The night’s surprises are not over. As I am about to ask how to enter the Spire, the ethereal woman leans forward.
“Lyra,” she says. “Belief is frequency. Faith is frequency. If you doubt, you will fail. If you trust yourself, you will succeed.”
I draw a breath. That has always been my understanding in all life’s conundrums. “I hear you, Sassen, but a little practical help will go a long way in easing my mind.”
She smiles wide. “Women are more practical, aren’t we?” Her smile vanishes immediately. “If you succeed, Lyra, I may move on, for you will be the lore keeper then. Please make it happen; I am weary of waiting.”
“Do I then become an apparition?” I gasp. The notion does not sit well. I then choose to fail, rather than wait as a ghost until the next catastrophe brings another to take my place.
Sassen lifts a hand. “No, this isn’t my form of waiting. This is me. I am a being of light.”
Both Hanna and I gape.
“There were and are many beings, my friends. In the current era you are simply more tangible than we were. Now,” and Sassen slaps at her thighs, “let us be practical. There is a trapdoor you need to find. Look along the lower ridges, and enter there. This will save you a climb to the peaks, for there is no door to enter the spire from the outside. The entrance is inside the mountain. Next; beware of the voices. There is no one inside, and the voices cannot physically harm you, but they will attempt to waylay and distract you from your goal. They are the leftovers from other wanderers, those who failed.”
“Where is the mechanism of control once we are inside?” Hanna asks.
“In Lyra’s mind,” Sassen murmurs.