Sephirot, p.2
Sephirot, page 2
He walked steadily downhill toward the light, which soon revealed itself as coming from another stone archway. He looked down at his own body, now just visible. The red light glimmered garnet on the bloodstains on his legs and across one side. Without any conscious will, he ran, his bare feet thumping on the packed earth of the floor, only slowing as he came, squinting, into the full firelight shining through the opening.
He hesitated for a moment on the threshold, and then stepped through the arch.
The room was stone-walled, as all of them had been, but this one had a ceiling so high it was out of sight. There were no windows. In the center of it, and taking up most of the room, sat a huge statue of a Sphinx, its face angled away from him. The thing was enormous. The top of its head was barely visible in the gloom. Its hind legs, smooth-carved and rippling with muscle, towered over him. The massive paws alone, resting on the ground directly in front of him, reached nearly to his waist.
Walking silently, he made his way around to the front of the Sphinx. Directly between its forepaws was a huge bronze brazier, in which a fire burned steadily. But more importantly, beneath the brazier was a stone basin with a pool of dark, still water, reflecting the light from a surface like a mirror.
His thirst surged tenfold. He said, in a thick croak, “Water. Thank god.”
Immediately there was the same grating noise he’d heard before. And the Sphinx’s head moved, angling downward. Rock dust came down in a trickling stream from the sides of the neck. His thirst forgotten for the moment, he looked up into the statue’s immense face.
And then the Sphinx’s eyes opened.
The eyes were glossy, liquid, alive. The irises were green flecked with gold, the pupils an inky black, the whites as smooth and unblemished as polished alabaster. It regarded him with a gaze that was curious, intelligent. Duncan froze, body and mind, in such a balls-clenching panic that he was unable to utter a sound.
And then it spoke.
“You’re naked,” the Sphinx commented.
“I know,” he was able to gasp out, after a moment.
“I thought you might.” The Sphinx’s tone was conversational, its voice deep, resonant, like a cello. “It just seemed odd.”
He looked down at himself again, and then back up at the Sphinx’s face. “I... I wasn’t wearing any clothes when I fell through the floor of my apartment, and ended up here.” He swallowed painfully. “Can I drink from the pool?”
The Sphinx’s mouth curled upward a little in an ironic smile. There was the same creaking grate of stone on stone, and another thin tendril of dust spiraled downward. “What does that mean, can you drink? The water is right there. Have a drink if you wish to.”
“You won’t grab me, or hurt me, will you?” His cheeks burned at how cowardly it sounded.
“Of course not. Why would I do that?”
He moved forward and knelt down, reaching out to cup his hands into the water. He saw his own reflection. His hair was disheveled, his face pale and grime-streaked, an ugly scrape across his shoulder. Above him, he saw the reflection of the Sphinx looking down at him. Its smile widened, and he caught a flash of sharp white teeth.
“Of course,” the Sphinx said, “the first thing you should learn here is that everything you see and hear is a lie.”
He looked up in alarm. The thought, What would it feel like to be bitten in half? bounced through his skull, and he braced himself for the pounce, for the teeth to pierce his torso, tearing sinew from bone. But the Sphinx didn’t move. It simply continued to watch him.
There was another frozen moment, but he recovered more quickly this time.
Fuck this. If it killed him, it killed him, but he’d be damned if he didn’t have a drink of water first. He scooped up water in his hands. Even the feel of it against his skin was delicious. He took one drink, then another, and another.
It was as if he had never known what it was to quench thirst until now. He stood again, sated for the time being, rivulets of water leaving trails down his chest. He backed away from the Sphinx, who still regarded him with an amused expression.
“Better?” it asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. There are many hard ways to die, but thirst is certainly one of the worst. And there you have the second lesson you must learn—fear may be a necessary companion, but it is a poor guide.”
“Who are you? And where am I?”
“Those are two different questions, of course. Which would you like me to answer first?”
He ran his arm over his mouth, still wet from the pool. “Who are you?”
“Look at me. Who do you think I am?”
He leaned his head back till his neck ached. The Sphinx craned its own massive head downward, its shining eyes looking into his. There was a brief moment when his mind teetered on the edge of complete incredulity, and he wondered if he was neither dreaming, nor lost, but had simply gone insane.
No. No, that was not possible. How…?
He said, in a small voice, “Maria?”
“Ah,” said the Sphinx.
“You look... you look like my sister...”
“Do I?”
“Just like. Exactly like.“ And as he watched, the resemblance became closer. The angle of the nostrils, the sardonic lift of the eyebrow, the way the carved waves of hair fell against the shoulders. Had he not seen it at first, because he was so thirsty and afraid? Or did its face change when he thought he recognized her?
“There you are, then,” the Sphinx said.
“But Maria... Maria died.” The old grief rose in his chest, a painful grip on his heart.
“Did she?”
“A car accident. When she was seventeen.”
“A pity.”
“She was my twin sister. My only sibling.”
“It must have been hard for you.” There was a hint of mockery in its voice.
“But you’re not Maria. You look like her, but you’re not her.”
“No,” the Sphinx admitted. “You’re correct about that.”
“So the fact that you look like her... that’s a lie, too.”
“That is one way of looking at it.”
“Am I dreaming?”
The Sphinx didn’t answer for a moment. It finally said, its voice thoughtful, “If I told you yes, might I not be telling the truth?”
“Of course.”
“And if I said no, might you still be asleep and dreaming?”
“I suppose.”
“Then what is the point of asking?”
He shook his head, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What the hell is this place?”
“Yes, that was your other question. Where are you?”
He looked up, waiting, but the Sphinx didn’t say anything more. It continued to watch him, its green-gold eyes glittering in the firelight.
“Well?” he finally said.
“It is a hard question to answer,” the Sphinx said. “What is this place? I could tell you what it is called, but what would a name tell you?”
“It’s a start.”
“Yes,” the Sphinx said, its voice deepening until it made his innards vibrate, a sound as rich as the bass pipes on an organ. “A start. That is exactly what it is.”
“What is it called?”
“It is called Malkuth.”
“Where is it?”
The white of teeth showed again, just for a moment. “All around you.”
“But...” He took a deep breath. “Damn it all, you know what I mean.”
“Do I? Are you so sure of that?”
“Fine. The Sphinx talks in riddles. I get that. I remember that from my college English class. I guess I have to be specific. Where is this place, relative to my apartment?”
“Did you not say that you fell through your apartment floor, and that is how you came to be here?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know the answer, do you not? It would appear that this place is beneath your apartment.”
“But I know that’s not true!” he shouted. “There’s no place like this underneath my apartment.”
“Suit yourself,” the Sphinx said.
“Look, all I want to do is get back home. Or wake up, or whatever. How do I do that?”
“I think that you humans have a saying, do you not, that the only way out is through? I believe you will find that to be the case here.”
He regarded the Sphinx’s face. No wonder it looked like Maria. Maria would have liked this. She always loved riddles. “You said that everything here was a lie. Are you lying now?”
“Oh, of course not,” the Sphinx said. “I wouldn’t lie about something that important.”
“So how do I get through, then?”
The Sphinx looked down at him, its face in a sardonic twist. “Do you want some advice?”
“Sure.”
“The best way to get the information you need is to ask the right questions.”
“How do I know what the right questions are?”
The Sphinx’s stone mouth opened slightly, and it gave a basso profundo laugh that vibrated the floor beneath his bare feet. “Well, that certainly wasn’t one.”
“You are a pain in the ass,” he said, scowling. Then he looked down, and said to himself, “This is fucked up. I’m talking to a statue.”
The Sphinx inclined its huge head. “At your service.”
He took a deep breath, and looked back into the Sphinx’s face. “Okay, look. Let me start with some simple questions, before we move on to the big stuff. I haven’t seen any trace of anyone else since I arrived. But there’s a fire burning here. Who keeps the fire going?”
“My attendants.”
“Where are they now?”
“How should I know? It’s not like I get out much.”
“But who are they?”
The Sphinx smiled. “Who are you?”
“I’m Duncan Kyle!” he yelled. “And why can’t you give a straight question a straight answer?”
“Because I really don’t think you know what you’re asking, most of the time. You humans are like that, you know. You think things are their names, and if you know the name, you know the thing itself. You throw words around as if they were meaningless, or as if they mean whatever you want them to, and could mean something completely different tomorrow. Then you blame each other when there is confusion.” It paused, and blinked its enormous, glistening eyes. “If you were asking for my attendants’ names, I can’t tell you that, because I don’t know the answer. As for who they are? They are silent. They come to feed the fire and replenish the water in the pool. They don’t talk to each other, nor to me. How can I know who they are, who they would be if they were like you, alone and naked in the dark? How would I know what they love, what they hate, what angers them, what fills them with grief, what fills them with lust? They never tell me such things. And even if they did, I do not doubt that much of it would be a lie. Humans, I think, are as good at lying to themselves as they are at lying to each other.”
“Playing with words, and shifting meanings, isn’t the same as lying.”
“It might as well be. It has the same effect. Deceiving yourselves and everyone around you.”
“But you said you lie, too.”
With a creak, the Sphinx shrugged its mighty shoulders, sending a thin cascade of sand pouring down from its sides. “Oh, touché,” it said, its deep voice dripping sarcasm.
Weariness rose in him. Maria had loved intellectual sparring. He didn’t. “Look, just tell me how to get out of here, and I’ll leave.”
“That is simple enough. There are two ways out. The way you came in, and the other exit, that is on the opposite wall. If all you want is to leave, those are your options.”
“Good. Because this whole conversation is pissing me off. Thanks for the water, and all.” He turned and peered around the right side of the Sphinx, and in the middle of the wall was a dark stone archway that was the twin of the one he’d entered through.
“May I offer you one other piece of advice?” the Sphinx said, and he turned as the Sphinx’s head swiveled ponderously toward him, its jewel-like eyes full and alert and not necessarily friendly.
“Certainly.”
“If you find your way out of these walls, it would be wise not to be caught outside at night.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not safe, of course,” the Sphinx said, its voice full of high good humor. “You always want to be safe, don’t you?”
“Safe from what?”
“Danger.”
He smacked the heel of one hand against his forehead. “Are you absolutely forbidden from giving me any actual information? Because if all you’re going to do is give me vague hints, you might as well shut up.”
The Sphinx flashed a smile at him. “As you wish.” It turned its head slowly until it was facing forward, and there was a little shudder and a soft creak as its body stiffened, its face resumed its still impassivity, and the stone lids shut over its eyes.
Silence fell.
He looked up toward the Sphinx, which once again simply looked like a huge statue, and waited for its eyes to open again.
Nothing happened.
“No, but seriously, what danger?” he said, to no effect.
After waiting nearly a minute, he scowled, and said, “Well, shit.”
Okay, he was done with this dream. If it was a dream. Time to get out of Dodge. Maybe by this time, Libby would have woken up, or the rescue crew would have arrived, or whatever. In any case, he was done playing around with all this.
He strode back into the archway by which he’d entered the room, once again letting his fingertips trail along the stone wall. The light diminished and finally vanished altogether, but his footfalls were confident and regular on the smooth floor. Uphill and into the huge room with the window. The light was brighter now, enough to see and avoid the rubble in the middle of the room. Evidently outside, whatever passed for day was happening, although the view through the window still showed nothing but the same featureless rusty gray light as before.
Across the room, back into another arched doorway, and back into the dark. His heart pounded. The sudden longing for being home, in his own apartment, in his girlfriend’s arms, washed over him. He broke into a run, barely realizing he had done so, and burst into the room with the boxes, books, and angel statue with his chest heaving in what were nearly sobs.
He looked up toward the ceiling, and had a rush of sheer terror.
The hole was gone. Where before there had been a view into his apartment, the corner of his sofa and coffee table visible, there now was only the rough facing of cut stone, intact and solid.
He gave an inarticulate cry, and retreated until his bare back pressed against the chill surface of the wall. His frantic glance darted around the room, and his mind reached desperately for an explanation. Had he taken the wrong path? No, there had been no other turnings, no way to get lost. And it was definitely the same place into which he had fallen. The boxes, the statue, the shelf with the books, even the piles of broken ceramic were still exactly as he remembered them.
Only the debris that had fallen from his apartment floor, and the hole in the ceiling that was his portal back home, were missing.
And now he did cry. Helpless weeping seized him, shaking him like a wolf shakes a rabbit. His knees buckled, and he slid to the ground, the stones tearing a long scrape down his backbone, and he sat on the earthen floor, one hand over his face.
After a time he looked up, his eyes bleared with tears, and drew one arm across his face, looking upward again with a desperate hope.
The ceiling was still intact. The words trapped and no way home rang inside his skull, and then his mind went blank.
Hours later, after pointless wandering that took him through a maze of rooms, each filled with ruined statuary, broken stone and pottery, and stacks of moldering books, Duncan found himself once again standing before the Sphinx. He knelt, shaking, and drank from the pool. His hunger was now extreme. He hadn’t eaten in... how long was it? He couldn’t even begin to figure it out.
“Tell me how to get home,” he said, his voice ragged.
The Sphinx spoke, without opening its eyes. “I told you. The only way out is through. You found that going back was impossible, yes?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I cannot answer that, for the very good reason that I do not know.”
“Why am I here? What happened that brought me here?”
“I think that if you do not know the answer to that already, then anything I could tell you would be meaningless.”
“Try me.”
The Sphinx opened its eyes a little. A crescent of shining white, green, gold, and black shone beneath its half-closed lids. “You have been condemned to wander through the ten worlds,” it said, its resonant voice taking on an oratorical tone, “making your way through them one by one, learning the lessons that they can teach, and only after you have met the challenge that each one represents will you be able to return back home victorious.”
He stared at the Sphinx, his mouth hanging open a little. Finally, he said,“That’s bullshit.”
“I know,” the Sphinx replied. “It was the best I could do on short notice.”
“So you don’t know.”
“No, sorry.”
“You’re a lot of fucking help.”
“Hey,” said the Sphinx, sounding a little aggrieved. “We all do what we can.”
“I’ll be leaving, then.”
“Good luck,” the Sphinx said, its voice gaining a sarcastic edge.
“Please don’t add, ‘you’ll need it.’”
“I wasn’t going to.”
The Sphinx’s eyes closed.
He muttered, “Poser,” under his breath, and walked toward the other exit from the room, through the arch on the right side of the Sphinx’s front paws. This opening led into another tunnel, once again smooth underfoot and with no low hanging obstacles. It sloped upward, gradually at first but then more steeply, and once again he found himself moving into vague light that colored the walls, floor, and his own body a dusty gray brown. After perhaps a hundred yards, he stepped through another arch into a narrow room that was clearly some kind of atrium. Along the wall to his right, a row of mullioned windows, their sills just over his head, let in the tired illumination from the still-overcast sky. The light had dimmed now. Noon had passed. It was closer, apparently, to the nightfall that the Sphinx had warned him about.
