Credo Purus Mens

By Alone Dreaming

Rating: T or PG-13 for language and gore (pretty typical for me, folks) and bad Latin (not so typical for me)

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. If I did, this would not be posted under fan fiction.

Warnings: For this chapter, long exposition with little conclusion or revelation. For future chapters, blood, sickness, language, confusion, pronoun usage, general lack of explanations and many, many more.

Author's Note: This pet project of mine is neither finished nor near an end point. While half-written, it's grown massively and I feel it is time to introduce it to the world in order to help it grow. Happily, I can say it's got enough chapters to satisfy people for a bit (as long as I post once a week instead of once every other day which, apologies, will be the pattern for this tale) and that I intend on finishing it as soon as possible. Note, as always, that this was written on a combination of Word Pad and paper so grammar and spelling mistakes are my own. Feel free to help me with them but be gentle-- it's really rather difficult. But most of all, enjoy the tale.


The existence of forgetting has never been proved: We only know that some things don't come to mind when we want them.

-Friedrich Nietzsche

He didn't know where he was but he knew it was beautiful. Spindly, green-leaved trees twirled high above his head, their roots burrowed in thick, orange clay. Shorter foliage, consisting of spiky bushes and softer, grass-like plants decorated the ground, sprouting amidst the gravel that dotted the mud. Flowers blossomed on some of these, a whole variety of colors ranging from purple to yellow, in every size and style he could think of. They smelled sweet, and yet, not overpowering as their voluminous quantities would dictate. Instead, they added to the scent of the clean air and emphasized the earthy undertones of mud. The trees dabbled in this scent as well, so mild that they were barely perceptible beyond the occasional tang on his taste buds when he drew in deep breaths. As he drifted through this heavenly place, his tattered boots stumbling over the loose pebbles that made up the path, he could hear the gentle whispers of the wind in the upper reaches of the trees and the quiet howl as it whipped through tiny spaces. It was lovely, picturesque, something of fairy tales with the dew decorating the bushes and the distant call of tiny woodland creatures. And he found it completely disconcerting because he didn't have the faintest idea as to where he was. No matter how hard he considered it, he could not come across a name for this place or knowledge of how he'd ended up in it. Close on it's tail was the underlying panic of not knowing exactly how he could define the scents, sights and sounds with his mind so empty. He had no basis for comparison, no other experiences to compare it to. His mind was a hole, deep, dark, empty and volatile. He tried not to think on it too hard, tried to enjoy the splendor around him but nothing could fill the pit. It echoed the wind, demanded that he ponder how he had gotten here and why he had come in the first place, and then it tormented him when he could not find an answer.

Though he heard and perceived life around him, he saw little than the landscape and found this equally unnerving. Every time he came upon a rustling in the bushes, whatever was there bolted before he could lay eyes on it. The animals in the trees always stayed in batches of leaves, only present in the sounds they made and the occasional branches they dislodged. This also unnerved him because it made him feel vulnerable. It was impossible to defend against an invisible enemy, his mind told him, leaving him to wonder where this paranoia stemmed from and why he so readily agreed with it. Eventually, in order to sate it, he armed himself with a long stick from the edge of the path but found no reason to use it. The animals continued to keep to themselves and he met no one else on the road. All that appeared to dwell here was the path he walked on and the forest he did not wish to approach. He kept the stick all the same.

The pathway breached at the top of a hill which overlooked purple mountains surrounded by misty clouds. The nearest of these mountains held a greenish haze cast by the trees and the ones that were furthest away appeared as black shadows, wrapped in fog. He stood there for a moment, drinking in the beauty, pondering what this place was and why no one else was here to appreciate it as he was. There had to be some sort of darkness, some sort of malice dwelling behind the perceived perfection otherwise he would surely come across a fellow traveler. Below him, the path sloped steeply into a gorge filled with trees, not all that different from the one he had just ascended from, changing his mind from the subject of touring alone to the silliness of continuing in monotony. Sooner or later he would need sustenance and shelter, neither of which the path or the forest provided. Though he could inevitably find fluids-- he was certain he'd heard a river as he walked-- he could not even begin to fathom what was edible around here. He needed civilization.

His eyes squinted against the hazy light, searching one last time for any sign of someone like himself that could, possibly, provide him with direction. The nearest hill held nothing but the trees and the next closest appeared the same. This second view over gave him the same information as the initial one; there was nothing before him that resembled sentient life. At the same time, there was no point in going back either as he knew for certain there was no house behind him. He could not shake the impression that he'd been here for days-- despite his memory being fickle-- and that those days behind him were the same as the hours he'd experienced today. A new seed of confusion, doubt and fear entered his mind; he could not recall where he had started or how long ago he'd done so or any specific event beyond walking, walking, walking. But he put it away with the other thoughts, trying to focus on safety, if it was possible to find.

Without any other choice, he descended into the gorge and soon was wrapped again by the trees on all sides. The shadows cast by the leaves did not frighten him, but neither did they comfort. His legs and feet were aching with the strain of the climbing and he began to balance some of his weight on the stick. He reminded himself that he could not turn back because there was no where to turn. The grumbling hunger in his stomach told him he had missed at least one meal if not more. His throat was of no use to him as it was parched uncomfortably but not unbearably. He knew he'd consumed fluids recently, when, he could not recall, as thinking back far left him with only mangled images and beyond them, a solid blank.

Sometime further, as the ground started to rise upwards again, he stopped, sitting down in the middle of the path and studied the shoes on his feet. They were black, solid but not meant for the arduous hiking that he currently embarked upon. The soles on them had been thoroughly worn down to the point of almost being flat. The left one had several stones embedded in it and at the toe, had disintegrated down to his sock. He studied his pants next, black and made of comfortable material but again, not created for heavy exploration. They seemed, to him, to be part of a uniform of some sort though he could not define where he'd acquired this knowledge. Rents decorated the knees and cuffs, giving them a sorry, used look. He knew these were from multiple occasions where his footing had been misplaced and he had tumbled. His shirt, long sleeved and red, was also tattered but it did not fit as perfectly as his pants. It was tight in the arms and short at the wrists; if he raised his shoulders, the bottom of it rode up and revealed his pale midsection. This shirt was not his, though it belonged to the uniform in general. Another mystery, he decided, to add to the wonders. Why was he dressed like this?

Upon finishing his break, he continued forward, delighted by the fact that his path seemed to be heading towards an ever increasing sound. It was a rushing, splattering noise which he associated with a river or a source of water. This would be a blessing as his mouth had gone from dry to desert-like and his throat itched from a culmination of dust and air. A blister was beginning to form on his heel and irritated him to no end. To make matters worse, the mist, which he had associated with the higher part of the mountains, surrounded him here, dampening his clothing so that it chaffed at his joints. These discomforts took away from the gorgeous surroundings as he attempted to find a less irritating way to travel. He felt as though he was used to some other sort of atmosphere, a sort of perfection where he was never too cold, too hot, too damp, too dry and scolded himself as spoiled. This was not so bad, he told his rubbed, bruised body; life could be much, much worse.

He paused when the path continued, going slightly to the left, but the sound of the river seemed definitely to the right. Where the path continued, there were simply more trees and mists but where it ended, he knew there was refreshing water and a place where he could break. It was a dilemma. Though he did not know where he was or how he got there, he did know that leaving the path was a dangerous proposition. Whatever had made this path was like him-- sentient-- and eventually the path would either fade into disrepair or he would happen upon its creator. Leaving it would mean potentially getting lost in the woods and never coming upon civilization at all. He could wander forever that way, turned around by sounds, the search for nourishment and general lack of direction. At the same time, his thirst demanded sating. Though it was, as of yet, not a desperate sensation, it had already grown steadily from it's initial bothersome attitude. What was less wise: departure from the road or departure from his only certain source of liquid?

He decided to stay on the road at the last second, after his boots touched the green grass and started to carry him towards the river. Beyond the possibility of wandering aimlessly within the depths of the forests, a fear of what might lurk within its shadowy grasps had suddenly seized him. His heart thudded its way into his throat and he had scrambled down onto the road, panting as though he'd run miles. The fear abated, allowing for him to feel ridiculous. From the path, the forest looked gorgeous, inviting and far from malevolent. What was wrong with him? It was logical to choose this path, this route, to mark his way so he could return upon sating his thirst. Why would these benign trees frighten him? There was nothing large and vicious within their depths; if there was, it would have grabbed him long ago. But he could not get himself to step back onto the brown leaves and sprouting bushes; so, to avoid anymore embarrassment, he continued forward on the path. It did not stop him from feeling like a fool.

It wound and wound around through the trees, going uphill than down. Then it started to twist about, leading him in an ever ascending circle. Had it not been such a vastly large one, he knew he would have become dizzy with the spinning. Instead, he found himself intrigued as to where he was going. This led, obviously, to the peak of another hill but what then? He hoped for some sign of others beyond the well-traveled dirt at his feet, some sign that he worked towards an end point and not eternal travel. He paused briefly, trying to pinpoint why it would matter so much beyond the obvious. Again, he found a troubling nothingness where he should have found answers so he pushed on, leaning heavily on the stick.

What felt like a large span of time passed, and still he swirled upwards. The clouds hovered closer, a few of them ominously dark. His chest ached from excursion, his legs sore from carrying him, his arms and hands throbbing as he used the stick as a lever. His one shoe flopped, its bottom peeling away from the top. His skin did not yet touch the ground but the small rocks that decorated it bit at it, bruising it. His rests became more frequent and longer as the exhaustion grew. Soon, he knew, he would not be able to go any further and then what? Could he rest surrounded by these woods in this place when maybe something waited for him? His lack of knowledge sent an overwhelming spike of frustration into his gut and he viciously kicked at the dirt. And yet, he pushed on even as his legs trembled, his arms grew numb and his chest heaved. Something would happen, he tried to assure himself, something would occur.

Just as he thought he would have to lie down and sleep, for his whole body had started to lean dangerously forward and he could not get his muscles to stiffen and hold him, the path leveled out and straightened. The clouds now drifted around him, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Knowing that he had to be very high up, he slowed his already crawling pace to a shuffle, not wanting to unwittingly fall over the edge of a cliff. The trees on either side of him began to thin, leaving only the occasional shrub on the ground. The road widened, and the pebbles became thicker on the ground. His shuffling caused a loud rasping in what was an almost silent place. He stayed over to one side, trying to align himself to where the shrubs were but they vanished after a few more steps. This left him in an open area, covered in grey pebbles and white fog. The only options were to stay where he was and wait for something-- anything-- to happen or be brave and go forward.

He chose the latter, pushing the stick in front of him, staggering without its support. This was necessary, he thought, so that he would not run into anything. Each movement now required an infinite amount of concentration and thought and the nerves caused by the idea of possible death chewed at him. More than once he thought about how wonderful it would be to have a companion with him, someone to reassure him. With this came the longing for memories of everything leading up to this moment. At least then, he would be lost only in person instead of so completely in body and soul. His foot caught a particularly large rock and he fell down hard onto the ground. The stick rolled away from him into the distance and with it, went the fog.

He discovered that he lay, panting, exhausted, soaked, on the top of a huge plateau. Below him were small hills of green and to his sides the large mountains he'd viewed before. Clouds lurked both close by and below, creating an ethereal effect. Far down, he saw the glittering ribbon of the river he'd heard and wished he could reach its satisfying contents to relieve his papery mouth. To his great disappointment, he could find no houses or signs of those who had built the path before him. Dragging himself up, he stared desolately at the continuing expanse of trees and wondered if this meant traveling all the way down the mountain once more. Turning, he looked at the now visible area about him for answers and found only a small pool just beyond him of still, dirty looking water.

Yes, he groaned, yes, it would be a journey down once more.

The stick was gone but he managed to get his body to the edge of the puddle of water. It was no good for drinking, he knew, as he looked at its rusty color and the grayish growth on top of it. But he had no intention of consuming it. A tentative finger tapped it and found it, as he half-expected, half-hoped, to be deliciously cold. Slipping his boots off, he placed them to the side and settled his much abused feet into the shallows. Relief slowly took away the ache and burn and he sat heavily at the bank of the water, dreading the journey back to the gorge. He should have taken the route to the river after all. Now, he had wasted hours and energy pursuing a lost cause.

"It would be awesome," he muttered, "if I could find a way out of this godforsaken woods."

He sat for a while longer, until the fog started to return and then, regretfully, slipped his boots back on. Tossing a bit of the water on his face, he stood and found that while he was shaky, he could walk more easily than he could before. A glimpse at the sky revealed the sun sitting high still. He would probably manage to get most of the way down before it set. Taking in a steadying breath, he started limping towards the path. At least it would take a little less endurance to get down, though not much. Keeping his feet from sliding out from under him was nearly as difficult as hauling his tired body up the hill. Even as he thought this, his shoe slipped on the dew encrusted rocks and he staggered to catch himself--

--and discovered, with a jolt, that the path was not there. A row of trees stood where he'd been certain the path had begun, thick and old looking. Obviously, he had gotten turn around. Various rationalizations blazed through his mind as he stared at the sweeping woods. He was tired and the combination of that with the hopelessness of his situation and his frustration at himself was enough to disorient anyone. Muttering this under his breath, he followed the edge of them, searching for the road. It was the only stable part of his life up until now and he would be damned if he lost it.

By the time he reached it, he was nearly panicking again. It was nowhere near where he had last seen it and now that the fog had settled back, he'd lived in terror thinking he would soon fall to his doom. How had he gotten so far from it? His battered shoes settled on the familiar orange dirt and he tried to stop his heart and calm his breathing. Just that splattering of emotions had worn him down to his bones-- an interesting word, which, for some reason, meant more to him than it should-- once more and he stared at the mists thinking he would not survive this. Yes, he was physically fit but this traversing of mountains and rough terrain was not his normal business. His painful body reminded him of it as he started a shuffle back into the woods.

It took him nearly an hour to discover that this was not the path he had journeyed up on. Yes, it looked very similar and it had been the only one he could find, but it was not his. It was completely flat, packed ground dirt which neither climbed nor sank as a path on a mountain should. The trees around it, tall as any of the others had been, were twice as thick as the original forest had been and now, many were covered in brightly colored vines. The mists trickled between them, only obscuring the most distanced of their number and it held a grayish tint that he had not seen before. He rubbed at his arms, feeling chilled for the first time he could recall, even though he should have been cold long before. No sounds issued from around him, leaving only the smacking of his one dying shoe to fill the empty air. What had happened?

He did not stop, turn or look too closely. Ahead became his destination, away became his purpose. How much time passed him was a moot point as long as he could get somewhere new. There was something strange about this place, these woods and this planet. If only he could hop on his shuttle and fly back to-- but then the thought faded from him for he was uncertain what a shuttle was or how it would fly. The destination, which had nearly crossed his mind, got snapped back into the trap of blankness that encompassed him. No more thinking, he decided, just movement until he could move no more. And then, death, sleep, or nothingness; whatever made the most sense.

It was some point after that, he had stopped counting hours, minutes and stopped searching for changes in the sky, that he almost walked into the man. The mist had once again grown thick and he did not see the person. Not that he would've seen it anyway, as most of his concentration was on making his feet continue to move his body. His eyes had drifted down to his torn and uneven shoes a long while ago, watching as they fell apart. It took the sudden contrast of a relatively intact pair of boots against his own cut and bruised feet for him to look up. Inches from his face was another person's. Highly arched eyebrows decorated his forehead and his skin had a light green tinge to it. His face did not express anything, though one of his eyebrows twitched in a manner that reminded the traveler of someone he knew; he just had no idea who that was.

"Do I know you?" he inquired because it seemed rational.

"Your answer lies in your question," the man replied smoothly. "Why waste the energy to ask it?"

He shrugged and felt the shirt tighten across his back. His breath came out clear in the mists, "It just seemed like the right one for the moment."

"I see," the man replied but the traveler got the distinct impression that he did not. "Well, be assured, sir, that I do not know you therefore, logically, you cannot know me unless by hearsay but I would postulate knowledge and knowing are not the same. Now, I must hasten on."

"Do you have somewhere to go?" he blurted out as the man edged around him.

The man stopped. "Currently, I am seeking shelter. As there is nothing the way I came, I can only assume that it lies ahead."

"There's nothing that way for miles," the traveler told him. He felt rather weak and dizzy now and the air, which had been merely bothersome before, was becoming a serious detriment to his state. Wrapping his arms around his chest, he tried not to shiver. "Trust me, I just walked it."

The man looked down the pathway and then back to the traveler. "There must be something. There is nothing the way you are going. If it is true there is nothing the way you came, then tell me, where did you come from?"

He didn't know. It should have panicked him but he accepted it with as much poise as possible. It seemed necessary to be in control with this man who showed no emotions. "I-- I cannot remember." His teeth rattled in his mouth so he clenched them.

"Fascinating," the man murmured, "neither can I."

"Birds of a feather," the traveler said, equally soft, though somewhat garbled due to his trembling.

The man's eyebrow twitched. "Pardon?"

"Birds of a feather," the traveler repeated.

"What do you mean by this?"

"I--" he stopped. "I'm not sure. I think I knew, once."

"I see."

They stood together, he shaking and the man alternating between looking down where the traveler had come from and looking down from where he'd emerged. His hands were folded behind his back, giving him the appearance of someone completely at ease despite the weather. The traveler, meanwhile, experienced the strange sensation of his body refusing to obey his commands. The dimness in his vision spread over his left eye, blocking out his sight entirely. His right eye continued to dwell in a murky place but still allotted him enough ability to study the man's strange, pointed ears. Enjoying the coup, his head had decided to go light as a feather and he swayed with the passing breezes. At the same time, the realization that he would not find shelter if he continued to progress sank in. The man said no civilization lay on the path he attended to so vigorously. While this could possibly be untrue, he felt inclined to believe the man's words. Something about his voice, his lack of feeling and his speech patterns told the traveler that he was not given to lying. That, combined with the idea that he must've known this man somewhere, assured him that this was the truth and that he was struggling in vain. His head, trying to flutter up with the non-existent birds, refused to attach itself to the bubbling frustration that resulted from this and he had to cling to it with his heart instead. It gave him an electrical burst of stubbornness. He would not give up; he would find a way out of here somehow.

"Well," he said, breaking their silence. "It seems like we are both lost souls in search of a warm bed and meal with little hope of finding it. I think we ought to travel together."

The man processed this and consented. "It would be logical to have a companion in an unknown area so that one has support in case a volatile incident occurs."

"Excellent," he managed, though his enunciation was terrible. His eyes had failed him completely. "But, before we go, I think I should know your name."

"I cannot tell you that," the man said, firmly.

"And why not?"

"Because," the man said, "I am currently unaware as to what it would be."

Then it struck him, as his knees buckled, and he started a descent into his own blank mind. "Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about myself."


Chapter Two (written and being edited) will be up on Monday unless I have a whizz of inspiration and write two or three new chapters. Thanks for reading.