'Ordeal by Death''
I lay in a mausoleum alongside the dead, and the cold, dank air clung to my skin like an icy shroud. I stepped out of the body on the slab, not as a ghost, but in physical form, and walked out into the grey light, knowing nothing of what had gone before or where I was. I stood on the upper plateau of a deep valley, and below me, a narrow path of red volcanic ash cut down the chalk face of the valley wall like a razor slash. The last rays of a setting sun shone dim red over the low cloud, and a winter mist hung in the air like a cemetery at dusk.
I heard the voice of a man begging for help, the rushing water of a river in full flood, and a final scream of desperation. I looked around me in fear, but there was nothing to be seen. It must have been the keen wind whistling down from the rocky crags playing tricks with my mind.
Never had I been in so desolate and lifeless a place as this, but I was not the first visitor. Countless others had made the descent before me and worn the path smooth with their tread. I could not estimate how many feet it would have taken to wear down hard rock to such a flat surface, but the path must be ancient. I started my descent, and as I stumbled downward, the atmosphere became even more oppressive, and a cloud of foetid air settled around my head.
I quickened my pace to escape the rising current and next breathed in an unearthly fragrance of the sweet odour of sanctity said to rise from the uncorrupted body of a long-dead saint, but this was a base rendition, and whoever had conjured up this fake aroma meant to mock me.
Scrubby vegetation began to appear on the side of the barren path and rapidly thickened as I walked on. Soon I came upon the outskirts of a forest, but it was a poor place; the trees had rotted, and there were no signs of any other vegetation.
The gloomy wood more resembled the grounds of a haunted castle than a living work of nature. A freezing fog eddied and swirled in the tree-lined alleyways that ran through the body of the crumbling estate like the diseased veins of an old man, slithering along the shallow, outer ditches like a living thing that hugged the ground and deftly skirted around fallen logs and soot-blackened bushes.
The sinuous movements of the reeking mist were like those of a brown python, yellowing with age but still a formidable guard, for the forest was a prison, and I could see wraith-like captives trundling wearily through the undergrowth.
This was a world devoid of all beauty; there were no flowers here, no colour, and no new growth. I fell to the ground in despair, covering my eyes so that I would see nothing more of the evil place.
Wicked spirits made a new attack, and a hissing voice breathed obscenities in my ear, but worse, I felt it worming itself into the soft, spongy mass of my brain, intent on devouring me from within. I shrieked in horror, but something more powerful than the spirit drove the intruder from my head, and in a rush of foul air, the scaly body of a diminutive serpent fell from my ear to the ground. Hissing with anger, it slithered away, leaving a trail of slimy green mucus in its wake.
I fell to my knees in gratitude, and through my inner darkness came the gentle and authoritative voice of who I assumed to be my benefactor.
"The innocent need not be afraid. I will tell you more about this world, and you should listen carefully, for I cannot permit you to ask questions or ask me to explain what you must do. But those who stay true to what is right and good find their way out.
"The desolate landscape you see before you mirrors the corrupted souls of those held here as the living shadows of the condemned. These people are here because of evil actions in their previous lives and must stay in this decayed estate for eternity. The prisoners here are not only murderers and despots and the like, but also those who deliberately caused pain and deep emotional distress to those weaker or younger in their charge. Others covet riches and care nothing for the harm caused by their greed. Driven by a desire to leave, some make false claims of repentance, but the guardians are never deceived, and only to those few who truly repent do they grant the comfort of death.
"Others adopt mock humility and make false protestations of faith and how they attended church in their earthly lives, but this counts for nothing. We regard all religions or philosophies as equal, and no one system of belief has precedence.
"As the day ends, the pungent smell of the beast permeates through the forest as it lays down a territorial marker and prepares for its nightly wanderings. The scattered herds raise their heads to sniff the night air, and conditioned to respond, they form orderly ranks and march towards the sleeping place.
"Every bony hand rested on the shoulders of the one in front as they groped their way through the darkness like gas-blind soldiers fleeing the trenches, but these wraiths lack all honour, and the linked bodies become a conduit for fear and self-loathing. On arrival at the sleeping place, the leader of the deathless army comes to an abrupt halt, and the ghouls behind him collapse like a row of fire-blackened dominoes. Huddled together in the darkness, the solitary creatures become one tribe, bonded by fear, not love.
Skeletal white hands reach up and furtively draw down the blankets of congealed fungus hanging from the low branches of the stunted trees: scarce protection against the cold of the long night ahead."
The voice went silent, and I was alone with my thoughts until the monologue resumed.
"Dawn in this place heralds only a lighter shade of darkness, but down by the river, you will see a group masquerading as converts. These deceitful creatures are waiting to be taken to the forest and have the gall to petition for mercy. They ask permission to take Virgil's 'draught of oblivion' by drinking from the waters of the Lethe. They say they wish to forget this place and once more return to Earth. There, to redeem themselves through a life of prayer and service to others, but their lies count for nothing. None of these charlatans will pass the scrutiny of the spirits who guard the Lethe but will roam the forest for eternity."
I ventured to ask a question.
'What do I have to do here before I can leave?"
But the voice had fallen silent.
I should have known better than to ask. I must reason this out for myself.
The river Lethe had been central to my experience here and could hold a clue. It was only a short distance down the path to the river, but I resisted the urge to run; the prospect of staying here for a moment longer than necessary was intolerable.
Soon, I reached the bank of the river and knelt to look in the clear blue water.
My reflection stared back in curiosity.
The face was mine, but it was not I who cast the image.
The face that shimmered in the water appeared younger and less touched by life, but it was, without doubt, my own, and like Narcissus at the pool, I felt compelled to look closer. This was not an act of vanity; the face was not my own, and a voice called me by name through the moving lips of the image. The murmur of the rushing water soon drowned out the sound, and the reflection faded away. Instinctively, I thrust both my hands into the river to try and save it, but at my touch, the surface of the water shattered like a broken mirror, and I could see nothing. Scrabbling frantically in the water, my hands clasped around something solid, and I lifted it out.
It was a human head, and the lifeless face that stared back at me was now my own.
I staggered back and let the skull fall back into the river. Making a cup with my hands, I drank deeply of the waters and let them flow through my living body. I whispered to the spirits of the river that I understood the rules of my quest and pleaded to be sent back.
I rose to my feet but could not remain upright and swayed back and forth like a tree sawn through at the base before I toppled helplessly into the river. The shock of the icy water revived me, but I had no desire to return to the riverbank and swam vertically downward. The speed of my descent increased as I entered a twisting current that drained into a furiously spinning whirlpool. I was suspended above the maelstrom, and the voice once more returned.
"Do you pledge your life in defence of The Good, knowing that failure will consign you to the Forest of the Damned for eternity?"
I answered truthfully, and my suspension above the whirlpool ended. I hurtled down toward the rushing waters below. At the centre was a single point of solid blackness, and a violent collision seemed inevitable, but the instant before impact, the putative eye winked open like the aperture in the lens of a camera, and I passed through the portal to meet my destiny.
All around me was silent and still, and I sensed the sanctity of a sacred space, an ancient place of worship that had absorbed countless years of worship and unquestioning faith. It was now a haven of perfect peace, and moving through the fluid medium of the dimension with great ease, I came to rest at the bottom of something resembling a curved brass bowl, filled with blue water. Above a brilliant white light refracted through the azure pool, and my human form melted away. Striking upward, I broke free from the consecrated water and shot into the heart of St. Michael like a bolt from heaven.