and Catrin met her eyes briefly. No words were exchanged, but Catrin clearly understood that the decision was hers alone.
'Mother Gwendolin says there is a purification ritual that I must perform in order to enter the Inner Sanctuary, but it takes thirty days and I'm afraid. I don't want to be away from all of you for so long.'
'What kind of ritual takes thirty days?' Chase asked. 'I'm not sure I like the sound of that.'
'I cannot tell you much,' Mother Gwendolin said, 'except that many have undergone the ritual before Catrin, and none have come to harm.'
'Still don't like it,' Chase said.
'I'm certain Mother Gwendolin would not invite Catrin do something that was not in her best interest,' Benjin said. 'But I'll not push Catrin into doing it either. You must make that choice for yourself, li'l miss.'
'If you're not back in thirty days,' Strom said, 'we'll come in after ya.'
'Thanks, Strom, Benjin. I appreciate your words. I heard what Chase said as well, but I cannot let fear stop me from doing what I must. I came here in search of knowledge and understanding, and I must pursue those above all else. I want to undergo the purification ritual, so I can enter the Inner Sanctuary,' she said before her commitment wavered, and a small smile played across Mother Gwendolin's face. Benjin also seemed to agree with her decision. Strom and Osbourne said they would miss her, but she had their full support, and she drew strength from their encouragement.
'I don't like it,' Chase insisted.
'I'm sorry, Chase. I have to do this.'
'Be safe,' he said. Then he grew very quiet.
When the meal was finished, Mother Gwendolin led her from the dining room. Catrin took one last look over her shoulder at her friends sitting at the table. They all smiled encouragingly at her. They would be only a short distance away, yet she would not see them for weeks. She would miss them, but it was comforting to know they would be nearby.
Catrin and Mother Gwendolin moved deeper into the Outer Sanctuary. They reached a hallway with plain wooden doors lining each side. One door was open, and Mother Gwendolin stepped inside. Catrin followed her into the sparsely furnished room. It contained a sleeping pallet, a small wooden chest, and a lamp hung on the wall, but it was otherwise bare.
'I must leave you for now,' Mother Gwendolin said. 'I've some things I must attend to.'
Though the room offered little in the way of amenities, it was comfortable to Catrin. To her, it symbolized the beginning of a new journey, and she was determined to get everything she could from this adventure. Uncertainties that had nagged her became gleaming possibilities. No longer concentrating on what might be embarrassing or uncomfortable, she chose instead to focus on the good that could come from the experience.
Benjin had attributed his knowledge of meditation to the Cathurans, and Catrin hoped she, too, would leave with lessons that would last the rest of her life. Settling herself into serenity, she practiced some meditation techniques. It made her feel closer to her friends, despite the walls and distance separating them.
When morning came, Catrin had no recollection of falling asleep and woke feeling refreshed and ready to start her new journey; at least she thought she was ready. A gentle knock on the door made her jump. She got another shock when she opened the door: a robed and hooded figure stood in the hallway, hidden within the shadows of the cloak. A strange feeling came over her, and she suddenly wondered how trusting she could be within the Outer Sanctuary. Perhaps the anonymity of her escort was a test of some sort to see if she were ready for the ritual.
The hooded figure did not move or speak, but Catrin sensed impatience, and she mumbled a muted apology as she stepped into the hall. The figure made no response and glided deeper into the Outer Sanctuary. Catrin followed in silence, taking in the strange and wondrous sights. Indoor fountains and rock gardens drew her eyes, and they passed through massive arches that were elaborately carved with scenes of forests and animals. Paintings hung on some walls, and mosaics decorated the floors. None of the artwork she'd seen within the sanctuary depicted people; all seemed to focus on the glory of nature.
Catrin followed and marveled at the gracefulness of her guide. The fluidity of movement and the way the robes flowed along the floor gave the impression that her guide was floating rather than walking. The illusion was temporarily broken when they reached a spiral staircase that descended into the heart of the mountain. The gliding movements shifted to rhythmic, and Catrin watched the body of her guide bob up and down in front of her as they descended. The graceful and measured movements now gave the impression that her guide was made of soft springs, but she forced herself to concentrate on not falling.
They climbed down for what seemed a long time, passing many landings and archways but no other people. The bottom of the stairwell was lost in the darkness, and the dim light provided by occasional lamps stopped several turns below where they currently stood. When they reached the last illuminated floor, her guide turned and floated through one of the four archways that opened onto the landing, taking one of the lamps from its sconce.
Catrin tried very hard to shake the illusions surrounding her guide, and she concentrated on sensing the being beneath the robe. She explored the energy and tried to envision the shape based upon the aura she sensed. Only a fuzzy impression was revealed to her. Concentrating harder, she nearly stumbled when she sensed a male aspect of his energy; the sudden rush of it was bizarre yet wonderful. Her heart leaped to her throat, though, when he stopped gliding and turned to face her. Mortified that he had somehow sensed her intrusion, she froze, and despite his face being hidden in darkness, the reprimand was palpable.
When he began walking again, the illusions surrounding him seemed to have been shattered. His grace was still obvious, but he no longer appeared to float. Vindicated by the victory over her senses, she took note of her surroundings again. The hallway ended a short distance ahead. The walls of the corridor were unadorned, and the floor was smooth but unpolished. Cold emanated from the stone; it seeped into Catrin's bones, and she shivered as she walked.
As they approached the end of the hall, they came upon an opening in the left wall, and her guide walked into it. In this hall, the walls were carved with intricate patterns, and the floor was covered with many colored tiles. Unlike the mosaics she had seen, these tiles formed only varying patterns that seemed to follow no logic or reason. Her guide turned left where several corridors intersected; then he made an immediate right, his movements confident and sure. After a number of junctions and turns, Catrin could no longer recall the way back, and she guessed they were within a massive labyrinth.
The longer they walked, the more she came to think her guide was utterly lost. Watching the patterns on the floors, she was nearly certain they had passed the same spot several times, only to take a different passageway each time. She considered leaving some sort of marking on the floor or walls, but she didn't want to offend her guide again.
Her faith was tested again when they turned a corner and emerged into a small room. The center of the room was dominated by a massive stone table, and on either side of the slab stood a robed and hooded figure. The slab's resemblance to a sacrificial alter was disconcerting, and the effect was amplified by the gleaming knives held before the monks. Hesitating in the doorway, Catrin tried to convince herself it was safe. Instincts urged her to flee, but she knew she would only get lost within the maze.
If these people wanted to harm her, this was a perfect opportunity, yet no one rushed her or pressured her to move ahead. With renewed determination, Catrin stepped into the room and felt as if she had finally taken the first true step on her journey.
The man who guided her turned and walked gracefully from the room without a sound. Those who remained issued a wordless command for her to lie on the stone slab, and she did so with trepidation, wondering what she had gotten herself into. Lying on her back, she saw a large spiral, painted in purple, on the ceiling. As she stared, it began to spin and looked as if it would suck her in. Still on her guard, she closed her eyes before it put her in a trance.
Concentrating on the robed figures, she attempted to sense their gender. The hands holding the knives had looked decidedly female, but she ran her senses over them for confirmation. Now, knowing what to look for, she quickly confirmed her suspicion: both were female.
