22. Inner Sanctum

.

His shimmering scar could barely illuminate the damp darkness of the cavern. The stone was slick and uneven, and with every inch forward he imagined a cluster of slimy tendrils emerging from the shadows, which only made him move that much slower. The Lucid One strained his ears for any hint of danger, yet all he heard was the shuffling of his own feet, and the incessant echo of dripping water.

Eventually, he reached a dead end. The ground gave way to a metal platform, conspicuous amongst the natural stone, and he was hesitant to lay foot upon it. However, all that lay beyond were alcoves containing primitive carvings of forgotten saints and kings, so he stepped on the disc's center and felt it compress. The elevator shuddered as it descended into the earth.

At first, there was only gray stone on all sides, when it suddenly opened into pitch black. The abrupt emptiness was disorienting, and the Lucid One felt like he might tumble to his death at any moment. It did not help that he could find no chains or pulleys, nothing to keep this device from plummeting into the abyss. There was no breeze, no sense of motion, no solid point of reference for him to anchor to. There was only the endless void, and the distant pattering of rain.

Despite the circumstance, a ghost of a smile flicker over the man's face. He never realized it could rain underground.

Gradually, he became aware of another light besides his own. A pallid glimmer crept up the walls of the caverns, dancing off the wet rocks and trickling streams. He gathered the courage to peer over the edge and beheld a luminescent lake far below. Glowing algae caked its surface, coated the rocky shores, then wormed its way up the walls, as if trying to escape the vile pit that bore it. The trickling rain gathered here, falling so steadily that the cave's ceiling appeared to be dripping down with it.

The platform came to rest at a slanted walkway, which wound all the way down the basin. As he began his careful descent, the Lucid One avoided numerous caverns and branching tunnels. Not only was he fearful of getting lost in this subterranean hive, but most of the rooms were occupied, one way or another, and he'd done enough fighting to last several lifetimes.

He only completed one loop when he spotted a procession of shadowy shapes slithering up the path. They had not spotted him, but he made an easy target thanks to his luminescent mark. The sorcerer dared to sneak forward and inspect the next tunnel, but he was greeted by a root-monster slithering towards him. Stifling his panic, he fell back and retreated to a cave full of cocoons. It was brighter there due to all the glowing fungi, but ironically, he would be safer in the light.

He entered cautiously, keeping low to the ground, stepping over slimy knots and throbbing pustules. The beating passage trailed far back into the earth, twisting and turning out of sight, and the Lucid One gratefully put distance between himself and the approaching party. However, after only a dozen steps, he was stopped by another writhing shadow. The man cursed his luck as he turned back, yet the larger group had reached the entrance. He was trapped. With no time to spare, he wormed his way between two cocoons – one intact, the other burst open – and covered himself with the tattered membrane, just as a lavishly adorned Nephel slid into the chamber.

The sound of her wet undulations were an odd contrast to the faint tinkling of jewelry. Her amorphous outline drew closer, looming over him suspiciously, and he gripped his sword in preparation. She must have sensed he was there; his only chance was to silence her quickly, lest her inhuman cries draw the others' attention.

The Nephel suddenly tore a cocoon from the wall, exposing him. The Lucid One leaned in to strike, but immediately recoiled as the Nephel turned away, oblivious to his presence. It dragged the cocoon across the cavern and onto the curling walkway, paying no mind to the sac as it writhed in pitiful protest. Once her clinking bracelets had faded, the man hoisted himself out of the viscera and slipped away into the winding tunnels.

The patches of glowing mold made it easier to see, but vision brought no comfort. The entire passage was lined with translucent cocoons, pulsing veins, and seeping growths. Some of the sacs lay still and dormant, while others wobbled and stretched as their contents squirmed. One in particular had burst open, releasing a mesh of vines that snaked up the wall, until they entangled with the fossil of a ribcage embedded in the ceiling. The man turned away from the gruesome sight, only to find himself looking at a knotted root that ended in a mangled hand.

Though he tried to keep his eyes straight, it was hard to ignore the insinuating shapes entombed within the walls. A wink of light caught his eye, and he noticed human skull stuck in the stone. Pale, pink crystals lined its insides, and a spinal column stretched from its base into a cocoon a few feet away, with blue flowers blossoming between the neckbones. It was both beautiful and horrifying, yet the Lucid One saw past that. He touched the shining crystals gently, recalling the alluring effect such an object had on the angels. He cast a quick glance in either direction, then set about prying the skull loose with the tip of his blade, taking care not to break its delicate shell.

Soon enough, it fell free into his palm, and he pocketed the odd treasure. He would surely need it in this nightmarish maze.

.

.

As he crept through the cavern, an unexpected sound reached his ears – a voice echoing softly in the stillness. One of the cocoons ahead was still occupied, its captive suspended from the wall with only his pallid face exposed.

". . . it is not for us to choose, merely to follow," the bound man mumbled to himself. "We must go where the current takes us, why try to fight it? So say the sisters, the sisters know best . . ."

The familiar voice stopped him in his tracks. Without it, he would have never recognized Brother Edson. The disgraced Sentinel hung upside-down without helmet or eyes, only two milky-white globs that spilled from their sockets, as if the organs had tried to grow back but forgot when to stop. His skin was blanched, oily, and marred with thin blue veins. On his forehead lay the mark of the awakened, though its glimmer had faded.

There was no way around. The sorcerer stepped softly, making not a sound as he approached, but despite his caution, Edson ceased his murmurs and gazed about blindly. "I smell . . . warmth," he sighed. "I smell life. Please, whoever's there, say something? It's been so long since I've heard the voice of another."

Even if he could speak, he had nothing to say to the murderous cleric. The Lucid One remained still, sword heavy in hand, and weighed his options.

"I know you're there, even if I cannot see you. Do not be alarmed, brother. I may look unseemly, but I assure you I'm in no position to harm anyone."

A part of him wanted to end the wretch's life, but another part told him it was pointless. After all, he had already witnessed the knight slain – by the ghost of his victim, no less – and yet here he was, still drawing breath.

"Tell me, are you one of the pilgrims? Do you seek the Mother, as well?" He could use Edson for information, find out where the Mother is hiding. He could even torture him if needed. As he imagined breaking the man's bones, he found himself wondering if Serise had been alive when the Sentinel wrapped her arms and legs around the spokes of his wheel. The notion made him ill.

"Oh, she is a divine being, to be sure," Edson continued obliviously. "A true angel. Nos took my eyes, you see, but our Mother blessed me with new ones, eyes that gaze inward. Such fascinating sights . . . how strange I never thought to look there before. Tell me, have you looked inside yourself? Try it, close your eyes. Do you see how endless we are?"

The Lucid One did not close his eyes, and he did not look within. He sheathed his blade and left the lost soul to his mutterings, trying to ignore his ominous words.

"Each of us is but a drop in the ocean, but then, each drop itself becomes the ocean. So say the sisters, and the sisters know best. It lies within us all, that dark abyss. Its currents guides us, why try to fight it? It is not for us to choose, merely to follow . . ."

.

.

After a dizzying number of twists and turns, he finally saw an opening ahead, a dark hole amidst the luminous mold. The man approached awkwardly, trying to keep cover without actually touching the slick, throbbing veins that lined the walls. He peered around the corner to find himself further down the basin, as well as another trio of Nephel gliding down the path, their constant presence more frustrating than fearsome. Gritting his teeth, the sorcerer wedged himself behind a bulbous cocoon and prayed they passed swiftly.

As the creatures drew near, something inside the fleshy sac twitched violently, causing the whole thing to wobble. The Lucid One tensed as its contents coiled around themselves, rubbing uncomfortably against his shoulder. He wanted to retreat, yet dared not move, for the Nephel were just passing by the entrance. The last one noticed the twitching, and its sightless face turned straight towards him.

Before either could act, the cocoon burst open as a root-monster spilled across the floor, its boneless body wriggling like a mound of worms. It shrieked and flailed wildly, nearly crushing the cowering sorcerer against the walls. He dove towards the exit in desperation, straight towards the Nephel, and narrowly avoided its grasping tentacles. He continued past the other two, their sticky limbs tugging at his clothes, then sprinted like a madman into the darkness. He could hardly see where he was heading, but he hugged the basin wall and prayed the path did not end abruptly.

The walkway narrowed until he could no longer place his feet side by side. With his back to the wall, the man edged forward and tried not to look down. A cacophony of inhuman shrieks followed behind, but he was already out of the Nephels' reach, including their magic. The root monster would not pursue him across the narrow ledge, either. With baited breath, he shimmied along until the path graciously widened again, then instantly froze as something emerged from the shadows.

A lone snail-woman stared back at him, her milky eyes wide in surprise. She was cradling something in her wiry arms, a grotesque mound of flesh. As he hesitated uncertainly, she raised the squirming bundle above her head, and it let out an infantile wail.

There was a brilliant blue flash, and he was not sure what happened next.

He had the sensation of floating, then suddenly he was swimming. Without thinking, The Lucid One gasped for air but only inhaled putrid water. He was drowning. Panic set in, and he desperately swam for a ghastly glow above, until he broke through the unnatural algae with a sharp cough, spewing the wretched filth from his lungs.

As his vision cleared, he realized he had fallen into the lake, somehow surviving the long drop. A distant wailing still echoed high above, accompanied by bursts of lightning that bathed the cavern in azure brilliance. His body still seared from being struck by one of those bolts. In need of healing, he paddled painfully towards the rocky shore, feeling like every muscle had been cooked to a crisp.

Finally, his feet touched the bottom, but it was not the stony support he expected. What he stepped on was soft and squishy, and it slid out from under his weight. He tried again, but the entire bottom of the lake was lined with the spongy material, making it difficult to stand.

Then, something emerged from the algae beside him. It was another of the small, fleshy mounds. Up close, he could see the odd tumors and wriggling fronds that sprouted from its bloated body, including a gruesome semblance of a face. It floated lethargically, gurgling and moaning, and the Lucid One suddenly realized his predicament. Shoulder-deep in water, he pushed harder for the shoreline before the thing's bawling electrified the entire lake.

He struggled as his boots slipped on the pulpy floor. With each step, more flesh-mounds bobbed to the surface, some asleep, others agitated. The more he struggled, the more creatures he disturbed, and the more they cried. By the time he realized what he was stepping on, it was too late. The air filled with their sobs and crackled with deadly sparks, building to a deafening pitch.

Something heavy landed down inthe lake. The Lucid One glanced back and saw the root-monster break through the surface, dripping and glowing as it weaved towards him in serpentine motion. Terrified, he scrambled for the shoreline, desperate to feel solid ground beneath him once more. The inhuman shrieks drew closer, mixed with the wailing blobs, then a deafening brilliance drowned out all else.

He was simply too far. He would not make it.

In a desperate move, the man tore the flask from his belt and began to drink. All his pain washed away, then abruptly returned as numerous bolts struck the lake. In spite of paralyzing pain, he kept pushing forward, kept drinking, drawing ever closer to the rocks even as his body threatened to give up. He teetered perilously between life and undeath while the healing water drained fast, until at last, he laid a hand upon solid ground.

The Lucid One dragged himself ashore as the thunder died out, though the gruesome infants still gurgled in distress. The root-monster floated limply in the shallows. The sapphire flask was empty, and he half-dead, but nevertheless the man dragged himself to his feet. He had barely risen when he noticed the expanding cocoons beside him. Before he could react, several more root-monsters burst through their flimsy prisons, refusing him even a moment of rest.

With haste, he drew the crystal skull from his pouch and flung it into the lake. He flinched as the monsters neared, but they turned at the last moment and chased after the lure, trampling the smaller creatures in their desire to reach it. As the infants began to scream once more, and crackling storm clouds gathered above, the Lucid One stumbled off into the tunnels and let the terrors destroy each other.

.

.

There was a noticeable change as he traveled deeper into the heart of the island. The walls were still aglow with vines and blooming flowers, but devoid of malformed corpses, melded bodies, and pustulous growths. All that remained was a natural web that laced every inch of the passage. It dispelled the darkness and entranced the man with its disorienting pattern, making the twists and turns difficult to spot without a sharp eye. He tried to stay alert, though his focus was fleeting, and his body like a puppet on frayed threads.

It was only by luck that he managed to spot the snail-women before they saw him. He felt a wave of despair as they appeared around the bend, for even these frail creatures could slay him in his crippled state. He backed up slowly, one hand against the wall for support, until he found an unexpected opening. There was a crevasse in the side of the tunnel, so thin he did not notice it while passing. The Lucid One shimmied through the crack, caring not where it led.

The gap eventually opened into a watery grotto, which made him pause in awe. Grown into the far wall was a great white tree sprouting from a crumbling, misshapen boulder. The barren roots and branches wormed their way through the very stone, while a warped, hollow gash cleaved through the heart of its trunk. Scattered around the greatwood were statues of Nephel in various poses, all covered with lavender cloths. He had seen enough in the Inquisitors' steeple to realize these were not mere statues, but corpses of Nephel whose souls had long since departed. He stood in a mass grave, with dozens of abominations lying frozen in their final moments of anguish, all crawling towards this ivory giant as if it alone could grant them the salvation they craved for.

A ghastly thought entered his mind. Might they still yet crave for it?

Then, his eyes were drawn to a glowing lantern sprouting beneath the ivory boughs, and his fears were finally absolved. He breathed easy as he stepped towards it, his boots sloshing loudly in the stillness of the cavern.

"Ahh, and who's this now?"

He whipped around at the unexpected voice, but there was nobody else in the room. He paused warily until a slight movement caught his eye, and only then did he realize one of the statues was not entirely stone.

"Are we blessed with another visitor, and so soon?" the half-petrified Nephel rasped, its voice like a bubbling brook. She was frail and feeble, bound in place by her stony lower-half, yet also propped up by it. Even so, she towered head and shoulders above the lost sorcerer. Like the other statues, a lavender cloth was draped over her, hiding the tendrilous features that squirmed beneath. She reached out blindly with her one good arm, slick and crusted in barnacles. "Come closer, kind sir," she beckoned. "Please let me . . . let me touch you."

The Lucid One stared uneasily at the moist, rubbery hand, as well as the hunched monstrosity it was attached to. He was loathed to accept her gesture, yet she was the first of her kind to actually speak rather than kill him. He was curious to learn what she knew, so despite the uncomfortable cost, he reached out and touched her slimy skin.

"Ohoo, gracious Mother, we are blessed indeed!" the Nephel cooed. Her hand slid across his palm and up his wrist, leaving a cold, slimy trail. "Such wonderful hands are these. So slender, so graceful, yet firm and confident. The hands of an artist, perhaps?"

Unable to help himself, he withdrew his hand and wiped it on his clothes.

"Ah, a timid one, are we? 'Tis no matter. Who are you, who you used to be, that can all be washed away, leaving you clean as the day you were born. That is why you've come, is it not? To be embraced by the Mother of Rebirth?"

At this, the Lucid One nodded eagerly, then immediately wondered if and how this odd creature could even see him. Regardless, she nodded in agreement.

"Then let me be the first to welcome you into her embrace. You may call me Sister Merilla, kind sir. It is my sacred duty to usher in the forlorn of the world. All may call this place home, and all are welcome here. Through rebirth, anything is possible, even absolution. But first, did you remember your offering? An offering for the High Priestess?"

It took the Lucid One a moment to realize what she meant. His thoughts wandered back to Sister Celia, singing hymns in the woods, and Brother Edson, far from the protection of his kin. His hand wandered to one of his pouches, and returned with the Sentinel's bloodshot eye cupped in his palm. It had frozen solid at some point, and the white was now a dull gray, but he offered it regardless and hoped it would suffice.

The veiled hag snatched the eye and rolled it between her fingers. "Mm yes, very good," she muttered, then to his surprise, gently returned it to him. "Gift this to Sister Davina,nand she will bless you with the symbol of our covenant. She slumbers just behind you, as she always does."

Confused, the Lucid One gazed about the army of statues, until he realized she spoke of the tree. He turned back to the Nephel for confirmation, but she merely shooed him onward with a silent gesture, so he made his way carefully through her petrified kindred.

As he passed by the lantern, he noticed a water-logged tome resting in a puddle beside it. With great care, he lifted it, though its pages nearly fell apart at his touch. Even the cover was barely legible, leaving only a single hint of a word. Quintus. He had heard this name before. It was written on a similar book in the tombs below the basilica. Or had he heard it somewhere else? Someplace earlier? His mind was still too fragmented to recall – no, more like oversaturated, as if it had absorbed the memories of a dozen lifetimes and could barely keep them all contained.

He managed to secure the tome on his person without utterly destroying it, then approached the spirit tree with Edson's eye in hand. He absentmindedly rolled the frozen ball around in his palm as he wondered what to do with it. The gaping hole in the trunk seemed like the obvious choice, but it took the man a moment to gather his courage and place his hand in the inky darkness. It felt like being submerged in ice-water.

He went to release the eye when something grabbed him. He gasped as he was dragged in up to his shoulder, slamming bodily against the trunk. He struggled as pins and needles shot through his nerves, freezing him to the bone, and suddenly it was over. He stepped back in shock, cradling his chilled limb, and briefly saw the Sentinel's eye sinking into the shadows.

But it was not alone. There were other eyes, dozens of eyes, and fingers, and teeth, and hair, all sheltered within that small abyss.

As the grotesque image faded away, something shiny descended into his field of view. He glanced up as one of the branches drooped from the ceiling, an iridescent white seed dangling from its barren boughs, until it was right in front of his face. When he cupped it gently in one hand, he realized it was a pearl, seemingly grown straight from a lace of ivy. Both fell free of the branches without fuss, and he found himself holding a leaf-laden necklace.

After donning the gift, he returned to Sister Merilla, who clapped one fleshy hand atop the stony other. "Ah, splendid!" she gurgled in delight. "Now, for the final step. Head deeper into the sanctum. Seek out Sister Sybelle, the mistress of ceremony. She will prepare the sacred rites, and ensure that you are decent. Then, and only then, can you meet the Divine Mother."

The Lucid One nodded, still unsure if she could even see the gesture, then finally took a seat beside the lantern for some much-needed rest. It hardly took a moment for his conscience to fade.

.

.

The caverns went on forever. Now fully refreshed, the sorcerer nevertheless felt exhausted by their labyrinthine structure. His dream had been so brief, so fleeting, that he hardly even believed it happened. Still, his flasks were refilled, and he carried with him the newfound magic of Quintus' tome, so he had only his stamina to blame for his tired state.

He was practically relieved when he heard noises ahead. He crouched low as he approached, and at last, the monotony of the caves was broken by the night sky. An exit lay just ahead, along with what sounded like a choir of angels.

The Lucid One crept closer until he caught sight of the first snail-women. They were singing with their shell-covered backs to him, hands raised in supplication towards something yet unseen. Moving closer revealed even more of their brethren beside them, as well as two larger Nephel, their tendrils waving in melodious ecstasy. With each step forward, the man counted their numbers, and felt the odds turning against him. Two true Nephel and seven snail-women. A challenging fight indeed, but not impossible.

Then, he took another step, and finally beheld their idol of worship.

Standing before them was an exceptionally tall Nephel, unlike any he had yet seen. Each tendril atop her head was swept back in unison, adorned with jeweled bangles and silver rings. Her spineless back, laid bare by orchid robes, was poised with uncanny grace. She loomed over a stone table, fixated on the naked corpse that lay upon it, a blue blossom placed carefully in its open jaw. With a sudden flourish and a gout of blood, her left hand raised a hooked knife to the skies, its stained blade flashing in the aurora. Then, she shoved the corpse from the table without ceremony, sending it tumbling to the crashing waves below.

The Lucid One balked as the tall Nephel began feeding on something, its sickening sounds unmistakable. He had seen enough. With great care, he loosened the hilt of his sword against its scabbard and moved towards the congregation, preparing the first strike.

He made barely a sound, yet the priestess ceased her chewing. In dead silence she turned to face him, and his resolve crumbled beneath her veiled gaze.

In this land of horrors, what he beheld was truly anathema.

.

Appendix

Pearl Necklace – A necklace of pearls entwined in ivy, gifted to those who enter into a covenant with the Mother of Rebirth. As the eldest daughter of Samaras, Saint Davina was appointed high priestess. She was turned to stone long ago, but faithfully persists in her duties to this day.

Quintus' Composition – A waterlogged manuscript found in Saint Davina's sanctuary, authored by the enigmatic Quintus of Falmour. It contains powerful sound magic, though most of its pages have been lost to time. The old scholar attempted to transcribe the songs of the Nephel, yet even the intact pages are nonsensical, as if their madness affected even his pen.