Day 9,

Breakfast is eaten, lunch is packed in a basket along with my lantern and a second journal for note taking.  I’m back in the chiton so I don’t ruin another set of the old archivist’s clothes.  The sun’s out with no sign of rain.  I’m all set to

Looks like Cass is going to be joining me on this expedition to the ruined cathedral.  I’ll fill in that conversation later.  I’ll be leaving this journal I thought about leaving this journal here so in case something happens to us while we’re out there's something to indicate where we went, but I don’t want the sprite messing with it while I’m not around.  Better get going, Cass is getting impatient with me.

We’re back, and apart from a couple of skinned knees and elbows, and tiredness from some excitement, in good health and spirits.  Cass should be home by now.  I offered to walk her the rest of the way back, but she refused, saying that she didn’t want me to take any blame for her running off.  I respected her wishes, but I still intend to apologize to her parents the next time I run into one of them.

But anyway, back to this morning.

My initial morning note was interrupted by a knocking at my door.  I answered with some hesitancy, expecting another prank from the nature sprite, but instead was greeted by my Cass with a backpack on her back and her signature smug grin on her face.  Which was a whole different kind of off-putting.

I asked what she was doing here and she told me that I’d said I was going to explore the ruins the first chance I got and now was probably my first chance.  I asked why if I was going today, why would I be bringing along a ten year old kid with me?  She indignantly replied that she was twelve and practically an adult (in a tone that spoke volumes to the contrary) and besides I can hardly find my way around town, probably have never even explored the woods before, and got scared and ran away last time, all showing that she was the more qualified of the two of us.  Low blows but hard to refute.  Also, I didn’t say it but the fact that she had a backpack instead of a picnic basket said some things about who was the better prepared between us.  Although in my defense, I don’t even own a backpack.  It seems the old archivist wasn’t the outdoorsy type despite living all the way out here.  Maybe he gave that sort of stuff away in his old age?

In the end I acquiesced and we set off.  Truth be told, I didn’t actually mind the company.  It didn’t take long for her to be useful either.  Having found the path on accident before I wasn’t totally sure which branch off the main road to take, but Cass knew well enough to go straight there.

While the canopy was thick here, more than enough light still filtered through to give a better view of the structure as we approached.  The difference was, well, night and day.  It was one thing to see it in part and catch glimpses of an implied vastness, but another to see it in whole.  The only reason it did not reach above the trees was because the trees themselves were growing on top of it, the terraces of its rooftops becoming a second and third story to the forest floor as roots crawled down the walls like ivy and trunks and branches entwined with buttresses.

Cass soon ran ahead to the door, chattering excitedly as she left me behind.  I don’t think she had ever seen anything this old or this big up close before.  I can’t say for sure if I have either.

Hurrying to catch up with my young companion I pushed my way through the crooked door only to nearly trip over her.  The morning light had transformed the interior space from a surreal void to an awe-inspiring expanse.  Light filled the central nave.  As green leaf-filtered streams on the high side windows.  As vertical golden rays replacing the prior night’s columns of rain from holes in the roof.  As an iridescent wave coming in from the bare remains of a curved stained glass window backlighting the statue of the Reader.  All this reflected off the broad leaf and moss-filled puddles that stretched across much of the floor, still not evaporated days later.  The side aisles were a tangle of roots from the trees above, quite possibly doing as much to hold the structure up as the pillars separating aisle from nave.

We stood there in silence, the two of us, stunned as we took it all in.  We almost didn’t notice the chill that had set in the moment we crossed the threshold.  Not true cold, but certainly not the tropical warmth I had grown accustomed to and that Cass must have spent her whole life with.  But, seemingly true to Pat’s knowledge, no rain, no chanting.

We took our time examining the place, me methodically working my way up down the aisles and remains of pews taking notes in my other notebook and attempting (rather poor) sketches, and Cass excitedly running from one point to the next literally poking at the pews and climbing among the roots.  She eventually told me to stop calling out variations of “please be careful.”

Eventually we made our way to the statue.  Or the Reader as I’d taken to thinking of it as.  Cass said that she’d never seen anything like it either, and then with only an “I wonder what they’re reading” as a warning, shrugged off her backpack and began to climb the statue.  Much to my alarm.  Of course my reaction only fed her ego as she reached the Reader’s lap no worse for the wear.  After a moment of scraping away moss and leaves, she told me she couldn’t read what it said (“I can read! Just not this this.”) and told me to toss her my notebook.  I shrugged and did so and she began transcribing the contents of those stone pages as best she could.  I for one was surprised that there even were words carved into where no one would ever see, much less that they were still legible.  Then again, the statue did seem less worn than the rest of this place.

After a few minutes she tossed the notebook back to me and I managed not to drop it in a puddle while she climbed back down.

And then we turned our attention to the part I’d really been waiting for.  The archway behind the statue I’d briefly glimpsed before my flight, half hidden behind a curtain of vines.  And inside that archway was a door.  And behind that door… was rubble…

Of course, leave it to Cass to start climbing that rubble to a gap at the top to look through and spy stairs going down on the other side.  And then to immediately started pulling out loose masonry from the pile and throwing it behind her.  At that moment I swore that it wasn’t going to be vengeful spirits that killed me here but her giving me a heart attack.  Or accidentally beaning me in the head with a rock.

I half talked, half pulled her down, and against my better judgement, agreed to help her clear the passage so long as we agreed to be slow and careful about it and to both run for it if it looked like anything might start falling.  And if we had lunch first.

A few hours later we had cleared enough space to crawl through near the top, and that was all the child had patience for.  It was enough for me to get through as well, if a little tight, and I took a bit of a tumble on the far side, but fortunately not all the way to the stairs.

From here on out, it would be our lanterns as the only source of light as we descended those stairs.  The stairs spiraled down for some ways before coming out into a new space.  In contrast to the vast openness above, the ceiling here was low enough for me to touch if I jumped and lines of sight were frequently broken by broad pillars.  Pillars big enough around to hold multiple inset sarcophagi.  Because of course it was a catacomb.  But apparently not as Cass pointed out “The Catacombs.”  A distinction that for once she refused to elaborate on, citing bad luck to discuss the topic and bringing to mind Pat’s words from yesterday.

For once, Cass wasn’t inclined to run off on her own, and I was grateful not to be left on my own down there.  It was eerie enough and getting late enough that we by no means explored every inch of the place, but at a rough estimate I’d say it spread under the whole of the nave and aisles above and some ways further back away from the entrance.  The ceiling, floors, and walls were all worked stone, surprisingly free of intruding roots or water from above – or even significant cracks for that matter.  The sarcophagi were largely unadorned beyond carvings in that same unknown script Cass had transcribed from the Reader’s book.  Cass wanted to open one up to see what was inside, but I told her that if this place actually is haunted and that those chanting voices in the rain are linked to whomever is buried down here, it was best not to disturb them.  And besides, I wasn’t sure the two of us even could move the heavy stone lids.

Still, we did find something for her to open up.

On the floor near the pillar that I suspect was directly beneath the Reader was a small wooden box with a metal key on top of it.  After some debate we eventually agreed that it didn’t fit in with the rest of this place, might have been left behind by a prior explorer, and was probably safe to open.  Cass insisted that she do the honors.  In a moment of paranoia I insisted that she open it away from herself.

The key of course was for the box.  And inside it was a ring inset with a pale stone, a white mask with no features beyond eye holes and a solid pink-red circle over each cheek, a smaller box containing a collection of matching bronze bracelets, and a note.

I’ve already transcribed the note in my notebook so I’ll just summarize it here:

• The author of the note was another outsider.
• The box and its contents belonged to them.
• They left the box behind here to be found by “another adventurous soul looking for answers.”
• They implied that the contents were special in some way, maybe even magical, but didn’t elaborate how.
• They had lived a long life here in the Village and now went out to seek the “Endless Abyss.”

That last part was definitely unsettling enough to make me want to get then and there, but Cass insisted on dividing up the “treasure” there and then.  We each took one of the bracelets.  I argued that the rest should be kept together in their case rather than separating them all now to split them evenly.  In the end I kept hold of the bracelet case in exchange for Cass getting the mask and a promise to take her with me the next time I did something like this.  And in hindsight I half suspect she might have steered the conversation to that promise from the start.

As for the ring, it was her idea to play out the story from the other night and decide who gets it in a contest of riddles in the dark.  And that there was an opportunity I just couldn’t pass up.  I’ll not write my riddle down here lest Cass one day decide to take this journal to look for the answer.

If this ring really is some sort of magic, it doesn’t turn me invisible.  And even if it did, that wouldn’t have made me feel any better about staying down there any longer than we already had.  We made our way up and out of the catacomb, over the rubble (no tripping or stumbling this time), spared one last glance for the Reader, and stepped back out the front doors to the warm evening.