Chapter 12: The Ghost Of Nitzanland Past
“Ghosts?” I asked, perplexed.
“Yeah, ghosts…” he said, and then added, nonchalantly, “So….. do you wanna go there?”
I looked him up and down, wondering why he looked different. He no longer held his voice in the previous somber tone, nor did he stand ceremoniously, as before. His eyes held the distinguished look of indifference and he stood, rather gently, balancing on one foot, while holding his knee out on the other leg. He seemed comfortable, unconcerned.
“I thought we couldn’t leave the city until the day was over.” I later added, rather questioningly, “By the way, where is everyone else?”
He looked up, after a long examination of his shoes, and then answered, “Well… they went off at midnight for the ceremony of stars. Your friends joined them. Then afterwards…”
I interrupted, feeling that I was missing a lot, a lot of information. “Wait, wait, wait…! Ceremony of stars? What’s that?”
“Well…” He sighed, as if in disbelief that I did not know these things, “Basically, everyone walks out into the city at dark, chooses an empty flat surface and after some collective breathings, lay flat on their backs, look at the stars and meditate on the meaning of the universe.”
“Yeah…?” I asked, now feeling a bit irritated with how coarse Carlos now was.
He answered in the same sardonic voice, “Well, basically. Right now, they ought to be watching the sunrise and singing songs about great it is to be alive and all that.”
“Is there a reason you’re not with them?” My voice rung with accusation and I immediately regretted the way it sounded.
However, he answered in the same direct way, still unable to react, “I left.”
I did not have the spirit to ask why. There were more important things to attend to. The document in my hand felt as if it were burning and besides my slightly pained face, I was still excited to know what it had to say.
“Anyway…” he finally continued, after I had not spoken in a while, “We can ride out right now… if you like… I think I would like to join you. I don’t want to stay here.”
“That’s okay. Let’s go then, which way?”
Without speaking he pointed behind me, and then began to walk in the same direction. I followed, becoming only more confused as to his behavior. “The place is closed off and heavily guarded by the riders. Escape is quite difficult, but luckily I know a secret entrance/exit, whichever you prefer.”
“How did you find it?” I suddenly felt the urge to ask.
“I don’t think I have to tell you all of this…” he motioned to his surroundings, “It really doesn’t fit with me.”
“I didn’t know that.” I told him, with a slight laugh in my voice, “Was it obvious?”
We continued to walk, out of the main palace chamber, approaching a doorway, which led us out to the open air. The cool wind stroked my face and I felt the cold air of the retreating night, which I had missed. It was early morning and I could see, to the short hills surrounding the city, slight whiffs of cloud and fog, retreating into the sky and burning up in the sun. The bright sun illuminated and danced brilliantly on the black marble trappings.
“Not obvious I guess.” He sighed again.
“So you actually do not like this city?”
He looked back at me, still walking as quickly as before, “Not the city. No, the city is remarkable and mystical.”
He breathed heavily and reached out what remained of a stone columns to our right hand side. He paused, and looked into the black, reflective surface. I could see him, examining his own reflection on the black colored ruin.
“It’s what the people make of it that bothers me. These rituals, this faith, this religion. That is what I cannot stand for.” He continued to walk as I followed.
“Since I was a young boy, I would always wander away from the singing, the chanting. I used to walk around the city and simply imagine its old glory, its ancient history. That is how I found the secret exit. Once I found it, I could leave even the city itself. There are ruins outside of these. Smaller things, older even, which I found and would go see.”
“Really? What kind of….”
Suddenly, he reached back and put his hand over my mouth, interrupting what I was going to say. He looked into my eyes, and held his finger over his mouth to tell me I should be quiet. As he released my mouth, he peered behind the corner of a black wall. I heard for the first time the soft footsteps of some other wanderer.
Carlos leaned over to me and motioned to me with two fingers to come closer. I leaned my ear in and he gently whispered, “The riders will find us. For now, we should put our conversation on hold. It is too dangerous.”
He leaned away, and then with the other hand motioned me to follow.
We swept passed, as some outlining shadows, appeared behind the wall. Carlos, bending his knees and taking every step carefully, led me across alleyways and rooms. We crossed what seemed like hundreds of walls, cracked and pristine. We entered a long hallway, crawled into a hole which had been made on its left wall, crept into a fully roofed room, with more tiled, mosaic floors, and went downstairs into the now deserted basement of some ancient inhabitant of Celephais.
At this point I began to realize that this was a path which was often taken by Carlos. He was not improvising a route, or taking me across city streets he did not know. This was a way he had taken often, if not hundreds of times. He was an expert at every crack, every sound, every guard which passed by. He stepped across the cracks with footsteps that told of childish familiarity, and almost nonchalantly dodged guards which he knew would be there.
At one point, he fully stopped walking, looked back at me, and with a motion of his hand somehow communicated the concept of “Wait a second.” He slowly aimed his eyes at a small crack in the floor of this old, abandoned basement-like room, and then, kneeling down, reached his hand down into the broken mosaic floor.
When it emerged, it nonchalantly had retrieved a small, burnt out torch, with a torn piece of cloth at the end.
Carlos took the torch, which I assumed immediately had illuminated his way of this city countless times, and lit it with a small lighter, which he had apparently been carrying in his pocket.
I simply watched him do all this, my eyes calming observing, without so much as a comment.
He took the lit torch and then quickly illuminated an area of the room which had previously been obscured by darkness. I looked into the corner, my eyes still not adjusted to the spontaneous light. I squinted a little and then saw the gaping hole which spawned out of the darkness.
Quite surprised, I looked at Carlos, and he leaned in to my ear, whispering again, in the same indifferent voice, “I’ll lead.”
He quickly crept into the small gap in the corner and I followed, careful not to slide on the slick black, marble walls. A wisp of cold air ran through my hands, as I fell into an absolutely dark tunnel. I could hear what sounded like water, running just under my shoes. The tunnel must have been only a few meters tall and even less wide.
In front, Carlos held the dazzling light, and, seeing I had joined him in this void, began to advance down the tunnel, completely unfazed by the dankness of the crevice. I followed, breathing in the strangely fresh and cold air passing through.
He looked at me, and, in an unusually loud voice in comparison to how silently we had been walking before, remarked, “I don’t even know what this tunnel is. I can’t imagine what it was used for. I was lucky to have found it.”
“You found it?” I asked.
He glanced back and forth, probably trying to talk and not hit a wall at the same time, “Yes. I don’t think anyone else alive knows this is here. It was built a long time ago. It’s a mystery why, but at least it’s useful to me.”
I tried my previous theory, “You came here often?”
“Came?” He muttered, as if asking only himself, then he looked back to me. “Still do. I think this must be the only way out which the riders don’t know about. It’s my way to escape this place. I used to wander around the city, being very careful not to get caught. Sometimes I was. But once I stumbled across this…” He raised the torch illuminating the full extent of the tunnel. “…I was never found again. So strange this would even exist. All the other tunnels, the ones used for irrigation and sewage, those they guard, but this… no way.”
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“Maybe that’s why it was built. Maybe the people who once lived here needed a reason to escape.” I proposed, rather unsure if that made any sense at all.
“I have thought of that. Makes you wonder why, no? What kind of nefarious thing people would need to leave the city for. Even worse, build an escape for, like a prison.” He seemed to be deep in thought about the matter.
There was a moment of silence but now, knowing I was free to speak again, I asked, “If you really hated all of this… you know… the rituals and the traditions of the people…. Why did you become their leader?”
“I ask myself that same question often, especially on the bad days.” He looked back, for the first time smiling, “I really was not the best at anything. Instead I was the kid who was always being brought back to the ceremonies and singing with two or three riders holding me down. I was always trying to escape, trying to get away. I was always on my own, never willing to share with the others, never willing to be part of the community, my tribe.”
His voice rung with euphoria, appealing to his old self, his old, comfy memories.
“I think that’s why. That’s why they trust me now. Loneliness disciplines you like no other habit.” He continued, “I will steal away, not to be away, I think… but instead to explore the city. I learnt this place. Every crack and every wall, it became mine, like no one else’s. I would sneak into the sacred library and…”
“The sacred library!?” I suddenly interrupted, with surprise. “Didn’t the priestess find you.”
“Hmmmm? Of course she did! At first I thought she didn’t know… later I found out she had simply watched me.”
I looked at him perplexed, as he looked back, not quite understanding how this might be confusing for me, “You mean she didn’t do anything. She allowed you to stay?”
“Yes.” he added, quite plainly, “She would point her favorite books out to me, show me around, and we would even sit and talk about anything I was curious about.”
This, for some reason, seemed quite odd to me, “For some reason I had thought the library was sacred, as in forbidden, closed off to everyone.”
“Well it kind of is,” he continued, some doubt in his voice, “The people treat it so. But I suspect if they just asked politely, she would let them see what they liked. It’s all in the asking, you see.”
“Yeah… I know,” I answered dryly.
“That’s what it’s all about. The questions.”
I don’t know why, but, without being seen, I nodded in agreement until he continued with his story.
“Anyway, I think in that time I learned something. Maybe that’s why, because I knew something not a lot of other people did. Or maybe, all that’s trash and it’s because I’m pragmatic.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.
“Well, I never was part of these ceremonies, these rituals. Maybe I can see things as they are. The people need someone who can act outside of the culture, someone practical, a chief who can act. Or maybe that’s trash too, and I just got lucky.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “It’s all just a comfort.”
“What?”
“This…” he said, once again motioning with his torch around me, “All just one big comfort.”
I thought for a moment, then added dryly, “Maybe the priestess put a good word in for you.”
There were a few seconds where there was no answer, until I heard a brief, mutter, “She doesn’t decide.”
“Really? Who decides then?” I asked.
“The people,” he remarked, his voice now inclined with his own breath, “And they know who I am.”
As soon as he had finished these words, Carlos blew out the torch and I was submerged into total darkness. I looked around startled, into the nothingness all around, calling out, “Carlos?! Carlos?! Hey, what the hell?!”
There was no answer, only the sound of some crumbling rocks, and then I felt a hand grasp my own. I looked down confused, and then I was pulled up and into a blinding light.
My eyes forced themselves shut under the intensity of the blinding light. Similarly, I felt the blast of fresh air hit my face as a frigid wind swept past. I knew now that we had reached the end of the tunnel; we were outside Celephais again.
I felt Carlos’s grasp abandon my hand, and instead the moist grass, which brushed against my flesh, as I tried to lift myself off the ground. From above I heard the calming voice motion down to me, “Here we are, freedom.”
I finally opened my eyes and saw exactly where the tunnel had led us.
I lay there on all fours, feeling the dew stained grass in my fingertips. The wind now was beating on my hair and I saw plains unfold before me. The glorious snowcapped mountain from before was now partially covered in cloud, and the great valley, riddled with the large monoliths, was swept by the heavy winds of the high mountain.
As I examined my surroundings, I picked myself up, standing beside Carlos, who also examined the horizon, even though he had probably come out to this very same scene various times.
As if predicting my thoughts, he answered, breathily, “It amazes me just as much as the first time I saw it. Like a new word for freedom.”
We had come out of a small, almost animal-looking hole, which was niftily hidden on the other side of a short ridge below the city wall. Grass lay in front of the aperture, and finding such an opening by poor luck would have been near impossible, the way it blended in.
I had only slightly managed to examine everything when Carlos, with the mere words, “Let’s go,” dashed off downwards, away from the city.
I followed, quickly moving through the statuesque white stones, standing to either side of me. Their engraved markings caught my interested eye every so often. I called out to Carlos, way in front of me, “Shouldn’t we be careful? Can’t the riders still catch us?”
I heard the very distant, morphed-by-the-wind voice answer, “No…. they’re all… inside.”
We had gone down the bank of the ridge, and had reach a small meadow, free of the large stones, where I suddenly came across a friendly horse and its smiling, curly haired rider, Carlos.
He reached out his hand without a word and I jostled myself on. As soon as I was safely on the steed, we rode off, on a gentle trot.
Carlos seemed in no hurry and I looked at the back of his head, before asking, “What places did you find outside the city? You said you found places outside the city.”
He turned back only halfway and answered, “Hmmm? O yeah..yes.. well, old altars, some elaborate system of pools, strange cave living rooms, not a single one identical to the last. And…. one old…empty….deserted, uninteresting…..bland, white….clubhouse.” He said this last bit with a slow and dejected sigh, before continuing with renewed excitement, “And tunnels!”
“Tunnels?” I asked, surprised, “Like the one we just went through?”
“O no, crazier places than that… dark, large tunnels which seem to lead into the bowels of the earth and maybe into hell itself…”
I must have disregarded this piece of dark information, instead making a vast assumption. “You like the history of this place?”
“O yes…” he answered, “Quite easily...I’m fascinated. So little we know. So many hidden secrets.”
After a few minutes of our gleeful jog among the stones, and passed on to the main cobblestone roads, Carlos suddenly added in saying, “Things are changing, you know?”
“Yeah…” I answered, the grip around the scroll in my hand tightening, knowing fully well what importance it had.
“We need to change here. A darkness is coming. War. And we need change.” He adopted a somber tone.
“More than recycled socks?”
“More change than recycled socks.” He paused, as if truly examining what he would say. “A revolution.”
“What kind of revolution?”
“We need to move the people, to change the way our society functions. All around us, our enemies are gathering. A war is coming, and we have no choice but to fight, to fight for our nation.”
I looked around at the rolling hills, and then at the black parapets we were leaving behind. My hair vibrated slightly in the frigid wind, and I shivered. It was intensely cold, a residue from last night. The cold night air lingered, with the dew of the grass. However, I was slightly comforted by the morning sun, beating behind me, the droplets on every surface dazzling.
I asked, quite slowly and calmly, “Do they not listen to you?”
“I think they prefer recycled socks,” he paused, and I could see from behind that he lifted his head to the covered mountainside in front of us, “Or maybe I’m crazy and just love war…. Who knows?”
“Who knows…” I repeated with some conviction.
We continued to gallop alongside the ancient runes and monoliths. We marched on, this time in complete silence, save for the snarling wind. And then, we finally reached the carved in trench from before. I had tried to imagine the brook and the grove from before in my head, and I discovered I could not make an image. All I remembered was a river and some sort of bridge.
Now as I looked down into the trench carved by the old brook, I could see none of these things. Below the road, where Carlos suddenly stopped our steed, was a thick wall of ominous fog and mist.
I peered into the deep, gray void and saw nothing material, only the fuzzy confusion of cloud.
The three of us, Carlos, me and the horse, stood there motionless, speechless. It was as if the very moan of spirits and ghosts were rising out of the depths. The road seemed like a portal to the underworld, to the mystic land of the dead.
I knew this was not unusual, that fog tends to appear in the early mornings, that this was common place, and completely logical. But some air and ambience to the sight chilled me, something unholy lied within.
As if in response to my thought, a slight draft blew out of the mist and thrilled me deep into my bones. I swore I could hear the whisper and call of some immortal spirit, like a whisper, which muttered, “Down here…”
Carlos, in the same trance as I was, suddenly broke the silence with a shaky, unnerved voice, “This is it..”
I simply nodded, and then gently began to dismount from the horse, my gaze never diverting from my vacuous destination. Carlos, stayed mounted and looked at me as I descended.
I asked, my voice clearly perturbed by my task, “What am I looking for?”
“A translator, I guess,” he answered, the same fear in his own voice, “You must wander into the center of the shrine. I think there are spirits there waiting.”
I looked up at him, and gave Carlos a cursory glance. Our eyes met and we both exchanged the same emotion. He understood, and I understood, what must be done.
And so, he pulled on the reins and turned the horse around. I watched him begin to walk away, and I called out, almost whispering, “What will you do?”
“What I always do. And then I will go back to lead my people.” He paused, then added slowly, by surely, “I think you will find your way back, without a problem.”
I did not wait to see him disappear from view, but instead, I turned, slowly and warily, towards the fog below. I turned so slowly, it looked like I was turning to see some monster which had snuck up behind me.
I simply stood there, completely stunned and still by the wall of fog before me. Then I took a deep breath, and, grasping the holy handout in one hand, I walked into the void of mist.
As soon as I had entered, I realized I had no sight whatsoever. I was almost completely blind within the fog. As I held out my hand forward, I realized I could only see through what I felt. So I walked forward, patiently and slowly, carefully examining the feeling of the cobblestone rode on my feet.
I bravely continued forward, straining my eyes to try and see what lay ahead. I walked slowly, nearly blinded by the fog and concentrating solely on where I stepped. I was completely astonished by the sudden screech which vibrated all around me. The sound of the sudden scream made me jump in fright and desperately glance back and forth, trying to find its origin. The short-lived sound, shocking the very depths of my bones, left me completely paralyzed by fear.
It was gone and so was, hopefully, whatever had been responsible.
For a moment, I stood, a statue consumed by fear, until I finally resolved myself that there was no turning back now. I took more steps and continued forward, quickly comforting myself that the screech had only been a bird.
I had continued for some time when my foot suddenly felt something different. I looked below and found that I could not even see my own foot in the fog; however, I knew it was the smooth stone which made the bridge that I had reached.
This thought comforted me, so I began to concentrate on trying to listen as hard as I could. I assumed that if this truly was the bridge then surely I would be able to hear the brook beneath the stones.
I stood there, my hand up to my ear, one foot on smooth stone, the other on the cobblestone. I was there, perhaps for a second, perhaps for an hour, unable to hear anything. My breath, compulsive and shaken, clouded out every other sound but slowly it calmed itself, until at the very back of my ear, I slowly began to perceive the low rumbling of the crawling water beneath.
I was relieved, and sighed, ready to continue down the way. I began to finish my step when suddenly another sound began to approach. My blood curdled and my hair stood on end, completely paralyzed by fear.
It was the sound of some gentle, melodious singing. It was distant, but approaching, the words in a language I did not understand. The cadence of the gentle smooth voice slowly approached, and I, paralyzed by fear and completely unmoving, did not know what to do. I simply stood there, my breath and heartbeat growing faster and faster.
Then, as the singing voice approached closer and closer, I felt the calm breath of air somehow graze just slightly past my neck. I felt the terrible terror just slightly touch my skin, and, still motionless in despair, I did not react. As the voice, and whatever spirit had produced the noise, came up so close behind me, it disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.
I don’t know why I didn’t run then and there. Simply run screaming like a little girl back to Carlos, who was probably laying on the grass and looking into the comfy sky, whilst spotting interesting looking clouds. It sounded so nice and comfortable if I thought enough about it.
But instead, I stood there, electricity and fright running up and down my spine. All my senses seemed to be completely shut down.
However, as I stood there, pondering what to do, I slowly calmed down and motivated myself. I knew that I needed to have this handout translated, and if anything, my quest more important than anything else.
I filled myself with courage, and then took a step forward. The fact that I was not consumed by the vast forces of evil comforted me, and I ventured to take another.
I had then taken many steps, and I assumed I had made it halfway across the smooth bridge, when I turned my head only slightly to my left, towards where I knew the grove and the spring of eve lay.
As I did though, I was surprised and skeptical to actually be able to see something. In the direct middle of my view, there was a small window, like a miniscule opening in the fog. Through the unnatural hole, I could see the water of the spring, bubbling and circling what looked like a black smooth stone, which stood flat, just in the middle of the pool. It almost looked like an altar, which I remember I had seen when I had first seen the spring.
I looked at this window of fog and at the black altar, almost believing my own mind was playing a trick on me. I blinked a few times to assure myself it was not a mirage, and then stared blankly at the strange shrine that had quite magically revealed itself to me.
I glanced back and forth, side to side, as if some force was playing tricks on me, and once I had rightly determined that I still could not see in any other direction, I decided I needed to get to this stone.
If anything, it now felt even more like nothing else existed, aside from me, and this altar. So I did something I probably would not normally do, especially considering I was terrified and my hands were shaking uncontrollably.
I put the palm of my hand on the smooth stone of the bridge I was on and, quite slowly, I pulled myself down from the stone structure, off the bridge, and into the river below.
The water was warm, beneath my feet. I looked up, after the slight fall, to make sure the altar had not yet disappeared. It was still there, its window of fog open to my view. I stared, my eyes wide in surprise, and then I began to wade forward in the ankle deep water.
It was nice and comfortable, as the warm steam of the water rose up to engulf me. I continued on, the water getting deeper and deeper as I approached what I remembered was a bowl or spring, where the stone rose out of the middle.
I walked, and then waded, then swam, through the warm water, till with an outstretched hand, I grasped the smooth surface of the altar out of the void. Compared to the air around and the water below, it was absolutely freezing. I firmly grabbed the stone, which I realized was perfectly flat, and then pulled myself out of the water with ease.
I picked myself up and then sat comfortably on the flat surface, overlooking the emptiness of the fog. I must have forgotten my fear, for as soon as I had done this, the ominous singing began again, distant at first, but coming closer.
I seemed now unfazed, if not curious by this, and simply stood up, wondering where such a song could come from. I then called out calmly, “Hello? Who’s there?”
There was no answer except for the approaching singing, and then, when it sounded like it must have been right behind me, vanished like before.
Or so I thought.
For as soon as this happened, a loud, calling female voice answered from behind, “Hey! I’m a ghost… ooooooohhoooohh!”
I turned around and saw a whitish girl, with curly brown and blond hair, flowing down like waterfalls. She was in every sense, like a ghost, having no legs, floating, and being a slight transparent hue. She was carrying an almost unbelievably wide smile, and slightly green wide eyes. She looked at me as if she was completely crazy, just like a ghost is supposed to.
I looked at her, however, as if unaffected, and then answered, “Okay…”
She did not let go of her smile, but laughed with a booming voice and then added, “Wooooohoooo! I’m a ghost. Oooooh! I’m the blanket monster!”
I did not move, but rather stared. Neither of us reacted until suddenly her expression changed to one of disappointment, and she sighed, “Why aren’t you scared? Hey, I’m a ghost… Hey, why aren’t you scared?”
I looked around me, still unable to see anything about, and answered, “I don’t know…”
She sighed again, “Yeah, okay. I think I’m having an existential crisis, I’m almost…. Depressed…” She then let out a spout of uncontrollable laughter, and did something I did not know ghosts could do… sit down.
I looked her up and down and then, quite benignly, sat down next to her, confused, and unsure what to say, “Uh..okay…so, were you the one singing?”
“Of course!” she answered, joyfully, “I love to sing.”
I looked down incredulously at the apparition, and then, my fear clearly gone, I sat next to her, smiling.
“What is your name?” I asked, now quite enthusiastically.
She turned to me and then answered, “Aina!” in a joyfully, adding a wink for effect.
She then laughed, and stood up again, asking in a suddenly serious voice, and frowning, “Okay, so what do you want?”
I stood to join her and stared in silence. My mission seemed to have completely eluded my mind. I simply stood there, dumbly, the sound of chortling water all around me.
I could only mutter, “Uhhhhh…”
She picked this up without waiting and exclaimed, “What! You forgot?”
She raised her hands as if demanding the reason for my visit, then let out another burst of laughter.
“No! No, I know… don’t worry… it’s just, eh.. I need to have you…”
She widened her eyes in expectation.
“I need you to translate some…” I finally declared in triumph, but found that just as I did, she interrupted, abruptly adding, “I really hate waiting…. Can’t you just think of it later?”
“Wait… but…huh? You ask me, so why?”
‘I’m bored…. Just tell me later if you can’t remember. Okay?” She gave me a full eyed stare.
“No, but listen, now I do rememb…”
“You know,” she interrupted again, this time turning around to look out, over the surface of water. The stone we stood on was no bigger than a meter in width, and was even hard to stand on. Outside of our little virulent island, there was literally nothing at all, only the white of fog. “I’m so tired of being here.” She concluded forcefully.
“Wait a minute, I just want to say…”
“I can’t believe how long I’ve been here.”
I decided to give up on getting anything across for now, and simply retorted, “Well, aren’t you dead? So where would you even go?”
She turned and looked at me, her mouth gaping in disbelief, “How can you say that! That’s very rude!”
“Rude?” I asked, incredulously, “Isn’t it true?”
“Yes! What? Are you stupid?”
I looked at her, my eyes probably filled with perplexed confusion, “Say whaaaat!?”
She smiled and laughed again, and I finally asked, now clearly struggling, “So, isn’t it obvious you’re dead? Why are you angry if I said so?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious you’re alive…?” she contested, full heartedly.
I looked around, now unsure how to proceed, “…yes…so?”
“Well, I don’t go around reminding you you’re alive right!?”
I blinked.
Then slowly I answered, “I don’t think that would be a problem.”
“It’s a problem, okay?”
“Okay…” and after a second or two, “So… why don’t you just leave?”
She sighed, as if in deep, remorseful pain, “I can’t. I am part of this place.”
I gave her an inquisitive eye, and then ventured, “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, you see..” she explained, “A really, really, really, really long time ago, before this place was anything really, some girl named Aina, who looked a lot like me, died here. And when she did, this sacred spring, took her spirit, and the two became one. So that’s me, I am the ghost of the girl called Aina.”
She laughed again, in the same gleeful mockery of herself, and then continued, “You see, this spring has always been some magic, and has taken the souls of all who die in her waters, all the way down the river politics. That is why we stay here, we are ghosts of the past of Nitzanland. There are all sorts of people down here,” she motioned to below her feet, “There’s a guy called, Grerg, Steven, Fransexy, Myrtle, Rainbowdash, Tanzania, Alexander! All kinds of names, and more!”
She smiled to me, almost proud.
I was perplexed, and looked down at the water, bending over to examine its warm, turbulent surface. I dipped a hand in the waters, and watched them drip out of my hand, steam rolling out in wisps of what I now imagined were human souls.
“So, how did this AINA die?” I asked, calmly.
“Who me?”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess.”
“Back then, this mountain was a different place. I can’t quite remember, but before everything was different. We were only a few. Things were strange. There was something… something about this mountain… something about a dark city…”
“Celephais?” I offered, reassuringly.
“Something evil, something that makes me shiver when I think back. I think I drowned..”
“Here?” I asked, the worry beginning to rise in my voice.
“I guess so. Oh, but that was ages ago. We were so few. Us and that elephant!” Her voice rose in sarcastic rage.
“Uh…okay…” I did not know how to proceed from now on. “Hey, listen.. I came, because I wanted something translated, you think you can help?”
“Translated?” She asked, raising her head, curiously, “What for?”
I began to reveal the ancient scroll held in my hand, “It’s this old…” But she interrupted me and with a swift hand, ripped the handout out of my grasp.
I was left there empty handed, the same expression on my face. She took the scroll and opened it, immediately beginning to examine it, “What’s this? Hmmmm…”
I looked down and watched her read, “Do you understand this language?”
“Yeah,” she answered indifferently, “I speak a lot of languages, but this is old… very old…”
Her eyes darted across the document, at first half-heartedly, but then she seemed to focus, as if whatever was written confounded her more and more. She drew closer and closer to the page, her eyes bulging with interest. “This…” she muttered, under her breath. “This..is…”
“What?” I asked, now excited that my quest was almost complete.
“This…”
“What?”
“This…”
“Yes…?”
“This is…”
“YES?!”
“This is booooooring…” She sighed in desperation and put the document on the floor.
I stood, motionless, “WHAT?!” I looked down at the piece of paper, picking it up in my own hands. I then made a small mental note, having just realized that apparently ghosts could touch things, which was news to me.
“Why is it boring?” I asked, picking up the scroll and putting it in her face again.
She looked back at it with a face of disappointment and disgust, “Well.. you see… it seems to be some sort of schedule…. This is a very old, archaic time schedule. And look! Only 40 minutes for lunch! Crazy!”
I turned the document around, incredulously, “Are you sure?”
“What’s a Baa week anyway?! Crazy, just cra… oh. Wait.”
I looked up, at her, interested in the sound of that last remark, filled with hope. She was looking down, at the backside of the handout, which I was holding up. She looked at it carefully, and then smiled, “This is more like it.’
“What?” I asked, suddenly reinvigorated.
I ripped the paper out of her sight, and saw the side I had all this time failed to see. It had more writing, and on closer examination, looked much less like a schedule. It was covered in blotches of blood, water, tears and whatever dust and grime had managed to reach it.
I handed it back to Aina, who looked at me annoyed, ripped it out of my hand, cleared her throat, and began to read:
A History Of Nitzanland
The Catastrophe:
The beginning of the Greater Nitzanland history, has as an uncontested beginning, an apocalyptic event, which is all over agreed to have left the entire world covered in water. The rise of the ocean levels, in antiquity, usually estimated to be near 4.300 years ago, was a catastrophic event of huge magnitude, which, left little to no land mass for any… “there is a spot of ketchup here, so I can’t read this one word,” … While some sources disagree that large masses of land originally were left unflooded, at some point, the larger area of Greater Nitzanland was left unsubmerged, and therefore inhabitable.
The only sources found dealing with these early stages of the subcontinent are found in the sacred library of the Ecuadorian people, who inhabit the original unflooded area, which at first included all the upper plateau of the Mt. Sanak Tama, and the surrounding valley of the ruins of Celephais.
It is a deep, unsolvable mystery as to why the inhabitable area of Nitzanland seems to revolve around this ancient city. The first sources and accounts indicate that the city existed before the catastrophe, after being the main landmark for the survivors and first inhabitants of Nitzanland. The city is considered the only remaining ruins of civilization before the catastrophe and as to why it has survived little to nothing is known.
One source of interest is the mystic spring of Eve, which is the home to various spirits and beings who can communicate with the living. Some of these spirits may predate the catastrophe, however, upon conducting surveys only one ghost was interviewed, named Aina, who was not entirely helpful.
As for the survivors of the catastrophe, many perturbing accounts can be found of some ancient being or evil inhabiting the island. This evil, which is referenced many times, was never identified; however, it was seen that the early inhabitants avoided the city and ruins carefully, making it possible that the evil being is connected somehow with the city.
The city itself has been inhaaaa….”
She stopped, abruptly, looking up from the page, and said, sarcastically, “That’s IT! End of the page… o! Wait! Yeah… yeah, theres also a very nice drawing of a map here too… BUT yeah, that’s it.”
I looked up to her bulging eyes, questioningly, “Say what?!”
“Yep,” she added, cheerfully, ‘It ends there… almost as if there is a second page.. somewhere.” She sighed, and then tossed the paper back into my hands.
“That’s it? Really?” I didn’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what I had expected, but at least I knew I wanted an answer. I looked down at the water, perplexed, and then I remembered.
“Wait! Aina?” I turned to see, Aina picking her ear, and looking indifferently over the edge of the water as well. “You spoke to Mr. Tucker?!”
“Hmmm,” she looked up, slightly, “Yeah…I guess I did. He was really boring.”
“What did he say?” I asked, raising my voice in excitement.
“Well,” she looked up, as if trying to remembering what had happened such a long time ago. Then she answered, nonchalantly, “Well, he asked me about the city, and I told him what I told you. Then we talked; he told me what he wanted to do. But I kind of fazed out and all I remember is him saying he needed more information and would go to…o… where was it? The North, somewhere… North… something…something. I don’t know!” She finally shrugged, putting an end to her strain and then sat down again on the flat altar.
It was enough. I had completed my mission. This ancient evil, this Tucker fellow had find it, and this was only the first step. I now needed to follow his footsteps. We needed to go North, I guessed.
I turned to Aina, now at peace, and told her, gently, “I need to go now. Thank you for your help.”
She turned me, “WHAT!? But I’m so lonely here!”
She wrapped her arms around my leg, and then bit down softly on my knee, mouthing the words, “No.”
I stared down and then answered in an overly whiny voice, “But I have to goooo.”
She let down, unamused, and replied, “Fine.” She stood up and began to float away, across the water.
“No, wait,” I said, reaching out, “How do I get out of here?”
“O don’t worry, the spring takes care of that.” Then she looked back and winked, with a smile, before disappearing in the fog. Her boisterous laughter slowly faded away.
I looked around doubtfully as to what would happen next. All was still and quiet as the last remnants of Aina’s voice disappeared. And then the small window of fog I had been inhabiting closed in around me. I was suddenly in a blind white haze and then a ghastly wind bellowed. I suddenly felt light as a feather, as if I was flying away from the mystical place and sole stone altar.
