocked Soren off-balance before it began trudging upward on chains.

None spoke the rest of the way.