Zeitiria

A Sapphic Fantasy Short Story

Photo by Jonas Gerlach on Unsplash

She trudged up the stairs, her feet burning as they touched the sun-kissed stone of the temple. Her head was in a deep fog, boiling under the heat as sweat trickled down her temples, brows, and neck, like a leaking fountain.

Yet she could not run, no matter how much the pain urged her to, or the steps underneath her would turn to mud and swallow her legs whole.

So she grit her teeth, trapping in the sounds that demanded, begged, screamed to be let out… and persevered.

When her last, bristling step landed on the shadow cast by the temple portico, she clung to the first pillar she could blindly reach for, and leaned her damp forehead against it. Panting, wheezing, she waited—long, endless seconds—for her feet to cool down. They would be scorching red later.

At least, once back home, she could ask Galatea to tend to them, and the medicine woman wouldn’t have it in her to say no. One of the perks of being loved by her.

“Zeitiria,” Galatea would say in that exasperatedly worried, fond tone of hers, “I would be out of a job if it weren’t for you.”

Zeitiria would smile and wiggle her wounded feet in Galatea’s face, “How else do I get my ever-busy wife’s attention?”

“You could try by not risking your life for once,” Galatea had said to her during a similar conversation, "I like sweets and a nice cup of scalding tea, they always get my attention. Your pretty face is also more than enough."

Zeitiria heard herself laughing against the temple pillar, tasting on her tongue the salty sweat that had pooled on her upper lip. Galatea had no idea that her reckless wife would come up here today. She would not welcome her that gently.

It was still nice to dream, to retreat in a more pleasant corner of her mind made of a soothing voice and firm but delicate hands caressing her aching feet, as she braced herself to continue on her journey.

After gulping down cool, blessed water from the flask fastened at her hip, she took a few tentative, unsteady steps until they became sure and steady again by the sheer stubbornness of her will.

She craned her neck to stare at the jade-green temple door. It was as tall as four people standing on each other’s shoulders, and double as wide. Her eyes couldn’t help but follow the reliefs carved into the painted wood that depicted exemplary tales of those before her who had attempted her same quest.

They weren’t exactly comforting. But was she even looking for comfort?

She knew there was none.

Neither could she justify her idleness any longer.

She forced herself to lower her eyes and stare at the head of the leonine dragon etched into the door knocker. She did not blink, not until the quartz stones embedded in its eyes shone bright and brighter, a light so strong that made her eyes water, until fat tears rolled down her cheek.

The light meant a warm welcome, though. It spurred her to grab the handle and knock, just once, hard. The vibrations of brass hitting wood traveled all the way up her shoulder, the sound released into the air thundering into her ears.

The double door sprung to action, opening the sacred temple space to her needs, her request. Her hope.

The circular hall she stepped foot in was neither big nor grandiose, yet it never failed to take her breath away. Curved walls made of old, weathered stone and a smooth floor layered with black tiles, often shrouded in shadows, the only light source the shifting sun and moon rays shining from the skylight at the center of the arched ceiling.

Everything was designed to embrace and shelter the central point of focus.

The Chasm.

A seemingly harmless, circular pool, its waters glinting happily under the sun who now shone vertically on it. It gave a false sense of shallowness and ease to the naive quester entering the temple for the first time.

But Zeitiria was no novice. She had immersed herself in its depths many a time before, not too deep, but enough to look into the pit of darkness underneath her and know true fear. Know glimpses of Truth.

Brave divers had, rare times, attempted to reach its bottom, if it even had one. Many of them had died. Others had lost their brain functions. Those who had survived intact swore to never set foot in it again.

She had only ever swum a few meters underneath the surface, and had let it tell her exactly how much she could handle and not a drop more.

She needed a touch more than that this time.

No more vague answers.

Concrete help.

Directedness may not be a language the Chasm spoke, yet she was ready to dive in over and over again until she got closer to a semblance of it.

As she approached the center of the hall, the silence accentuated the spiking heartbeat thrumming in her chest. The very air thrummed with an ancient frequency that raised the hair on her arms and legs.

The temple had been built around the mysterious pool centuries ago, imbued from its smallest materials with a magic that linked it to the Chasm’s frequency. Thus, it would grant access only to those deemed worthy by the Chasm itself.

Its tradition had, since then, been maintained and guarded by the Order of the Depths that Zeitiria herself belonged to.

To her knowledge, however, the temple seldom refused to open its doors to whoever managed to reach its door. The day-long journey through the mountains was a weeding process in and of itself.

She would know.

It could only be done barefoot, in light cotton clothes, while eating no food, the only refreshment a single flask of water.

It had to start at midnight of the night before a full moon, no matter the weather condition, be it under a scorching heat or the wind and rain of a storm.

It didn’t fail to challenge her each time.

Still, the hardship of the journey could not compare to the real trial.

She lowered herself to the ground, and sat cross-legged by the edge of the Chasm, her tired and sore limbs taking a sigh of relief. The pool water welcomed her with a particularly bright sunflare that she would, absolutely, take as a positive sign.

Then, she closed her eyes, and started the long process of waiting for the sun to set and the full moon to reach its peak right above her head.

It was, usually, the most pleasant part. She only had to relax. Slow her breathing, feel her body, find its center, and steady herself around it.

Today, it was a particularly cruel torture. Everything in her thrashed against the linear passage of time.

If only she could find its taut cord, and snap it in half. In an instant, she would be back in her village, with everything she needed. Galatea wouldn’t even have the chance to get mad at her, she’d simply rejoice alongside her at the success of her quest.

Bound by time as she was, though, Zeitiria would not move. Not for anything.

Sweat pooled in every crevice of her body. As the sun traveled through the sky, leaving her in the shadow, it cooled down on her skin, a sticky layer that sent rippling shivers down her spine.

Breathe, Tiria, Harima used to tell her, pacing ever so calmly, hands behind her back, in front of Zeitiria’s seated but squirming form, which fought against her own stillness. You’ve got to remember your breath. Quit letting it slip away from you.

Zeitiria breathed. Decades had passed since then, she was certainly well acquainted with her breath by now. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In and out. In and...

Harima’s face—pale, the veins of her neck huge and purple, her breath an erratic mess—flashed in front of Zeitiria’s eyes.

She should not have thought of her.

Is that how it would go for them all? Everything you are, slowly, inexorably slipping away as Lady Death makes her way to your doorstep. A lifetime of discipline and wisdom, gone like the bodily fluids escaping without restraint from the bottom half of your sickened body.

“That is morbid, sweetheart,” Tea had whispered into the darkness of their bedroom after she voiced that thought, Tea’s hand searching for hers under the sheets. “You’re saying nothing matters because it ends?”

“I don’t know what matters anymore.”

But she would find out, no matter the cost.

If she didn’t, nobody else would. No mage or shaman or physician had been able to do anything. Not even Galatea. It’s just a matter of time, they said. Stay close to her, they said.

Zeitiria had stayed close to her teacher, her mother, as much as she could bear, yet all she’d gotten from Harima was a plea that she wouldn’t attempt to save her life.

Let me go, my child. It’s time.

“No way,” Zeitiria said into the silence of the temple. She breathed in, and out. “No. Fucking. Way!”

Her scream echoed around her—way, way, way—as her eyes opened to a muted world.

Darkness had fallen, at last.

The moon faced her from its reflection in the pool, the light cast on the surface of the water shaping eyes that seemed to bore straight into her soul. Each ripple changed from narrowed, berating fissures, to gentler, sympathetic circles.

She disentangled her legs, massaged and stretched them until the blood started flowing again, then she stood up, and moved them around until all feeling came back. Her breath had evened out enough. Shouting had calmed her, strangely, leaving only resolve and ease into her limbs.

She could do this. She would get her answers.

After one last deep breath, she dove into the Chasm headfirst.

Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

The first part was always the easiest, as it had a clear goal, one that she’d reached before and knew she could again, no matter how immediately impenetrable the darkness was.

Zeitiria swam deeper and deeper, waiting to spot the two yellow lights set on opposite ends of the inside walls at the three meters mark.

When she saw them, she swam to the first one on the right, grabbed the handle of the chain buried into the stone, and pulled it along with her as she swam to the second light on the other side.

Finally, after having grabbed the second chain, she swam to the middle, holding on tight to her only anchors, and she looked down into the depths of the Chasm.

The second part was the hardest. The absolute terror that filled her at first glance made everything in her wish to rebel against her proximity to such endless darkness and flee for her life.

It was known that an unknowable number of creatures, from small to huge, lived in these waters, and many of those deaths had been caused by them.

But this wasn’t about her safety.

Her hands tightened their grip on the chains far beyond what was tolerable, to hold herself firmly in place, to contrast her small, frightened self fighting to take control, wanting to let go.

You’re okay, she thought, speaking to that childish part of her. The depths are but a mirror. What you’re truly scared of is what’s inside of you.

No, let me out of here!, the child screamed back, and yanked at the chains.

They didn’t have time for this. She was running out of breath. Come on now, you didn’t come all this way to fear for your life. It’s her life you should be scared for!

That helped, somehow. The terror didn’t go away, but she managed to focus on the image of Harima that had flashed in her mind before, the one that she couldn’t quite shake off either awake or asleep.

Since she was a little girl, Harima taught her that death is but a part of the cycle of what we call life, not the opposite of it.

Zeitiria, since then, had faced death countless times, be it in sickness, due to a stupid accident, or in every battle to protect the temple she had fought for.

She had thought to be finally at peace with its inevitability, by now. She had felt in her very skin that her spirit was far more boundless than a mere physical ending.

Yet, to her own surprise, in the face of her mother’s approaching end—the very woman who had given her life—any certainty crumbled beneath her feet, and she’d fallen to the floor, curling up in a ball as if she’d landed back in the womb. Not even her beloved could console her.

Show me, please.

The third part of the process opened up to her, the most unpredictable one.

As she looked into the Chasm, the Chasm looked back.

I beg of you, show me how to save my mother’s life.