A fly that had been walking in circles on the surface of the table for quite a while flew up when a loud knock sounded on the door. Dylan blinked and rubbed his eyes with one hand while holding his glasses with the other. Boredom gnawed at him; he realized he’d been fixated on the insect’s movements for far too long. For some reason, he couldn’t unsee the word “yes” that the fly had been spelling out with its movements.
Dylan shook his head, leaving all the nonsense he’d just seen behind with an exhale. He was not the type of a person who saw signs in everything. In fact, he did not believe in them or anything that went beyond science. So, the memory of the spelling fly was immediately stored in the farthest corner of his brain. He straightened up in his chair and called, “Come on in.”
A somewhat portly man in his late thirties entered the room, closing the door behind him. “Good evening,” he said, inclining his head a little, a warm smile spread across his face. “Frank Richardson.”
“Dylan Marrow.” The office owner rose from his chair, shaking a stretched hand over the massive wooden table. “How can I help you?”
“You were recommended to me as one of the best guides and historians regarding the Lost City,” Frank stated, taking a seat. Dylan mirrored his movement and remained silent. There was nothing to add to this statement.
Frank coughed, unsuccessfully trying to hide his hesitation. Dylan gave him a reassuring smile and finally nodded, breaking the tension. The tension that made people nervous, that made them break the character they wanted to portray and giving life to their truest selves. It helped him determine whether it was worth taking a job from a particular client or not.
“Yes, so, I need a guide,” Frank began. “I want to meet the sunrise at the western gate on the Day of Fading.” His voice was probably louder than he intended. A small bead of sweat formed on his temple.
“Mister Richardson, you do realize that the holiday is tomorrow, right?” Dylan sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “The jungle of stone and trees is not safe during the day, but at night the risk of not returning significantly increases.” His tone was so convincing that he almost believed himself. But in reality, with the right equipment and carefully planned route, an experienced guide like himself had no trouble in completing a trip through the jungle at any time.
“I understand that this comes on very short notice, but please do not hurry to refuse yet,” Frank said, brandishing something the size of a tennis ball, wrapped in antique black cloth, and placing it on the table between them. Dylan’s eyes locked on the new object, clinging to a pattern that was embroidered on the fabric.
“Firstly, I can double your fee for the night tour,” Frank continued, holding his hands on top of the bundle. Dylan raised his eyes, nodding thoughtfully. He had been almost sure that this year would pass without lunatics claiming they had solved the mystery of the Lost City. For some reason, all of them were sure that they needed to be at one of the gates by sunrise. Dylan was the only one who provided the night tours. It was prohibited to camp over there, and the trip took around five hours.
He had already placed Frank Richardson on the list of slightly insane people. People he had encountered pretty often in his job. But what Dylan saw on his table made him uncertain. At first glance, the cloth itself looked like the exact copy of those on display in the Museum of Fallen Civilizations.
“Secondly,” Frank said, “I have something that you, as a historian, would love to see. Something, that can open the real gate to the Lost City, the one still being watched over by Axiyala.”
Nope, my initial suspicion was correct, Dylan thought, leaning back on his chair. Another lunatic who thinks that he is the smartest one. At least this one offered a double payment. He took out a piece of paper from the drawer and put it on the table in front of the guest.
“Here are the requirements for the night trip: what to bring with you, what to wear and how to behave in certain situations. I need you to carefully read it and follow the instructions like your life depends on it. As that’s not far from the truth. Meet me back here,” Dylan glanced at his watch, his tone formal, “in four hours. You’ll need to pay half of the amount as a deposit before we depart and the rest upon return.”
Frank’s eyes rapidly moved through the instructions. “Will see you here in four hours,” he said, smiling. Carefully, he put the bundle in the pocket of his coat and took off. Dylan stared at the closed door for a few minutes absentmindedly. Then, with a loud exhale, he stood up and went to prepare for the trip himself.
***
As first light just began casting its soft glow across the trees and stones, Dylan was leaning against a cracked stone block that used to be part of the wall by the western gate of the Lost City. Meanwhile, Frank stood motionless, finally calm, examining the feet of the statue of Axiyala, after the first wave of shock had subsided upon witnessing the entrance to the city with his own eyes.
“The sun is about to rise,” Dylan said quietly, taking a sip from a bottle before returning it to his backpack. He stood up and walked toward the statue and his client, who perked up and started moving around energetically upon hearing Dylan’s remark.
“Stay behind me and, please, don’t say a word,” Frank said nervously, wiping his forehead with a small towel.
Dylan only shrugged and complied. He had heard similar requests too many times to pay any attention to them. Once the sun had fully risen, it usually took one to two hours for disappointment to strike these so-called pioneers.
Let’s see how long it will take him to—
An antique black cloth from the museum falling to the ground broke Dylan’s train of thought. Frank lifted his hands over his head, revealing a small round stone reflecting a beam of light. Before Frank lowered his hands, Dylan spied a symbol in the old tongue carved into the stone. He had seen it in one of the old books but couldn’t remember exactly what it meant. The stone found its place in an empty socket between Axiyala’s feet with a loud clicking sound.
Immediately, a square window unfolded in the air before them, Dylan made an involuntary step back from a horrifying black emptiness. While Frank, without any delay, stepped forward and disappeared.
Dylan stood there, gazing at the portal, unable to move. “I guess, he wasn’t lying,” he muttered after a while, just to break the silence and hear himself speak. He weighed his next move.
“‘If you find yourself facing a choice, you’ve already made a mistake.’ I never liked that phrase, but it’s probably onto something.” He sighed, looking at portal, his knees shaking a little. “No. I would never forgive myself for missing such an opportunity.” He huffed loudly as he stepped inside.
All thought vanished from Dylan’s mind when he saw the drastic change in the environment: the Lost City unfolded right in front of him. He found himself standing amidst a crowd in a wide alley, but the people, animals, and other unusual creatures around him were all made of vibrant green leaves; most of the figures seemed frozen mid-action; some wore horrified expressions. Freshly fallen leaves blanketed the ground.
He cautiously moved forward, trying not to touch any statue. His mind was completely blank, he was simply walking straight ahead with no particular goal. In a few minutes, he spotted Frank examining one of the statues, so he started closing the distance between them. Dylan halted abruptly; his whole body began shaking as a chill wind blew through the alley, setting the fallen leaves to dancing and carrying with it a deep, demanding voice: “Humans? It’s been a while. What brings you here?”
“Almighty, Axiyala, I am but a humble human who has acquired your key and come in a time of need,” Frank immediately replied, bowing his head and holding that position. His voice was calm, his movements rehearsed.
“Rather interesting,” the voice said, drawing out the vowels.
The flying leaves finally finished their dance and formed another statue next to Frank. In a blink of an eye, it came to live revealing a tall woman with green skin and red hair. She was nearly naked; only vines wrapped around her waist, thighs, and chest. Her face was humanoid, her skin too, with a lizard’s scaly texture. She had wormy lips a shade darker green than her skin. Above eyes that were larger and set farther apart than a human’s protruded four small yellow horns.
“You came prepared,” the green woman said. “We will start with you then. You are right, I am Axiyala, spirit of truth and power. I will not tolerate any lies in my presence or in this place. I ask you one question: what do you seek here?” She paused for a moment, scanning the two men. “Choose your words carefully, your continued existence depends on them.”
“My words are true, and my intentions are pure,” Frank replied, straightening up. “A powerful earthquake destroyed half of my city. Millions of innocent people did not live to see the next day. And millions more are now homeless. I left my job and became a full-time volunteer. It’s been almost a year since the catastrophe hit, but there is so much more that needs to be done. We lack the necessary funding, so I came here for it. When I acquired the key to the Lost City, I hoped to bring a small part of its treasures with me. With that wealth, we will be able to rebuild our city so it will shine again.”
The rustle of leaves was the only sound breaking the silence that fell over the alley. Frank was patiently waiting for the spirit’s response. He stood straight and relaxed.
“Your words are true,” Axiyala finally spoke. “Is this all? Or do you wish to add something that hasn’t been said?”
“Thank you, almighty spirit,” Frank replied, bowing slightly again. “I just want to be of help, to those who are in need. Nothing more.”
“Very well,” Axiyala said evenly. “You may proceed.” She pointed with her hand to the end of the alley opposite from where the two men had entered.
“Much gratitude, almighty spirit.” Frank couldn’t hold back a smile. He turned and strolled toward the Lost City, carefully avoiding the statues.
But he halted after a dozen steps. He turned around, his arms trembling, eyes wide open. A small leaf floated down into the alley and stuck to his forehead.
“Your words were true,” Axiyala said, her voice now cold. “But your intentions were not. And you knew this but didn’t want to accept it. You are seeking the approval of others. Vanity is the source of your actions. You have lied.”
The leaf on Frank’s forehead unfolded, and now there were two leaves. Then two became four, then eight. In a matter of seconds, his whole body was covered in leaves. The alley to the Lost City had obtained yet another statue.
“Now you…” Axiyala turned to Dylan. “What do you want from this place?”
Dylan was still flummoxed by everything he had just witnessed—from the appearance of a portal in midair to watching his client turned into a statue of leaves by a legend of the Lost City—realizing that myths were actually real. The mighty spirit herself, the guardian of the lost civilization had just asked him a question. A question he did not have the luxury to ignore or give the wrong answer to. Dylan always considered himself a sane and intelligent person. But now, he questioned it; he questioned everything. What was about to happen could hardly be considered a smart move. “May I ask you a question before I answer yours?”
“Not afraid of me, are you?” Axiyala asked, raising her brow slightly. Or maybe it was only his imagination.
“On the contrary. I believe I have never been so scared in my life,” Dylan said, and then quickly added, “Or at least that’s what I think. But I’m not entirely certain.”
“That is true,” Axiyala said with a crooked smile. “You’re not certain. Cherish these moments, human. Only through these experiences are you able to grow. Before you went through the portal, you were sure that no higher beings existed.” She waved her hand dismissively. “You’re all the same. As soon as you encounter someone beyond your limit of comprehension, your old doctrines shatter, leaving you with nothing to hold onto. And all of you wear the same expression.” She shook her head. “Go on, ask your question. It’s been a while since I have talked to a human of your nature.”
Like preparing to dive into cold water, Dylan took a few deep breaths and finally spoke, “Why did you turn Frank into a statue? Does it really matter if his intentions of helping all those people were driven by vanity or a pure heart? The end result would be the same. You said it yourself—his words were true.”
Axiyala regarded the human standing before her, and Dylan thought that he spotted a shadow of boredom in her eyes. “You lack the centuries. You haven’t the experience, the knowledge, the wisdom to see the whole picture,” the spirit said. “But since I agreed to your question, I will try to answer at least a small part of it.
“You humans tend to wear masks. The societal norms of good and evil are deeply entrenched within you as soon as you start understanding others. The judgment of your own actions and thoughts is always clouded because of that. In time, the masks that you take on are glued to your face, to the point that you even forget how your own face looks. That is the reason why humans are one of my least favorite races. You don’t even know if you’re being honest with yourselves.
“The only thing that I ask of anyone who comes here is the truth. It doesn’t have to correlate to what you think is right. You just have to be honest with yourself and, in this particular case, with me.
“To answer the last part of your question whether the result is going to be the same. It could be, but at the same time, it might not. It depends on how far vanity spreads. Vanity unchecked often leads to corruption. He could start causing disasters himself, just to supposedly help those who survived, but, in reality, to feed his ever-ravenous vanity.”
Axiyala regarded the human coolly before ordering, “Now, you answer my question.”
Dylan disagreed with at least half of what he’d just heard. But he decided to keep his opinion to himself. He was relieved that she didn’t ask him anything else, especially regarding her explanation to his question.
“All I want is to leave this place and go home,” Dylan muttered, staring down, wishing for this day to finally come to an end.
“You don’t wish to enter the city and acquire its treasures?” Axiyala asked, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized him.
“Do I wish that? Yes, I would gladly do so,” Dylan responded. Carefully picking his words, he quickly continued, “Do I intend to do so? Definitely not.” He shook his head, dismissing thoughts of studying the Lost City. “I was just a guide to that poor man, who is now a new statue of yours…. Do I have permission to leave?”
Axiyala gazed at the human for a full two minutes, during which time Dylan bid farewell to his life and everyone he loved.
“You do,” the spirit finally said. “Your words were true as well as your intentions. Moreover, you’re not leaving empty-handed. Your inner world has been shattered here, yes, but you picked up some new beliefs. Ones that allow your mind to see the world in a broader spectrum. May your path unfold smoothly before you.”