Fiction:Tenet/History/3

= The Pilgrimage = Thus did Makann of the Assurhab, sweeper of temples, set out into the wilderness. Once this was a pilgrimage that many undertook, but as the Assurhab grew rich, they too grew increasingly unwilling to travel beyond their comforts. Why worship at some remote shrine when you can erect a perfectly splendid temple at home? But Makann understood that the old ways have power, and it was this power he sought out.

First he traveled into the Deep, which is a cavern that descends into the heart of the world. Down and down and down did Makann walk, following a path carved into the stone by his ancestors many thousands of years ago. He passed strange rock formations that dripped water onto his head. He passed blind scuttlers in the dark, pale things with many legs. He passed great chasms that one could drop a rock down and never hear it land. All of these things he passed and more, with a torch as his only company. He could not say how long the journey took without the sun over his head. But eventually he came to its end.

At the bottom of the Deep is a vast underground lake. Its surface is black and mirror-smooth, moved by no wind or current. Nothing lives in those waters. Nothing moves within them. But it was to this lake that Makann bent his wizened knees and prayed.

"O Nergant, of inner knowledge, the id, and the dark," he whispered. "Give me the secret of fighting the Da'mir, for the sake of my people."

No voice answered him. But he knew something heard, nonetheless.

Next Makann traveled into the Sky, which is a mountain that touches the clouds. Higher and higher did he climb, climbing a stair carved into its face by pilgrims in a past age. He contended with the cold, with hunger, with the beasts that roamed high places, and though he was old and tired, never did he falter. Though his feet grew sore and blistered, and his hands grew chafed and raw, Makann did not stop until he had reached the summit.

At the precipice of the Sky is a monolith of white stone, smoothed by wind and rain into a strange, twisting point. Its base is marked by the handprints of all those who have made the journey to the top. Makann touched his own hand to those ancient markings and directed his prayer skyward.

"O Adzek, of order, stricture, and the stars," he sighed. "Give me the strength to fight the Da'mir, for the sake of my people."

All that answered was the wind. But he knew something heard, nonetheless.

And so Makann went down the mountain and made camp at its base, to reflect on what he'd done. The stars wheeled overhead. His campfire crackled. And it was just as Makann had set down his bedroll and laid down his head to sleep that two angels appeared before him.