The agony of burning and drowning was over in an instant, but the memory of the pain and terror was enough to wipe out coherent thought for a small eternity. I reveled in the sensation of not burning to death and breathed in the darkness in hoarse shuddering gasps. Tears of relief trickled down my face and my mind was blank with the amazing comfort of breathing. After uncounted minutes, perhaps hours, reality took hold once again as my breathing calmed and I realized I felt cold. The sharp contrast was torturous and a hard flat surface froze against my back like laying on an ice cube. I groaned and writhed ineffectually. My entire body was sore and stiff in the aftermath of my emotional upheaval. Blinking my eyes seemed to do no good as a white after image of the explosion resisted fading way.

I rolled onto my side and the motion overbalanced me. I fell onto a hard cold floor. The fall knocked the wind out of me, and I lay stunned as whispers of terror echoed the eternity of suffocating fire I still remembered vividly. I quickly controlled my breathing and banished the thought. Slowly, my senses began to acclimate and provide useful information. The floor was smooth and cold with a gritty layer of dirt or sand, almost like a dirty sheet of glass. My blindness wasn’t because my vision was malfunctioning. The room was actually dark, even around the slowly fading spots in my eyes. The smell of must, age, and dirt greeted my nose. I began to wonder where the hell I was. Dust from my unceremonious landing tickled my nose and I coughed. I hacked up phlegm and felt my eyes water for several seconds until the fit passed. When it did, I felt mostly better, suspiciously so, even.

I got to my hands and knees and leaned back against the block behind me, still feeling the cut of its chill, but not willing to test my legs yet. Like phantoms in daylight, the memories of hell began to fade away, the sensations too intense for my mind to retain in all their dreadful intensity. My eyes were rapidly adjusting to the tartarean darkness and dim shapes began to take form. The room wasn’t terribly large, but appeared to be a place of worship. Some almost Grecian pillars held up the roof and a double row of pews stretch back to the far wall about ten deep. Assuming the stone block behind me was an altar stone, I’d appeared in a shrine. More to the point, I wasn’t alone.

In the gloom, two figures were prostrated at the base of the two ceremonial steps of the dais I sat on, praying to the altar I sat against. The were both so motionless that for a moment I thought they were both statues with one oddly uncentered for a work of sculpture. After several minutes, one on the left shifted its weight that I realized my error. Immediately on the heels of that realization came a cascade of similar, but rapidly more alarming realizations. She must have been waiting there, motionless, throughout my awakening. For the first time, I tried to think back past hell, but my mind refused to trespass into the eternity of pain to think of anything prior. I obviously still retain knowledge, like language, but I couldn't think of anything, even my name, from before that mind warping agony.

A distant flicker of thought suggested that I was naked in front of a stranger. Although the thought was insignificantly off putting, it didn't even register on my expanded scale of suffering. Still, after a minute of laziness, I rolled over and crawled to the back of the altar, safely out of eyeshot. The cold began to sink into my bones and changed from novel and comforting to mildly uncomfortable as I studied the statue. Behind the altar was a larger than life sized statue that could easily have stood in as the grim reaper, if only it had a scythe instead of simply a long straight pole, like those poles used to push a boat along a shallow canal.

The seconds ticked passed and I began to wonder just what I was doing here, apparently not dead. My mind again recoiled from looking back into what I was simply calling hell and deep feeling of gratitude welled up within me that I was here, no matter where here was, instead of there. For a few minutes, my mind wrestled with trying to make a decision with literally no information past or future on where or who I was. Eventually, I found myself just staring up at the statue, mind blank, feeling the cold seep into my bones in a way that was both painful and comforting at the same time. It seemed to say, ‘Here is the ground. You are on it. This is real.’

“Min Mandrhytnes,” I heard.

I literally jumped, gaining several inches and cracking my elbow painfully against the smooth stone altar. I abruptly remember that there was a woman over there. This was a church. Perhaps she was praying now? I waited patiently. I felt that it was impolite to interrupt a prary. Either she would get up and leave soon, or continue praying. Either way, I was pretty happy right where I was for the moment. Just a little longer, and then I’ll think of tomorrow, or tonight, or something.

“Min Mandrhytnes” she said. I heard the rustling of cloth in the silence – the sound of the woman standing and approaching. I considered running for a moment, but I realized her approach held no terror. In fact, I began to feel my curiosity stir. It was a strange senstation. I had felt nothing by fear and relief as far back I could remember and I embraced the emotion like a long lost friend. She apparently had something to say to someone over in this direction. Maybe it was customary to directly address the statue at the end of your worship? That seemed reasonable enough to my faded sentiments.

A long wool blanket slid over the altar and fell on me. No, not a blanket, a full cape or mantle with a hood. It was appropriate gear for all your SCA or Renfair needs. It smelled lightly of jasmine and obviously belonged to the woman. I felt my stomach drop to the floor as I realized she must be addressing me. What’s more, she was being exceptionally kind. I quickly pulled the cape around my shoulders. With a little effort the front would stay closed, and if I wanted, I could pull the hood up and hide my face in its deep cowl. With clothing, I suddenly felt the need to go out and meet the world, so I smoothly rose to my feet and peered over the altar.

The woman, standing a moment ago, swiftly prostrated herself, which coincidentally hid her from sight. I walked around the altar and held the cape close to enjoy the borrowed warmth.

“Thank you,” I said. My voice sounded weird to my mind, deeper and harsher than it should be.

Seconds passed but I knew she had been waiting patiently all this time. Only I now understood that she had been waiting patiently for me. Apparently, it was up to me to take the lead.

“Who are you?” I asked.

A visible shudder passed through the woman as I put the question to her. She spoke into the ground, muffled but intelligible. “Bia Keres, Mandrhytnes min.”

Bia? Was that a name? She acted like I was someone important though. I didn’t understand ‘Mandrhytnes min’, but she showed me sincere respect. That brought up another good question.

“Who am I?” I asked rhetorically.

She replied more forcefully than before, “þu bist Ker’Haros, Ceosan’sylfum’cwalu, anfalde Scinnlaecan.”

The heck was that? Still, clearly she answered my question, so she must understand me, even if she her reply was indecipherable. I would hazard another question.

“I’d like to rest. Do you know somewhere I can stay for the night?”

The woman finally looked up and I was stunned by her beauty. Long lashes, brilliant blue eyes, and the finest of classical middle eastern features. Black hair framed her face under her hood. She rose to her feet in a whisper of cloth and I saw she was wearing a dark robe, but one tailored for freedom of movement and cinched at the waist with a belt. A long staff set witha crystal at the end flowed into her hand like an extension of her body.

For a moment, I literally felt pierced through, and then I just felt sick. My heart should be beating. I should be feeling attraction, trepidation, embarrassment, fear, worry, and a host of other emotions, but they were all oddly muted and distant. Instead, what most stood out was that in the moment our eyes met, I felt and heard absolutely nothing in the pristine silence of the shrine. My blood didn’t rush in my ears. My heart didn’t beat. No hormones ran about distractingly. The pain where I banged my elbow and the cold soaking into my feet didn’t distract me even a little.

“Min aefterhyrigest,” she said. For the first time, her voice was clear and directed toward me. Her voice was low for a woman – an alto if she sang. She had the calm clear speech of one who acts with certainty, always. She motioned for me to follow as she led the way.

Numbly, in more ways than one, I followed her toward the entrance to the shrine. I wasn’t dead, but it seemed I also wasn’t precisely alive, either.