The Ancients: The Mountains 2

I hope those memories are memories and not dreams, I thought. I had heard people talking, heard conversations about myself, and I was now operating on what information I had gathered. I hesitated briefly at the end of my corridor, not sure which way to go. The hall that branched to the left led into the mountain. There, the wall of glass met seamlessly with one of rock, and the rock continued back around a sharp corner, gathering oppressive shadows along the way. The hall to the right continued along the face of the mountain, and so the wall of glass stretched away from me indefinitely. Light reflected off the age-worn wall opposite the glass and mica in the stone glittered faintly.
I turned left and tried to quicken my pace, heedless of the noise I was making. Everyone would be worshipping. I had weaved my way between dreams and wakefulness for the better part of the last two days, but had not, since the day I had first glimpsed the glass wall that extended and encircled the sanctuary, had the strength to move from my bed. Today I had awaken abruptly, clear-headed, and anxious to flee. I didn't know from whom or from what, or even if there was truly a reason at all. In fact, I had realized upon awakening that I hadn't the faintest idea as to who I was or what I was doing here, or even where here was. Action, I knew, was a poor substitute for knowledge, but when the one is lacking, the other must attempt to make up the difference. And so I was fleeing.
I cleared a sharp corner, gaining momentum, and then closed my eyes instinctively as a large shape blocked the light in front of me. The shock of the collision forced a gasp from my lips and I took a series of steps backward, trying not to fall over. My shaking legs complained but held me upright. I placed a hand against the wall for support and then turned my head to see who had just very nearly knocked me to the floor.
It was a boy, or at least seemed to be from what I could see of him. He was most definitely taller than I was -indeed; most everyone was- but was so thoroughly hunched over as to prevent me from seeing his face. I found myself looking down upon a head of dark, tousled hair.
The head of hair tilted upwards awkwardly.
"Oh! It's you!"
Apparently startled by the identity of the personage before him, the boy lost his grip on the wrapped parcel at his torso. He clutched at it and I took a few more quick steps backward as he lunged after it, trying to keep closed the wrappings, which had been jostled in the collision and were rapidly coming unraveled. He was certainly not going to succeed on his own.
"Hold still," I said, and reached forward to clasp the package closed. My hands were steady and I inhaled deeply as they retied the wrappings. My senses quietened at the innocent smell of him; dried thyrus ink and the subtle musk of moldy paper. A scribesman, then. Finished, I took yet another step back and regarded him, rubbing vaguely at the middle of my chest where his shoulder had caught me.
"You honor me," he said.
While I had worked, the boy had evidently taken the time to compose himself and stood straight now, smiling across at me. I saw that, despite the safe smell of him, his eyes, creased just so and tilted at such an angle, hinted at thoughts more mysteries and mischievous than the life of a scribesman or scholar should call for.
"Your honor is mine," I returned automatically, my thoughts confused, distracted. I had caught sight of the corridor behind the boy. Wall sconces, placed at regular intervals along the walls at shoulder height, took up where the natural lighting from the glass walls left off and illuminated a passage to- nowhere, it seemed. The hall appeared to come abruptly to a dead-end.
"So... you're feeling better?" His voice was quiet, as though he knew he must speak but didn't think it necessary that I must hear. Or maybe he doesn't want anyone else to hear, I thought.
I returned my gaze to him and only then thought to wonder what he was doing in the living quarters during the most sacred hour of the day. There was a certain leanness in the planes of his face and a maturity in his posture -its composure newly restored- that told me he was older than I had at first thought. Perhaps even older than myself, though surely not old enough to have attained a rank sufficient enough to allowed him to wonder along halls unsupervised and at such a speed during the hour of the dead.
"I'm not sure." I paused. "Where am I?"
"Oh, we're in the East Tower of the Glass right now. I'm sorry we had to move you so far, but there are no living quarters in the West Tower, where we found you."
I thought for a moment, then said, "you found me?"
"Well, we didn't find you, of course. A group of herbalists. From Holdi, the village down near the foot of the..." He trailed off at the look of confusion on my face.
"You really don't remember anything, do you?"
I looked at him numbly. "How do you know that?"
"The Well-Speaker- he said that when you roused it was always in confusion. He said you always asked where you were, who he was, even though you had seen him many times before."
When I didn't say anything he continued.
"He said that you must surely have been forsaken by the Gods to have called down such a curse upon yourself. To forget your past… well, it’s a most harsh punishment, is it not?" The last had been spoken solemnly, in hushed tones, but he must have seen something in my face, because he smiled to lighten the words.
"It's a good thing they council empathy and moral condemnation in equal measure or you might not have found this place such a haven. The Fathers mumbled a great deal. There were those who thought it a bad idea to succor one so cursed by the Gods; they argued that it must surely go against the will of the Ancient Ones."
My face must have shown some sign of the alarm that had crept into me with his words because he added hastily, "Oh, they were but few- a small portion of the Fathers. They are the most zealous of our sect. Come, you must not worry."
He took a step towards me then, as if to offer comfort, and then lunged forward as I fell against the wall. The planes of his face, rigid with effort, drifted before me. I tried to lift myself up, to help him, and then I saw only darkness.