Agro’s hooves gently collided with the ashy debris thick against the weathered stone bridge as she carried her precious cargo. With heavy breaths she toiled, long streams expelled from her nostrils, her breath sounding closer to a grunt every time she inhaled as she pressed onwards. Her will was bound to her masters, knowing from the lifeless weight of what remained of one of Agro’s most cherished friends how important this mission really was. The girl, now swaddled in a white veil as though she were an infant, rested snugly against the lip of the saddlebow across Agro’s shoulders.
Old, reliable Agro had brought them through the mists of this forbidden land, guided by Wander’s quiet, gentle direction. He was solemn, as lost as Mono’s soul, spending most of their hike absorbed in the way her body was limp, heartbreakingly delicate, against his arms. Although she could be broken no further than she already had—everything within her that could be destroyed had begun to turn and rot—Wander could hardly stomach her vulnerability, not willing to risk disturbing anything that remained of her living form.
The bridge they crossed stretched on for what seemed like an eternity, pressing the truth of Wander’s smallness into his psyche, his helplessness in the face of such a cruel world—the world that had so savagely ripped Mono away in the prime of her youth. The miserable excuse of her cursedness, the obscure idea of her blasphemy— of which she had no knowledge of until the hour came of her ritual sacrifice—seemed so distant and painfully impossible when Wander beheld her angelic face, lost forever in a frozen dream.
The wind howled here, on the exposed bridge that shone gold under the heat of the sun. From their point on the horizon, so high up above the seemingly endless dunes of bleached sand, the blazing fire of the sun seemed as though it were directly overhead, as though they roamed a completely flat plane, crossing the thin line from the world they had always known to this new, mysterious realm.
The temple that awaited them, the place rumored to provide the re-iginition of the flame of one's soul—the sacred baptism offered only in this holy land—loomed at the end of the bridge. Lines of heat waved and danced, shimmering against the shadows of the stone structure. It was overgrown with life, flora that Wander could never hope to make out from such a distance. From where they stood, with eyes that had not seen proper sleep since Mono’s immolation, the temple hummed with a life of its own.
The trees grew barren outside of the thick sandstone and unrecognizable material of the temple, weak branches upturned helplessly towards the savage sun. They were black things, stark against the horizon, littering the earth beneath them, growing where they could find cracks in stone or a place to plant their roots between the ocean of heavy sand.
The moss and undeniably enchanted plant life—the likes of which had only begun to reveal themselves the closer they approached the shadow of the temple and its command—spoke to the abandonment of this place, of its ancient, untouched nature. The actual monument was not in disarray other than the natural cracks that had occurred with age in the face of the outer stones, the water damage against the strange language and patterning etched into the face of the rocks, the dust and sand caked in thick layers against the raised ledges in the walls.
While Wander had no abilities like Mono had, he could feel the chill sink into his flesh first, could feel as his wine-red hair bristled from the mysterious magical force crackling in the thick fog that hung heavy in the air. The sun was blocked by dense clouds of gray, softly rolling, speaking to a passage of time that only the Temple knew, that only the Temple remembered.
The sun was captured against a heavy cloud, sending the world into a muddy darkness. It wasn’t long until Agro had brought them close enough to the face of the Temple, enough that its body had blocked out the sun completely, sucking Wander and his partners into its embrace.
At the highest cliffs of the Temple, Wander could see foliage sway in the swells of the wind. The rock shone brighter there, just as the land underneath them had. He had to squint to look at it. He couldn’t maintain it for long.
Wander noticed that Mono’s veil had somehow fallen from her untroubled face, as though she too had wanted to witness their promised land. Her white dress was still unblemished against her lean body. He had taken special care to protect her body from the slightest deterioration—he needed her to be able to use it again, after all. Wander released his cloak from his shoulders, bringing the hardy fabric etched with teal strokes of the major sigils across Mono’s shoulders. She could not feel the bite of the cold wind, but Wander smiled weakly at her, at how she was better guarded against the elements now. A small flame of warmth kindled within him as he imagined how she might have hugged his cloak tightly, how she might have thanked him for his thoughtfulness had she remained inside her discarded shell.
Agro’s muscled, midnight-black body glinted under the last rays of the sunlight that could reach them before she slipped into the gray darkness. Her tail swished. She grunted as she felt the primal energy, fear washing over her as she pressed a hoof against the serrated stone tile that marked the threshold of the Temple. They had crossed the long, long bridge. The mouth of the Shrine waited for them, gaping open, a faint melody howling through it as the breath of the sky rushed into it. It was black, darker than night, but vibrating, alive with an entity—with many unseen eyes that waited and watched these unsanctioned intruders who had breached sacred ground.
Wander used one arm to bring Mono closer to him, cradling her brittle flesh against his chest. He’d learned to admire how she smelled even in this empty form, loving her even beyond the limits of her body. Her mind lived within his, sparking to life with the memories that he safeguarded, the versions of her that burst with vitality. He pressed a kiss to her sticky forehead, letting her wilt against his capable chest as she always had, the place she was fond of resting so she could listen to his heartbeat.
Wander’s fingers curled around his stolen blade, the sword that granted him the ability to hear the howling song of the voices that inhabited the temple. They sang together in a haunting round, a long and slow tone, eternal and everlasting, peaceful and unsettling at once. Wander’s blue-gray eyes were made to see the million points of light that shot outwards and upwards, cresting out into the heavens, piercing the mist in needle-thin points. The curse of the blade weighed heavy on his mind—it had never sung before but now it would not stop.
Agro hesitated at the Shrine’s portal, her eyes seeing that which humans could not, her ears flattening in distress. She padded back and forth, waiting for her master’s decision, his final choice. Tiny rocks cracked under her hooves, tumbling away from her against the intricately designed stone floor.
Mono’s body settled against Wander’s as though she had nestled into his chest just as she always did. Wander felt his eyes sting when he remembered the impossibility of such an action, even when it had felt so real—if only for a moment. His fingers clenched into the worn handle of the forbidden sword. The ice-blue crystal—of which Wander would never know the name—glinted and absorbed the beams of light into itself as Wander lightly kicked his legs where they sat in stirrups against Agro’s strong trunk.
Agro obeyed, leading their passage into this new darkness, the living blackness. Wander held Mono protectively, trusting Agro to guide them with her wild, trustworthy senses, unsure of what the anatomy of the Temple looked like. No matter how much time passed, his eyes could not adjust to the darkness. He listened as Agro’s hooves clicked ceremonially against stone steps; carefully and thoughtfully she shepherded them down the spiraling staircase.
Wander could smell water, the air thick and moist against him the further they rounded the corners of the walls that were lined in thick columns and pillars.
The sensation of being observed, of being judged and weighed grew stronger, undeniable. Formlessly, Wander could feel the entity of discernment, waiting to reveal itself and hear Wander’s sinful wish, his willful transgression.
They cleared the final stairs, Agro whinnying with gratitude when she was finally back on flat ground. The room lit up slowly as they pulled through the rotten, stale air. Before them, tall, expertly carved totems of ancient guardians stood resolutely, each in their respective groove against the wall. Their shapes were varied, the dust and sand of the worn floor of the Shrine missing from them—they looked freshly constructed, inhabited despite the crushing loneliness of such forbidden land.
A great, circular hole was designed in the ceiling, allowing long pools of sunbeams to funnel to the ground of the Shrine’s floor, casting their glowing rays onto the silhouettes of the looming idols. Wander couldn’t help but stare at them one by one as they passed, mystified by their elegance, their complexity, the way that these creatures seemed both naturalistic and impossible, in perfect juxtaposition to themselves. Even with the handful of stories he had been told about the Forbidden Land, this art depicted something he could have never imagined.
As they found themselves in the white pool of pure light created from the stone circlet above them, a light so pure that they were shadowless against it, Wander heard a voice.
It came from the lips of the ceiling’s sunlit aperture itself, echoing solely to Wander’s ears from the walls of stone. It resounded in his mind, despite sounding the same as if it had been whispered sweetly into Wander’s ear. Agro was apathetic, her mind elsewhere, staring out at the green plains that she could see out of the tall platform to the right, the place that overlooked the lush world of the forbidden land.
Wander looked where he was summoned, placing his hand on the blade, touching the crystal itself in an effort to make this twisted voice clearer. Even now, it still chanted on, words and sounds Wander had never heard in his life—tones that Wander could never imagine. It spoke in unison, it spoke with a chorus of voices, the entity—the thousand unblinking, invisible eyes that lived amongst the heavy curtains of darkness.
Although Wander’s unfailing bow hung on his back, the one with which he had years of tremendous experience, may have been the better option of defending both himself and what remained of Mono, Wander knew that there were no physical objects he could have owned or dreamt of with which he could hope to protect himself—not from the Temple’s god. He couldn’t even think of injuring it.
The Altar…
The words were cast into Wander’s mind clearly, in his own tongue despite the flood of static and noise of the choir of ancient voices. As though he were possessed with the idea itself, Wander’s eyes were instantly fixed upon the stone altar, the intricately carved feature near the place that Agro had been watching patiently the whole time. It was made of thick stone, twice the size of the surrounding pillars, and the rock had been cut in two at the altar table, like the walls of the Temple itself were funneling into the source of potential offerings. Perhaps Agro had understood the message of the entity, had heard its request as soon as they had entered.
Wander released himself from the stirrups, guided his feet to the floor, dismissing Agro to roam as he drew Mono down from his steed’s back and into his arms. Mono felt heavy against him, unfamiliar in the way she was limp, how her body had been frozen in permanent fear from the torture of her last moments—the preserved memory that Wander could not massage out of her without breaking the little of her that remained.
He walked her towards the altar, crossing the raised, ancient stairs, marching to the open stone altar, looking more like a stone casket the closer he approached it, the feature integral to the design of the entire Temple. This would be the place where Mono could finally rest—where she could wait to be reborn. The songbirds that nestled in the grooves between carved rock burst away from Wander’s actions, his infiltration of their place of solitude, filling the sky in their white, kicked-up feathers as they made their way to soar towards higher ground. The voices of the Temple were quieted, hushing to a silence, patiently waiting, watching.
He hesitated, nervous to release her. Wander held Mono tightly, his arms trembling not from the weight of her body but the weight of letting go. He was prepared to sacrifice himself for her, for the life he could not bear to live without, but he was terrified of forfeiting her to such a mysterious fate, to such fearsome, formless creatures.
“I love you.” He whispered, so faintly, so quiet that even he could barely hear his heart's admission. The depth of his love for the girl, the long years of their bond from their shared youth, were conveyed in these three simple words, these last words he’d so desperately wished he’d told her more often than he’d been allowed.
Wander lowered her tenderly against the cold stone, into the groove shaped like a crucifix, fixing the way her hair framed her face, bringing her hands gently across her chest, as though she were in prayer. Under the silhouette of the complicated, patterned carvings of stone atop her who had stood long before anyone Wander had known was born, she looked as perfect as she had in life, the dream of her slumber seeming so close to the truth in Wander’s deliberate delusion. He reverently fixed the cloak he had gifted her, not wanting her to be exposed any more than she had been, wishing to keep her pure and safe from the infernal eyes that gave the scene their undivided attention.
It had been a long, long time since any mortal had set foot inside the Shrine of Worship. Perhaps even centuries.
The golden aperture carved in the ceiling called for Wander, beckoning him to the stage where this strange ephemeral creature could grant him instruction, where it could propose terms for a covenant worthy of the most forbidden art: of restoring life lost.
Wander stood patiently in the pool of light, his body fading away into the bleach whiteness, losing his own form against the strength of the brilliant luminance. The dry heat sank into him. He squinted against it, even with his eyes closed, face upturned towards what he knew was staring down at him, waiting for the moment—nearly eminent—when the voice would reach him as clear as day.
Agro brayed, an anxious cry that Wander had never heard her make before. She kicked her hooves against the temple floor to try to reason with him, but it was too late; his desperate plea, the yearnings of his wounded heart, had been left upon the altar table. If his heart had not been set the day that he knew that he could not prevent the destruction of Mono’s life, it certainly had been set when he had committed the ultimate taboo of his village—the theft of the ancient, unholy blade that he held now in his fist, the blade that delivered sixteen points of light to each of the heavy idols set in their homes in the long halls of the temple belly.
A laugh that roared like thunder came circling down through the lens of the aperture, riding the rays of the unfeeling sun and its lifeless heat. A thousand creatures shared in the humor of such a situation, of the young man who thought he was more than a mere child, his miserable little life which he still bargained with, held upwards in offering as though it was somehow more significant than the countless blades of grass to the north face of the Temple. Both beasts and those that once could call themselves human, those beyond—even the ones who could remember the time when the earth was made of only light and shadow—laughed at such a predicament.
Wander held fast against their assault, unashamed, without clinging to his humiliation or apologizing for his existence and mistakes. He let them reach in with their invisible, ethereal hands that could sense all truth, letting his pure heart be examined under the microscope of this collective consciousness that existed beyond death.
In the blinding eye of Heaven, Wander let himself focus only on the memory of his dear Mono, in all of the forms she had been granted in this life, in all the colors of her feelings, bringing his mind to the time when they were children, when they were free from what they now knew.
Shadow forms burst from the numbing light, sprouting like wispy, rotten plants. They grew into the shape of human beings but lacked all features, appearing as though they were misremembered toys, limbs jittering from impossible angles, heads lolling. They lunged for Wander.
He moved wordlessly. Wander was prepared for this, and had no fear in the face of such demonic entities. He raised the Forbidden Sword, high above his head, with fully outstretched arms. Wander swung to attack them but the sword pulsed, sending shockwaves through him and his mind, the singing humming of the blade rising in volume, louder in its perpetual hymn until—every being of the shade burst into dust, sent back to its true form of invisible nothingness. In their absence the blade quieted in Wander’s grip, the tone gentler, softer.
The voice from the heavens was amused enough to address him. Wander had proved himself with this action as being worthy of such an honor.
Thou possess the Ancient Sword?
The words swam through Wander’s brain as though they came to him through water. He remembered the legends and tales of this land, of the antagonist of all Creation that dwelled within it and its stories. He remembered the way he imagined its features, its shadowy, horned form, nothing like how the shadow puppets who had burst had even come close to being—even though they were much more frightening in reality than his mind could ever conjure.
Wander extended the blade, showing the proof of his stolen artifact, his unearned equipment that had already proved itself necessary in this strange land.
So thou art mortal…
Wander clenched his fingers around the hilt of the blade. He had only his resolution to thank for all his confidence; he was knowingly facing death—or worse. If he were torn to shreds, he would not regret his choices. He knew the risk involved.
Still, he wondered why his mortality was of such importance that this lonely creature, the being without an audience for all of time that Wander and his people could possibly remember, felt the need to point it out.
Wander remembered the story of the mortal man who was strong enough to seal away the being of darkness, Dormin. This human priest was able to craft a sword that only the living could use, to wield as a tool to vanquish the chaos of Dormin so life could flourish and be free from Dormin’s fearsome control and will. Now, it was rumored, Dormin could only manipulate the dead and their souls, forced into the realm that belongs to the perished.
The moments from the story flashed back to him. Wander searching within himself for the words that the elders used around the campfire. He could remember more about the way that Mono looked across the wall of the flames, sitting patiently, listening with enraptured attention…
“Are you…” Wander asked the question, wondering if there was a better way to address such an existence. “Dormin?”
There was no answer. Wander sheathed his holy blade, the humming fading away into an expectant silence. The being on the other end, outside the wall of light listened, waiting for elaboration.
“I was told that in this place at the ends of the world,” The wind filtered through Wander’s long hair and the worn fabric of his cloak as he spoke. “There exists a being who can control the souls of the dead.”
Thou art correct…
There was a condescension to the way it responded, at this admission of such trivial, basic knowledge about the laws of the world.
We are the one known as Dormin…
Wander’s heart leapt at the name, pounding at the truth of the omnipresence of a supreme being, of Dormin’s existence somewhere between—the ends of the legends always the same, always warning to never, ever make a pact with Dormin, the prince of darkness.
But, despite the evil of this place, of this demon, Wander knew that it could provide what he had come here for. It was true. He had hope. He had believed, and now he could be the one to offer up all that he could in exchange for Mono’s beautiful, mortal soul.
“She was sacrificed for she had a cursed fate.” The resentment was thick in Wander’s voice. He knew that Dormin would understand the gravity of what he’d expressed, and would be familiar with such cruel practices. “Please…”
Wander prayed, sincerely. All the desire of his heart, mind, body and soul spoke as one.
“I need you to bring back her soul…”
Tears that he had fought since Mono’s death rolled down his face as he begged.
That maiden’s soul?
Wander nodded, pressing his forehead to his praying hands.
Souls that are once lost cannot be reclaimed… Is that not the law of mortals?
It was true. This was the universal, essential law that governed reality. After all, Mono’s sacrifice in itself would have been deemed worthless without such a brutal finality. Wander resented it. He rejected it. His hands shook as he braced himself for the denial of his request.
With that sword, however… It may not be impossible.
Wander gasped, falling to his knees. Breathless, he couldn’t believe what it was saying. It wasn’t impossible. Finally, confirmation that his dear Mono was not lost forever.
“Really!?” He cried, not sure whether to laugh or cry.
That is of course, if thou manage to accomplish what We askest.
Wander did not hesitate. He responded eagerly, immediately. “What do I have to do?”
Behold the idols that stand along the wall… Thou art to destroy all of them.
The light from the ceiling faded enough so that Wander’s eyes could adjust and see all of the giant bodies of stone, how they resembled surreal supernatural monsters. Wander considered how he might go about destroying such monuments, but Dormin continued.
But those idols cannot be destroyed by the mere hands of a mortal…
Wander was puzzled. “Then what am I to do?”
In this land, there exists Colossi which are the exact incarnations of those idols. If thou defeat those Colossi—the idols shall fall.
Wander stared at the ancient stones, wondering how such creatures might exist. Even in such frozen, interpretive forms he felt like the smallest insect compared to them, helpless before them.
Wander looked to where the body of Mono slept, waiting for Wander to restore her to her existence.
He would have to.
“I understand.” Wander replied.
But heed this, the price you pay may be heavy indeed.
It sounded so entertained, amused despite the gravity of danger behind its words.
“It doesn’t matter.” Wander was quick to answer. He had nothing else to lose.
Their pact between Wander, Dormin and his kingdom had been sealed, locking tightly around Wander and what remained of his humanity.
Very well…