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quechianMay and Thymelixsen stayed at the temple of the Mother, while the rest of us, including 1827, went back to the public track and on to the place of the timekeepers, which turned out to be rather icy and crystalline. There was a narrow path leading into hazy mist, through icy parts, to a dark opening that looked like a crack in the ice. There weren't people coming and going, unlike the place of the Mother. Jack asked 1827 if it was ok to go in, and was told yes, but he didn't belong there. 1827 continued, saying that the trick of time affects us all, but we are not all of it. If it hurt, don't go in.
We stepped onto the path, and a slender cone of a figure came out of the mist, looking rather like a tall column of fog. Off the path was unappealing, looking black and decayed. Jack said hi, but got no response. Cor said hello, and a chill like the glacier spirit asked what our need was here. Cor said that our needs were many, including prayer, and learning more about the trick. It said that we knew of it. When Cor asked if he could enter, it disappeared.
We went forward to the entrance. We started in, but when Jack got to the entrance, he felt very cold. He told me that he shouldn't go in there, showing me how cold it had made him. Being Jack, he stepped in anyway, and was hurt. He jumped out immediately, and there were frost patterns on him, and steamy vapoers coming off him. Cor and I bandaged him up, thinking about how odd it is that Jack is seen as opposed to this place, while I am not.
Cor and I went in, and were in a corridor of ice that reflected. There were many odd layers and facets, showing me ghostly reflections of myself in the ice, but each reflection was slightly different. I assumed that each was a me from a different root. Some kept moving when we stopped. The closer ones looked familiar, while the farther ones looked armed, with swords, as if warriors, in both directions. The closest ones to me seemed to be closest to me in time or in root. Interestingly, I could see all these mes, but no reflections at all of Cor, while he said he saw many hims, but no reflected mes.
Some reflections had gone on when we stopped to talk. Would I meet them inside? There was only one way to find out.
We passed under a metal arch in the ice, and beyond there was a ghostly blue glow above. We continued down the corridor of metal arches in the ice, and, oddly, it felt homey.
There was a doorway up ahead, which was closed and covered with iron knobs and such. It opened as we approached, into pitch darkness. I heard eachoes of footfalls coming closer. We walked in, and the darkness was thick. I couldn't see anything after a few steps, so I stopped, realizing that not only could I not see anything, I couldn't hear anything either, not even my own voice, nor the sound of my staff when I tried using it as a blind person's cane. I reached out to hold Cor's hand, wanting to know where he was, and stick with him. The place felt defended, like a fortress, and once we held hands, we started forward again, sliding our feet ahead slowly to find any obstacles.
Since I couldn't even hear my own voice, I assumed Cor couldn't either, and tried thinking at him instead, saying that I was here, but couldn't hear sounds. He replied, and 1827 said that we didn't need to hold hands to talk in thought. I said it was for reassurance, not communication.
Cor thought outward, asking if anyone were here, and the reply was that many were here. He thought about the room, and part of it lightened as a crystal radiated, though it shone less than I'd have expected, dut to the extra-thick darkness. It seemed to be an ice flower. I reached out, and never quite managed to touch it, getting ever closer but never there.
Was there anyone here who was not us? It wasn't clear. I am all here, all together.
I heard sounds that all sound like Cor, all around the room, so it was likely that all of me was here too.
Cor suggested praying, and I agreed. I prayed to the Defender, sending thanks for getting us to Wanderhold intact, and asking for help to find the edge while defending us from wrong choices.
There was a rush of presence, and I died. And died. And died. And died. And died. Over and over and over and over again. In all ways I can remember, though the deaths were not all my body. I kept dying and dying and dying, and dying, and then I was floating above a lake of all deaths (the surface of which looked like oil, somehow). And I wasn't me, nor Cor, but the one floating above the lake of all deaths, which was All, all together at once, in the dark. "I see," I thought to myself that is the All.
The Cor part thought of the trick, and of pieces of the All breaking off and becomingindividuals, and the response was thoughts of circus magic tricks and slight of hand tricks.
The Quechian part thought about the roots, and got a sense of a tree growing out of a graveyard, drawing life from the buried bodies, drawing enough nourishment to send out fruit.
The Quechian part thought about whether the All had an edge, and got an image of the cleanness of totality, and a skin on the totality, which was somehow a flame shape. Outside the skin, there was a prickly tingliness, like night air, but nothing distinctive outside.
The Cor part thought more about sleight of hand, and ways to fool, how to understand by looking inside. The response was about changes from something great but not comprehensible to something understandable, but less great. Like a great clockwork, perfect, ticking, and a tiny washer spun off its stalk, and fell into the works, and in a chain reaction, that whole section started to seize and freeze.
The Quechian part thought about the bionlear, and got an image of the All walking beside the bionlear over grassy ground. It was a starry night above, and the bionlear was talking about something unclear, trying to guide the All, to help the All. But still, the All did not understand. The bionlear spoke in the old way that he speaks, which is hard to understand.
The Cor part thought about the broken machine, and the crack in the boulder, where the crack might be in the All, where the roots come out. The All was award that that, itself, was the secret. Best not to think about the secret.
The Cor part thought about the end of the All, and saw that everything ends; that is the requirement.
The Quechian part thought about the ones who join, and the ones who don't join. For instance, there's the Jack hole. Some Jacks join, and some don't. There was a windy place, rainbow dust swirling, arms outstreatched. Jack was a Sunk, then an Ovahan, then almost human, and he's all of him, greater together, whole, yet weeping. Each time, he's offered the choice to become All, to go forward.
The Cor part thought about Thymelixsen in the same way, and we saw Thymelixsen and Murr together. Thymelixsen was lying as if dead, while Murr touched his head, sad because he'd failed this time, because he didn't make it many times.
The Cor part thought about the times that Thymelixsen did make it, and it was he, himself, finding equilibrium, a painful pulling back, and no Murr. Somehow he was also joyful and gleeful and many other emotions as well.
The Cor part thought of himself, and many of him fell. Som eof the rest of us were there trying to help him not fall, or him helping us not to fall. He was falling from the weight of his body and threads. Some were dead, some were standing pulling back. Cor focused on those who were pulling back, and they were different, all of them. And that's the essential quality, the differentness. While the ones below were not.
The Quechian part thought of Quechian at that point. And there was a time when me and my brother were there togherer, with armies. The brother was like Cor, or perhaps my twin. The troops' lieutenants kept coming up to us, and we sent them to do different things, especially to hide and be quiet. Some of the tasks given to the lieutenants were odd, such as being the color yellow, or being sunlight at dawn, or being the place by the brook.
And then I felt Cor was separate from me, and it was over. We were outside, and Jack asked if we were going to go in. I said that we'd been in there forever.
Given how the public tracks work, we all continued out to the place of the Hidden Lord (since that was what we'd paid for), with the thought that 1827 would stay with Jack, while Cor and I would return to the inn and figure out more of what had just happened.
We stepped onto the path, and a slender cone of a figure came out of the mist, looking rather like a tall column of fog. Off the path was unappealing, looking black and decayed. Jack said hi, but got no response. Cor said hello, and a chill like the glacier spirit asked what our need was here. Cor said that our needs were many, including prayer, and learning more about the trick. It said that we knew of it. When Cor asked if he could enter, it disappeared.
We went forward to the entrance. We started in, but when Jack got to the entrance, he felt very cold. He told me that he shouldn't go in there, showing me how cold it had made him. Being Jack, he stepped in anyway, and was hurt. He jumped out immediately, and there were frost patterns on him, and steamy vapoers coming off him. Cor and I bandaged him up, thinking about how odd it is that Jack is seen as opposed to this place, while I am not.
Cor and I went in, and were in a corridor of ice that reflected. There were many odd layers and facets, showing me ghostly reflections of myself in the ice, but each reflection was slightly different. I assumed that each was a me from a different root. Some kept moving when we stopped. The closer ones looked familiar, while the farther ones looked armed, with swords, as if warriors, in both directions. The closest ones to me seemed to be closest to me in time or in root. Interestingly, I could see all these mes, but no reflections at all of Cor, while he said he saw many hims, but no reflected mes.
Some reflections had gone on when we stopped to talk. Would I meet them inside? There was only one way to find out.
We passed under a metal arch in the ice, and beyond there was a ghostly blue glow above. We continued down the corridor of metal arches in the ice, and, oddly, it felt homey.
There was a doorway up ahead, which was closed and covered with iron knobs and such. It opened as we approached, into pitch darkness. I heard eachoes of footfalls coming closer. We walked in, and the darkness was thick. I couldn't see anything after a few steps, so I stopped, realizing that not only could I not see anything, I couldn't hear anything either, not even my own voice, nor the sound of my staff when I tried using it as a blind person's cane. I reached out to hold Cor's hand, wanting to know where he was, and stick with him. The place felt defended, like a fortress, and once we held hands, we started forward again, sliding our feet ahead slowly to find any obstacles.
Since I couldn't even hear my own voice, I assumed Cor couldn't either, and tried thinking at him instead, saying that I was here, but couldn't hear sounds. He replied, and 1827 said that we didn't need to hold hands to talk in thought. I said it was for reassurance, not communication.
Cor thought outward, asking if anyone were here, and the reply was that many were here. He thought about the room, and part of it lightened as a crystal radiated, though it shone less than I'd have expected, dut to the extra-thick darkness. It seemed to be an ice flower. I reached out, and never quite managed to touch it, getting ever closer but never there.
Was there anyone here who was not us? It wasn't clear. I am all here, all together.
I heard sounds that all sound like Cor, all around the room, so it was likely that all of me was here too.
Cor suggested praying, and I agreed. I prayed to the Defender, sending thanks for getting us to Wanderhold intact, and asking for help to find the edge while defending us from wrong choices.
There was a rush of presence, and I died. And died. And died. And died. And died. Over and over and over and over again. In all ways I can remember, though the deaths were not all my body. I kept dying and dying and dying, and dying, and then I was floating above a lake of all deaths (the surface of which looked like oil, somehow). And I wasn't me, nor Cor, but the one floating above the lake of all deaths, which was All, all together at once, in the dark. "I see," I thought to myself that is the All.
The Cor part thought of the trick, and of pieces of the All breaking off and becomingindividuals, and the response was thoughts of circus magic tricks and slight of hand tricks.
The Quechian part thought about the roots, and got a sense of a tree growing out of a graveyard, drawing life from the buried bodies, drawing enough nourishment to send out fruit.
The Quechian part thought about whether the All had an edge, and got an image of the cleanness of totality, and a skin on the totality, which was somehow a flame shape. Outside the skin, there was a prickly tingliness, like night air, but nothing distinctive outside.
The Cor part thought more about sleight of hand, and ways to fool, how to understand by looking inside. The response was about changes from something great but not comprehensible to something understandable, but less great. Like a great clockwork, perfect, ticking, and a tiny washer spun off its stalk, and fell into the works, and in a chain reaction, that whole section started to seize and freeze.
The Quechian part thought about the bionlear, and got an image of the All walking beside the bionlear over grassy ground. It was a starry night above, and the bionlear was talking about something unclear, trying to guide the All, to help the All. But still, the All did not understand. The bionlear spoke in the old way that he speaks, which is hard to understand.
The Cor part thought about the broken machine, and the crack in the boulder, where the crack might be in the All, where the roots come out. The All was award that that, itself, was the secret. Best not to think about the secret.
The Cor part thought about the end of the All, and saw that everything ends; that is the requirement.
The Quechian part thought about the ones who join, and the ones who don't join. For instance, there's the Jack hole. Some Jacks join, and some don't. There was a windy place, rainbow dust swirling, arms outstreatched. Jack was a Sunk, then an Ovahan, then almost human, and he's all of him, greater together, whole, yet weeping. Each time, he's offered the choice to become All, to go forward.
The Cor part thought about Thymelixsen in the same way, and we saw Thymelixsen and Murr together. Thymelixsen was lying as if dead, while Murr touched his head, sad because he'd failed this time, because he didn't make it many times.
The Cor part thought about the times that Thymelixsen did make it, and it was he, himself, finding equilibrium, a painful pulling back, and no Murr. Somehow he was also joyful and gleeful and many other emotions as well.
The Cor part thought of himself, and many of him fell. Som eof the rest of us were there trying to help him not fall, or him helping us not to fall. He was falling from the weight of his body and threads. Some were dead, some were standing pulling back. Cor focused on those who were pulling back, and they were different, all of them. And that's the essential quality, the differentness. While the ones below were not.
The Quechian part thought of Quechian at that point. And there was a time when me and my brother were there togherer, with armies. The brother was like Cor, or perhaps my twin. The troops' lieutenants kept coming up to us, and we sent them to do different things, especially to hide and be quiet. Some of the tasks given to the lieutenants were odd, such as being the color yellow, or being sunlight at dawn, or being the place by the brook.
And then I felt Cor was separate from me, and it was over. We were outside, and Jack asked if we were going to go in. I said that we'd been in there forever.
Given how the public tracks work, we all continued out to the place of the Hidden Lord (since that was what we'd paid for), with the thought that 1827 would stay with Jack, while Cor and I would return to the inn and figure out more of what had just happened.
