Page 93 of Possession

This account was written by scholar Ninurta-kudurri-usur as a plea to King Kashtiliash IV of Babylonia to act against the entity. There are records of troops sent to assess the situation, though they never returned to the capitol to report back to King Kashtiliash. When Ninurta-kudurri-usur sent another plea for aid, the king replied that he believed that they were faced with an avatar of Nergal [a god of the underworld, commonly associated with war, death, fevers, and plague] and declined to intervene in divine affairs.

I set the book down. The information matches what I’ve heard so far, but the details are startling. A throne of bones? Willing away the essence of a person? I need to process this. A break would be good—maybe one where I could take a walk?

Grabbing the book, which has to be around five pounds, I leave the library through the same side hallway. It takes some navigating and a fair amount of walking in circles, but, when I finally make it out, I head for my room.

The information rattles my brain on my walk back, words giving way to pictures. After my dream, where I finally saw what Aris looks like, I’m able to picture him on a throne of skulls, destroying a city for a laugh. Part of me wants to turn around and put the book back where I found it, terrified to learn any more about his past and be given more reason to hate him (Terrified that, despite all the more reason, I won’t be able to hate him).

In the end, I bring it to my room, setting it on my bed precariously and leaving soon after, preoccupied with my thoughts. I need to keep walking; I need to be outside, with fresh air and wind and trees.

During one episode of wandering the of the Institute, I accidentally found an outdoor area but didn’t bother to explore it. Right now, though, I need fresh air, even if it kills me to find my way back.

Tell the truth, it nearly does; this place is truly a labyrinth, and for each hallway I correctly navigate, another seems to spawn in its place. Finally, on the brink of frustration, I find an expanse of windows greenery on the other side, with just an inch of glass to separate us.

As I approach the door to leave, I hold my breath, expecting to feel something pull me back. But there is no tether, and I can go.

When I step out, it is into fresh air and life. I pause for a moment to feel the breeze before taking a full turn. It’s a courtyard I’m in—a large one, granted, so big that I can barely make out the far walls boxing me in. Behind me is the building of the Institute revealed at last—massive, white, and stone, reminiscent of a medieval fortress. Having glimpsed the history from earlier, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that it really is from the Middle Ages.

I look away from the building and step further out, unable to help but smile. It’s still winter, technically, with a biting cold, but the grass is green. Brave buds are even starting to show on a few shrubs. It’s beautiful; things are growing, becoming more and new, which is such a welcome reprise from all of the death.

I start down a marked path and head into what I know will be a beautiful garden in a few months. Even now, every hedge is trimmed into fantastical shapes—from unicorns to phoenixes, many creatures are portrayed. They’re all very expressly detailed, making me itch to draw near, but I keep my distance; I don’t know the ins-and-outs of this place, and the topiary could very well bite me if I get too close.

At the center of the courtyard is a wooden gazebo and an unfrozen pond. In the middle, a group of mallard ducks take turns diving, and the water is clear enough that I can spot them hunting beneath. There are schools of fish, algae, plants, and a whole ecosystem living and thriving.

The scene is so natural and wonderful that I want to pull up a blanket and picnic, offering spare crumbs for the ducks, but I question as to how any of this exists. Simon said that the Institute lies within the space between portals. Does that mean that all of this was originally gray, pulpy sludge, or could it be that the mages found this land as it is?

The Institute was clearly built. Whether magic or mortar holds the stone together, materials were required to make it. But this grass, these ducks, and even the sky… I’ve no doubt that the water would be wet if I touched it and the teeth of the animals would break skin if I reached out a hand. These aren’t simple illusions. Was this all brought here?

I marvel on it for a moment, thinking that maybe one day the mages will trust me enough to tell me their secrets.

I’m a little startled by the thought. Am I really planning on staying?

Taking a seat on a bench, I rub my hands for warmth as I consider. It’s not that this place is great. I pass people in the halls who used to be my guards, some who still give me distrustful looks. There are reminders everywhere that I am not one of them, and I often find myself chilled in my room as I picture my cell twenty feet below.

The crux of the matter is that this isn’t what I would’ve chosen for myself, if I'd had a choice.

Suddenly, the ducks start to quack incessantly, splashing in the water and scattering in different directions in the pond. I glance at them, confused by their alarm, and stand to see what’s wrong. And then I feel it, too.

I go still. There is a prickle at the back of my neck. One by one, the hairs on my arms rise to stand on end.

There is something here. Like walking into a haunted house or a knife being brandished, my gut clenches, and I know that something bad is about to happen.

But what? I look around for the danger and see nothing. That only frightens me further, because this enemy is invisible. It’s undoubtedly there—I feel it, somewhere—but I can’t see it. How can I fight it like this?

I turn in several circles, looking in the same places twice and then again, hands shaking and skin tingling from the feeling of being observed. And, finally, I realize that the top of my head is feeling this the worst, and I understand.

Very, very slowly, I look up. And I see it.

It’s so big and enormous and large that I can feel my mind trying to expand, trying to accept what fills my entire vision and more. A shape without a shape, matter and matterless, filling the sky. It was day seconds ago, and now this being has turned it to night.

I don’t know how I know that it’s looking, because there isn’t a body, and there isn’t a face, but I feel something like eyes staring at me. Appraising me.

And when this thing, this being, finally calls out, I don’t just hear it; I feel it, vibrating through me with a shuddering intensity that powders my bones under my skin.

There are words, or something like words, spoken, but I don’t understand. It slices me in half, makes me feel like my brain is squirting out through my ears. Is it? I can’t lift my hands to check. Where are my hands?

The cry comes again, so vast and ancient that it makes me weep. And I scream. Or, I try to; my mouth opens, but nothing comes out, and it feels like my skull is being split in half. How am I still standing? How am I not dead?

Everything is dark. Have I shut my eyes? When did I close my eyes? I’m squeezing them shut—I’ve noticed now.

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