Beautiful and Broken

2.

Accessing the Fold turned out to be a nasty bureaucratic affair. You weren't allowed to cross individually, you needed to join a skiff operated by the military, as any other form of crossing the Fold was considered deathly. But military being the same wherever you've arrived to, you needed either Ravkan citizenship or a diplomatic or military passage to board said skiffs. I've spent a week being sent from one shabby office to another, trying to procure the needed documents. But after my countless efforts proved unworthy of success, and my stress levels were starting to reach the height of the Fold itself, I've relented to simply summoning some fake passage document in a fake name, in the possession of which I was promptly granted access to the first skiff available.

The skiffs turned out to be much alike to the ship which brought me to Ravka, but airborne, operated by the Grisha capable of manipulating the air. They floated a few meters above the ground, their sails puffed by the winds summoned by the Grisha. Boarding a skiff was a solemn affair; everyone entering the Fold did so knowing that they may never come out on the other end. The main danger of the Fold were the volcra, dragon-like creatures which in the all-enveloping wall of darkness fed on any life-forms aboard the skiffs, which apparently could only be kept at bay with light. A lot of light, the extent of which the fire-summoning Grisha were unable to produce. 

This seemed to be the first major difference between our magic and theirs: summoning light was one of the first things any witch or wizard learned as a child, and by the time we became full-fledged mages, it was something as effortless as breathing. In Ravka, this was unheard of for ages, only recently have rumours emerged of a Grisha called Sun Summoner, whose unique and cherished ability was... to summon light. Strange, strange lands indeed, I thought, as I was watching for the moment when nobody was paying attention and I could jump off the skiff, to finally start my actual assignment.

As I rolled a few times on the ground to smooth my fall, I've reduced my life signs to a minimum: slowed my heartbeat, summoned some cold to hide the scent and the warmth of my body. I needed to wait until the skiff was well on its way before summoning light, to avoid drawing any unwanted attention from the other passengers, but in the meantime I also needed to avoid the other kind of unwanted attention coming from the volcra. They were true to their fame: huge screeching creatures circling above me, armed with talons worthy of a dragon, an aura of uncanny hatred emanating from them. I tried to become as similar as possible to a rock, not even allowing my eyes to move until I was sure that the skiff was gone. 

After all my body became stiff and started to itch violently in the most unwelcome places, I've finally summoned light and allowed myself some stretching. The Fold was not one of the best places for magic. In fact, the whole place seemed to be made of magic, which was contradictory in itself, since this amount of magic should have made any witch like myself sing with joy, as it stretched for miles and miles, at a height of a better mountain. But the Fold had no spark of joy in itself, its magic felt sad and angry and in pain. It made me deeply uncomfortable, as hearing a falsetto concert would make a musician be. Something was deeply wrong with the magic of Ravka, possibly only here in the Fold, but probably also in other places.  

Soon I've realised that I at least had an excuse to leave the Fold daily, as there was no food or water to be found in this godforsaken strip of land. I needed to do it by night, and far from the usual skiff routes, but it was manageable, and the great relief of being outside that thing was worth any trouble. In the meantime, I've wandered from one end to another, trying to find out if there was any part inside it different from the others. After a few weeks, I have given up any hope of finding anything special in there. The same abandoned skiffs littering the ground like shipwrecks on the ocean floor, the same bones of human and very rarely of other origins, the same volcra screeching the same nasty stuff at each other. 

I've watched as they attacked skiffs and finished off the occupants, I only vomited the first two or three times. I've once brought a volcra down using a lightning bolt, to be able to touch it and maybe find out more about what it was. As I reached out with my fingertips, the knowledge I've gained made me jump back and retch for the fourth time. Deep down it was carrying an almost faded layer of humanity: sometimes in the past the ancestor of this thing was a human being, that somehow became this abomination. And this was all there was to the Fold, its horrors repeating, its secrets guarding themselves.

If I wanted answers, I needed to look elsewhere. The trouble was, I had no idea where to start. Dima or any other Ravkan I've spoken to since told me that nobody knew exactly what the Fold was or how it came to be. Legends said that it was created by the Black Heretic, some insanely powerful evil mage hundreds of years ago. Of course, to make it better, the Black Heretic was considered a taboo subject and nobody really wanted to tell me anything about him. The only clue I've gathered was that there was a priest with a wast library who probably could find me some material on the Heretic – if I somehow could gain admittance to the royal palace in Os Alta, where the priest and library were located.  

But if I would have been left at this, I wouldn't be telling this story. My luck came in a rather terrifying way, although I've learnt the whole truth of it only later.