CHAPTER 30
Fools! You dare compare yourselves to gods? Everything you have done, all your
astounding tricks of science, all your arcane commands of nature, everything... they are all based on T'Chen's grand design,
which is foremost of all. You could not
have conceived even your simplest of tools, the straightedge, had the Goddess
not first created the straight line.
- Gryworth
"The Amoral Atheist"
The
colossal Temple of the World in the center of Uron was the greatest and the
grandest of the all shrines to T'Chen on the planet. Its awesome, golden dome stood forty stories tall and was so
designed that it seemed to float on air.
It was by far the most visible landmark in the seemingly endless capital
city. This was especially so when it
was lit up at night, as it was now.
Streams of pilgrims, all wearing the purple of the goddess somewhere on
their clothing, snaked by the thousands into the sanctuary's three main
entrances. It was the eve of Leetus and
for T'Chen's devout, to be away from a temple on this night was unthinkable.
Inside,
the cavernous dome soared above the arriving throngs like an artificial
sky. The images on its commanding,
concave surface could be altered to suit any occasion and on this evening it
depicted scenes of T'Chen creating the World.
Key passages from the Scrolls
revolved slowly around the perimeter, while the thousand voices of the choir
completed with each other to raise hymns toward the soaring apex.
Only
the Priat were allowed to enter the innermost circle and receive communion from
the six bishops stationed therein.
Those with a gray skin had to walk around the outside; shouting prayers
toward the center and tossing their requisite tithes into coffers under the
aloof but attentive gaze of green-skinned priests.
Above
all the clamor was the gallery level, which was very quiet and serene compared
to the tumultuous happenings below.
There, purple-robed monks chanted softly, marching in orderly
processions and prostrated themselves before the goddess on this, her most holy
of days. So mindful were they of their
rituals that they did not notice one of their order, who marched a little out
of step from the rest, slip from his place in formation and secrete himself
behind a statue near a balcony overlooking the main floor below.
Sarwin
poked his hooded head out over the balcony to get a good view of the writhing
throngs beneath him. This was the spot
he picked every year and it gave him an excellent view of the entire center
below. He began to methodically scan
the churning crowds, looking for the one, familiar lavender robe in a sea of
purple. After several minutes of
watching, he finally spotted her moving into the center of the great
chamber. Siverelle was approaching one
of the Bishop stations to take her communion.
Sarwin
took a great risk in coming here to see her.
Anyone who had been excommunicated from the church would be executed
without trial if they were caught transgressing a temple. If he, the most reviled living heretic, were
to be caught in this greatest of all temples, on this holiest of nights, he
would surely be disemboweled alive!
Sarwin swallowed hard at the thought.
But
for him, the risk was worth it. It was
one of his wife's greatest laments that they could never be together at the
Leetus communion and although he would not readily admit it to her, he wished
to be with her also. But this was the
best he could do. The price to get back
into the fold of the church was far too high for Sarwin and he felt sure that
no matter what he said or did, there were those that would keep him locked out
regardless.
He
could not tell Siverelle that he did this every year, she would forbid it due
to the risk. Sarwin reached up and felt
his wedding locket through the purple monk's robe he wore. Although he could not see it through the
thick cloth, he knew it was glowing now, just as Siverelle's would be. But he knew her amulet would also be out of
sight beneath her vestments, so his illicit presence here would not be divulged
by its betraying brilliance. She would
never know he was so near. Perhaps
someday he would tell her. If he ever
thought it safe. Perhaps someday things
would be different on this World and they could share this evening together.
Sarwin
knew people, who knew other people, who had in turn gotten him in here this night, just as they did each year on this
day. It took a generous donation to the
monastery to arrange it, but if T'Chen expected her monks to live in poverty,
she should not be surprised if they tolerated some graft to keep their bellies
full.
Sarwin
watched as Siverelle's turn came to approach the bishop's altar. In perfect form, she ascended the six sacred
steps, kneeled, and placed upon the golden altar three tiny silk sachets, each
neatly tied with a purple cord. Sarwin
knew they contained the three elements all faithful saurians were supposed to
bestow unto T'Chen on this holiday; soil from their home, salt from their kitchen
and blood from their veins.
Most
saurians these days did not actually give their own blood. Instead, they purchased animal blood that
had been blessed by a priest for the occasion.
But the devout still gave of their own flesh and Sarwin had seen the
small bandage on his wife's finger at dinner earlier in the evening.
The
bishop robotically moved his hand over Siverelle as he had to hundreds before
her and as he would to hundreds after.
Sarwin could see him reciting some prayer, but could not possibly hear
him amid the din of the place. He could
then see Siverelle give the perfunctory reply and he wished he could hear her
sweet voice among the clamor of the multitude.
Without even realizing it, Sarwin soundlessly mouthed the words in sync
with Siverelle's lips. T’Chen tala forshick pruthon.
Sarwin
glanced behind him to make sure the way out was clear. Siverelle would be finishing any moment and
he had to make sure he got back home before she did, least she wonder where he
had gone. The long lines to exit the
main sanctuary should give him the time he needed to beat her to the tram
station.
Siverelle
placed her tithe upon the altar. Her
brief spotlight in the goddess's gaze complete for another year, she turned to
descend the stairs. A movement from
above caught her eye and she looked up toward the gallery level, but she saw
only the blank stares of statuary and the ghostly moving silhouettes of
marching monks. From her vantage point,
she could not see one of the hooded figures moving furtively toward an
exit. Shrugging off a feeling of being
watched, she continued down the stairs and entered the queue to leave the
sanctuary.
Siverelle
didn’t look back at the altar. To do so
was uncustomary. While in a move
blindingly fast from years of practice, the bishop swept Siverelle's money into
a coffer behind the altar with one hand and her sachets into a concealed trash
can with the other. She then waved for
the next pilgrim to ascend into the glorious light of T'Chen.