I could feel the small pebbles under my feet with every step and as I looked around I admired the familiar stone columns and statues of knights guarding their resting place. Their shields were square and proud, and in their left hand they all held lances pointing towards the sky. Horns protruded from their bronze helmets that seemed to cover the entire head. The most disturbing thing was their complete lack of any facial features, instead all you could see was a large, pitch black hole where the face should rest. But, by now it was familiar to me.
I’ve returned to this little temple many times since I was a child, it’s only a short walk away from the shoreline. Sometimes I sit and read on one of the broken columns, or I walk up and down the stone path leading to the main shrine from the cliffs, taking time to study every little square that makes up the mosaic tiles. Here, time seems to stop with the sand. Today I decide to ascend the stairs that lead up to the shrine. The building itself is quite small, but the stonework is spellbinding. Alongside the walls are four identical sculptures that look as if they could be animals or monsters. They appear almost caught in between a transformation from one to the other, the stone they’re carved with is green with the slow growth of moss. The heels of my shoes tapped against the tiles as I stepped inside.
As always, the air was stale and torches whose flames never seemed to diminish lined the pathway to another staircase that led down to a small pit whose purpose has been forgotten. Up from the stairs out of the pit was another chamber with vaulted ceilings and seating high up that looked down at the stage I found myself standing on. When I look to the right, I see the stone remains of a gargantuan warrior I’ve since defeated, the crystal on the forehead of its helmet glimmered faintly. Whatever civilization built him, and whatever ghosts watched our old combat, I’ll never know for sure.
Stepping out up from the stage into the final chamber, I felt a chill in the air as if a breeze traveled all the way from the entrance of the shrine to greet me, and as it passed I saw the flames of the torches dance with its motion. I looked around once more to take in the ambiance of the chamber, I saw the crumbling stone walls, cobwebs without any spiders or prey, and scattered pieces of armor from warriors long gone. Finally, I walked up the final set of stairs to once again read a wall of carved stone with a number of immortalized ancient curiosities. From the left, you could see an owl, rendered unpretensiously and without flourish. Below, a great creature resembling a whale chiseled to suggest a body covered in ornate jewelry. Last, the opening words of a passage from an unknown source, its flowing script beginning:
To the finder, the Isle of Koholint is but an illusion. Human, monster, sea, or sky, a scene on the lid of a sleeper’s eye.