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Beyond the Door

Ch 4, Scene 1, Astral Wanderers

By IsadorianPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 3 min read
Beyond the Door
Photo by Matt Kochar on Unsplash

When the door was open, she gazed into the darkness below. She looked behind her, but she neither heard nor saw anyone coming. Her hand rested on her hip where she held her knife, waiting.

Waiting for Bothran warrior to lunge out from behind rock, or a Bothran spear to stab the ground beside her. Waiting for a Bothran beast to howl and pounce upon her. Waiting for Gaurdian to silently drag her to away to a Bothran ship.

When Anna had stepped inside, the door closed behind her. The grinding sound stone against stone echoed down the hall into the darkness before her deep down inside.

She froze in a moment of doubt as she watched the outside daylight disappear. The amulet in her hand still glowed its soft blue light, but a similar light waxed from above her on the wall on either side.

This came from orbs held up by copper-green wall mounts. These lamps were blue like the amulet, but whiter, lighter, and softer. She noticed that the intensity with which they glowed modulated with her change in proximity to each. The crystals in the granite seemed to twinkle as she passed by.

The dark walls were a polished blue pearl granite, and framed by the flowerlets carved into all of the trim work.

The tiles beneath her feet were raised traffic-worn squares. In the center of each was embedded a seven pointed star that was composed of some faded metal, “Aluminum,” she assumed.

More importantly, however, there were carved inscriptions covering these walls that were about an inch deep and were also lined with aluminum. The words were grouped in an array of rectangular paragraphs where seven rows made each column.

She assumed that it must have been a different dialect or an older form than the Bothran-like symbols she found on the ship. She was able to translate only in the sporadic parts where she did recognize the symbols and syntax.

“...Where the moons rise and set...Flower...soil...Night…...children…”

The enclosure was just four feet wide, and the walls rose majestically, probably another twenty feet, above her head. But she cringed when her eyes followed the text to the top.

Protruding from the pearly ceiling were deep relief carvings of flowers, leaves, and vines, like a lush, upside down garden frozen in polished stone.

She crouched and leaned against the wall. It seemed as though gravity had forgotten its place in the world, and she couldn’t tell whether she expected to hurtle head first toward the marble above, or if the stone petals would break away and settle upon her.

The alien calligraphy increased dramatically in font size after each row which were spaced three feet apart as they approached the other end of the hall, until at the very end there were only seven words in the last column that were inscribed on either side: Stream, Cloud, Age, Life, Death, People, World.


A wave of goosebumps spread throughout her body as it shook when she noticed a rapid lateral movement in her purview.

She jerked her head towards the empty dimness beyond the hall. A sudden electric shiver of adrenaline swept throughout her tense body; she held her breath as she listened.

She approached in a crouched, defensive position with her makeshift knife drawn; with the rope wrapped around her other hand, she gripped onto the amulet to light the way.

The only sounds were of the trickling water, both behind her in the waterfall outside, and some distant echoing sounds of some spring or cataract from deep within the crypt.

But she heard nothing else, not a step, not a breath. Amid the silence she readjusted her poised fingers about the knife.

She lunged into the shadows to the left.

She found herself in a chamber in which the walls on also rose quite high. A hall ran along perpendicular across, and disappeared into the adjacent chambers on either side. In the chamber before her, curtains hung long from the tall cathedral ceiling. A faint beam of natural light creeped in from a small vent in the very top.

But she saw no one there.


About the Creator


Isadorian writes both opinion pieces and science fiction stories. If you like his work, please follow on social media.

Twitter: @ChrisIsadorian

Instagram: c_isadorian

Facebook: Chris Isadorian

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