One of the groomed versions of Seth waved a nonchalant hand. He dismissed Seth’s question as he said, “We don’t know why we are always late.” To the second version he added: “Perhaps he should be disjointed.”

The strangest thing happened immediately after. The other replica paled visibly. “We do not joke about such things Seth; it is not right.”

Seth opened his mouth to speak when the replica replied. “Calm ourselves, Seth. We merely jest.”

“An expensive one,” the replica said. “An unbecoming one.”

“What exactly do you mean by disjointed?” Seth interrupted them.

Both replicas turned to him for the briefest moment and shrugged.

“All we need to know,” a voice echoed from within the mist, to no one’s surprise, “is that it is not a good thing.”

“I don’t think any of you are old enough to be sounding cryptic,” Seth pointed out as another replica joined them.

The group was now complete.

“Good to have us,” the first replica said.

“We’re late,” the second added.

“And for that we would disjoint me?” the third asked.

The second shrugged. “Like we have already said, it was no more than a joke.”

“A dangerous one,” the third replied.

Seth returned his attention to the path before him, or the lack of one, and continued moving. He needed to find a way out of the mist before these thoughts flayed his mind.

His journey through the mist was a long one. Knowledge did not leave him through it and he navigated with the adeptness of a gardener in his own garden, stepping over obstacles and avoiding trees. Despite the weight of the mist, his breathing did not worsen as he expected it to. In fact, it seemed to get easier as he moved so that it filled his lungs faster and provided him with greater strength than he’d thought possible.

Domitia had always spoken of how breathing was the key to everything but he’d never truly believed the man. He knew it gave direction to rhythm but had never considered how much of a part it played in the generation of strength.

Through it all Seth’s companions bickered behind him. They followed noisily, giving opinions to themselves and disagreeing just as easily. His gladness that they were out of his head was short lived. They proved beyond reasonable doubt that they merely needed to exist—in whatever state—to bring him discomfort.

They did not offer directions, as he suspected they did not know which way they were to go. Mercifully, they also did not direct their questions to him, neither did they seek to include him in their conversations.

He heard snatches of them, though. Little pieces of irrelevance that seemed to distract his mind. He ignored each one with the same vigor with which he sought an exit.

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“Are you sure we know which way we are going?” one of them asked after what seemed like hours of walking.

“We’ve wanted to ask that for a while now,” another added. “Because it looks to us as if we’ve been doing nothing but wandering about. What are we; the wandering brothers?”

The others chuckled at this, another adding: “Sounds like a Path.”

Seth had no doubt the path he was referring to was not the path he was currently seeking.

He grumbled as he stumbled over something, the words of the replicas distracting him momentarily from the knowledge of his surroundings. He kept himself on his feet only barely and anger boiled within him as a byproduct of his frustration. Left alone to navigate this maze of mist, he did not doubt he would be successful. But he was not alone. Three companions bickering behind him did not allow his mind focus, so much so that he had tripped over something he had known was in front of him.

He turned to his companions abruptly and all three froze like flies in a nasty web. They looked at him with eyes wide, yet not so wide to display fear. In them he saw confusion more than surprise, intrigue more than fear. They were curious of what he intended to do. A part of him did not want to give them the satisfaction of doing anything. He did not want to bless them with an answer to their curiosity. So his mouth remained shut and all he did was glare.

Then he turned away and continued.

Behind him a replica whispered. “Are we alright?”

“We’re not sure,” another answered.

The third finalized it with: “I’m not sure this is what the seminary had in mind for a test.”

Seth wasn’t sure either. The seminary had sent him on a test his notification had categorized as one of fear. Yet here he was, with nothing to fear. If he was to face his fear, then what was the point to this. In the beginning, when he had seen the others, he had thought himself his fear. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Or was his fear yet to come?

………………………………

It was another few hours before fatigue came to settle in Seth’s bones. It was—he knew—a fatigue of the mind. The monotony of a disturbed trek spanning hours on end had bored his mind and weakened his resolve. His legs trembled but he knew it was not from weak muscles. His thighs ached but he knew they could go on for longer. It was his mind that was failing him.

Not to crumble under the weight of his fatigue, he came to a halt a few paces later. He eased himself to the ground, hands patting away at the ground beneath him before he settled on it.

The mist remained white with a taint of darkness. It made him wonder if a new day had come and gone without his awareness. The thought of it worried him. How long had he been here? Would he even pass the test?

“Three days.”

Seth looked up to see his replicas watching him quietly. “We’ve been here three days,” one of them clarified. “You were wondering.”

Seth sighed. “Even now you all remain in my head.”

“Seth,” another turned to the one before him, “Don’t rattle us right now. It is not the time.”

Seth frowned at this.

“There is no better time,” Seth answered, his slick hair slowly annoying Seth for reasons he could not understand.

Seth’s frown deepened since one of his replicas had spoken but not him. He wasn’t entirely certain what it was, but something had shifted in this moment.

Something was very wrong.

“If we don’t answer these questions,” Seth continued, “who will? It’s not like he ever has the answers, Seth.”

Seth shook his head vehemently, like a drunkard clearing his drunken haze. Something he should fear was happening and he couldn’t figure out what it was.

One of the replicas shook his head. “It is not our place to do this when he is down. We are better than that.”

“We are really not,” another answered.

The third replica watched this play out, a quiet Seth in a group of Seths. He watched, and he waited, as if a cloudburst waiting to happen. There was no patience in it, no calm. There was no doubt either. He was more a brewing storm than a calming weather. He was waiting for a chance. At what, the replica did not know. All he knew for now was that he waited. After all, he had a quest to complete.

Seth was getting confused and he didn’t like it. Suddenly, there were too many Seths present. It was as though it was becoming difficult to tell who was who. If this was the test, then he had a really big problem.