The Longest Journey Part 3: The Bridge of Night

The 28th of Zilitu in the 447th year of the reign of the Malika of Saba

This morning, al-Nahash roused us all earlier than normal, and we were out of Madinat al-Ghul before the sun rose over the city. I thought it was because he was eager to be away from the Ghuls (save for the one who traveled with us), but our pace did not slacken when the city was behind us. It was only when we finally stopped after dark that I understood that it was the calendar that drove us so quickly. In two days it will be the spring equinox, which is the first day of the Sabaen year. Apparently this is the only time when we can cross a particular bridge, although I don't really know why.

Despite our rush through the desert, I was constantly struck by scenes from my dreams. The shape of the mountains and even the dunes were intimately familiar to me, and appeared a thousand times in my sketches. One mountain in particular seemed to be where our course was bent, one that was in a dozen images within my portfolio. I took a quick sketch while the animals were being watered for comparison, and it is indeed a landmark from my dreams. In fact, it was the very same picture that so captivated al-Nahash when he permitted me to come upon this expedition.

When we finally stopped, al-Nahash told us that tomorrow we would be entering into one of the most dangerous parts of our journey. Beyond the next dunes lay the Lost Cities, one of the Dreamlands connected to the Al-Kubra. I had heard something of it before, but al-Nahash has clearly studied this dreamscape in great detail. It is a kind of aggregate place, where all the ideas and concepts of cities lost to time and desert winds have come together. They emerge from the depths of the Dream here, anchored by some affinity to the Al-Kubra, and can be entered by those unwary enough to do so. Al-Nahash explained how we must all follow him carefully, and keep our minds as clear and focused as possible. We are even to be tethered together by lengths of rope, to help keep our group in the same iteration of the city as we pass through. It seemed that he eyed me particularly during his speech, although I know not why.

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The 29th of Zilitu in the 447th year of the reign of the Malika of Saba, midnight or close enough

I woke in the middle of the night, from some sense of impending doom, to find the ghul crouched over me. Her hooves were the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes, for she was directly next to my head. I turned over to see that she was smelling me, her eyes shut and mouth stretched in a smile that was equal parts sensual and horrific. When I scrambled away, she opened her eyes and gave me a look that was...disappointed. Then she gave a great sigh and rose, vanishing into the shadows of the camp before I could gather my wits enough to speak. I don't know why, but I was siezed with the need to try and sketch her face - something I never do, as they always turn out wrong. But tonight I could not but try it once again.

Of course, it came out distorted. I could recognize the woman in my picture, but my hand added details and features my eye had never seen. While it is far from my disastrous portrait, I have included it here only as a reminder to myself to not attempt drawing living beings again. It never ends well. At least this one will not require burning before anyone can see it - I hope never to have one of those again.

I do not think I will attempt sleep again. Morning will come soon enough, and I cannot bear the thought of such an awakening again. I will simply watch the stars overhead for the rest of the night. They take such interesting shapes here in the desert.

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The 29th of Zilitu in the 447th year of the reign of the Malika of Saba, shortly after sunset

We have passed through the Lost Cities, and sit upon the plain beyond. The great mountain (which I have learned is named Jabal al-Aghiyar) looms over us, and soon we will attempt a crossing to it across a mystical bridge that will appear at midnight as the year begins. Only a few of us are going on from here - al-Nahash, the ghul, myself and three men to carry supplies. No more - apparantly the risk is too high.

We reached the outskirts of the Lost Cities early this morning. I was still tired from my interrupted night, and at first thought I was seeing a phantasm, not something within the real world. Vast buildings shimmered in the morning sun, some in ruins and others that were pristine. They emerged from the sand, and with each step the cityscape shifted, towers dissolving into monuments which then became great walls, and the walls turning into dust on the wind. I realized that I was seeing not one city, but the ideas of many cities lost in the deserts of a thousand worlds, all jumbled together and overlaid on this spot. I did my best to capture the essence of the place, but I could draw a thousand pictures and never include all the things I saw there.

Al-Nahash led us through the streets as quickly as he could. At each turning, I could see him pausing to focus on one building or landmark, and then stepping forward as the buildings shifted around us. His pauses grew longer and longer, and the caravan grew restless. Things were in the shadows of some of those buildings, and many began to watch as the sun sank towards the horizon.

Eventually, one of the pauses lasted long enough for me to sit, and I am afraid that my weariness overcame me. I slept, and I dreamt of the ancient city long before it was lost and abandoned. The streets were still empty, but the stones were newly cut and sharp-edged, with angles that bent the eyes pleasingly. In my dream, I took al-Nahash's place at the head of the column and strode forth with confidence. I knew these streets and how the cities of the lost were bound together. The great eyes upon their pedastals did not trouble me, nor did the dark places I could feel beneath the ground - all these were right and as they should be. Only the scent of dust and decay left me unsettled. The cities of the lost were not supposed to know time, and this trace of it meant something had gone horribly awry. But before I could think of why that was I awoke, and the certainty of my knowledge faded, as dreams do.

Somehow, I was not surprised to find us beyond the last walls of the Lost Cities. Behind us, they were fading into the sand and dust once more, and all around me the men were establishing the camp. The sun had slid behind the mountains, and shadows stretched across the plain. None of the men would speak to me, so it was al-Nahash who confirmed my suspicions - that in my sleepwalking state, I had led the party through the remainder of the city. He seemed unsurprised by this ability, and I wondered if this had been his plan all along. Ultimately, it doesn't matter - I can feel the mountain - Jabal al-Aghiyar - calling to me, and if they were all to turn back now, I would still press forth. I don't care how I get there. It is where I need to be.

I will be setting aside my sketchbook for the next step of the journey, as we must cross over the Bridge of Night. As al-Nahash explains it, the Bridge is actually made of darkness, and cannot bear the touch of light once we are upon it. I expect there will be little to draw until we have passed over it and are on the lower slopes of the mountain.

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We are ready to begin across. It appeared as al-Nahash predicted, seeming almost a black tree that rose out of the ground and faded into the empty sky. No moon or stars will light our way, and should we strike even the slightest light it will destroy the Bridge beneath our feet. A solitary star is embedded in the bridge, near the base - this marks the last spark of light we will see until we have crossed over. I must put my journal away now - we are going. I don't know how long it will be before I will write here again.