Project: Pyp

III: The Forest

I wake to Bartholomew's face hanging over me, watching me sleep. "Get up, we have work to do." He scuttles out of the hut as I get dressed, wet footprints tracing a trail around the room and over to me, before leaving the hut. The sound of rain pounds on the roof and patters on the stone-paved road outside.

I leave the hut to find Bartholomew mounted atop a covered wagon floating knee-high in a torrential downpour. A small awning sticks out over the driver's seat. The wet ground beneath the floating wagon is undisturbed by whatever force keeps it afloat. The small birdperson pats the wooden bench next to them.

"Come! Time is short, and we have a very important task ahead of us."

"Okay, let me grab-"

"No. You must come now."

Bartholomew's words are tough and demanding. I have no further choice but to obey. I forsake my notebook to do what is commanded of me. My seat next to Bartholomew is wet. There is no awning for me.

We ride south, into the forest. I watch the stream pass to our right, admiring the smooth white stones at the bottom, and a small pain in my head tells me not to think about what they feel like. I'm not allowed near the water. I look over at Bartholomew. He's watching the road, but I could tell he was watching me. Looking with that curious stare. I look at the trees. Water runs down my face, and I have to hold a hand up to keep it out of my eyes.

These trees are thicker and taller than the trees near the beach. Their leaves come out of the trunk instead of the top like those at the beach had. When we approach the edge of the forest, something pings in my chest, and I am uneasy. From a distance, the trees are beautiful, but up close, their branches and shadows seem to loom and oppress. I keep my eyes on the road in front of us, and wipe the excess water off my face. A single droplet hits my head through the canopy.

There are more statues here. There is one on the side of the road, crawling toward and reaching for the direction we're coming from. In the distance of the trees is another, either chasing or being chased by something. Each new statue I see makes me more disturbed by the rest of them. They appear to be in distress, every one of them. And every one of them appears to be the same person. Why did the Sculptor choose to depict this one poor soul over and over again, in various scenes of discomfort and pain? Did they have a personal vendetta against their model? And why in such great detail and expression? I don't understand, so I try not to think about it. After a few more minutes of silent riding, we come to a gentle downward slope curving to the right and into a clearing.

Or a pit.

In the center is an enormous circle made of many smaller stones. Symbols are carved into the stones in the pattern of several spirals coming out from the center. The Central Stone is slightly raised and takes up about one third of the total area of the thing. The knot in my chest tightens. In this mystical pit in these shaded, rainy woods, are a vast array of statues, all in various positions.

Some are walking, some are standing. They are arranged around the stone circle in a circle of their own. Many are engaged in preposterous poses that don't make sense for a physical body to be in. From the seat on the wagon descending the slope, the faces I can see are warped in pain and torment. Why is Bartholomew taking me here? What is this horrid place? As if he can read my mind, he surrenders an answer first.

"Pyp, you've seen statues like these. There are a few near your hut, and there are many more scattered around Al'Orion. I'm sure you have many questions about them. Ask and I will answer as best I can."

My breath catches. This is my chance for answers! I could ask Bartholomew anything I wish, and he said he would answer as best he can! I think about it for a moment, and ask my first question.