750 Words – Cathedral
750 Words is my attempt to begin writing fiction on a regular basis. These stories will be short, and thought up generally on the fly, so don’t expect much. ~N
“Metaphors are like a thistle with no barbs,” my grandfather was fond of saying, “they got no point.”
Mother always scoffed when he said this, waving her hand, and turning her back. I knew how she felt because she always turned away from grandfather as she did when Otan talked about when the Bell might ring again. my mother disapproved of grandfather’s declarations; or perhaps she was just annoyed after hearing them for so many years. Grandpa Ku was allowed to talk this way because of his standing with the rest of the village, but mother and Otan were asked to keep him under our roof because he had started wandering off at night. His home was still uninhabited, even though resources were scarce and families were already doubled up in the longhouses, simply out of respect for grandfather’s accomplishments.
None of that mattered to mother. To her, Grandpa Ku was just another mouth to feed, another child to take care of. A child more disruptive than most.
Grandpa Ku loved to tell stories of the Cathedral, and doing so always enchanted us. The spell fell hardest on my little brother Kuni (who was named after Granpa Ku and took after him the most), who would charge around the house like Saint Ash himself, throwing fruit at his stuffed animals, ruining the fruit. One would always roll under a chair or behind a cupboard, and we’d be plagued by fruit flies until mother found it and made Kuni clean it up.
Even Otan would stop his work and listen to Grandpa Ku’s stories. This bothered mother the most, since she was afraid that the next time the Bell rang, Otan would be chosen, or worse yet, volunteer. Mother yelled at Grandpa Ku last year after the Bell rang while Otan was away hunting, saying that if he continued to rile up the family, it meant he cared nothing for Otan’s life.
Grandfather replied “A life is a story, and a stories ain’t worth nothin’ if they aint worth tellin’.”
The day Otan left for the Cathedral, mother threw Grandpa Ku out of the house. At that point, Grandpa Ku could no longer tell the real world from his stories. The sisters Golgovik took him in, even though grandfather had wandered into their home one night and pissed on their rug.
Our mother took to praying for Otan’s safe return every day. She would sit in front of our altar at dawn and dusk, holding up her index and middle fingers at either side of her head, squeezing the two digits down and thrusting them up repeatedly, until she couldn’t hold her arms up anymore. Priest Sann would come by every day and counsel mother, but even he eventually stopped coming. Mother pressed on.
The town looked down on mother for the first week that Otan was gone. Otan was, after all, Grandpa Ku’s grandson, and her firstborn. Who better than he to withstand the trials in the Cathedral and come home with some new piece of knowledge, some technology that would make life better? Everyone was sure that Otan would be back before the equinox.
As the Equinox approached however, faces softened, and anger turned to pity, then regret. Otan did not return by the Equinox. On 9th night, as the feast began, no one but mother and Kuni hesitated to make the sign of God while the seat adorned with long wilted vines remained empty.
Empty that is, until Grandpa Ku sat in it.
The eldest sister, Belial Golgovik was the first to react. She quickly got up and tried to coax grandfather out of the chair, but he beaned her with his cane. She staggered back, and just as everyone made to push out their chairs, before the gasps could find voice, Grandpa Ku bellowed.
“Stand fast, you children, all of you!” Everyone froze, shocked. Grandfather bellowed again, “Seat yourselves, and say no more.” Then, softer, “You’ll have your say and your feast once I’ve told you one last story.”
His eyes crisp and bright, Granpda Ku stared each man down until they sat down, mute. It seemed his enchantments didn’t only work on children.
Grandpa Ku sat down, drew from his cup, and cleared his throat. He began, “My first day inside the Cathedral was the only day that mattered.”
Everyone’s first day in the Cathedral is the same. The door closes behind you, and you have a chair ahead of you. The chair is soft and smooth, much like this chair I sit in now. When I first came home, these vines were fresh and soft. But the material was not pillowvine, it was like a cloth that radiated warmth. This was where God told me the rules.
God spoke quickly, and used words with which I was unfamiliar. He would often use metaphors to help me understand. God told me that the adventure for which I was chosen was like a story that hadn’t been written yet. He compared my path to a contest in which there were no losers. God told me that I was safe here in the Cathedral, like in a mother’s belly, but it was a womb in which I could leave at any time. The Almighty then explained that, like a fish in a pond, I was free to go anywhere and do anything and no action was wrong or judged any more than a person might judge a fish for breathing water.
God was condescending to me, but I dared not reveal this despite His reassurances that I was safe from judgment. I feared God would already know my feelings, and that He would know that within the first hour I had already doubted Him, but He said nothing about it. At the end, he asked me if I understood the things he told me, and I said yes. God then asked me if I wished to leave, and I said no.
Then the antechamber opened up, and I walked through a courtyard to the nave, where sat the ghosts of those who came before me. They were of two factions, those who sneered and reviled me, and those who were calm and smiling. At the pulpit was Saint Ash, adorned in his red and white robes, ball in hand, just as I had always pictured him. He waved me up to the chancel, and read me my absolution.
“Ku Ni Hex, you stand now with those who came before you, the contestants of previous shows.” Saint Ash put his hand on my back as I shuffled up to the pulpit. “Have you been read your rights by your god, the creator and legal guardian of the Family #342ie in the Regina system, 4th jurisdiction of the United Syndicate Amusements group?”
I hesitated, unsure of what he meant. Then Saint Ash smiled a half-smile and sighed. He leaned into my ear and whispered, “It’s ok. Many of our contestants are starstruck when they first arrive.” I didn’t know what starstruck meant, but it sounded horrifying, and I wished never to hear those words again. Shivering, I managed to gasp into his ear, “yes, I.. God has read me my rights.”
Saint Ash frowned and looked annoyed, at which point I pissed myself. I knew now I was dead, and awaited the star to strike me (or maybe the world) down. But nothing happened. The fallen heroes in the pews looked awkwardly away, but did not run or scream. Saint Ash only rolled his eyes, bowed his head, and muttered a prayer. A man claiming to be the hand of God appeared from nowhere, cleaned me there in the chancel, and gave me a new set of clothes exactly identical to the ones I had been wearing.
When this was done, Saint Ash approached me again, and said “Son, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I need to know for sure that God,” Saint Ash made the sign of God when he said this, but his voice sounded as if he were mocking Him, “explained to you that this was a safe place.”
I feared I had been caught doubting God, but I said nothing except yes. Saint Ash then rolled his eyes, muttered another quick prayer, and turned back to me, this time smiling as if nothing had happened. He placed his hand again on my back, and continued.
“Have you been read your rights by your god, the creator and legal guardian of the Family #342ie in the Regina system, 4th jurisdiction of the United Syndicate Amusements group? Loudly, now.” As he said this for the second time, Saint Ash leaned into my face, and bade me follow his gaze as he pointed out past the pews to a black mirror above the nave’s entrance.
I said “Yes I have been read my rights by God.” In an effort to win back some goodwill, I made the sign of God as I said His name, and Saint Ash smiled, then barked out a laugh after a few seconds, coughing. I smiled, relaxing a bit, but I was pretty sure he was laughing at me.
At this Priest Sann stood wildly, hands on the table. “This is blasphemy! Drivel!” he shouted. “The old man doesn’t know his hand from his prick! Why do we listen to this story as if it is not more pablum from a rotted mind?”
Grandfather also stood up and bellowed again “It is because I am telling the truth! I am breaking my covenant with God and my Endee Ay! Not for me, but for Otan! You will listen to me until I have finished or died. And then you will all be free.”
The younger Sister Mu, and mother, who sat on either side of Priest Sann, put their hands on his arms gently. He looked in their eyes, and saw what they did not say out loud – let the old man finish, let him have his last story. We’ll resolve this tomorrow.
Priest Sann flushed, suddenly ashamed of his outburst, and the words that made it up. He sat down, eyes askance, and said sullenly “Very well. Finish your story quickly so we can eat.”
Grandfather settled too, the fire in his eyes dying down, but no less bright for it. He cleared his throat.
“In front me on the pulpit was a scroll. On the scroll was the name of every Bellringer before me, with a signature. My name was second from the bottom, with a line where I could sign.” Granpda Ku locked eyes with me. “Below it was written the name of your father, Taun, also unsigned. I knew then that we were pre-ordained. Otan’s name was not on that list, but he was not yet born.”
Once I signed the scroll, Saint Ash said “Behold, our latest contestant!” and the pews erupted with sound both joyous and scornful. I was struck dumb by this behavior, and Saint Ash escorted me away to a room.
At this point began the 40 trials of which I have told stories over the years. You’ve heard them all: from the scouring of the bluff to beating the trainers, riding the chariot and besting a bear.
All of those stories were true accounts, but what I did not tell you was that without judgment, there is no risk. None of these events carried danger, nor hope, nor joy for me. If I failed, the rig caught me, and I was allowed to try again. God spoke to me several times, telling me what to do, how to act, where to go if I wandered lost for too long. Saint Ash met with me after every trial and told me what was next.
Never was I to die, until the 40 trials were complete. On the day the 40th trial was done, we returned to the Cathedral, and in the nave I received my prize. First were the instructions for making concrete, on which you all now stand. Second were instructions for blowing glass, from which you now drink your beer.
Why did I not share this with you until now? Because of the Endee Ay. This cursed spell was cast on me the moment I signed my soul away to God and the 4th jurisdiction of the United Syndicate Amusements group. I was forbidden from telling anyone anything other then my tales of the 40 trials, and I had to omit all mention of God, Saint Ash, and the many Hands of God which gave me my tools and fitted my rigs.
On the final day before I returned home, Saint Ash told me that I could return to my family with the gifts bestowed upon me only if I never mentioned these things. Saint Ash said that God would monitor my words for the rest of my days, and the spell Endee Ay would strike me dead if I said anything that was covered under it.
If I did not agree to these terms or did not wish to go home, I would live within the walls of the Cathedral, like the ghosts of those who came before me. He sent in a representative from each of the two factions, and each one argued with me about whether I should stay or go.
The contented representative, Hero Shen who came five generations before me, said that the life he now lived was one of amazing revelations and comforts beyond my understanding. Hero Shen told me that the world of the Cathedral was merely a portal, a gateway to things I would not believe. Hero Shen also told me that he missed his family deeply, and asked me many questions. He knew that Belial and Mu were his great great great granddaughters, and he knew many things about them. He wanted you two to join him in the Cathedral, but said that it was not his choice to make.
Hero Caldrin, second of all those who came before, and the first to not return, represented the scornful. He said that Hero Shen was a fool, that all of this was a sham; a type of prison. Hero Caldrin told me that were I to return home, the Endee Ay would ensure I could not enjoy what life I had left. When I asked him, he did confirm that Shen spoke truthfully about the freedom and comforts and knowledge, and said that I would want for nothing if I stayed. But Caldrin tempered this by saying that every day he regrets learning the things he did, and if it were up to him, he would return, ignorant, to his family. Caldrin then went into a rant about how the families in our sector were useless pawns, looked down upon and cherished as pets (by whom I could not figure out). He too was unable to choose his own fate or the fate of his family, and so was left inert, unable to enjoy peace.
I asked Hero Caldrin if this was heaven or hell. Scornfully, he said “Don’t speak in Metaphors. They hide the truth. Know a thing before you speak it.”
Granpa Ku’s lids drooped as he said this last part. He looked flush, like he’d just finished eating and was ready for a nap.
Kuni spoke first. “But granfather, you always say that a life is a story. Isn’t that a metaphor?” I secretly rolled my eyes at this pedantery, but children, and Kuni especially, loved to point out these problems.
Grandfather lifted his eyes and said lazily, “Child, all our lives are stories for someone else. A story untold is a life unlived. That’s the slogan.”
Mother awoke from grandfather’s spell and stood suddenly. “What about Otan? You said this would help Otan!”
Grandfather was now drooping his head, and his words slurred. “Otan… will return. God will send him back, with no Endee Ay. I have broken the covenant with God and the United Syndicate Amusements group will honor the terms of their agreement. The Bell will ring no more.”
With that, Grandfather Ku Ni Hex laid his head down, and died.
Otan returned the next day. He confirmed almost everything that Grandpa Ku had said. he was in his 39th trial when Saint Ash came to Otan and told him what grandfather had done. He was handed his consolation prize, a “toaster” (it cooks food like the fire does, but safer and faster), herded to the antechamber, and handed a tablet that he was told included “instructions and pre-requisites for joining the Bastion of Equanimity, version 398.0.1.2”
Otan said the last thing God told him was “to complete the forms and meet the requirements within 300 years or the version number will change and the forms will be invalid.”
The Cathedral was gone.
