The Great Beyond- the Vile Fate

by K M McGuire

  “This is the heart of the grove, the sacred garden,” Yael explained.

  Vec stared at the wall as the other travelers bumped against him. “As many times as I have come, I still hardly have breath to believe it’s real.”

  “I can see why,” agreed Andar.

  “Well,” Voden croaked eagerly, “are we going in?” He held his hand up to the gateway.

  “We should,” Yael nodded, snapping out of her trance. “The ceremony should be soon.”

  And with that, she stepped forward through the arch, leading the three men to follow in her wake. Voden half expected to hit a wall of heavy air as he passed under the archway or even a wave of some intangible feeling, nearly stumbling as though he had forgotten a step. And though he was not hit by his expectations, it was by no means without its weight or sensation, as though he had drawn his first drink of water from a cold spring on a hot day. Even that hardly did justice to the experience. It was something he couldn’t wrap thought around, unable to call it sweet, since it had no taste, but his mind kept telling him it had flavor. It fell into his lungs like mint to his nose, setting his palette anew.

  Out of the vines of jade, they stepped onto a stone path, as smooth and eternal as the archway they had come through. The other jade vine had a pathway of stone as well, each curving back together, lined with low hedges and thin, marble helixes sprouting out from them. It pointed down into a valley cut by a sputtering creek, marked with short, fruit-bearing trees, offering nourishment that Voden had never seen. The place was massive. Even with the amount of people fluttering through the grove, it still felt like no one was there but them. The sentients could be heard laughing and singing, as they wandered around from different structures that were scattered by the creek. One of the structures stood before them, just on the other side of the creek, and towered up to the canopy, which walled them off from whatever lay on the other side.

  They shuffled along the path, Voden watching the blue orbs in the helixes oscillating up and down the center of the spindles. The bass of the drum echoed around them, pounding through an eerie, desolate flute noise that seemed to weave into the bark of the trees. There were patches of flowers lumped in pristine groups that lined the hedges, gushing with colors and stretching up to the next stone path. The path cut the blooms off from their siblings waiting on the other side. The sounds mingled so well together, Voden had a hard time splitting the created noises from the autonomy of the temple-like grove, basking in the organic oneness that sang around them.

  The path led them under a strange structure, hanging over the merge of the bifurcating trails that ran next to the shimmering creek. The structure was made of twisted stone pillars pinched together around a ring set on top of the dome-like structure. The ring was segmented by several blue crystals shining like eyes focused on the heavens. As they walked under it, Voden peered through the ring. He could see the evening sky for the first time since arriving, as if the ring scried through the canopy and created an aperture for the celestial to watch. The stream carried its blathering in ribbons of silver, paying no mind to them as they followed the road upstream to another shrine occupied by a cluster of people roaring with comradery.

  Voden saw the splashing of peculiar cups, like honeycomb that was halfheartedly turned into spheres. It was clear the shrine was used for supplying spirits. The back of the shrine was tessellated with casks in the honeycomb wall, resting behind the heavy marble slab used as a pub table. The people were magnetized to the few Tastins behind it, zipping cups from here to there, as the merry drinkers left with laughter and smiles, weaseling their way into the most interesting conversation clump they could find.

  It was all so much for Voden to absorb, he was glad to have Yael navigate for them, unable to make his feet decide. She seemed to be leading them towards the massive structure of stone and vine he had noticed earlier, though he had to admit, for as much of his attention focused everywhere else, that megalith of green and grey was too provocative to not think of to some degree. He felt this had to be the main structure where the ceremony would take place. It was the biggest mystery, still covered by a thick wall, even as they came around to its side. They were close enough now that Voden wasn’t sure how the trees grew to cover its height. Yael led them now to a bridge splayed over the creek, which arched like a waking feline stretching across the foaming bed. Aberrant cells of light and shadow were cast like dice under the bridge. The seamless bridge looked as though it had grown torqued arbors to hold the sinuous bannister. It sparkled with a pinkish hue that rolled along the smooth edges. Voden could see an arch cut into the wall of the structure, lined with teeming salmon lights, beckoning them to come inside, and the ingress breathed an amber glow. Voden stared a moment into the dragon of grass, feeling his heart double the time of the drums. A couple giggled, passing them and crossing over the bridge. They were dressed in thin clothes that censored them enough into wondering what the shadows hid.

  “Come on,” Yael called to them, realizing how spread apart they had wandered. With a gulp, Voden looked at Andar, and they merged with the procession entering the temple of vegetation.

  Voden stepped inside the sanctuary, and a hollow bell chimed throughout the sanctum. The music stopped. The chatter fell to noiseless murmurs, and Voden looked up, expecting to see the arches of branches, but he only found the dark, velvet night and the moon slipping over the temple. They lingered a moment, awestruck by the plane of people filling the back half of the sanctum.

  “Let’s get a decent spot,” Yael whispered, grabbing Voden’s arm and cutting through the crowd. They squeezed their way through the assembly until they stood behind a massive pit of fire unfurling a fierce carpet of light. It illuminated the belly of a vast balcony, draped in vines that tickled the water of a small pool. The pool was bisected by a rivulet that cut the temple in two. On each side of the balcony were a set of stairs leading to the main platform, and there, between the two tusk-like structures, framed with the curls of effervescent ivory, sat a titanic flower, waiting to drink the light of the moon.

  “The Zemilia,” breathed Andar, enraptured by the bulb.

  Voden watched it twitch its tight petals, pulsing at the zephyr that shuffled the flames in the pit. The bud showed it was eager, holding tight to the secrets it had yet to reveal, and the closer the silvery pillar grew to it, the more aroused it became. The top of the bud, where the tips of the petals met one another, was a lustful, bloody color, dripping down the voluptuous violet bloom. Its leaves were a wreath of secrets around its base, where veins of yellow crept silently over the plant. The Zemilia suddenly jolted, the veins in the leaves and petals hummed with a dull blue light, and the bloom shook, lifting itself closer to the sky.

  Voden felt someone bump against him. “Sorry, Voden,” Yael said, as she swung her own bag off her shoulder. “Just taking my cloak off. I almost forgot I had it on.” She looked to the ground and bent over. “I think you dropped this.” She handed him a small, red cube.

  “Oh, thanks!” he muttered quickly, and snatched it rather vigorously from her.

  He looked at her bashfully, casting Andar an uneasy glance, and shoved it into his pocket before he saw it. She studied him a moment before removing her cloak. He lost his thoughts at this point, trying to solve how the cube had fallen from his bag. It was buried inside the contents, at least he thought it had been, Maybe Yael bumping him had cause it to fall out of his bag. He shook his head, pursing his lips, unsatisfied with the answer but not caring to search further.

  He paused a moment, curious as to what caused his hesitation, when he thought he heard a yawn and a thoughtful hum breathe in his ear. He looked around, only to find his friends eagerly looking at the fluttering Zemilia. Yael quickly shoved her cloak into her bag. He no longer cared to investigate the noise, distracted by Yael angelically resting her bag on her shoulder. He tried to smile at her, but his face twisted awkwardly in the attempt.

  “You like what you see, I guess.” She sniggered,
shaking her head. Voden wanted to say yes, but his tongue was caught below his jaw, bound in the skin of his throat. She wore a liquid white dress, barely holding on to her shoulder, where it tapered into a triangle whose point was held by Yael’s sternum. It was layered like fog, blurring the details of her skin shrouded beneath, but it somehow defined her figure immensely.

  “You look nice,” he finally stammered while his face flushed from his thoughts.

  “Thank you.” She smiled warmly. She paused a moment, as though thinking, then said, “It’s fun to get dressed up for things, you know? Sometimes it’s fun to wear something not impractical, just something pretty. I like it, anyway.”

  A heavy boom dispelled conversation from the air, and every eye trailed back around to gaze at the flower, squirming behind the balcony. The air filled with ceremonious chants, whose words were garbled from somewhere behind the Zemilia, echoing to the corners of the sanctuary, as the drum throbbed with the syllables of the unknown words. It grew louder, and the nuances of the moaning verses became clear to those who knew the language or words they sang. The procession came from a thin, spiderlike stairway that wrapped behind the Zemilia off somewhere behind the marbled altar, and it laced around to the platform place around the bloom. They were dressed like the priests, only they wore colors that matched the Zemilia. The top half of their gowns were embroidered red but were purple below the golden cord tied around their waists. Amid the sages was a single white-gowned individual, who stepped forward and bowed before the Zemilia, head pressing against the cold stone of the altar.

  The chanting continued until another cloaked man stepped out to the front of the balcony, standing over the pit of fire. He held his arms wide as the crowd began to roar with elation, and even from this distance, his smile read as though he stood directly in front of Voden. He wore a dark, emerald cloak, the hood still clinging to the top of his shaved head, with patterns woven in reds, purples, and gold, helixing in designs Voden could not quite read from where they were. The staff he held was like a vine, and a vermillion cube sat at the top of the rod, gleaming like a twinkling eye, as if his presence brought forth an odd spirit to the fire below.

  He lifted his staff and touched his throat, the cube spun and flared almost white.

  “Greetings!” His voice boomed across the sanctuary, echoing a peaceful tone that shivered in the leaves.

  Voden felt Yael squeeze his arm, raising her eyebrows excitedly. The crowd settled into anticipation, as the elderly priest walked closer to the edge of the balcony, still smiling at the sentients.

  “Friends of old; friends to be made in the bond of the wood. Welcome to the Apogee of Forux!”

  Again, the crowd filled space between the stars with wild cries. Their voices and hands soon fell back to silence, as the wind offered a kind hush to allow for the priest to continue. Voden felt it was the priest who called the wind. He looked at Vec, whose expression held stern thoughtfulness. Andar seemed rather indifferent to the show, but Yael was transfixed, much like everyone else. Voden turned his attention back towards the sage. The Zemilia wiggled again as an anomalous vibration warbled through his brain. He thought the sensation coincided with the Zemilia’s stirring, but the feeling disappeared before he could think on it more. He put his hand on his pocket, where the warm edges of the object seemed to comfort him.

  “Tonight,” the sage continued, “we bring our highest offering and praise. The gifts we return to our mother through her guardian, the Zemilia, are of love and honor for the blessings she shares! Through the gate to Zagala’s arms, we give ourselves to the Zemilia, in anticipation of this union’s consummation. Here, we bring our flesh…” He moved his hand to point to the person dressed in white. “…to merge with the creation that we were wrought from, to return to the sacred trees and take ownership of protecting Zagala’s creation under the guide of the Zemilia!” He turned to face the flower, towering over them all, still pulsing hungry ripples of blue along its thin veins. “We call on you, Grand Protector, to beseech us and bring Zagala’s blessings!”

  At the final reverberation of his words, the fire was nearly snuffed out, flashing the sanctuary into a sudden darkness before it shook back to its regular glow, with only the twinkling stars to leave a sound. The buzz stirred again inside Voden’s mind, scratching close to his ear. It seemed to grumble and moan something unintelligible, yet it made him squint from its sharpness. As he opened his eyes, the gigantic bulb lifted itself up, pulling up to the height of the open canopy. The noise it made was an odd, cacophonous groan, like timber bending against its will, and the red and purple petals began to disentangle, opening like a spiraled mouth. As it did so, it tilted towards the bowing sentient, and it unveiled the brilliant yellow fans that were painted inside the petals, glowering down around the individual on the altar, as though somewhere, deep inside, the flower could see.

  Many in the crowd stared, enthralled by its sublime beauty, while Voden, Vec, and Andar nearly stepped back for the same reason, unable to look away from the colossus looming over the white-dressed mound. Voden could see Andar’s mind reeling, trying to reason its existence.

  Here at last! My slumber has come to another awakening, Great Sage, and you bring, as I have become accustomed to, another of your gifts!

  A cold jolt rattled along Voden’s spine, his eyes widening no matter how hard his brows tried to keep it together. He turned to Yael, her guise, like everyone else, was still enamored.

  “What did I just hear?” he asked, puzzled.

  “The Great Sage is reciting the ritual,” she said distractedly.

  He remained quiet. He hated the sensation, though he had no proof of the voice he’d heard.

  The sage spoke up again. “Zemilia! I hear your words, and I see you are pleased this evening. I bring this offering, who was and is willing, hoping to prove worthy of merging their presence with you!”

  I see your vessel as adequate, came the voice again.

  Voden could not classify its gender. It spoke with a multidimensional sexuality, entwined in some sound that was an echo of male and female, and neither was the first to take breath. It was composed of sweetness and of vivid harshness, as honey turning to stone. The petals curled back further, as the yellow ebbed into a violent orange, sprouting from the blackened hole where the pistil should have been. The noise echoing inside Voden’s head sounded as though it trembled from somewhere far inside a void and the flower was only the vessel. It sprung up and shook its bulb, swaying like the head of a hypnotic snake.

  The voice returned. Let me examine the offering you wish to give to my sacred wood. None shall taint its roots with foul, half-hearted worship! The secrets are to be for the obedient.

  “Vessel!” the sage called, and the priests pulled the white-clothed offering to his feet. “Petition yourself to the Living Guardian. Make claim the honor you offer to your Forever Mother! What shall you say on your behalf to the one who gave peace?”

  The sentient in white stood as though a candle held against the dark night, unfettered by the beast that swayed before it. The voice of a male came booming out across the sanctuary. “To the Living Guardian, I pledge myself to you as your shield and the protector of your secrets. To the Forever Mother, I take refuge in your embrace and pray to be firmly held in her hand, that I may find gentle favor in her and in you, mighty Zemilia. To the one who gave peace: my heart shall unbuckle from my chest as an offering of my love and loyalty. By my pledge, by root and thorn, I offer myself to you, to be done with as you see fit!”

  The air was thick with the sludge of silence. The only sound the croaking creaks that came from the Zemilia as it rolled its bloom around, observing the vessel.

  “What say you, oh Great One?” the sage called, as though the petition was the pledge of the crowd.

  As Voden looked around, he couldn’t shake the feeling that anyone present would have been up on that altar if they had been asked. He looked at Yael, wondering if she would have stepped in front of the mamm
oth, when the crowd began to chant, gaining volume as their courage and emotion rose, begging for a response. Yael had joined the chant, enchanted like everyone else, except for Vec and Andar, who shook their heads with horror. Their faces became as blanched as the man’s gown. Though he could not bring himself to ask, Voden felt certain they did not see this ritual as hallowed.

  The Zemilia groaned and contorted, considering the vessel. Let me taste what is buried inside. Let me judge the expanse of your commitment.

  As the words kneaded into Voden’s mind, the Zemilia spread apart even further, like the corona of the sun birthed from the shrubs, spreading the size of the eclipse in the center. Slithering shadows squirmed within, and out came the sepia vines, writhing out of the darkness, flailing blindly in the evening air. Woody shoots radiated out, searching for something to hold, working their touch to understanding the environment surrounding the flower. Some of the tendrils were covered in thick, crooked thorns that drove themselves into the soft ground around the plant, while a few others began to crack the stone of the altar, in loud, thunderous peals that struck a vivid fear at the base of Voden’s skull.

  They grew taut, stabilizing the monstrous bulb so it could stare with a sound stature, and with a satisfied churn, it pushed out two more vines, thicker and bare of thorns. The tips of these vines were flattened like spearheads with a gaping hole that tunneled through the vine, down into the cold confines of the plant. They squelched, and scrunched, as though snorting at the air, lingering as they quietly searched. They finally swung over the head of the vessel, and with a sniff, paused a few feet above the man, and with a hungry burst of vigor, they began wrapping the vessel with their girth. The tips hovered above his head, the voids flared like eager nostrils, and with a heave, the vines lifted the man.