The trees end abruptly. One moment we are fighting our way through oversized ferns, vines, and god knows what, I’m not a botanic, and the next we’re standing on open ground. The clearing is huge, with no trees or bushes; only brown-green grass as far as I can see.

We don’t speak a word, just shoulder our backpacks again and trod on. I’m glad walking is easier now, and we start off at a respectable pace, relieved to be going at a better pace than so far.

Somewhere, a bird calls, and I whirl around.

“Easy there, tiger,” she laughs but stops abruptly. It seems wrong to laugh here.

We have been walking for four hours, the scenery changing only ever so slightly. At least the mountain wall is noticeably getting closer.

I have fallen into a kind of trance, or else I cannot explain the sudden feeling I have of being watched. I look around, but there is nothing. No life to be seen. I hunch my shoulders and walk on. Silly me.

Doctor Nairi – Leanne, I correct myself – is walking a good pace ahead. She’s in considerably better shape than me.

Something runs past me, no more than a black flash in the corner of my eye, and I whirl around, my heart in my throat. Faint laughter can be heard.

“Thomas? Thomas are you okay?”

Leanne’s call breaks me out of whatever reverie I’ve fallen into, and I shake my head with a wry smile. The asylum has not managed to drive me mad, but this place is surely doing a good job.

I wave to her and hurry to catch up to her. She is looking worried, and I don’t want her to worry.

“Are you alright? Did something happen?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I just thought I saw something.”

She grins. “This place is kinda spooky, true.” She looks around. “Can’t help but wonder what happened here to make life shun it.”

That doesn’t help. But I grin for her sake and motion for us to go on. I don’t feel like camping here, and night is about to fall.

The sky is taking on a reddish golden hue, the sun slowly but surely disappearing behind the mountains, and we’re still trampling through this god-forsaken wasteland.

I cannot help the feeling that something is wrong with this land, deeply wrong. Whatever has happened here was bad. Really, really bad.

“Let’s rest here.” Leanne has been walking at my pace; maybe she’s worried for my sanity. I would not even blame her. She has been my doctor after all. Now she’s stopped on a small slope.

I let my backpack fall. The sky is passing from a beautiful sunset into a greenish dark-blue herald of the swiftly approaching night. I don’t like it one bit. But of course Leanne is right, we need to rest, and putting up a tent without light is fairly difficult.

As the days before, Leanne is taking over the duty of making our tents sleep-ready. I’m no good at it. Instead, I go look for something flammable for our fire. My hopes of finding someting are low, and I’m loath to stagger about those tufts of grass and stones, but the thought of spending the night in darkness is even less appealing.

Idly I wonder how the big boulders have got here. They’ve started appearing about two hours ago, and they look suspiciously man-made. But neither Doctor Nairi nor I could make any sense of them.

I squint against the impending black of night, the sky already mercilessly dark-blue and riddled with stars. The moon itself is veiled behind a band of thick clouds. There is something whitish visible some twenty or so meters from me. It looks like a pile of dry wood. Well, we’re probably not the first to pass through here, and maybe some nice travellers before us left wood.

The place is feeling less evil with this presence of recent human activity, and I hurry over to the pile. It’s located on a hill I realize when I get closer, and funnily enough there’s something like a trench round the hill. I carefully pick my way down and up again. It would not do if I broke my foot out of clumsiness.

When I’ve finally reached the top of the hill, I’m panting, and I need to brace myself on my knees to catch my breath. Sweat is sticking my shirt to my skin, and had I not been so fixed on the pile of wood, I would have noticed that there were no mosquitos to suck me dry like the nights before.

Finally able to walk more or less upright again, I step closer to the pile, overcome by a sudden feeling of dread. It’s not rational, of that I’m sure, so I try to brush it aside, but it sticks to my mind with unrelenting persistence.

I begin to pick up branches and pile them in my arms. Something is wrong with this wood. Its texture is strange, and no branch is longer than my arm, but at the same time rather thick for its length.

It’s no good, I can’t see a thing. I curse myself for having forgotten my headtorch. At least I still remember the approximate direction I’ve come from, so when I’ve gathered as much as I can carry, I carefully and slowly descend the hill again. I’m just about to try and climb out of the trench when the clouds give free the moon. White light spills over the plains, and at first, I’m simply glad I can see where I’m going. Then my eyes fall on the branches in my arms.

With a cry, I let them fall, and stumble back. I lose my balance and half slide, half tumble back into the ditch. I lie in the spikey grass, my heart racing, my blood rushing in my ears, staring at the fallen pile of what I thought were branches.

I try to calm myself, try to think rationally. There has to be an explanation for this, something so laughably simple that I will be embarrassed of my reaction. I hear faint rasping next to me, as if somebody was breathing into my ear. I freeze. I can’t see anything, despite the bright light of the moon. There is nothing next to me, or else I would be able to see it… but I am lying in the shade of the overhanging hillside, maybe it’s hiding in it… with a shout, I jerk away and bring my hands in front of me in a defensive position. Nothing. I fancy that I see white specks and oblong forms between the turfs.

Has it moved? I think it’s moved, one of the white flecks has definitely not been that close to me before… I don’t stay to find out. Scrambling out of the hollow, I race back to our encampment in blind panic.

I don’t know how I get back, all I remember is jumbled impressions of black and white, of moments of total darkness when another cloud obscured the moon, the worried cries of Doctor Nairi, and then there is her smell and warmth when I come to again, her soothing voice whispering nonsense to me.

“What happened?” she inquires once I’ve stopped shaking and am master of my own mind again.

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. I hesitate. I want to tell her what I’ve seen, but I don’t want to frighten her. And maybe it was just my overstrung mind playing tricks on me… “Let’s wait for the morning,” I say quietly. “Maybe it was nothing.”

Leanne stares at me, but doesn’t question me further. Neither does she mention that I didn’t bring back any wood. “Let’s sleep,” she instead suggests. “I have sleeping pills, if you’d like. However, I did already give you a sedative to help calm you down, so maybe better not.”

“You’re the doctor,” I reply, trying to find my humour again. The land feels much less eerie now that there is another person talking to me about things as mundane as sleeping pills, though no less sinister.

“Then I say sleeping pills would be overkill.” She looks like she wants to add something, but then all she says is: “Sleep well.”

Somehow I’m pretty sure that she wanted to add that sleeping too tightly would be unwise. I find that I agree with her.

The morning sun rises as late as night fell early the day before thanks to the mountains surrounding us. There are no birds singing, and the light seems washed out and void of all warmth. The plain looks bleak, and we break up camp in silence.

“Do you want to show me what you saw yesterday?” Leanne asks quietly once we’ve packed and are ready to go.

I nod jerkily. As much as I don’t want to go back, I need to know whether what I’ve seen is real.

I lead the way, and soon I espy the hill from last night. It doesn’t look any more inviting in daylight. I choose another place to cross the ravine than yesterday. The closer we get, the more evident it becomes that my eyes did not betray me.

“Oh my god,” Leanne breathes when we finally stand in front of the pile.

Bones. Bones over bones piled as high as two men. The skulls leave no doubt that we are looking at the remains of humans. Despite the moist heat, I feel a chill run down my spine.

“What happened here?” Leanne’s tone is clearly frightened, and I can’t blame her. These bones look fresh.

She steps closer, and instinctively, I want to hold her back. She picks up a skull; nothing happens. I release the breath I haven’t realized I have been holding.

Doctor Nairi frowns. “This isn’t right…” I take a step closer, and she turns the skull so I can see, points at the cheekbones and the sockets. “Those are much higher and much bigger than a normal human’s.” She picks up a second skull. “And look, this is the same, it’s not an anomaly. Whatever these are, they are not from a homo sapiens.”

“What do you think– ” my voice catches in my throat, and I clear it. “What do you think happened here?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” She gently lays the skull back down. “But whatever it was, it killed a whole bunch of people. And then piled them up.”

 We stand and stare at the pile of bones, lost in thoughts equally dark and disquieting. “Let’s go,” I say, and Leanne nods.

We leave the hill in western direction and set a brisk pace. None of us says it, but we’re both hellbent on reaching the mountains before nightfall.

Soon the hours begin to flow into each other, no change in the scenery save for the occasional accumulation of boulders that we give a wide berth. If not for the mountains drawing closer, I would have thought we’re walking in a circle.

Leanne doesn’t leave my side for which I’m grateful. She’s still leading the way, but only by a few meters.

Suddenly, a strong wind rises, whirling up dirt and dust, and we have to shield our eyes. We stop and wait for it to pass, but it grows stronger still, until Leanne screams to me: “Let’s seek shelter over there!”

She points to two rocks almost touching at the sides at an angle that should allow us to squeeze in between.

She stomps ahead, not looking back to see whether I follow. I hesitate. The stones are black and withered, and they look all but inviting. Leanne disappears into the gap, and I shake my head forcefully. It’s just stones for god’s sake! Who’s afraid of stones?

I make to stomp after her, when suddenly I’m overcome by a flash of light and pain exploding all over my body. Screaming, I fall to the ground, writhing.

As suddenly as the pain has come, it stops, and I fight to my knees, weeping and breathing harshly. 

Go back. 

It’s as if a place had cleared in the midst of what is now a dust storm, and I see two figures, one a human clad in clothes the likes of which I have never seen. The other is of vaguely humanoid shape, but looks like a hurricane of roaring flames around a core of glinting ice.

“This is our rightful lands!” the human screams at the thing. I now realize that his head is slightly misshaped, and his eyes almost comically big. 

Then you’ll die. 

And all is enveloped in cruel ice and all-consuming fire, and I screamed and throw myself to the ground.

Nothing happens. I am neither burnt nor frozen, and when I slowly lift my head after a few heartbeats, everything is deadly quiet, the wind dwindling and dying away.

“Thomas!” Leanne hastens over to me. “Why didn’t you follow me? You’re lucky the storm’s already passed!”

“Did you see that?” I ask, gripping her shoulders. “There was one of those dead humans, and a thing… a demon!”

Leanne stares as me. “Thomas,” she says slowly, and I recognize the voice she used during our sessions, “do you think you maybe imagined it?” I let her go and turn my head away. “This is all very strange and eerie, it’s not far-fetched that your mind… overreacts to the stimuli.”

“Yes,” I say, “that may be it.” It sounds hollow even to my own ears. “Let’s go on.” I squint against the already descending sun. “I think in two hours or so we should be there.”

Leanne follows my gaze. “You’re right.” She shields her eyes. “Or at least we’ll be under trees again.”

We heft our backpacks, and take on what’s hopefully the last part of our journey.

It takes us too long to finally reach the tall trees. Too many hours of furtive wandering that stretch my worn nerves even thinner. I’m now sure that we are being followed – or escorted – by nameless things, shadows from out of time, things that want nothing more than to leave. Two times, as the velvet night-sky is already hovering resplendent and unforgiving above our heads, the bleached remains of nameless victims stir between the dried grasses. Both times I quickly look away and quicken my pace.

Despite the fall of night, we are pressing on, neither of us willing to spend another night on this dreaded plain. Finally, when the first messengers of approaching dawn slowly but steadily force the dark hordes of night to yield, we enter the high trees. We trot on for a few minutes, relieved to have life around us again, to hear the familiar night-time noises of the jungle.

We don’t bother putting up a tent, instead pull out our sleeping bags and declare the side of a fallen tree our camp. I fall asleep almost immediately, dreams claiming me just as fast.

They are odd. I am used to the strange visions that have led us here, but this time, there is more. A vague sense of dread. I am standing atop a hill, looking down on the City of Light, but it lies dead, and a huge shadow is rising behind it. The shadow is filled with chaotic swirls of cosmic light, and I know if it engulfs the city, it will devour its light. I think I should be filled with horror, but there is only this inexplicable dread of something even worse coming. Then a scream arises as from many throats, and I look the east. A host is streaming into the valley, gleaming white, at its head a young woman. They are screaming defiance at the darkness, and as they rush on, they run through the air.

The dread becomes stronger and is accompanied now by distinct fear for the leader of the host. I know beyond a shadow of doubt that if this woman dies, all will be lost. I try to call out, suddenly desperate, try to stop them, because how could they possible fight this oncoming wave of deepest black, but then each of them grows wings, and with a last cry and the explosion of light, they hit the darkness.

I jerk awake, sweat making my clothes and sleeping bag stick to me, and I fight free of its confinement in an irrational urge for freedom.

Next to me, Leanne awakes with a cry, and she, too, fights free of the thermo-bag. We look at each other, and no words are needed. Hastily, we pack up our bags.

“Where should we start?” Leanne looks around. The jungle looks the same everywhere, the rising sun filtering in between the trees to pierce the twilight with lances of light, flies and butterflies dancing in and out of them. We haven’t slept long.

I shrug. “You take that direction, I take this?” I point left and right.

“As good as anything,” Leanne agrees, and we start off.

I expected to wander around the jungle for a few hours, but after not even half an hour, I hear Leanne’s cries.

“Thomas! I’ve found it!” Her voice is muffled, but she can’t be too far from me.

I run back in the direction I’ve sent her off to. “Where are you?” I call. I can barely contain my excitement.

“Here! Follow the big fallen tree!” I look around, and recognize the trunk as the one we’ve slept against. I follow it to the left and closer to the mountainside.

Leanne turns around when I burst onto a small clearing, feverish joy shining on her sweaty face. “Look, isn’t it breath-taking?”

I slow down, my eyes fixed on the wall Leanne has already halfway freed from vines and dirt as far as she can reach. I pass the roots of the fallen tree that led me here, what is left of them bigger than two men are high.

My eyes behold a sight the likes of which I cannot remember ever having seen. The fresco on the wall speaks of ages untold, before homo sapiens had learned to walk upright. The stones that make up the image must have once sparkled in the sun and been marvellous to behold. Now their shine is dulled, and the rock around them dirty, but still they breathe magnificence.

“We’ve found it,” I whisper, overtaken by awe. “The entrance.”

For a while, we just stand and stare at the overgrown fresco of a majestic tree, an image that induces respect and speaks of beauty lost to time.

“We must climb,” Leanne finally breaks the spell.

She is right, of course. The gate we may have found, but it is not a gate that can be opened by human power. Fortunately, our dreams have shown us this, and so we brought rope and climbing irons.

It turns out that Leanne is a skilled and seasoned climber, and I all too gladly follow the path she chooses, more than happy to use the security means she installs for me. Still, despite Leanne’s experience, it takes us more than one and half hours to reach the top. Maybe I slowed her down, but I like to think that I was not that much of a burden.

When Leanne finally pulls me over the edge of the rock wall, I basically fall onto her, exhausted to the bone. I cannot remember ever having been this tired, with limbs that feel like pudding. For what feels like endless minute after endless minute, I just lie there, staring at the overcast sky, breathing laboriously, trying to coax some strength back to my trembling muscles.

Leanne hands me a bottle, and I force myself into an upright position and empty it, realizing too late it may well have been the last of our water supply.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, “did I drink the last of it?”

But Leanne reassures me, saying that she still has some few gulps left in hers. It dawns on me that we have not packed for a way back. I look at her, at the woman that was once my psychiatrist and has now become a friend, a trusted, the only person to understand me. And in her eyes I read the knowledge, the acceptance.

We spend about half an hour eating dried fruits and staring into the sky, and marvelling at the wastelands we’ve crossed on our way. Their bleakness is spread out below us, and from up here it is visible that what we experienced as a kind of sickness spreads out from certain spots, a dark taint permeating the land like veins. It is obvious that something has happened here that killed and poisoned the land.

Eventually, we can no longer resist the pull of the unknown behind our backs. We have come so close to our goal, and we are both exhilarated and scared.

We look at each other and nod. Slowly, we turn, and our breaths stop. We have imagined this moment over and over, we have seen it in our dreams, and reality hits us like a hammer.

Wastelands. The same desert that we have crossed on our way here stretches before our eyes.

“What is this?” Leanne asks, her voice barely above a whisper but expressing hurt and shock beyond what most could comprehend.

I cannot even speak.

Where are the trees? Where are the trees, high as skyscrapers, alive with music and colours? Where is the city made of light?

“Let us go down,” I suggest after crippling minutes of shock and disillusion.

Leanne agrees mutely. Her movements seem erratic and distracted when she drives an iron into the stone and fastens the rope to it. But she tests it, and it holds, so she goes first, roping down with ease. It takes only a few minutes before I see she has reached the ground safely. A last look at the emptiness of the valley, and I begin the way down with hopelessness settling in my stomach, glad that I no longer have to look at it.

Down is much easier than up. It takes me only slightly longer than Leanne, then I feel solid ground under my feet again.

We discard the harnesses and turn to face where our dreams led us.

Leanne takes a hesitating step. “This can’t be,” she croaks, repeating it over and over like a mantra.

I join her, and we set out, aimlessly, into the desert, walking slightly downwards, following the pitch of the slope.

At first, it appears that we may have followed a spectre, a phantom, nothing but a fancy that we just so happened to both dream of. Nothing hints at the splendour that was shown to us.

But then Leanne stoops to pick something up. She shows it to me, frowning.

“What do you think this is?”

I trace it with a finger. “It looks like something was chiselled into the stone,” I say slowly. “But I don’t know these characters.”

There is no doubt that something was written – or drawn – into the stone, but the form looks nothing like any alphabet I have ever seen.

Leanne weighs the stone – not much bigger than her fist – in her hand, and puts it into her jacket.

We walk on, and now that we are looking for it, we find more and more signs that something used to be here. What, we cannot say, for we only find bits and pieces of what looks like stone that has once had an artificial form, and small plates that could have been parts of pedestals.

When we reach the bottom of the valley and walk towards the centre, still not quite willing to accept that all that is left of our dreams is hints of ruins, Leanne suddenly stops dead in her tracks.

“What is this?” She points at a rise in the distance.

“Let’s go and have a look,” I suggest. I have no strength left to guess and hope.

It takes us less than ten minutes to reach the object. It is certainly the most interesting thing we have found so far, but we are not sure what exactly it is we are looking at.

We marvel at what looks like a statue made entirely of crystal. It looks like two humanoid beings joined to one, but with strange, jagged edges all over them, like they were encased in fire. As if the fire had frozen from one instant to the next. The comparison is strange and unrealistic, but it’s the only analogy I can come up with.

Leanne reaches out, her hand trembling, and I hold my breath, involuntarily. Her fingers touch the surface and nothing happens. I exhale, both glad and disappointed.

“It is cold,” Leanne says, surprise in her voice. “Despite the heat, it is cold.” She flattens her palm against it, and I follow her example, intrigued despite myself.

She is right, I realize. The material is not only cool, it is downright cold.

“What do you think it is?” I wonder aloud. “It does not feel like crystal…” I am not a stone expert, but I do think that I know that crystal is harder than this.

“Yes.” Leanne frowns at the object. “It feels… hard and soft at the same time.” Her expression says clearly that she cannot believe the words that came out of her mouth.

I slump. First to my knees then to my butt, resting my back against the strange statue. “What do we do?”

Leanne joins me.

We stay silent for hours, watching the sun set over this wasteland that was a city promised.

We are trying to come to terms with the fact that we will die here. We have followed a phantom, a Fata Morgana, and it has led us to our death.

Just as I am about to suggest to Leanne that she should kill me to sustain herself, the veil of darkness falls and the valley comes alive.

We gasp. The City of Light. The trees! The whole valley is filled with glowing, twinkling light, a sea of trees, buildings hiding between.

We rise as if lifted by invisible bonds. All hunger and thirst forgotten, we stagger down the slope towards the apparition.

Mouths agape, we wander between these visions out of another time. Incorporeal, incomprehensible, of a beauty so raw and primeal it makes tears come to our eyes.

Lost to time we turn and stagger onwards, hands stretched out to what can never be ours.

As the sun rises, we hold between our fingers only sand and ash.

Ash to light and light to ash, we are forsaken.