Eyes of Mist

She couldn't remember how she had gotten back to her makeshift bed but when Ayala awoke again she was not only lying on a pile of relatively clean rags but was also covered with her blanket.
Desperately she tried to believe that her first awakening had been nothing but a bad dream but she could not even keep up that illusion for herself. The painful throbbing in her arm was just too vicious to be ignored. Or rather, the throbbing in what was left of her arm.
With an effort she turned her head to the side and was surprised to make out another shape in the dim glow of the fire's embers lying not too far away. She didn't know what to think. Had he carried her back? If so, why was he doing this, considering how open he had shown her his hatred?
Her eyes found a bowl of water standing between them and suddenly she became aware how thirsty she really was. She struggled to sit up but just as she managed the pain in her arm intensified so much she felt sick and dizzy. Resting her head against one knee she clenched her teeth to keep from crying out.
Her movement must have woken him up for just a moment later she felt a touch at her shoulder. She didn't look at him – couldn't bear to look at him – but she silently allowed him to prop her and drank when he brought the bowl to her lips.
When he also edged something she didn't recognize but hoped was edible into her mouth she obediently started chewing.
She was barely finished when she sank back and drifted off again.
Her days passed this way and soon, days became weeks. Not always was Jorcan around when she awoke but every time she found fresh water and something to eat waiting for her. On most occasions she didn't even know whether it was fruits or bread or something else entirely he gave her, but she assumed he wouldn't bring her something she couldn't stomach. After all he had allowed plenty chances to kill her or let her die to pass and so she thought it unlikely he'd try to poison her now.
The Shakaree even helped her when it was time to clean herself and change her dressings. He obviously wasn't as skilled as her when it came to that but without his help she wouldn't have been able to take care of these things at all. Yet she couldn't bring herself to say a word of thanks.
He probably closed the wound by burning it but she couldn't bare to think about it at length. Almost mechanically she cleaned the wound as well as she could, then let him help her with the new bandages.
Often she was lying awake and thought about dying and about everything she had lost. Yet every time these thoughts entered her head, she reached a point when she would admit to herself that she was actually still clinging to life. That she probably didn't even need the oath she had sworn to Jara for it. Deep inside she found something that wasn't ready to give up.
And she realized that she had already started fighting for it when she ate and drank. When she had begun training new movements that allowed her to get around the loss of her hand.
And thus it was that one morning she found the strength to speak again. She had awoken alone and sat on her mat looking down on the remains of her dress and tried adjusting the rags around her when Jorcan came in. She looked at him, met his eyes for the first time in a very long while and said without preamble: “You were right.”
For a moment the Shakaree stared at her nonplussed then he got closer and crouched on the ground next to her.
“You told me to think about what I still have,” she explained. “And that you don't want to die here.” She paused a moment, then squared her jaw and did her best to look determined. “I don't want to die either.”
The Shakaree looked thoughtfully into space for a while then his gaze wandered to her. “Maybe you could do with new clothes then,” he said dryly.
Again Ayala looked at her once light blue dress, discolored by dirt and blood. She had done her best to get rid of the lumps of mud but didn't have the means to be very thorough. She counted herself lucky that Jorcan had found so much fabric for bandages in this strange place for if she had been forced to use strips of her dress, her stump surely would have gotten infected.
The thought made her stop short. Where did he get that fabric? Everything they had found in the guard rooms in the tunnels had been old and brittle but her bandages looked like they had just been weaved.
“I should,” she finally replied. “If I knew where to find new clothing, I even most certainly would.”
Jorcan only nodded and held out his hand. “Come!”
She let him help her get to her feet and left her sickroom. She was glad that she had tried walking a bit during the last few days but she was nevertheless rather wobbly.
A moment later though they had left the building and the view that presented itself to Ayala made her forget about everything else.
Above her the cave arched into an enormous hall. Domes carved out of stone stood on end, illuminated by the blue light of many translucent stones that lit up all around. The house they had just stepped out of grew like natural out of the massive walls. Next to it stood building over building, one more wonderful and breathtaking than the last. The bright stone shimmered in the strange light that made the filigrees of the archways and carvings seem almost transparent. The houses were spread over the floor of the gigantic cave and covered the walls. They were intertwined with winding roads that held the artwork together like threads.
“Finished marveling?”
She glanced at Jorcan but he was already on his way to the town's center. There stood a massive building, one side dome shaped but the other side elongated like a finger pointing along the main road that evened out until it was the level of the ground. Ayala arched her neck to look up when the two approached the dome's huge portal. The twin doors loomed over 30 feet high and were covered over and over with stone carvings. When they were close to them both doors glowed bright blue and Ayala realized that the whole portal was made of the same stone that had lit their way here.
“What is that?” she asked breathlessly.
Jorcan didn't turn back to her. “Some kind of community hall. You will see more when we are inside,” he replied curtly.
The twin doors swung open without a sound and closed once they were through. In front of them lay a circular hall, with stairways leading down to the deep set center.
Ayala gasped. Everywhere, on the stairs and benches, standing on the sloping ground and on the stage like circle in the middle of the room below them, there were hunched figures, clad in rags, covered in dead grey. Some were lying on the floor; others clung to their neighbors or hid their faces in their hands or arms. Small figures among them embraced others or seemed to crawl up the stairs in an attempt to escape. But over it all lay the silence of death.

Jorcan reached for Ayala's left hand and pulled her forward. “Come on. They are long dead now, by the looks of it. You can't help them anyway.”
A balustrade rimmed the hall to their right in a half circle and led them to another magnificent door. Carved into it was something Ayala thought to be a horse but never had she seen such an expression of awareness on one of the animals that roamed the estate where she grew up. Then Jorcan stepped towards the door and the stone on the horse's forehead glowed white. Not a stone, it was, rather, a horn, Ayala realized. Then the door swung outward and the animal's image gave way to a descending hallway with shimmering white walls. Farther down the way, in contrast to the brightness of the walls, she could see dark pathways.
Ayala followed Jorcan and step by step the world changed. The glowing walls were decorated with familiar designs, tender and barely visible at first but as she made her way down, the outlines of trees became stronger, gained depth. Then finally Ayala stood on a path framed by white trees that stood so tightly together that she could not pass through them.
Further down she saw the way branch out, but the main pathway went straight on till it ended in front of a gate, formed by a curtain of artistically woven branches, framed by two mighty trees. Jorcan had disappeared into one of the sideways.
Amazed Ayala wandered through the silver forest that guided her on defined ways. Next to the pathway she saw shrubs bearing some of the fruits Jorcan had brought her. Some of the silver trees were laden with food as well and below them she spotted a trickle of clear water.
“Are you dreaming?”
Ayala had to look twice to spot Jorcan's gray outfit amidst the trees. “Do you get our food from here?”
“Yes,” he replied simply. “I thought we were here because you needed new clothes.”
“I'm sorry. I must have lost sight of you.”
Jorcan turned wordlessly and led Ayala back to the main path and from there to one of the sideways near the entry. Here the walls were still solid, but there were many alcoves to be found. Jorcan opened one and pulled out a pale green garment, it's design different to the dresses she was familiar with.
Her mouth hanging open she came closer and touched the fabric. It didn't quite shine and yet was so much smoother than the wool or linen garments she usually wore. The fabric caressed her fingers softly when she took it and held it in front of her with her left hand.
It would fit, she thought, but then she realized it had no sleeves and her hand and head drooped.
Yet when she looked up again Jorcan had fetched something else.
“A cape?” she asked. This was something she knew noble men often wore but surely not common women.
He shrugged. “You can wear it over one shoulder,” he suggested.
Well, it was cut differently from the style Falamar used anyway, she pondered. Gingerly she accepted the cape and picked up a slim belt and green tights before starting to head back.
She stayed close behind the Shakaree when they left the hall of the dead and tried to avoid looking at them. She was silent as they made their way through the deserted city. By the time they reached the house and she sat in her sickbed, a question was burning within her.
“Why did they have to die? They had everything they needed down there.”
Jorcan tilted his head and gave her a strange look. “If you are thinking the shadow got them, think again. Believe me, your arm didn't look like they do.”
“But why did they starve in front of filled store rooms?”
The Shakaree blinked as if he was unsure what to say, then he turned around and said brusquely: “Why do you care? Do you know these people? Do they mean anything to you?”
Ayala turned away. She shivered.

It was on the next day that Ayala made her way towards the hall again. She couldn't say why but she had the feeling she had to. Like the remnants of a forgotten dream a voice echoed in her mind and wouldn't let her stay put.
Jorcan hadn't been there when she awoke but she was determined to make do on her own for a change. With an effort she managed to clean herself using a small wash basin that the Shakaree had dragged in here a few days earlier. It was made out of clay or what she guessed was something similar, since she had no way of truly knowing for certain. Still she was very conscious how her hair, while not being full of dirt and blood anymore, hung down her back in greasy strands.
She pushed that thought aside. If she only focused on the things she no longer could do, she'd just succumb to dull sadness again.
At the very least she had managed to put on her new clothing and it was surprisingly comfortable. Even the cape fit very well, floating softly around her side and concealing the freshly bandaged stump.
The city was as splendid a sight as the day before but now she felt the oppressive silence of this place weighing down on her. Keeping her head low she wandered through the streets and quickly found the main street leading to the community hall.
But when she approached the portal it wouldn't open as she had come to expect. She looked around somewhat helplessly, then she pushed against the door with all her weight and slowly it opened.
Ayala hurried through the hall and tried not to look at the remains of the assembled. When she reached the door on the other side to her horror it wouldn't budge either. She tried to push, gained a handhold and pulled with all her strength but the door refused to move even an inch. Finally she gave up and stepped back breathing heavily.
Silently the door swung inward and gave way to the path downwards.
“Here you are.”
She grabbed the wall for support and saw Jorcan approaching her. Tired, she gestured towards the open door. “Was that you?”
He glanced at her with a strange look in his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“It wouldn't open for me.”
His hand unconsciously wandered to his chest. “I do not know,” he admitted. “Something about this place is strange, even more so than its appearances. I had a weird feeling when we arrived here. It was as if part of me was coming home.” He pulled out an amulet that shimmered a pale white. “Or something I was carrying with me.”
Ayala's eyes went wide. “You mean, this comes from here?”
Jorcan shrugged and went past her down the white hallway.
The Falamar tried to keep up to him. “Where did you get it?”
His eyes made her flinch. “My father gave it to me.”
For a time both walked in silence. When they had almost reached the gate formed of trees Ayala tried again. “So maybe you know something about this place after all? Or perhaps your folk know about the dead?”
Jorcan glared at her. “At least be brave enough to say what you really mean, Falamar. You think we killed those people, don't you?” He snorted. “Do you think we are responsible for all the troubles of the world? I'd like to know what happened here, too, but the dead probably won't tell us!”
The unicorn didn't come back, a strange voice said suddenly. Both Ayala and Jorcan gave a start and looked around but there was nobody to be seen but them. The Mencun tried to open the door but on their own they did not have the strength. All of the great doors were closed. That's why they perished.
“Who are you?” Ayala asked breathlessly.
I am the memory, came the reply. The voice sounded both young and infinitely tired as if it had waited ages to speak.
“What happened to the unicorn?” Jorcan chimed in.
Long is that story and painful, answered the voice from nowhere. It begins at King Arnthio's court many generations ago...