Journal Entry, Dated 07/03

Jasmine

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ0703/01

Title: Journal Entry, Dated 07/03

Author: Jasmine

Date: Written approximately 07/03, Year 5607 A. o. W.

Extent: One journal entry, five pages long

07/03

I knew we’d need to scale a mountain in order to reach the Hall of Kindling and Charcoal, but I hadn’t realized the true difference between a mountain and a hill was until very recently. There aren’t any mountains in Seabreeze Shoal, just the one jagged hill that the lighthouse sits atop of. I asked Nico what could possibly be so different between the two. His answer came when he brought me to the foot of the mountain and told me to look up. I did, and saw a summit so tall that it blocked out part of the sun.

Now, halfway up the damn thing, I’ve made my decision about mountains: they’re awful. Just awful.

I won’t miss the forest, but I’ll take the terror of its thickest groves over this dry, dusty heap of rocks we’ve spent the day scaling up like two ill mountain goats. At its base, dead grass gives way to sharp stones and dirt. Further up is no better. The sad plants that jut out of the cliffside are stringy and sharp; I brushed against one by accident and found my shirt with a new tear along the sleeve. 

Worse still, the wind carries the aberration’s screams. We’ve made camp for the night, but their howls continue now, surrounding us on every side. 

Despite the lack of greenery for them to hide behind, they’re still not easy to spot. Their screams go on and on, neverending, but there’s a change when they’re about to attack. They stop echoing in the air, and start echoing inside our heads.

Nico reacts faster than I do. He notices the shift and immediately fires off a bolt. Meanwhile I freeze, and it takes all my strength to force my body to move. If I’m lucky, I can smack one away with my staff before it gets close enough to maul me. I rarely hit hard enough to kill it, but punting an aberration down the mountainside at least gives us a couple hours of relief.

We should make it to the Hall tomorrow morning. We could have made it there today if Nico didn’t insist on breaking for camp so early. He believes it’s better to rest early than to wander up a poorly-maintained path in the dark, but we came to a stop long before the sun even set. I suspect it’s because he wanted to take his time cooking the rabbit he caught earlier today. He’s still poking at his stew, even now. Supposedly, it tastes better the longer it simmers, which leaves me stuck eating slices of dried fruit until he says it’s ready. 

Speaking of Nico, while he’s currently too focused on his stew to talk my ear off, he’s usually just as eager to chat while traveling as he is while working, or while cooking, or while doing anything at all. 

He’s talked so much during our journey. I’ve learned countless things about the places we’ve passed and the places he thinks we’re sure to visit. He seems to know every legend about His Eternal Warmth in existence; enough to put even Spica and her Dad’s library to shame.

The most outlandish legend he told me was about a man who fell in love with His Eternal Warmth, who visited him while disguised as a human. I knew there were legends about His Eternal Warmth disguising Himself as a mortal to walk amongst His people, but I usually dismissed them as fanciful and unrealistic. To hear one centered on Him taking a mortal as His lover? Absolutely ridiculous.

Nico disagrees. He says it’s well-documented, and if I had ever asked Spica she’d know the exact legend. I’m not so sure.

I can tolerate the constant talking… to a point. It’s not that I need quiet in order to function. What I need is an awareness of my surroundings, especially out here. 

The lighthouse wasn’t quiet at all, but I knew all of its sounds by heart: the creak of the floorboards beneath my feet, the whistle of wind outside, the crackle of the fire that kept the lantern lit, the ever-present crash of the tide below. None of those sounds ever demanded my attention; I could tune them out whenever I needed. Even at home, Blossom’s songs grew routine enough to become nothing more than a flutter in the background.

But that’s exactly the problem — I grew used to all those sounds. I’m not used to anything out here. I don’t know what’s dangerous and what isn’t. The aberrations’ screams are obvious, but the screeching winds? The crumbling rocks, clattering beneath our feet and tumbling down the mountain? The animals, bleating goats and squawking birds? They’re too unfamiliar for me to tune out. Everything worries me until I can put eyes on the source of the sound and figure out what will kill me and what won’t. 

So Nico talking is another sound, layered on top of all the others. Familiar now, the irritating lilt of his voice, yes, but his stories often catch my attention, and that’s a distraction I can’t afford. Not if I want to stay alive.

At least, that’s how I initially felt. Today was the first day that the sounds of the mountain had lost their edge of unfamiliar terror. That break let a new fear grow in my mind. I had no idea what laid in wait for us at the top of the mountain. We only had one night to ready ourselves, and I felt woefully unprepared.

Nico had been silent for maybe half an hour when I came to that realization. He was only quiet because I had snapped at him that if he kept yammering on, we were both going to die. I felt guilty for snapping, and for the way he winced at my words, but I couldn’t bring myself to apologize.

“Hey, Nico,” I said.

He looked over at me, lips pursed in a silent question. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or not, but it didn’t matter either way.

“Tell me about this Hall we’re going to.”

His eyes spark like a stoked fire when he’s excited — I never spent enough time with Pina and Deodar to know if this was an Undying Ember thing, or unique to Nico — and the glow brightening his face told me this was enough of an apology. 

“I’d love to! Let’s see, where should I begin… aha! Do you know what makes these mountains special?” he asked me.

“Um… They’re… very orange.”

Nico laughed. “Well, yes, but that’s not what I meant! You should know this. Don’t they still teach this in school?”

“I dropped out of school.”

“Oh. Well. That explains a few things. But that’s fine! From here on out, I’ll be your teacher.” Our time together has taught me that it isn’t so much that Nico loves the sound of his own voice. Or… well. Maybe he does. More than that, he loves feeling smart. 

Yet despite the way he loves to chatter, Nico reserves most of his observations and history lessons for my ears alone. The months of isolation in his village must have done something to him. For all he’s happy to speak on my behalf when we interact with others, he offers the innkeeps, merchants, and our fellow travelers on the road little save for off-kilter jokes or an impersonal distance.

“The entire northern part of the land is made up of a mountain range called the Smither’s Folly, named for the volcanoes that make up the range. The easternmost volcano, where the Hearth is, that’s the biggest one. The rest are smaller. Many haven’t erupted in centuries,” he said.

“I knew some of that,” I told him. I knew of Smither’s Folly… mostly from my map. “I didn’t realize all these mountains are volcanoes.”

“Must have been a lesson you never got to learn. Not that it would matter much, being from the south. Even if they all erupt, the lava would never reach y—”

A deafening scream cut off Nico’s final word. My first instinct was to freeze, hands gripped around my staff like a lifeline. But freezing wouldn’t protect us, and so I forced myself to breathe and check my surroundings. I caught sight of the aberration as it leaped off a ledge above us, twisted claws outstretched and reaching directly for me.

Then Nico’s bolt pierced the center of its head, and it exploded into a cloud of ash. My senses returned just in time for me to run a little further up the path to avoid getting rained on.

I took another step, and realized that the path below my feet had shifted. I was no longer walking on dirt, but on a small step made of broken stone. I looked up the pathway, and found myself staring up a staircase that seemed to continue on forever.

My legs ached at the sight. 

Nico moved past me, completely unfazed by the attack. “Anyways, the Hall of Kindling and Charcoal was built about… fifteen hundred years ago, I believe? Sometime around then. It was originally built at the foot of the mountain. Back then, people believed that the world was His Eternal Warmth’s true body, and that the being that the Flame-Feeder communed with was just an avatar. They also thought lava was His lifeblood. Naturally they wanted to be as close as possible to His essence.” 

“Is that why the mountain range is called Smither’s Folly?” I asked.

Nico laughed. “No. The name comes from another silly legend. That’s a good one — I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Oh.”

“The thing is, there’s a reason why there are no big villages in the mountain range. And that’s because it’s hard to justify living out here when a volcanic eruption could destroy everything you’ve ever known. That, and the whole place is just… well.” He gestured all around us, nose scrunched in disgust. “You see. But the Hall’s first scholars didn’t care about living in a barely-hospitable wasteland. They saw it as a grand sacrifice. If a volcanic eruption took them out, then they’d deserve it, because that meant they weren’t worshiping Him correctly.”

He paused, swivelling on one foot to face me. “Now, Jasmine, here’s a question for you: do you think His Eternal Warmth controls the tides?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course not.” Everyone in Seabreeze Shoal knew that. It was Nothingness, always trying and failing to take whatever it could from His Eternal Warmth’s domain. He had no care for water or for the moon; only the sun and the earth.

Nico laughed. “Thank you! Honestly. Some people think the guy can do anything and everything all at once. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that He can’t. He’s not nearly as omnipresent as people think. Yes, He can control when volcanoes erupt. He can make the earth shake. But His blood isn’t made of lava, and His flesh isn’t made of earth. And sometimes, volcanoes just erupt, and He had nothing to do with the eruption. So when this volcano erupted, the scholars couldn’t evacuate in time. They thought it was divine punishment for some sin they had committed. For what, they didn’t know. But His Eternal Warmth wasn’t going to let them die, so He raised up their Hall to the top of the volcano.”

Nico pointed to the Hall, standing high above us. Any hope I had clung to of reaching the Hall before dusk was dashed. 

“See that?” Nico asked, pointing to the strange plateau the Hall stood upon.

“It looks…wrong.”

“That’s because it’s unnatural. A lot of mountains are shaped by thousands of years’ worth of wind and rain, slowly carving them down into what we see today. That plateau where the Hall stands? Nothing but some rocks His Eternal Warmth raised up for the scholars of that time. He didn’t help any with getting up to the Hall, so the scholars kindly gave us this,” he said, kicking a spare stone off the staircase. “And if you ask me, they should really maintain it better.”

He was right. The staircase showed its every year. “Why don’t they?”

“Because it doesn’t matter to them. I was stationed here for over a year, and every time I had to leave the Hall, I dreaded it. They put Embers in charge of escorting supply runs up the mountains. I lost count of the number of carts I almost lost down the mountainside! But they hardly ever leave, so they’re more than happy to forget all about the world outside the doors.” Nico laughed, no humor in the sound. “Anyways, they’re safe from any potential eruptions now. Mostly. The volcano has been dormant for centuries. Now they believe that if they ever go against His Eternal Warmth’s will, that He’ll send their Hall crashing down into the sea.”

“Do you think that’ll ever happen?” I asked. “His Eternal Warmth breaking their place apart?”

Nico shrugged. “Guess that depends on how this trial goes, right?”

I mulled over Nico’s description as I half-listened to his next topic: what food the scholars often ate. Now that he’s silent and I actually have the space to think, my thoughts return to Spica and her Dad. 

They always described it as such a grand place. Spica’s memories were sparse, having left so young, but she always wished to see it again. She told me of grand hallways and of corridors full of life, of sunlight streaming in through massive windows. What did she always call it? “A place of wonder and mystique?” Something along those lines.

But Nico’s description isn’t of a place of wonder or mystique. It sounds no better than the rest of this fucking mountain. A dump atop a dump. 

I wonder if Spica will ever get to visit, now that she’s an Undying Ember. I don’t know how Embers are assigned stations across the world, but maybe she’ll be stationed here. After what I’ve heard today, I hope she won’t be. This place would break her heart and sour all of those sweet memories she held as a child. 

I hope Spica is doing okay. Nico says she’ll likely train at the Tending Grounds for the next several months, if not longer. He suggested sending her a letter, though from what I’ve told him, he doubts I’ll receive one in return. I think the same.

Still… I hadn’t thought of writing her one before, back when Nico and I were in his village. Even if I had, there was nowhere to send it from. Considering we’re planning on robbing the Hall, I won’t be able to send it there, but we’re likely to stop at a village after. Maybe I can write a letter to her then.

From her last letter to me, the simple act of leaving had been nearly enough to crush her. How much more would Blossom’s death ruin her? Spica loved her, too. Was always so much kinder to her than I ever was.

But she deserves to know.

I hope she’s doing better now. 

Maybe, if I survive this journey, we’ll meet again. Years down the line. And maybe we won’t be so different from the people that we used to be. Maybe we’ll still be able to recognize one another.

…Nico’s stew is ready, which means he’s chatting again. He just asked what I was writing about.

…

He thinks we’ll meet again. Spica and I. And when we do, we’ll understand one another better than we ever had.

I’d like to hope so.