Beyond the Veil of Drowning

“There was a god here, once.” Adysl recited, feeling out across the wallstones of the crumbling and emptied temple, the last of Myarsa, “I know this to be true.”

“You have such faith, conservator.” Kadius basked in an awe that radiated disquietingly towards his precious charge. His axe was still heavy in hand from their escortment across the swamp. He had brandished it at the penitents that usually flooded the temple, picking away at its intruding roots, and had not seemed to have had compunctions about using it if they had disobeyed his command to leave.

“I only hope that I will live up to that faith that we share.” Adysl gave a tense smile as he knelt and hung his head in preparation. His prayers began in consecuted ease, a practiced measure of reaching past his heart with his mind and out into the world. He felt the weight of the stones, weathering of feet long past along the floor. He felt others, worshiping ancestors, of a caliber so different from any that were alive now. He felt what it was like for the temple to have been whole.

It was a space of half memory, those that built it present only in echoes. To the solid space where they had been, a murky depth flowed in from without. Muddy water blotted out the faces forming at the back of Adysl’s thoughts, and each time their prayers would mirror his own to clarify into the name of the god that was their salvation there was instead only a choked gurgling.

Before Adysl knew what was happening, he knew that these people were drowned and their deity with them, and in that moment he himself was retching up swampwater. The heaves were deeply rooted in his body, acutely shattering him back into himself.

Kadius was at his side in an instant, hammering his back to get him to cough the stuff out. The positions they took placed his axe to hang over the nape of Adysl’s neck, and he could not help but look up at it’s hallowed iron edge with a subconscious moment of fear.

“Blast,” he spat, the last of the fetid liquid dribbling down his chin, “I saw them, I almost had it’s name.”

“You saw the Myarsans?” The concern Kadius showed suddenly broke way for a returned reverence and a strange sense of relief. He moved the axe away from the now-proven priest, as though it’s placement had not been intentional, as he helped him back up to stand at a full height. “The high abbots will rejoice, this is a breakthrough!”

“Aye. A breakthrough, certainly.” Adysl assented, doing his best to keep looking pleased with himself despite the newfound knowledge that that name and all the salvation it would bring was just out of his sight, beyond the veil of drowning.

“There was a god here, once.” Adysl recited, feeling out across the wallstones of the crumbling and emptied temple, the last of Myarsa, “I know this to be true.”

“You have such faith, conservator.” Kadius basked in an awe that radiated disquietingly towards his precious charge. His axe was still heavy in hand from their escortment across the swamp. He had brandished it at the penitents that usually flooded the temple, picking away at its intruding roots, and had not seemed to have had compunctions about using it if they had disobeyed his command to leave.

“I only hope that I will live up to that faith that we share.” Adysl gave a tense smile as he knelt and hung his head in preparation. His prayers began in consecuted ease, a practiced measure of reaching past his heart with his mind and out into the world. He felt the weight of the stones, weathering of feet long past along the floor. He felt others, worshiping ancestors, of a caliber so different from any that were alive now. He felt what it was like for the temple to have been whole.

It was a space of half memory, those that built it present only in echoes. To the solid space where they had been, a murky depth flowed in from without. Muddy water blotted out the faces forming at the back of Adysl’s thoughts, and each time their prayers would mirror his own to clarify into the name of the god that was their salvation there was instead only a choked gurgling.

Before Adysl knew what was happening, he knew that these people were drowned and their deity with them, and in that moment he himself was retching up swampwater. The heaves were deeply rooted in his body, acutely shattering him back into himself.

Kadius was at his side in an instant, hammering his back to get him to cough the stuff out. The positions they took placed his axe to hang over the nape of Adysl’s neck, and he could not help but look up at it’s hallowed iron edge with a subconscious moment of fear.

“Blast,” he spat, the last of the fetid liquid dribbling down his chin, “I saw them, I almost had it’s name.”

“You saw the Myarsans?” The concern Kadius showed suddenly broke way for a returned reverence and a strange sense of relief. He moved the axe away from the now-proven priest, as though it’s placement had not been intentional, as he helped him back up to stand at a full height. “The high abbots will rejoice, this is a breakthrough!”

“Aye. A breakthrough, certainly.” Adysl assented, doing his best to keep looking pleased with himself despite the newfound knowledge that that name and all the salvation it would bring was just out of his sight, beyond the veil of drowning.

“There was a god here, once.” Adysl recited, feeling out across the wallstones of the crumbling and emptied temple, the last of Myarsa, “I know this to be true.”

“You have such faith, conservator.” Kadius basked in an awe that radiated disquietingly towards his precious charge. His axe was still heavy in hand from their escortment across the swamp. He had brandished it at the penitents that usually flooded the temple, picking away at its intruding roots, and had not seemed to have had compunctions about using it if they had disobeyed his command to leave.

“I only hope that I will live up to that faith that we share.” Adysl gave a tense smile as he knelt and hung his head in preparation. His prayers began in consecuted ease, a practiced measure of reaching past his heart with his mind and out into the world. He felt the weight of the stones, weathering of feet long past along the floor. He felt others, worshiping ancestors, of a caliber so different from any that were alive now. He felt what it was like for the temple to have been whole.

It was a space of half memory, those that built it present only in echoes. To the solid space where they had been, a murky depth flowed in from without. Muddy water blotted out the faces forming at the back of Adysl’s thoughts, and each time their prayers would mirror his own to clarify into the name of the god that was their salvation there was instead only a choked gurgling.

Before Adysl knew what was happening, he knew that these people were drowned and their deity with them, and in that moment he himself was retching up swampwater. The heaves were deeply rooted in his body, acutely shattering him back into himself.

Kadius was at his side in an instant, hammering his back to get him to cough the stuff out. The positions they took placed his axe to hang over the nape of Adysl’s neck, and he could not help but look up at it’s hallowed iron edge with a subconscious moment of fear.

“Blast,” he spat, the last of the fetid liquid dribbling down his chin, “I saw them, I almost had it’s name.”

“You saw the Myarsans?” The concern Kadius showed suddenly broke way for a returned reverence and a strange sense of relief. He moved the axe away from the now-proven priest, as though it’s placement had not been intentional, as he helped him back up to stand at a full height. “The high abbots will rejoice, this is a breakthrough!”

“Aye. A breakthrough, certainly.” Adysl assented, doing his best to keep looking pleased with himself despite the newfound knowledge that that name and all the salvation it would bring was just out of his sight, beyond the veil of drowning.