"When a wight quethes to believe, doth he?

Sometimes wights believe that they believe,

But surprise themselves to learn they do not.

Soothfast belief is unsheathed by a wight's behavior."

-- The Cosmogon Codex, Prolegomenon, Verse 52.

I stood fast in blank astonishment inside Megaschema Night Ice's perch. Moments later, Night Ice looked up from The Codex again, puzzled to find me still there. He asked if I were ill, and instead of answering this, I asked wherefore she had been banished. He told me to leave his perch immediately and return to my devotional duties.

I paused on my way out the door and turned back, then kithed that I had reason to believe that there are fiends prowling the lower levels of the bedestow and that we might be in danger of having our flesh ripped from our bones as we slumber. I expected Night Ice to be either alarmed or scoffingly dismissive. Instead, without looking up again, he matter-of-factly informed me that there are no fiends here, and that at worst some small to medium-sized desert-beasts occasionally seek shelter under our feet, but are quite fearful of humans, and harmless besides.

Round and round I climbed back down, then returned to my duties with a lump of unsettlement. That night, I could sleep only five hours, almost half my usual slumber. The next morning, after breaking the night-fast, I was sitting in the Great Prayer Hall when I realized I was not paying heed to the words I was singing. My dear reader is perchance shocked by this impiety--but I wish to be honest in this book. As soon as I realized my error, I made a forceful effort to focus, bringing my heed to the Central Listener.

He held up a hand, and we finished the current passage. The silence of the hall swirled around us as he flipped through The Codex. Then he intoned a call to recitation of Branch 293, Leaf 2, Verse 4. It was a theorem of moderate length, and my mind felt clearer upon completing the recitation.

I left the hall and wandered the Cold Direction passage that Hearsome Cloud had tramped. Now that I had a good idea of the path she stalked, I tried to search for clues to what she had been searching out, if anything at all. Was she not looking for a particular thing, but trying to get to a particular place? I had considered praying to The Mouth for answers, but I knew he would tell me that The House does not attend to the deeds of brethren and sistren. So all I could do was walk and use my eyes.

I found the place where I had found her crawling; the scuff marks were still there. Then I retraced the shortest path back to the dining hall where she had been last seen. There was nothing noteworthy to be found. For a few moments I considered recruiting some friends to walk with me--perhaps Brother Ash Thunder or Brother Delve Sand--but swiftly dropped the notion from my head. Now I wish I had not.

After traversing the trail twice, I performed more of my duties. I tried to memorize some proofs in Leaf 8 of Branch 28. I attended a sermon on the collapse of the Triad. I performed the Sacred Torch Dance in one of the smaller halls to a modest audience, my feet tracing out a knot isomorphism from one of the deeper leaves of The Codex.

Then, after re-hydrating at one of the spring taps, I wandered Hearsome Cloud's trail again. This time I found something--or, I should say, something found me.

I had just passed a junction, thinking the passage on my left was empty, but apparently the shadows were too heavy. Something hit the back of my knees, and I tumbled. As my hands broke my fall, an arm wrapped around my neck. Hot breath blew in my ear. I had difficultly breathing with the arm over my throat, and punched ineffectually behind myself. The hot breath carried a whisper. It warned me not to tread the dark tunnels. The brute shoved me forward, and I caught a glimpse of a mole on the back of a right hand as it passed through torch-light. On my hands and knees, before I could speak or react further, I received a kick to the stomach.

I lay curled on the floor, breathless, watching a man run back up the passage to be swallowed by the dark.

~ Path Dust

Upon the Hour of the Mouse, Fire Dance Day, First Moon, in this the 17,622nd Orbit A.R. ~