of vertebrates, though it did indeed have a spine: she describes the material from which it was composed as “Bone-like, but not otherwise attributable to typical collagic or cartilagic structures”.
Sister Lira was very thorough. Given her unique pairing of both academic and aetheric talent, she had by the third day ruled the specimen out of all classes within the vertebrate phylum, continuing on to disqualify it from any other classes from other phylum, and hesitantly conceded that “…to adequately continue study, a new kingdom must be created to abide the specimen’s unique features. Assume second genesis.” Following her readjustment of scope, she approached the fish much more open-mindedly, though this presented new problems, the grueling details of which I will spare the reader in place of abridged translation. Trust that Sister Lira is in every way a scientist, that she did her work objectively and without cut corners, giving her best and every attempt to prove the animal a hoax before coming to the radical conclusions that follow.
The fish did not and, in fact, could not have developed on our world. Its body cannot process any element or compound that exists on our world for fuel. Further, its body is composed of materials that remain unidentified, and the cellular structure of those materials is of a different architecture entirely. However, even in its alien architecture, there is pattern and beauty. This is a thing, she concluded, that grew, breathed in some way, ate in some way, and reproduced in some way. Like toolmarks, there are imperfections in the creature telltale of age and stress. Musculature that had been torn and had since healed—bone that had been scratched, seemingly by a close encounter with a predator. Even the most clever Aetherist could not have applied such fine detail. It is too flawed to be a hoax.
“I have concluded that …” She begins in her final letter, a letter that tells of time, wear, and exhaustion given the circular stains of wet mugs and smell of smoke in the paper itself, “in my official academic opinion, [the creature] does not exist. The only other adequate explanation is that it came from elsewhere, and I refuse to have my already meager reputation sullied with suggestions of extra-terrestrial beings. I have decided that I will send it anonymously to the University in Atheria and keep close contact with my colleagues there. Let someone of higher standing say what must be said; for if I say it, no one will listen.”
It was with trembling hands that I placed the final letter on my desk. I knew then that my true work had just begun. No one but I was qualified for the task ahead and, within the depths of my mind, I knew I would have it no other way. Like Sister Lira, I knew I could tell no one. She was right. Who would listen? I was a pioneer. I was about to begin a journey from which I might never return, and I had only a strange drifter on which to rely. So be it, I thought, with foolish certainty. Fate has chosen me to take the first step into the beyond, in which the Llogodhs stepped long ago. I would walk the same path as they did, very likely to meet the same end.
I was frightened.
But it was not the step itself that frightened me.
It was that I knew I would not hesitate to make it.
The Sleeping Mind
It is for these next pages that I have spent the previous preparing you, reader. What followed that night’s dark realization was new, morbid determination. I did not wait for morning. I placed Sister Lira’s letter on my desk and readied myself without hesitation, leaving my room in what must have been an indecent hour; no one was making their way about the Cloister’s halls save for myself.
I walked briskly to the guest room in which I knew Gabriel resided, giving little thought to the time or his nightly routines. I arrived at his door within minutes, and rapped sharply before turning the handle of the unlocked door and letting myself in.
Gabriel was sitting on the side of the bed, facing the window with his back to me, his coat and shirt removed. If he was startled, he did not show it. He just stood up, the muscles in his abdomen seeming to argue with his unnatural vigor, and turned to face me. His hair was untied, and wrapped around his neck to fall on his chest, which was as mottled and scarred as his face.
He bowed slightly, seeming to apologize for his indecency, and said that if I would prefer, a few minutes’ time would allow him to clothe.
But I had already closed the distance.
I do not know what came over me, dear reader, but do not think that I am ashamed. Coming to terms with Sister Lira’s conclusion and Gabriel’s sudden credibility briefly denied any rational thought. I felt, suddenly, that Gabriel and I belonged together, and acted according to my hormonal drive’s interpretation of that. He did not protest, and I admit the intimate time that we shared was the most pleasant that I have ever experienced.
I felt that he was the result of my life’s work. The answer to the great question that I had never asked. I felt that everything that I had studied (seemingly pointlessly) now had purpose. That I had purpose. I felt that I belonged, and that I belonged with him.
I was wrong.
Gabriel is many things, but he is not human. At the very least, he is not akin to my world, nor my people. I saw into him that night, and what I saw was both intoxicating and terrifying. I saw his mind, both sleeping and waking. I saw depravity, and I saw civility; chaos and order—evil and good.
It was only afterwards that I spoke to him. I asked him what he knew.
He said that he knew everything that I didn’t, and he meant it. He followed the question, asking what I wanted to know.
We started at the beginning, and spent the hours left until morning in deep discussion. Then, we spent most of the day that followed in experimentation.
I learned that he possessed intimate knowledge of the mind, and of the Llogodhs, but had no way of knowing. In a sense, he had context while all I possessed was literal meaning and interpretation.
He told me that the “key” was to open my mind, thereby melding the “Sleeping” and “Waking” thoughts that are so often separate.
I have mentioned before that the Llogodhs indulged both the Sleeping and Waking minds, and it was because of this that their civilization was unstable. I have, in regards to the events thus transpired, begun to question that paradigm.
What stood before me that night was a perfectly rational and respectable man. A reasonable and gentle person who acted in both of our best interests and never laid an unwelcome hand upon me.
With that in mind, for Gabriel to see clearly, he must, he told me, understand and cherish both perspectives—allowing both of them free reign over his conscious thoughts. He told me that the first thought that crossed his mind upon seeing me fishing in lake Malkia that afternoon was of violence. He told me that his Sleeping Mind found me attractive in a horrid, carnal way, and wished to sodomize me before drowning me in the lake. He indulged the thought, and allowed the Sleeping Mind to enjoy it for a short time. Specifically, he said: “By the time my hand had lowered from my waving to you, I had quenched the thought. That was all the time it needed.”
If I am to see as he does, I thought, I must free my mind similarly.
Our experimentation, then, follows as such.
We sat before each other on the clean wooden floor of the guest chamber, a small candle between us. I watched the flame dance for some time, and attempted to wipe the slate of my mind clean. Gabriel was very patient, believing in my ability to learn my own footing.
I tried to look at him differently. I fingered uneasily around my mind, fumbling for the key to open this gate of depravity. His skin was mottled. Parched. Pale and corpselike. His skull had strange curvature, angling sharply down to his jaw. His tendrils of black hair were unwashed, and smelled of body oils and sweat.
He was unclean.
I began to hate him for it. I focused on this negativity, channeling it into creative energy. What could I do to him? Burning would clean him. The scent of melted flesh, the coarse, acrid stench of singed hair. No, that would be worse.
I could flay him. Remove the disgusting skin from his body, leaving only the metallic scent of bloo
d and the warm twitches of muscles.
I began to feel sick. It must have shown.
He told me that I was making progress, but that I was still rejecting myself. He was right. I found no pleasure in this gruesome fantasy, and I told him as much. He was patient, as always, and told me to speak aloud. He told me that it helps cement the ideas.
So, I spoke. I told him of his disgusting skin and oiled hair. I told him that I would burn him alive if it would not worsen his stench. I told him that I could flay him, instead, but that I was weak to the sight of blood. So, I would drown him.
He pressed me, nodding slowly in encouragement.
Again, the sickness. I focused. Discomfort.
I inhaled to speak again, but he interrupted me, with a raised hand.
“What do you desire, Miss Daldien?”
He took me off-guard. It was a simple enough question. My eyes narrowed as I searched for the correct interpretation. He gazed blankly back.
I thought. Desire? I do not desire. Do I? I thought of my station, and of my cloister. Of my life. Desire. It was a word often associated with carnal pleasure, and while I found amusement in such activities, I would hardly say that I desired them.
“Above all…Knowledge.”
It was true. It was as best an answer as I could muster. I desired knowledge. Why else would I pursue this fringe study? Why else would I be here