I am utterly exhausted when I finally go to make camp that night.

I arise in the morning feeling more rested than I've felt in a long time. Even Rigi looks remarkably better. This valley must have been as good for him as it has been for me.

I take a moment to find my center, as Tanua taught me. The exercise comes more easily than it had yesterday, and I'm heartened that things might actually go well today. I get dressed, and make my way to the building Tanua had indicated.

“Are you ready?” Tanua stands before me, impossibly large, my head barely reaching to her kneecap. The building looms even larger behind her, an enormous rough-hewn stone structure. I feel suddenly exhausted again.

But I nod and stand straight. “I am.”

Tanua says nothing more, simply steps to the side with a thumping footstep that shakes the ground. I close my eyes for a moment, centering myself, and then step forward.

I feel nothing in particular, so I step forward again, and then again. My tentative, nervous footsteps become more confident, more certain. I can do this. I am ready.

I’m within the gigantic doorjamb now, passing great chunks of fallen masonry as large as boulders. It is dark inside, and I wonder if I should have brought a torch. Tanua hadn’t mentioned it, had only said I should bring a waterskin to fill.

Tanua had been pretty vague, in general, about what to expect here. She’d said simply that it would be an “ordeal” of some sort. Humility will be the key to overcoming it. I think I’m ready, but how does one measure one’s humility? It is slippery, like a greased bladder, and grows slipperier the more you think about it. Am I being humble enough?

All I know for sure is that I seem to be making good progress. Perhaps I am humble enough. That’s encouraging. Maybe there wouldn’t even be much of an ordeal? Perhaps I’m so humble that the ordeal won’t apply…?

As my thoughts take this turn, the light from the giant doorway behind me dims. I look back, expecting to see Tanua’s enormous form blocking the light, but…no. I can still see the doorway, faintly, but it’s as if there’s some sort of fog suddenly rolling in, diffusing the light. Something from the pond in the building? I wonder again that Tanua didn’t warn me to take a torch; it would have been quite useful right about now.

I’ll be okay, though. I’ve prepared myself well, and I’m deep inside the building now and still haven’t felt anything like an ordeal. I ought to be nearing the pond…shouldn’t I?

The light, I notice, has dimmed even more. Looking back the way I came, the doorway is barely visible. Even as I watch, it dims further, and further, until with a startling abruptness, I’m left in utter darkness.

I feel paralyzed, uncertain what to do. There’s no way I can find the pond in this blackness, and if I tried I feel certain I’d be unable to find my way back to the door. “Tanua?” I call, and my voice seems to fall flat, as if unable to penetrate the darkness. “Tanua?” There is no reply.

Well. I know I’m facing the exit, since I was looking right at it as it faded to blackness. If I stick to this direction, I should be able to just walk right back out. I can grab a torch from my pack, and try again.

If I’m allowed to try again. Are there rules about this? Tanua didn’t mention any. She didn’t mention much of anything, now that I think about it. Why wouldn’t she have told me these things? Does she want me to fail? Is she trying to trap me in here?

I decide to have some words with Tanua, and start walking ahead carefully, wary of running into a boulder or tripping over other debris. I try to keep myself headed in a straight line, but without anything to orient myself by, I can’t be sure.

I walk for several minutes before stopping again. I should have reached the door by now, shouldn’t I? Even the thickest fog shouldn’t be able to block all light from this close. Assuming I am close. What if I got turned around? Shouldn’t I have at least reached a wall? Or have I been walking in circles, somehow?

“Tanua!” I cry, but again my voice seems to fall straight from my lips to the ground. “Tanua! Delkash! Can you hear me?”

The darkness seems to have weight, now. I can feel it, pressing down on my shoulders, my head. It seems to resist my steps, like walking upstream.

“Tanua!” I shout, my anger rising. “Answer me! Where are you?”

I imagine her and Delkash standing outside, hearing me call, smiling to each other. Tanua probably covered up the doorway somehow, perhaps a large tarp or something hung across it, and blocking out the daylight. They probably thought this was a great joke. Is there even a pond here? Is this maybe Delkash’s idea? I am, I decide, heartily weary of Delkash and his “tests.”

I try to walk faster, pushing myself, feeling the resistance grow stronger and stronger. I’m sweating now, panting with the exertion. Finally, the moment arrives when the resistance is stronger than I am, and I stand, panting, leaning into whatever force it is that is pushing back, feeling tears stinging the corners of my eyes.

Tanua’s words come back to me, then, in a flash. Any who hold even a spark of pride are unable to approach the pond. I consider my heart, and with shame realize I’d fallen directly into the trap. I fall to my knees, the resistance suddenly gone, and close my eyes against the darkness. I feel the tears run down my cheeks as I struggle to recenter myself, to work through the meditations that Tanua had taught me.

Calmness returns. Objectivity. Detachment. I let my self drift. I recognize that I cannot do this by myself, and acknowledge Tanua’s greater wisdom and experience. I see the sacrifices Delkash has made these many weeks, following me, watching me. I think of Oden and all he has done for me.

I feel small. So many have sacrificed on my behalf, lifted me up so that I can be here, in this moment, in this place.

Suddenly, I can sense a warm brilliance building through my closed eyelids, and I open them, expecting to see the great doorway outlined some distance in front of me. Instead, I find that I am kneeling at the edge of a pond of glowing, golden water. The illumination grows, and spreads, revealing a breathtaking array of flowers, grasses, bushes, and trees growing around the pond, and around me.

I feel a rush of gratitude.

I have found Gryick’s sacred spring.

Reverently, I begin filling my waterskin.