Decoded Wizards Journal (April 2017)

January 25th

Many nights I have been plauged by strange dreams. No not dreams. Visions. They come to me as I sleep, but they are too real to simply be dreams.

She wanders lost, far from her home, through wood and field, for days and weeks. She is chased by monstrous forms, threatened by teeth and find and human alike, but she persists. For days she looks for what she seeks.

And she nearly gives up in despair. It is lost, it will never be found, whatever it is that she seeks.

But then she find it. A door, a solitary door, mounted into a cliff face, so out of place yet perfectly at home, as if it were not built but grown from cracks and fissures and breaks in the stone.

She tries to open it, to no avail, and she wails distraught, heartbroken that that which she has sought is so close yet right out of reach, and she sinks to the ground, forlorn but as the first slivers of moonlight cast their glow upon the carved stone, she sings sadly to herself, a sorrowful melody of loss and pain, and the faintest of clicks can be heard, and the door swings open without a sound.

The air is damp and smells of mold and sorrow and forgotten ages. She is afraid of the darkness, but her goal lies ahead, and she steps forward, embracing the darkness.

And then I awaken. Every time unable to follow her into whatever lies beyond that door. I know not what it is, but it haunts my waking thoughts as much as it haunts my dreams.

I must find it.


February 9th

For the first time, I have traveled further into those forgotten halls. For weeks the dreams have ended at the same place, of the light of the moon fading from view as I awaken in my bed. But this time I was able to follow her further into that darkness. She cast a flame into her hand, using that faint light source to find her way. The walls were rough stone, unfinished, and the ceiling was cloaked in shadows.

And there was that unnerving never-ending feeling of being watched.

She was alone besides myself as her invisible companion, but the feeling of someone… no… something lurking right behind her, breathing down our necks was so apparent that it has left me shaken even as I write this.

After what felt like near an hour of walking, but might have only been minutes, we reached a door. The hallway continued on past this door, nestled back, unobtrusive, carved with runes and beautiful scrollwork.

She pauses to consider this door momentarily, but then turns her attention down the hallway again.

The feeling of being followed was stronger now as we continued to walk in the darkness. We could see nothing in our light, but I felt as if I could see movement in the darkness beyond it.

And whispers now. She didn’t seem to be concerned about them, but I could hear them from the darkness around. I couldn’t make out words, if they were even saying words, but I could glean their meaning, their intention.

Run. Leave. Run away. Don’t go on. Danger. Pain. Death.

But she moved on further into this darkness. Another door and another. And then a turn, we wound deeper and deeper into the cliff, wishing and turning. She seemed to have a goal in mind, a destination she sought, but i held a burning curiosity what lay beyond the doors. Each was different, a combination of runes and signs and designs that could potentially hold secrets to what they guarded.

And then she stopped. There was a sound now. A thump. And another. It was muffled, off in the distance, but it was not some figment of the imagination. We were not alone.

Run. Leave. Stop. Pain. Death.

She moved more quickly now, but the thump grew louder. It was persistent, like a heartbeat. Like the maze was alive, a being that we were trapped within. She wound through the serpentine maze, twisting and turning, not hesitating to pick right or left, straight or turn, as if she knew precisely where she was going.

And then she hit a dead end.

But a door, beautiful, edged in gems and gold, gleamed in the light of her flame. She knelt before it, pulling lock picks from her pouch, working on the lock for what felt like hours but could only have been minutes. Time had no bearing in this dream, it felt as if a lifetime had passed, and yet only a second. The only thing that showed any time was passing was that persistent thump, never ending, always louder. And what whispers, louder, angrier.

And then two things happened simultaneously. The click of the lock snapping open, and the complete dead silence of the thump and the whispers ended.

The door swung open at her lightest touch, and gold and magic shimmered from the opening doorway in the flickering light of the flame.

And I awoke to her bloodcurdling scream.

I know this isn’t just a dream, I know this place exists, and I must find it.

I must.


February 12th

The woman has vanished from my dreams. Now I dream only of the those never ending hallways and those whispers.


June 15th

I’ve found the door in the cliff. I traveled by horseback for weeks, tracking landmarks I remember from my dreams. And then I stood before the door. I know it will not open until the sun sets, but I wait and I ready myself.


June 16th

The door did not open.


June 17th

I don’t understand. Once again I stand before the doorway as the moon rises and nothing. No click of the door, no give as I throw myself against it. Nothing. I’ve retraced every movement she made in my dreams, but nothing.

I feel madness coming upon me. All this for nothing. I must know. I will wait.


June 18th

I hear those whispers in my mind now, never ending. I stare at these carvings all day. Waiting. Wondering why they will not open for me.

I yell to the whispers to help, but they repeat the same.

Run. Leave. Run away. Don’t go on. Danger. Pain. Death.

Maybe These secrets were not meant for me.


July 25th

Words. Whispers. Voices. I return again and again to the door. The villagers in the town I’ve taken up residence in near the foot of the cliffs tell me to give up. The doors have not opened, not in their lifetimes or their parents. They have a ghost story about those doors, and the tunnels beyond. The labyrinth of the fallen king is the name that they tell me. Long ago, a powerful and cruel sorcerer ascended to a throne of a kingdom that has long since fallen. He was a cruel king, and suspicious, so he hid away all of his magic and fortune into these tunnels and put in safeguards, traps and riddles and puzzles, and monsters too.

But the villagers call it by another name

The maze of death.

For in all of their legends, when the doors did open, none that have entered returned.

The only thing they will tell me is a verse passed down from generations.

More than treasure waits inside, cleverness and wisdom will be your guide
Take care and perhaps you will survive, what good is gold if you’re not alive
Candles die and darkness falls, your destiny waits within these walls
Should you wish to pay the price, go forth and give your sacrifice
So if you’re brace don’t tally long, the darkness longs to hear your song