{"id":604,"date":"2026-03-29T02:41:06","date_gmt":"2026-03-29T02:41:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2026-spring\/?page_id=604"},"modified":"2026-04-25T23:14:08","modified_gmt":"2026-04-25T23:14:08","slug":"the-enclave","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2026-spring\/the-enclave\/","title":{"rendered":"The Enclave"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<style>\n.authorBio {\n  background: linear-gradient(45deg, #121521, #38476b, #b6192e, #ffc1ac);\n  color: white;\n  padding: 32px;\n}\n.authorBio a {\n  color: white;\n}\n\th1, h2 {\n\t\ttext-align: center;\n\t}\n\t.imgOne {\n                max-height: 160px !important;\n\t\tposition: relative;\n\t\tz-index: 2;\n\t}\n\t.imgTwo {\n\t\tmargin-left: -110px !important;\n\t\tmax-width: 160px !important;\n\t\tposition: relative;\n\t\tz-index: 1;\n\t}\n\t.titleImg {\n\t\tfloat: right;\n\t\tmargin: 0 0 32px 32px;\n\t}\n  @media (max-width: 640px) {\n    .titleImg {\n       aspect-ratio: auto;\n       margin: 32px auto;\n       max-width: 100%;\n     }\n  }\n<\/style>\n<div class=\"container\">\n\t<div class=\"content\">\n\t    <section class=\"backNext\">\n\t      <h4><a href=\"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/coreopsis\/\">Back to Journals<br> Home<\/a><\/h4>\n\t      <h4><a href=\"\/rw\/2026-spring\/shadows-of-totality\/\">First Wonderous<br> Story<\/a><\/h4>\n\t    <\/section>\n<h4 class=\"purple\">Fiction<\/h4>\n\t    <main class=\"text\">\n\t    \t<img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"titleImg\" src=\"\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Joel_Enclave.jpg\">\n\t\t\t<h1>Enclave<\/h1>\n\t\t\t<h2>By Sarah Connell<\/h2>\n\t\t\t<h2>illustrated by Joel Bisaillon<\/h2>\n\t\t\t<p>The moon crested the lip of the oculus and dusk crept into the hall until each reliquary wore a cloak of early night. The red light of the eclipse played across dusty offerings piled at the foot of the central archway, dappling the faded veil within. Even after a lifetime spent guarding the Enclave with its network of shrines and hidden chambers, standing beneath the gaze of the hall\u2019s effigies during the annual eclipse still unnerved Keeper Goya.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>For on this one night, the inner doors to the hall unsealed, allowing entrance to a single Keeper. He lit the incense and kept vigil.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The echo of shuffling feet broke the silence.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>As the first star winked to life, the procession entered the far corridor. Goya withdrew into the shadows of a stone alcove. He kept as still and silent within the cowl of his gray robes as if he were another of the statues lining the hall. Nothing was known about these shrouded figures, not in the archives or among the other Keepers who guarded the Enclave. But all knew of these strange ones and called them the Sacrifice. They crept forward in a single line beneath golden veils that flowed from the crown of each head to pool crimson along the ground so that even their feet were kept a mystery. Breathing deeply of the scented smoke, Goya risked a small, thin-lipped smile in the shadows of his cowl. After cycles of waiting, the change had finally come in the form of a small figure trailing along at the very end of the line. Quiet as the rest, this one could be no older than a child, the first such seen in his lifetime.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The first Sacrifice swept through the incense haze and the shrouded head bent to part the veil before disappearing into the darkness of the inner archway. The procession continued until only the last one was left, the smallest. The child\u2019s head turned toward him within the shroud and Goya found himself stepping forward out of the safety of the alcove. The small figure mirrored his gesture, coming forward so quickly that the hem lifted from the floor to bare skinny brown legs for the briefest of moments. The silence grew between them until Goya could feel his heart beating against his ribcage in anticipation. No Sacrifice had ever refused to enter through the veil. But then again, no child had worn the golden cloaks hemmed in crimson as if dipped in lifeblood.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>Goya stepped forward. \u201cHello?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>At the sound of his voice, the figure turned and ran the few short steps to the archway. On reflex, Goya reached out, his hand grasping a fistful of silken fabric so that the shroud slipped off like smoke from a snuffed candle just as the veil parted. Beneath the shroud, the child wore a flowing black shift. Head shaved, eyes wide, Goya caught only a glimpse of the child\u2019s face. Instead of fear or shock, the expression had been oddly blank, mirroring Goya\u2019s own confusion.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>For one mad moment, Goya moved to follow, his fingertips brushing the veil before pulling back as if burned. It had enveloped his fingertips like cold smoke. Trembling, he stumbled back and gripped the slippery shroud between thumb and forefinger. He\u2019d broken the taboo and interposed himself into the procession. He was no longer merely a Keeper. The change had begun.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>He tucked the shroud up his sleeve and opened the alcove\u2019s door behind him, hobbling as fast as his stiff legs allowed. The corridor wound on in complete darkness. One finger trailed along the stone wall, counting empty voids he could only guess were doorways within the otherwise ceaseless stone of the wall to help guide him while the other hand crooked up the hemline of his robes to keep him from tripping. It was all he could do not to mutter to himself as he went. The walls listened, that was the first lesson every novice Keeper learned in the Enclave. Especially now that a change had begun amongst the timelessness of the warrens.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Not until he was safely out of the tunnels with the heavy wooden door shut behind him did he open his eyes. He stood there for a moment, breathing deeply. Now that the time had come to move forward with his plan, he struggled to find courage.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>To his surprise, Goya straightened to find that the small vestibule stood empty. The archivists had yet to come for his account and he realized just how early he\u2019d come back. There was still time before the chime marked the cycle\u2019s end and the inner hall door locked for another cycle. Goya turned and scampered along a smaller passageway that sloped upwards, making sure to keep the shroud from slipping out of his sleeve.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The apothecary was a little-used part of the vast catacombs built closer to the surface to keep any damage from explosions to a minimum. Steam engulfed him as he entered, forming from a cacophony of bones being boiled in a geothermal pool nearby. He batted at a particularly large chaga mushroom hanging from the low ceiling and peered into the murk. A hooded figure bent over a central table. Hazel\u2019s dark eyes peered out at him from behind white braids.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cGoya, what are you doing here? Shouldn\u2019t you still be in the Hall?\u201d she called, confusion straining her already hoarse voice.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>In answer, he closed the door behind him and pulled the shroud from within his sleeve. Hazel drew nearer, tying her braids into a loose knot. It wasn\u2019t until she touched it that she realized just what he held.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIs that &#8211; ?\u201d she began before covering her mouth with a hand, eyes darting toward the closed door behind him.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cNo one else knows. I came straight here,\u201d he murmured.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>He laid the shroud on her worktable where it slithered out as if fluid, forming a pool of gold in the dim light.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cDid you &#8211; ?\u201d she hesitated before mustering the courage to continue. \u201cDid you enter the veil?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya knew the fear behind her words. <i>Why did you break our one rule?<\/i> He shook his head. \u201cI pulled it off a Sacrifice\u2026 a child.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Hazel cocked her head. \u201cA <i>child<\/i>, but\u2026but none have appeared in-\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cA thousand cycles, yes,\u201d Goya finished for her. \u201cSince the building of the Enclave.\u201d<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>She edged around the table, eyes focused on the shroud.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>He wet his lips. He could tell that fear was winning out over her curiosity. But he didn\u2019t dare tell her that he\u2019d been expecting this very thing on this very night &#8211; that he had, perhaps, started this change. Instead, he said, \u201cSome say the Enclave began with the procession of a child and will end with one. This may be our only chance to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She crossed her arms. \u201cYou still think the veil is the way out of here?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYou used to think that, too, remember?\u201d He smiled, hoping it masked his own fear.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThe walls are there for a reason,\u201d she said and rubbed her temples. \u201cWe don\u2019t know what\u2019s out there or why we&#8217;re here. You have access to the archives, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWe\u2019ve been over this,\u201d he cut in. \u201cThe archivists know as much as we do.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She grew silent, staring down at the shroud. \u201cA child,\u201d she murmured. \u201cThis will cause mass panic.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cNo one else has to know.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She looked up, her eyes sharp. \u201cYou\u2019re not saying that we keep this a secret?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cJust for now,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThe archivists will be on you as soon as they hear you\u2019ve returned. We both know they\u2019ve been waiting for something like this to happen. Even if you could lie to them, sooner or later they\u2019ll find this,\u201d she gestured to the shroud, \u201cand you\u2019ll be mushroom food.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>He swallowed. \u201cThat\u2019s why I\u2019ve come to you. I need you to report me.\u201d <\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cMe?\u201d She scoffed. \u201cWhy would I do that?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cBecause I need to go back to the Hall,\u201d he said, with more confidence than he felt. \u201cAnd I\u2019m not sure I\u2019ll be able to get back out. Someone has to tell them.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYou\u2019re going back? Why?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI think I can make it through the veil,\u201d he whispered. His hand trailed the slippery edge of the fabric, causing an echo of ripples along its surface. The hairs rose on the back of his arm. <\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Hazel had stilled at his words. \u201cBut you\u2019re already locked out. The door only opens for today.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThe day\u2019s not over yet,\u201d he said, grimly. <\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She tapped a long fingernail against the tip of her nose in thought. \u201cNo,\u201d she finally said.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cNo?\u201d he echoed, fear coursing through him. His plan hinged on her agreeing. <\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIf I\u2019m going to make a report, then I\u2019m coming with you to see for myself.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>His heart skipped a beat. \u201cWith me?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cAs far as the veil. Then I\u2019ll return here.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>He gripped the edge of the table. \u201cBut only one Keeper is allowed in the Hall at a time.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIt seems, Goya, that you\u2019ve already broken enough rules for a lifetime. It\u2019s my turn.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Ignoring his retorts, she walked out. He tucked the shroud up a sleeve and rushed to follow. The tunnels remained empty but even so, Hazel\u2019s courage failed her when she stepped up to the door, her face draining of color. <\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cHold on to me,\u201d he whispered over his shoulder as he pushed it open. \u201cAnd try not to speak. Voices carry in the warrens.\u201d <\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWho could hear us? I thought this part of the Enclave was long-ago abandoned?\u201d she whispered back. <\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cBetter to be safe.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>He felt her shudder against him as the door creaked shut behind them. Their steps took up a shuffle in the absolute darkness as their world shrunk to the widths of outstretched fingertips. Hazel\u2019s breath, quickening into panic, came hot against his neck. <\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The tunnel felt longer than it ever had before and his heart beat in a hectic rhythm until his carefully counted steps reached their 900th mark. His knuckle brushed against the alcove and he pulled the door inward.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Hazel walked past him into the cool night air, staring up in awe at the oculus and the open sky beyond. \u201cI had no idea,\u201d she murmured.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya glanced up to the moon. He remembered the first time he had seen it after a life below ground. \u201cYou\u2019re lucky,\u201d he said, smiling despite the fear still gnawing at him. \u201cIt sometimes hides.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>A whisper reached into his stargazing and plucked him alert. They both turned slowly toward where the veil rippled. They waited, tensed. But the Hall was all silence.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya pulled the shroud from within his sleeve and let it flow down to his side. He felt as if it was being pulled toward the arch. His hand pushed against the veil and then through it without a backward glance. The other side was oddly cloying and warm. The moon shone down through the veil to alight upon a hole that gaped in the middle of a circular stone room. The shaft at the center of the room held an eerie darkness that was not quite empty.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>He blinked into the gloom before movement caught his eye. There, in the shadow next to the hole, crouched a small figure in a silken shift, eyes glinting. He looked somehow older than he had mere hours ago and his features had become oddly familiar.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya started in surprise and began to sidestep. The shroud pulled through after him and along with it, Hazel, who had grabbed at the other end. She stumbled and fell against him.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cNo!\u201d Goya\u2019s voice trailed off as the child stood.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI couldn\u2019t let you go alone!\u201d she whispered hoarsely. Her eyes grew large and she spun around when she realized he was looking past her. Upon seeing the child walking toward them, she took a step back.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWho are you?\u201d Goya croaked.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWho are you?\u201d the child responded, gravelly voice straining at the syllables in an uncanny mimic of Goya\u2019s own speech.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWe\u2019ve been guarding this place for as long as we can remember,\u201d Hazel said, trembling.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYou travel within the Warrens?\u201d the child asked.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya met Hazel\u2019s bewildered glance and shook his head. \u201cWe only come here. Otherwise, we keep to the Enclave.\u201d He hesitated. \u201cThe Council thinks you are a sacrifice that must be paid for us to remain safe.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWe are no sacrifice,\u201d came the child\u2019s gravelly voice and turned suddenly to the veil.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya sensed a shift in the shadows around them. \u201cWhat &#8211; ?\u201d he began to ask, but then realized that the moon had moved on in its arc. Fear ripped through him. \u201cThe door,\u201d he breathed. The shadows flickered once more before shifting into stillness.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhat?\u201d Hazel asked, turning too.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cMidnight is almost here. The doorway is about to lock.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWe\u2019ll be stuck here?\u201d Hazel turned to the child who was backing to the hole at the center of the room.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya took two quick steps, grabbed Hazel\u2019s arm and dragged her to the archway. \u201cYou have to leave.\u201d But the veil remained unmoving as if turned to stone.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhy won\u2019t it let us out?\u201d Hazel asked, her voice shaking.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThere is no leaving once you\u2019ve entered.\u201d The child only had eyes for the well of darkness between them. \u201cSoon, there will be only shadows.\u201d The child squinted at him. \u201cIf you wish to go back, you could always try to go forward. After all, a circle repeats.\u201d He traced a slow finger around the hole as if in explanation.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Hazel met Goya\u2019s eyes. \u201cI know we can\u2019t stay here.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The child raised an arm and gripped the silken fabric. \u201cI can lead you.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Hazel gave a shaky nod and took hold of the other end with Goya in the middle. The child stepped off first. They were swiftly pulled down within.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Just as he\u2019d first thought, the blackness of the pit was not empty air. Smoke enveloped Goya, filling him until it was as much in him as he was in it. He became buoyant in its wispy tendrils. There was no smell, light or taste, and if it weren\u2019t for the downward pull, it would have been hard to separate himself from non-existence. But he clung onto the shroud with all he had as it slipped away. He tried to call out, but his tongue could not move against the smoke filling him.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>A child\u2019s hand reached into the darkness and tugged him outward into light and air. He knelt at the end of an alleyway.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhere are we?\u201d he coughed, looking around. Smoke trailed from every pore, from his fingernails and eyes like a doused brazier until he was empty. He coughed and felt as if something vital had been eaten away within.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The child stood nearby, looking even older than he had before. This time, there was no debating who he resembled; they were his own features. Goya rubbed a hand across his face in horror at the knowledge that this had all been his doing.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI told you,\u201d came the terse reply in that gravelly voice, \u201cthis is what comes next.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhere is Hazel?\u201d he croaked.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cAhead.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya stood, shakily. This new place was much brighter than any room in the Enclave. He looked up, squinting, to see a dusky sky between the rooftops. \u201cAre we outside?\u201d He cringed.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya gripped his cowl about his face in horror. \u201cBut if the Others see us, they\u2019ll kill us.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI told you,\u201d the child said, \u201cthis is not the same time as before.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya looked around, instinct keeping him wary. No one went outside. The Keepers weren\u2019t even sure if a door led outside, though there was one in the council chamber that held a single keyhole and no handle.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The child gazed beyond Goya\u2019s shoulder. Confused, he glanced behind him just as a gate in the wall opened. Crimson hands reached out from the darkness and dragged him within.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Still dizzy from the portal, he kicked his legs out, but the hard grip of the hands held him in place. They sat him on a chair in a dusty circular room that felt oddly familiar.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhat do you want?\u201d he cried in terror.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYou call us Sacrifice, I believe. But we are merely travelers.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cTravelers?\u201d he asked. \u201cWhere do you come from?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThe same place you do.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThe Enclave?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThat world, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya swallowed. He had a sinking feeling he knew what these people were. \u201cYou live outside the Enclave?\u201d he managed to ask.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cOnce.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cOthers,\u201d he breathed as horror washed through him. He\u2019d heard stories of those who had stayed outside, the strangeness of them, their ability to mimic and sow chaos. No one knew why the Keepers had shut themselves within the Enclave or what had separated the two peoples. \u201cWhat do you want with me?\u201d he whispered, hoping he didn\u2019t know the answer already.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWe want what you want.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya looked up through his sweat-laced lashes. \u201cI only want to go back,\u201d he said. \u201cTo tell my people about the outside.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYes, go back.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>He blinked. \u201cWhy would you bring me here only to let me go?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The figure with the red hands pulled out a small key. \u201cYou know why.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya swallowed back bile as he reached for the key. If they were right, then he really had no other choice. \u201cTime is a circle,\u201d he whispered. \u201cWhat of Hazel?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI\u2019ll show you to her.\u201d The child stood and left.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>After a moment, Goya followed. \u201cHow will we get back?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThere is but one way forward. Don\u2019t wander from the passage.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhy not?\u201d found himself asking.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYou\u2019ve seen one portal, do you really want to travel through the others?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya swallowed.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cEven we do not go through them.\u201d The reply was so faint, Goya was unsure if he\u2019d heard correctly.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>They stopped at a small door. \u201cYou\u2019ll know where you are once you enter,\u201d he said before leaving. Within, Hazel crouched, leaning against a wall seemingly unhurt and unchanged.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cGoya?\u201d she croaked. \u201cYou look older.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIt\u2019s nothing,\u201d he managed to say, shaking his head. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She licked her lips, nodding. \u201cI was outside.\u201d Her eyes darted to the door he\u2019d just come through. \u201cI think they are Others.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWe have to go.\u201d Without waiting for her, he turned to leave.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhere are we going?\u201d she hissed, following.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cTo the Hall. I know the way.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The curving corridor emptied out into a pillared hall. On the far side stood a small, shadowed alcove where he could just make out the gleam of an iron door in the ray of sunlight from the oculus overhead. \n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIs this\u2026?\u201d Hazel began to ask.<\/p> \n\t\t\t<p>\u201cThe Hall, yes. We\u2019ve come in from the other side.\u201d He pulled her on, not toward the alcove\u2019s door but through the veiled archway.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>On the other side, Hazel wrenched free just before the open pit in the center of the room. \u201cGoya, what is going on?\u201d she demanded, her voice quavering.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>He shook his head, panting from the run and kneading a stitch in his side. He definitely felt older. \u201cDon\u2019t you remember, this is the next, our only hope to get back to where we began.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cBut the veil,\u201d she said, gesturing to the archway, \u201cit won\u2019t let us out on the other side.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cOnly Sacrifices can pass through.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Hazel\u2019s eyebrows shot up. \u201cIs that what we are now?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya edged toward the hole. \u201cI can\u2019t be sure.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Footsteps sounded beyond the archway and a gold-shrouded figure stepped through. Without another word, the two locked eyes and jumped backwards, clutching hands at the last moment.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The smoke-filled abyss lasted shorter this time until Goya found himself leading Hazel back through the tunnels connecting the Hall to the rest of the Enclave. Disconcertingly, his eyes could pick up more of the shadows than they ever had before, turning the utter darkness of their surrounds into dusky charcoal smudges.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cGoya, do you see\u2026\u201d Hazel began, her voice echoing off the empty tunnel mouths around them.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>He gripped her hand tighter. If the child had been right, then each of these tunnels led to a long-forgotten portal like the one beyond the veil. They burst through the door on the other side and fell in a heap gasping. Keepers from all over the Enclave came rushing up to them amidst candles and offerings. Goya did all he could not to catch his robes on fire in the tumult of worship.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhat is this?\u201d Hazel called, wiping hot candle wax off her fingers.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>A council member came forward, parting the onlookers. \u201cWhat happened? It\u2019s been a cycle.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya glanced back to where Hazel stood surrounded by acolytes. In a hushed voice he said, \u201cI have to get to the archives.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The council member hurried on with Goya through the Enclave. Once inside, Goya turned. \u201cEverything went as expected since we wrote my name on the slip and passed it through the keyhole.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cAnd did you find it? The way out?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>From within his robes, Goya felt for the small key, hesitated, and then pulled it out to display amongst the wrinkles of his palm to the council.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>The collective intake of breath brought a smile to his lips. They cleared a path for him to the back of the dais where a stone door stood. The key fitted easily into the lock.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d Hazel\u2019s voice echoed around the chamber. Goya turned. He\u2019d expected this. Afterall, she\u2019d been just as keen to find a way out as he.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Hazel barreled through the council\u2019s attempts to stop her until she was panting next to him. \u201cGoya, stop! You\u2019ll kill us all or worse. We\u2019ve seen what\u2019s out there &#8211; <i>who\u2019s<\/i> out there.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cYes, we do.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She took a step back at the chill in his voice. Her eyes narrowed. \u201cWhat happened to you out there?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhat comes next has already been written.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhy did you bring me to the Hall if you knew all along?\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Something deep within him broke a little at her pity but he pushed it away. \u201cI needed someone to go back and tell the council I\u2019d made it through.\u201d And then he whispered, \u201cI never meant for you to follow me all the way.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>She shook her head slowly.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cI\u2019ve been doomed to just this purpose ever since my name was written.\u201d He turned back to the door and began to turn the key.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Hazel put a hand on his arm to stop him but she was too late. The door opened and on the other side stood a cloaked figure and behind the figure a long passageway wound out of sight that mirrored the rest of their Enclave.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIt can\u2019t be,\u201d someone said from the crowd.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cIt was supposed to lead outside,\u201d another whispered.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Only Hazel seemed to understand what stood at the threshold. She began to back away, attracting the Other\u2019s attention.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>\u201cWhat &#8211; Don\u2019t you remember me?\u201d he asked, removing his hood and pulling a slippery gold cloth from within a sleeve.<\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Hazel swallowed. \u201cBut we left you behind, in that other world. You don\u2019t belong here.\u201d <\/p>\n\t\t\t<p>Goya turned slowly. His voice mimicked the lazy nonchalance of the Other. \u201cBut we are the Keepers. We\u2019ve always been here.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t<\/main>\n\t\t<section class=\"authorBio\">\n\t\t\t<img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"imgOne\" src=\"\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Connell_Enclave.jpg\"\/>\n\t\t\t<img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"imgTwo\" src=\"\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Eclipse-Fathoming.jpg\"\/>\n\t\t\t<p>Sarah Connell is the author of the cozy science fiction trilogy Project Awakening and the dark historical fantasy novella Pay the Piper, published by Speculations Publications. Her stories have appeared in magazines and anthologies across the world. A collector of hobbies, her favorite things outside of books include painting, hiking and growing obscure vegetables in her garden. She lives in the Carolinas with her person and their cat, Lyra. You can see more about her stories at <a href=\"www.sarah-connell.com\">www.sarah-connell.com<\/a>.<\/p>\n\t\t<\/section>\n<p>Eclipse photograph Courtesy of NASA<\/p>\n\t\t<section class=\"donate\">\n\t\t  <a href=\"https:\/\/ko-fi.com\/rwfiction\">\n\t\t    <img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.societyforritualarts.org\/coreopsis\/autumn-2025-issue\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/buy-us-a-cuppa1-lo-res.jpg?ssl=1\"\/>\n\t\t  <\/a>\n\t\t  <p>Like what we do? &nbsp; <a href=\"https:\/\/ko-fi.com\/rwfiction\">Buy us a Cup of Coffee!<\/a><\/p>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<div class=\"sfsi_widget sfsi_shortcode_container\"><div class=\"norm_row sfsi_wDiv \"  style=\"width:225px;text-align:left;\"><div style='width:40px; height:40px;margin-left:5px;margin-bottom:5px; ' class='sfsi_wicons shuffeldiv ' ><div class='inerCnt'><a class=' sficn' data-effect='' target='_blank' rel='noopener'  href='https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/coreopsisjournal' id='sfsiid_facebook_icon' style='width:40px;height:40px;opacity:1;'  ><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" data-pin-nopin='true' alt='Facebook' title='Facebook' src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/plugins\/ultimate-social-media-icons\/images\/icons_theme\/default\/default_facebook.png?resize=40%2C40&#038;ssl=1\" width=\"40\" height=\"40\" style='' class='sfcm sfsi_wicon ' data-effect=''   \/><\/a><div class=\"sfsi_tool_tip_2 fb_tool_bdr sfsiTlleft\" style=\"opacity:0;z-index:-1;\" id=\"sfsiid_facebook\"><span class=\"bot_arow bot_fb_arow\"><\/span><div class=\"sfsi_inside\"><div  class='icon1'><a href='https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/coreopsisjournal' target='_blank' rel='noopener'><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" data-pin-nopin='true' class='sfsi_wicon' alt='Facebook' title='Facebook' src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/plugins\/ultimate-social-media-icons\/images\/visit_icons\/Visit_us_fb\/icon_Visit_us_en_US.png?ssl=1\" \/><\/a><\/div><div  class='icon2'><div class=\"fb-like\" width=\"200\" data-href=\"https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2026-spring\/the-enclave\/\"  data-send=\"false\" data-layout=\"button_count\" data-action=\"like\"><\/div><\/div><div  class='icon3'><a target='_blank' rel='noopener' href='https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/sharer\/sharer.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fsocietyforritualarts.com%2Frw%2F2026-spring%2Fwp-json%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fpages%2F604' style='display:inline-block;'  > <img class='sfsi_wicon'  data-pin-nopin='true' alt='fb-share-icon' title='Facebook Share' src='https:\/\/societyforritualarts.com\/rw\/2026-spring\/wp-content\/plugins\/ultimate-social-media-icons\/images\/share_icons\/fb_icons\/en_US.svg' \/><\/a><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><div style='width:40px; 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The red light of the eclipse played across dusty offerings piled at the foot of the [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-604","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>The Enclave - Roses and Wildflowers Spring 2026<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/tnf.ola.mybluehost.me\/rw\/2026-spring\/the-enclave\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Enclave - Roses and Wildflowers Spring 2026\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Back to Journals Home First Wonderous Story Fiction Enclave By Sarah Connell illustrated by Joel Bisaillon The moon crested the lip of the oculus and dusk crept into the hall until each reliquary wore a cloak of early night. 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