Ahead of us, one object dominates the courtyard. The statue of Teshub Lartia, the Academy's semi-legendary founder, and a renown Breaker. His domineering likeness stands in the center of this vast rectangur courtyard. He is recognized as the first chairman of the Academy and was supposedly allowed to have dozens of battle crystalborn at his command. The statue is made of khar-nogoon rock and it is strangely unadorned. No small crystals in the eye sockets, nor a drop of added color, only the natural dark and pale green shades. Countless delicately thin and some fatter lines, each having their own distinct greenish hue, diagonally cross the statue from head to distant base—the sides of which are carved with beasts. I assume these were some of his crystalborn. My home could comfortably fit inside that base of the statue with room to spare. Compared to those in the city, almost all of which are colorful or sometimes even cd in polished metal, it seems bnd.
About a hundred strides or more to the right of me, there is a fountain with five or six children. All dressed in matching green garments and sitting at the edge of it or on one of the benches nearby. The courtyard held many sizable semicircur benches of polished white granite, their plinths raising them slightly. The benches had sturdy-looking backrests, as tall as a man's torso. Bronze medallions depicting a phoenix graced each end. These seating areas seem countless but are mere dots in the courtyard's wide expanse.
Steadily rising huge gates in the middle are swallowed by the vastness of the cliff-carved structure and appear minuscule. Further at the sides, they are fnked by two smaller ones. All that space and only three entrance points? Clergy often preaches that since the Goddess made the world then even all of this would be considered nothing in comparison. A lot of nothingness. The imposing double gate in the middle is dark greenish-brown. It makes me wonder how they open and close the monstrosity. Without needing to see the beautiful interlocking grain—or feel its fine texture—I realize they are entirely made out of stonewood. My home, like that of so many others, has tables, chairs, bowls, and even eating utensils made out of it. Despite being commonly used it does live up to its name. At ten I tried carving my name on the kitchen table using one of my father's tools made of steel. It took me a nice part of that morning just to carve a few decent marks in it. A shiver passes through my lower back at the mere memory of my mother's reaction. I've read that the gates of the Academy are often closed except during those special days of the festival. They have carvings in them and not even a smidge of paint on their entire bulk, which I guess gives them certain simplistic beauty. Human figures are depicted in the carvings at the bottom, mostly reting to the life of the Prophet, with various Genesis symbols aligned vertically down the middle. During the festival celebrating the Second Daughter, the rge gates open inwards for those wishing to pray to Acrona or bring tribute.
The top steep curvature of the middle gates is contrasted by countless columns in front of them. Like spines of giants whose girth would put that of most trees to shame, they spread endlessly on either end. All columns are topped with ornate, inverted bell-shaped capitals, which have graceful curves of stylized motifs portraying two rows of jagged leaves from a pnt that I don't recognize. The leafy curves nicely complemented the scroll-like ornaments that spiraled upward. They are fluted—resembling the ribs of a starved person—with twenty-four sharp-edged shallow grooves carved into the surface of each column.
At the end of the main rectangur courtyard, we are greeted with steps that were clearly made with no children in mind. With long strides I climb them, until reaching the clearing upon which the columns deceivingly seem to stand. Just like the rest of the facade, they are carved out of the cliff. The old priestess is often ahead of me and has a surprising lightness to her step.
A forest of soaring, widely spaced columns, fnks us. I'm unnerved at how they hauntingly disappear into the distance.
