Mataya wiggled her way through a window purposely left ajar and moved onto the common terrace.  The night air was dry and unusually cold,  much colder than the Wizen had predicted.  Her breath was a thick mist that swirled and churned upward like the smoke from a thick cigar smoked by a fat man with a sweaty fat face.

It was one of those nights when the one could see great distances.  The colorful lights of Lake Megalopolis reflected across the smooth surface of the lake creating an almost perfectly symmetric vertical reflection.  As Mataya looked across the lake, she was struck by an unexpected  feeling of melancholy.  Someday, she realized, the memory of this feeling would sew the seeds of an unexpected nostalgia.  

Miss this place?

Despite its many luxuries, Mataya hated the convent and the school for girls.  Or so she had always told herself.  Now, on the verge of her long-anticipated departure, she began to already miss the few blessings that it offered.  Of the things she would miss, the view of great lake on a clear night would perhaps be one of the things she would miss most of all. 

Her last secret mission.   One last job.  One final client to take care of.  And then, she would leave this place.  Forever, perhaps.  If she were lucky.  Still, she would miss her private time at night as sat marveling the colorful tapestry of glimmering lights.  The view was stunning.  It was a siren.  A visual cornucopia.  And never looked the same way twice.  It was the very thing that made it so special.  And on this night, it was giving her a send-off performance.

The multi-colored columns of light compressed, expanded, and danced upside-down across the surface of the water.  The the bright yellows, reds, and blues melted and mixed to form every possible shade perceptible to the human eye.  If she didn’t take care, she could easily lose herself for hours, dazzled by the twinkling lights.  The intensity and form appeared random, yet if one looked deeply enough, patterns emerged.  It was mesmerizing and cathartic.  Like a waking dream.  It was the perfect visual to collect her thoughts and mentally prepare for a dangerous mission as it cleared her mind of her troubles and unwanted distractions.  She opened her eyelids wide and forced herself not to blink so that the momentary vision would burn an impression onto her inner eye creating a memory that would last a lifetime.

Mataya had spent countless hours fantasizing about life in the city on the far side of the great lake.  From a distance, the city seemed so calm, so gentle.  For years Mataya fantasized about life in the city on the far side of the great lake.  Its many fascinating places.  The diversity of people, thoughts, and ideas.  It was said to have a side, full of uncivilized people whose lack of faith had plunged the city into darkness and moral turpitude.  At least that is she had been told.  Perhaps it was a lie intended to trap them and convince them to take their vows at the convent instead of leaving.  Someday, she would be old enough to choose, and when that day came, she would be free to roam its streets and experience the many wonders of life in the big city.  For now, all she could do is admire its beauty from afar. 

The fluid patterns of softly colored light was deeply hypnotic.  Studying the wavelike patterns hidden within the image created a pleasing distortion in time.  Minutes could seem like hours, and occasionally, hours somehow just disappeared as if she had fallen into a trance, broken only by the slow glow of the morning sun as it rose above the city and turned off the lights.  

How could something so beautiful be filled with evil?

It was a question she had long pondered during the countless hours spent communing with the lake.  She had even spoken to it on occasion, and she believed that she had heard a voice responding to here thoughts and answering her many questions.  It told her stories of those who called the great city home.  It was a constructed by man, but much like a mountain or river, it gave off the aura of a living organism, sentient and imbued with a spirit.   Complex, and beautiful from afar, but harsh, and dangerous if examined too closely.

It was here on her terrace where she most often experienced waking dreams with hope and wonder of her future.  She lifted her head and at the stars.

What adventures  await me outside these stone walls?

It was a question she often posed to the stars, but she had not once received a reply.  Within the absence of a reply lie the her answer to riddle of the stars: she must discover the answers for herself. 

Mataya had sensed a growing emotional void inside herself for some time.  A vacuum of inspiration which she was desperately wished to fill.  She was plagued by curiosity and yearned for knowledge, wisdom, and adventure.  There was only so much that she could learn about the world from the books in the library.  Word that she would be leaving the convent stoked the furnace inside her.

She reflected upon her time at the convent.  She remembered when she had first arrived, alone and terrified of the unknown.  She reminisced of the forest witch,  a story told by the older girls of a creature transformed by a voodoo spell gone wrong.  A creature who shed her skin at night and stalked the forest looking for little girls upon whom she would feast in the hope that consuming their flesh would undo the spell and transform her back.  These dark fairy-tales had terrified young Mataya, filling the dark hours with horrific nightmares.

But as she matured, she learned techniques to overcome irrational fear.  She pondered the boundary between the physical and the spiritual world.  She dwelled at length upon the necessary balance of order and chaos.  Good versus evil.  Life in this world and life beyond death.  She read and reread the writings of the great Emperors and ancient Stoic philosophers.  She accumulated a formidable library devoted to the art of happiness and warfare — two polar opposites that weren’t really opposites at all.  For is not the pursuit of happiness war itself?  She read poems by famous prophets describing the path to Enlightment.  She pondered the Universe, the existence of God, or Gods, and the meaning of life, if it existed at all.  She learned to fear not, nor wish not, death.

Inward growth created outward changes that bewildered Mataya’s peers and superiors. Once the victim of ruthless bullies, she withdrew, drowning herself within her studies.  Eventually, she rose to become the fearless leader of those very same girls that had so tormented her.  She was crowned the Queen of Chaos, the Mistress of Mayhem.  Then, inexplicably, she renounced her thrown, withdrew once again, and turned into a veritable recluse.  She carried herself as invisible to others just as they were to her, with but few exceptions.

Some of the sisters concluded that Mataya she had succumbed to despair, or perhaps, settled into a state of apathy, and indolence.  She had begun to shirk her duties.  She was labeled a malingerer.  A malcontent.  Hers was a silent protest, and she without protest excepted the only punishment that remained to her superiors, banishment to her chambers.

At times, lost in thought, Mataya failed  to perform basic functions such as dressing herself or avoiding obstacles while passing through the courtyard.  She ignored insults and physical projectiles sent in her direction from rejected girls wishing to provoke a response.  Acts, which at one time, she would have react to with violence or or revenge.  She had become absent-minded,  frequently misplacing common items such as pens, jewelry, and keys.  She ceased attending classes, meals, and evening prayers.  And more often than not, she did not respond when spoken to.

For Mataya, her own inner voice grew louder, compelling, consuming her attention, while exterior voices were bland, lacking style, and substance.  The thoughts and opinions of others had ceased to interest her.  Her former world had all but disappeared, and within its absence, she sought out a secret life, a hidden identity.  One where she and she alone would control her fate.  

Frequently, after being declared missing, she was to be found sitting half dressed in an odd pose on the cold and sometimes wet stone surface of her terrace, seemingly oblivious to extreme elements such as the wind, rain, and snow.  

When confronted by friends and teachers inquiring as to her odd behavior,  Mataya simply closed her eyes, lowered her chin, and remained silent, prompting speculation that she had gone mad or perhaps had begun practicing witchcraft.  But so too were the whispers of secret acts of revenge carried out as if she had acquired magical abilities to transport herself through time and space.  She did not object to such conjecture.  Rather she embraced it as it allowed her to withdraw further into her ever inner world.

Mataya did have a small circle of friends.  These precious few confidantes provided her with sufficient intimacy and companionship.  And although those close to her were few, they were very dear to her.  She would never turn her back on them.  She lived by a strict code.  She would rather die rather than betray those whom she loved.

As typically happens to bold figures in history, Mataya had become obsessed with a yearning for adventure.  Mataya was convinced that her true fate lay outside the walls of the convent.  She must rid herself of the strict rules of etiquette expected of her.  She never should have been condemned to this prison in the first place.   She believed that life could not begin until this egregious error in destiny rectified itself.

She did respect those who embraced the life of the convent and chose to take their religious vows.  She understood the appeal of devotion to bookish intellectual pursuits and a commitment to faith and service.   A life made possible by the safety of life behind fortified walls and spiritual boundaries.  There had been a time when she assumed that she too would follow in this path as well.  But the walls no longer felt like they existed to protect her.  They had become a prison.

It was precisely at this point when it happened.  The great epiphany.  One day, sitting in the courtyard under the midday sun, she felt the illumination and wisdom of the Light.  It shone so very brightly.  It spoke to her.  Not with actual words of course.  It was the illumination of ideas, and it unveiled her destiny.  Once enlightened, Mataya felt an unflappable determination to discover her true path in life, a path that lie far beyond these walls.

But the Light also created a shadow.  The Shade.  Historians and philosophers warned of the all-consuming darkness that had consumed so many before her who had sought out the Light only to find darkness.  So many souls, jaded, and frustrated from their failures, turned to the Shade, and in so doing, lost sight of their life’s true meaning.  One had to be very careful while traveling along their path for it would be filled with traps and pitfalls.  There would be trials, tests, and tribulations.  A single misstep could send one to a destination very different from the one which they so desperately had wished to find.

The world was full of darkness.  Even for the Light, it isn’t possible to illuminate every corner of the world, and without darkness, what purpose would the Light serve?  How many times had she read these very words?  So many stories of those who had failed to heed the warning.  There would always be darkness as nature create a balance in all things.   Even the darkness served a useful purpose.  A world without fear would invite chaos.  Fear maintained order.  Those who rid themselves of fear misunderstood, eventually ridding themselves of their own sanity.

And then there was the Dark Light.  The illumination of the Black Sun.  It was within the shadows of the Black Sun that the minions of evil cowered and scurried just ahead of sting of their master’s whip.

Without darkness, there would be no Light.

And thus, the Light delivered to Mataya its clear and irrefutable message:

Your path lie beyond these walls.  Seek out the Light, and beware of those who exist in shadows of Black Sun.

Mataya had only known a life absent of genuine fear.  But now the Light had filled her with equal parts desire and foreboding.  She was to seek out the Light and embrace fear.  For they would serve as a guide for her journey and help imbue her life with genuine purpose.  Fear would keep her alert and aware, while the Light would inspire her and drive her to greatness.

But even philosophy had its limitations.  One must remain grounded within the real world.

Mataya decided to invest more of her time working on her journal.  Someday, she hoped that her writings would inspire others as the writings of those long since passed had inspired her.  She would document her adventures.  She would paint vivid pictures of faraway places and describe in graphic detail the externally primitive but inward complexity of people.  She would document distant lands and describe exotic creatures.  If everything went according to her plans, the sum of her writings would likely require multiple thick volumes.

The completion of tonight’s mission will mark the end of the beginning, and the beginning of the end.  Tonight, I shall become.

Mataya turned her focus away from the lights.  She repositioned herself in full view of the moon and the stars.  She crossed her ankles, folded her arms across her chest, and lowered herself onto cold red stone.  With legs crossed, back and neck straight with her chin slightly elevated, she assumed the position of physical and spiritual alignment.  She breathed in deeply, blocking emotion and lowering her heart rate.  Open, and attune.

Next, Mataya traced the shape of the Mandala,  an ancient circular and sacred symbol which,  once completed, served as a spiritual chrysalis within she could safely meditate without fear of disturbance or harm by malevolent spirits, both external, and internal.  With precision and symmetry, Mataya drew an intricate circular pattern into the the thin layer of frost, enclosing herself within its boundaries and placing her at its focal point.  First, she drew the outer circle represented the vast and all-powerful forces of the Universe.  Then, an equally important inner circle that represented the contrasting finite and limited Self.  Only through an deep of each individually, and more importantly, the relationship complex relation between the two, could one achieve genuine Clarity.

With the symbol complete, she felt a sense of calm and serenity.  She filled her chest with air slowly by inhaling deeply through her nose.  Then, through oval lips, she exhaled.  She inhaling deeply through her nostrils until her ribcage swelled until she felt resistance from her leather tunic.  Then, engaging her diaphragm and relaxing her jaw, she exhaled slowly through her mouth.  Her breath was hot, and the moisture of her face began to freeze into tiny particles of ice.

The lone cloud in the sky slowly lowered from above until a paperthin layer of mist hovered below the terrace just above the ground below.  Above, the clear sky served as a highway for a train of new small round clouds that meandered past the moon and just above the tallest trees of the surrounding forest.  They too grew thick and began to sink, creating a patch of clear sky surrounding the moon.  The crisp stars grew even brighter, their view blocked only by the web of branches from the smaller bushier trees immediately surrounding the keep.

As she fixed her gaze at a single star, she felt the odd sensation that the trees were rootless and mingling amongst themselves, dancing a slow waltz at a botanical ball.  Mother Earth radiated energy out to the cosmos along with the remaining warmth trapped within her thin atmosphere.  As the temperate fell, the relatively warm waters of the lake rose up and drew in the cold air above from underneath.  The resulting breeze filled the air with the pungent fragrance of the forest hills.  The aroma was sweet, a welcome contrast to the foul man-made smells that polluted the daytime air.

Mataya lowered herself through several intermediate stages of relaxation. As she fell deeper into her meditative state,  each breathe grew longer.
Stronger.  With peace of mind came Clarity.  With Clarity, her heart slowed, her mind emptied, and her nerves calmed.  Within this state, her body drew blood away from her extremities and fed her brain with elevated levels of oxygen.  The technique was common amongst creatures of the land and sea, but it was an skill that required the manipulation of autonomic functions of the brain, something that very few Humans had ever achieved.

 

Focused, her mind a slate clean from dangerous distractions, Mataya initiated the process of programming the mission.  Every action required calculation.  No detail could be safely ignored.  Every contingency must be explored.  The margin for error at each and every stage required computation, each assigned with a rough estimate of probability.  Nothing could be left to chance, and there would be no time to consider her options on-the-fly if the job went sideways.

How much time do I have to complete the mission?

What was the position of the moon and how brightly would it shine?

Where are the dark spots? 

How many guards would there be and where would they be posted?

How cold, tired, and inebriated were the guards likely to be?

Were they armed, and if so, with what?

From which direction will the wind blow and from which beasts will it be necessary to remain upwind?

How much had it rained in the last few days and what is the resulting constitution of the grassy courtyard and the surrounding soil of the compound?

Mataya ran through the rudimentary details of the operation in her mind, forwards, and backwards, repeating the process over, again, and again.
Once the fundamentals were clear, she began to explore remote possibilities, attempting to predict every possible deviation, and to each deviation,
a proper reaction.  Each reaction repeated visualization.  There would be no time to think.  In order to properly react, she needed to assimilate every detail of the plan so that she could rely on instinct.  A single instantaneous and reflective action could be the difference between life or death.

Mataya decided that she was prepared, and given the cold, the had to weigh mental preparation with the physical limitations created by the bitter cold.  She opened her eyes and clenched her fists.  Her cheeks burned as if they were on fire.  During meditation, her arms and her legs had grown numb and restless.  Small darts of pain shot down from her hips and repeatedly poked the bottom of her feet.  Her temples throbbed.  She had remained stagnant in the debilitating cold for too long.  It was a minor miscalculation, but one for which she would have to compensate.  She felt a rush of adrenaline in response, interrupting her meditation.   As she began to wake from her self-induced trance broken, a subconscious alarm sounded.  She sensed an unforeseen danger, one that presented itself in a subtle, casual way.  It was a threat to the mission, and one that could not be safely ignored.  The earth, reduced to a speck of dust, resurrected itself to its previous magnitude and form.  Her spiritual being returned from the astral plane back into her body and a world bound by the laws of physics.  She assessed the situation and isolated the threat.

It is growing cold.  Very cold, and far faster than anticipated.  Soon, a layer of ice would cover the ground, and more importantly, coat the outer walls of the convent making them icy and treacherous.  She would have to move faster than she had originally planned.  Her window of opportunity was rapidly shrinking.

Now is the time to move, and the time to move is Now.