Laotlhelh gathered a few bushels of herbs, mostly yarrow. Eriothet used grass and scraggly brushwood to construct a shade and a drying rack. Lao set up her herbs to dry and began cooking a portion of them into a paste. Erio sat down to meditate.

  He was not a man who meditated often, nor was he particularly skilled in any spiritual art. Indeed, he was somewhat skeptical towards divinity, because he was so often annoyed by the oppressive behavior of the Holy Church. He had, however, learned some simple meditative styles by reading common pamphlets and manuals. Once, he had hoped that spiritual focus would give him magical powers, or at least magic-resistance. Yet he never achieved any measurable proficiency with magical arts, so he gave up on it. At the time of our story, he meditated only rarely, usually due to boredom or stress. In this case, it was boredom. But something about the expansive and windy plains, with the cool temple looming overhead, invited a contemplative mindset and a harmonious connection to reality.

  So he began by sitting in the shade and clasping his hands in his lap. He closed his eyes, cleared his mind, and thought of nothing. When words crossed his thoughts, he let them pass, like fish swimming down a swift river. Whenever he thought of anything, he allowed his thoughts to swim away, without catching on anything. Thus, his mind became emptier and emptier. His sense of seriousness and sorrow slipped away, replaced by a clear and cool emptiness that seemed more appropriate for the great sky of the grassy plains. Winds danced across the grasses, and occasional unnameable moods rippled across his mind. That's when he knew he was making progress. When his thoughts became esoteric and inexplicable, no longer constrained by language, he knew that he was feeling something, understanding something he could not have experienced by mere contemplation. So he continued deeper.

  It felt like descending into a dark and quiet cavern without walls, a land of stairs and darkness where the breeze moved freely. It felt like sitting in place, but rising up into a golden heaven, where myriad universes unfolded in every direction, where thoughtless rings without meaning unfurled, levitating into the sky, like the various boundaries of natural spheres. A map of the universe unrolled in his soul, an infinite fractal coastline with the bays and mountains unnamed. A perfectly drawn map without words, a perfect celestial palace of hard light in pink, blue, and gold, like a sunset carved into a cliffside citadel.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Then, strangely, he found something sitting there in the center of the palace. It was like a worm of brown stone, with a pink nose and a robe of blue water. A creature so absurd that it could not have come from his soul or his imagination. If he questioned it, if he challenged it, he would have jolted awake immediately and opened his eyes and perhaps leapt to his feet. Instead, he listened. The creature seemed to grumble deep in its throat, a tectonic rumbling, or a noise like a river falling deep into the earth. It resembled a house or a general, or the shape of entire reality. This was a living spirit communicating, perhaps without thought, perhaps without intention, speaking into the land around the temple.

  Erio almost raised his hand and reached out to it. His concentration wavered, or rather his serene fluidity trembled like a reservoir pouring into an open channel. The spirit took notice of him. It seemed to whisper some words, which could not be deciphered because they were not real words. It extended a feeling, which was like an invitation or a nourishment, a communication of history. This creature meant something. It intended something. It was not entirely mindless. It gained thoughts, reflecting his own thoughts. It awakened itself, awakening him. Coiling, crafty and innocent, it seemed more snake-like, more concrete. It beckoned with its tail, or perhaps rattled a warning, eyes and fangs dripping clear water, like the petals of a bird-flower, like the exquisite discipline of rivulets dribbling into the earth among roots and gravel, rotting boughs and blooming flowers. An unmistakable message: "I am here. I am still here. I've always been here. I'll always be here. I thank you, and you're welcome. See me. Come see me."

  Erio could not help but blink, glancing around at the bright plains, a forbidding land rippling with heat. He felt something strange and cool, like a smooth pebble resting atop his stomach. It moved deeper, urging him to sit and sink into the earth, urging him to walk into the cool depths. He saw with that feeling for a long time.