Liminality

Chapter 1: Rites of Separation

Jolina sat on her assigned cot and pulled on her boots. They were made of a sturdy leather, if caked with mud, but she hated how constricting they felt around her ankles. At least the inside was still dry and warm. Next came her hat, the drawstring pulled up to her chin. Skin slightly glistening from bug-repellent and too much sun-screen, teeth brushed, she felt as ready as she could be.

She left the tent and gave to small smile to the professor who had elected to oversee their field study, Dr. Emerson, who was gathering tools inside of a canvas bag. He smiled and nodded in return, and gestured silently to some equipment to his right. Jo nodded and bent down the grasp the handle, while swinging her backpack on with her other hand.

As they walked to the dilapidated ruin, Jo marveled that she was there. Trees so high she couldn't see the top, massive roots erupting from the ground, the sound of the black howler monkey calling out in the distance. It had taken an entire year her first year at the University to figure out what she wanted to do, but one Anthropology class later and she was set. Every class after had felt right; easy to understand, fascinating to read about, and left her with a deep appreciation for history, cultural diversity, and a thirst for more knowledge. It didn't matter what subfield. Socio-cultural anthropology, biological anthropology, archaeology, or linguistics. It was all fascinating.

She had jumped at the summer field school opportunity in Belize. The prospect to see the past in person, to make new discoveries, to travel. The anxiety of her situation had caught up with her in the airport, and amidst boarding the crowded airplane had prompted a panic attack. She was guided through her hyperventilation by a patient fly attendant, and then left to appreciate the ground from above.

Now that she was there, the vegetation protecting her, new places to explore, Jo felt her anxiety ease as curiosity pushed her forward.

The rest of the group was already at the site, several setting up equipment, other staking up strings marking the barrier of the caved-in tunnel they were in the middle of excavating. Only a few feet at a time, each new discovery's location carefully marked. It was painstaking work, but her first archaeology class had taught her the importance of patience while doing this kind of research. To excavate was to destroy the site, so everything needed to be recorded in the case that new understandings were reached later in time.

The individuals in the group largely ignored her. That wasn't a surprise, and by now just the act of fulfilling her expectations was calming. Consistency amidst the unpleasantness.

At least they weren't bullying her. Her disposition often made her into a victim; she was very quiet and obviously unsure about herself. Anxious and neurotic. A perfectionist. Curious and bright, but alienated from her peers as she struggled to understand how to communicate with them. She just didn't seem to have a lot in common with them. She didn't drink. She enjoyed doing homework. And she felt uncomfortable with all of the touching- the little nudges, handshakes, fist-pumps, and hugs that everyone seemed to engage in almost subconsciously.

Jo felt uncomfortable around them, and they could tell. She had tried to speak on several occasions, but every time she tried, it didn't come out the way she had intended, and people were either offended or laughed at her. And a girl without friends, a girl ostracized, seemed to be the perfect girl to torment.

But here they were professionals-in-training. Or so she hoped. Unfortunately, those hopes were dashed rather quickly.

A couple hours in, Jo quietly informed one of the boys that she needed to use the restroom, when he happily told her that the location had been moved. He walked her further into the complex, and reassured her that there was a break in the hallway a-ways down and to the right. She gave him a small smile to thank him for his assistance, but felt paranoid when his grin grew larger. She looked back and saw a couple of girls watching and listening, but they did nothing to refute him, so she bounded down the ancient hallway.

She heard snickering behind her, and felt a kind of dread settle into her stomach, but she didn't want to assume. The boy had never done anything to her before, and she knew she had a tendency to pessimistically misinterpret actions. They deserved the benefit of the doubt unless she could prove otherwise.

However, as she turned to the right, she quickly saw that there was no break to the wall. It just kept going, getting darker and darker. She briefly considered heading back, but knew that if she did they would all laugh at her. Wanting the avoid the humiliation, she took a match out of her bag and lit the end of a large stick that was sitting in the middle of the hallway.

And with that little bit of light, she trudged forward.

She saw signs of previous excavations as she walked, and was torn between appreciating the history and acknowledging some forlorn feeling that rose in her about what was lost. It was then that she felt it. Or heard it. If whispers could be felt. Far away, muted, but almost melodious. She crept forward cautiously, anxious to find the source of the mutterings, if just to appease her irrational fears. She went as far as the end of a hallway before she could go no further, the stone protruding out strangely.

Jo frowned and sighed, disappointed as she tried to mentally ready herself to return, but slipped on a loose stone as she was turning. She was flung back, gravity assisting as her arms flailed behind her and her stick dropped, the small flame went out with a hish sound. Her back fell against the rocks, but her momentum pushed and she fell through the wall behind her. Her head smacked on the ground in a jarring thud, and it took several minutes for Jo to sit up. Her back felt slick, pain pulsing, and nausea forced her to even her breathing and take slow, even breaths. She opened her eyes to darkness, and had to swallow the fear that threatened to engulf her as she felt around. Her stick was missing.

Shuddering, Jo began crawling forward on the stone, avoiding debris through feel as the whispers and feeling of anticipation (or was it dread?) got louder. Her hand scrapped unpleasantly on the edge of a piece of metal, and Jo clenched her fist through the sting as she cautiously stood. Her pace was slow as she nudged the ground ahead of her with the tip of her boots, slowly trudging around a hallway. There was a door, and the whispers had become mutters. She pushed on the door, feeling the blood on her hand smear the engraving as she heaved, and fell into an atrium lit a sickly green as the door swung inwards.

Jo stood for several minutes in astonishment. There was a hole in the air in front of her, outlined in green, which crackled with energy almost as if it were emitting electricity. She frowned because of what it reminded her of- the rifts she had seen playing Dragon Age: Inquisition. It looked the same color, the same shape, but that was impossible, right? She doubted the writers of the series had excavated ruins and traveled to different worlds in order to find inspiration for the series.

She took several steps closer, curiosity propelling her forward. Her glance quickly darted around on the incredible off-chance that demons were present, feeling paranoid again, but the room was silent except for the voices emitting from the green tear of space. Another step, and then another. She tried to peer inside when a hand reached out of the space and grabbed onto the front of her shirt, pulling her through.

When she came to, Jo was fairly convinced she was dreaming. Rocks were held suspended in the air, light reflected oddly distorting the air, and she could feel strange things. The whispers had turned into emotions, wants, dreams, desires, fears, and the voices threatened to overwhelm her. She looked up and saw more green illuminating in a distorted impression of a sky. The ground was murky and indistinct. Some of the stone shimmered red, and Jo wrapped her arms around herself in terror.

She scooted back, startled, as she saw what she knew to be demons in the distance. They seemed so angry, an embodiment of the emotion, negative energy swirling as their feelings screamed. Jo started shaking.

A hand was pressed into her shoulder, and Jo whimpered softly as she turned to see what had held her. It was a woman entirely in black, but her eyes glowed with understanding.

"There is no need to be frightened."

It was not the words which Jo understood so much as it was the sentiment behind it. She forced herself to take deep breaths through the panic and anxiety, clutching her knees. "Where am I?" Jo breathed. She found if she focused on the woman next to her, the other voices were softer and less insistent.

The woman's head tilted curiously. "What an odd language. Although I understand your meaning. You are in what they call the Fade."

The last word stuck out, despite Jo's lack of ability to hear the language. She had pronounced it like fee-aid, the d receiving a majority of the emphasis, but Jo knew. The fade. So it really was like Dragon Age. How utterly terrifying. "Who are you?" It seemed the appropriate thing to say.

The woman spoke, but Jo didn't understand what she said. The woman frowned, and spoke several more sentences. Jo continued to stare blankly.

Finally, the woman's lips pursed and she let go of Jo's shoulder only to hold out her hands. Jo looked from the black outstretched fingers to her own hand in apprehension. The woman waited patiently as Jo gathered the courage to grasp the woman's hands, mentally prepared to feel the shudder of repulsion that usually followed contact. It did not come. Jo looked up in surprise, and saw the woman stare at her in concentration.

She spoke some more, but nothing happened. The woman once again frowned, before speaking some more. Jo thought she picked up the word will. Or something that sounded like will. And then tried to critically consider her situation, rather than stare blankly.

From what she remembered from the game, spirits in the Fade simply had to will things to be in order for things to happen. Anything could come into being or change merely from will alone. So what was this woman (Jo thought she might be a spirit) trying to get her to do? Jo grasped the hands, and tried to will herself the ability to understand her, but her doubts kept interceding. This was impossible. This was ridiculous. But she was already here, and she was already experiencing this, so what was to stop her? She mentally forced her doubt to subside, reaching for faith. Or hope. Instead she found desperation, but she used it all the same as she tried to will understanding.

And it seemed to work. The woman continued to speak, and slowly words were mussed apart until she understood entire sentences. "Little one, you need to think about trying to understand my language. You have to will it into being. I tried in your place, but it seems I cannot do it for you."

"It is fine," Jo stated, and the woman's eyes widened in surprise. "I apologize, who did you say you were again?"

The woman smiled. "Wisdom. This has proven to be an interesting encounter."

Wisdom? As in the spirit that Solas had attempted to save in the Exhaulted Plains? Jo frowned in worry, wondering how she could tell if this was, indeed, the spirit, and whether or not it would be appropriate to warn her.

The spirit shook her head. "Worry not what is to come. Things that are meant to happen will."

Jo frowned. No. That was not at all how she felt about the world. There was a cause and effect to everything, yes, but that did not mean certain things should be accepted. If history had taught her anything, it was the power of intervention. Surely devastation could be prevented? And was this attitude merely accepting that she, as an individual, did not have the power to interfere, or acknowledging the basis of pre-determination? Which had always made her exceedingly uncomfortable. How was she to accept life if she had to acknowledge that her choices were not really her own? And the possibility of using that to avoid any kind of accountability…

"My, such a busy mind. I am sure there is much we could discuss," the woman seemed pleased, smiling widely. Thus began one of many conversations Jo had with Wisdom about the nature and construction of the world.

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