Meressa gave him a nod of assurance, and Gar licked his lips. “Certainly. Well, uh, the monastery here at Kendra has just over a thousand clerics in residence at any one time, some of them on retreats from other parishes, some taking part in missions of faith, some of them serving as fulltime staff. We have a mix of lower-ranked prylars such as myself, along with more senior ranjens and vedeks…” He jutted his chin at Arin and Cotor, who both nodded back. “Many come to take meditative walks along the Sahving Valley.” Gar paused by a window and pointed out into the clear day; in the middle distance, the mouth of the grassy vale was visible. “Others come to study our library, as we discussed in the keep. There’s also the Whispering Hall…”
Arin made a noise of assent. “Many scholars have said the hall is the most spiritual place on Bajor. There is a peace there that few other reclusia can match.”
“Indeed,” said Cotor. “And of course, there is the Kendra Shrine.” He gestured toward the end of the long, wide cloister. An oval doorway stood before them, the doors cut from a dark, dense wood and decorated with lines of thick latinum. The large entrance allowed passage to the shrine proper, and around it there were smaller doors of normal dimensions. Through these, pilgrims of certain piety could enter smaller prayer chambers with only a single stone wall between them and the monastery’s most holy of holies, the Orb of Truth.
Gar felt a tingling in the soles of his feet as he walked closer, an electric sensation, a vertiginous rush as if he were approaching the edge of a steep, sheer cliff.
Bennek was pointing at the doors. “I have a question.” He made an oval shape in the air before him. “The symbol of the nested ellipses and circle appears again and again in your society, and not just in your religion. I have seen it on insignia, on the uniforms of your Militia. What does it mean?”
“It is the unity of Bajoran existence, my friend,” began the kai warmly. She indicated the etchings cut into the shrine door. “The circle at the lowest level represents the world of Bajor, her people, and, in a greater sense, all that is corporeal. The first oval that envelops the circle and extends above it is the universe around us, all that lies beyond Bajor. The last oval, the largest, which surrounds the other two shapes, symbolizes the Prophets. It signifies the place they have in our lives, watching over everything, knowing all, protecting and nurturing us.”
“And the line?” Bennek traced the column that rose from the crest of the circle, bisecting the two larger ovals.
“What does that mean?”
“It is the pathway that unites all: Bajor and her children, the universe and the Prophets.”
The Cardassian’s brow wrinkled. “I see that. But why then does the pathway extend beyond the realm of the Prophets?” He indicated the top of the doors, to where the rising line emerged alone.
Meressa smiled. “That, Bennek, is the gateway to the unknown, the unfinished road. It represents our eternal quest for knowledge and understanding.”
“Fascinating,” murmured Hadlo. “Your Eminence, what I have seen here today brings me to a single conclusion.” He glanced at the Bajoran monk. “Prylar Gar spoke of ‘missions of faith,’ and after your warm reception I find myself compelled to make a most serious request of you and your church.”
The kai’s expression was neutral, but Gar felt a thrill of anxiety. “Go on, brother. We will hear what you wish to say.”
The Cardassian cleric’s fingers knitted together and he gazed at the Bajorans one by one; but as he spoke, the prylar couldn’t help but notice that Bennek’s face had turned rigid and stony, as if the younger cleric were afraid to utter a word. “I am flattered you would call me brother, Kai Meressa,” continued Hadlo. “And in that spirit, I would humbly make entreaty to Bajor. I ask your formal permission for the Oralian Way to establish an enclave on your world.”
“An enclave?” Arin echoed. “You wish to build a church here?”
“Not exactly.” Hadlo shook his head. “An embassy, of a kind. A theological legation from which my fellow Oralians can come forth to learn from your scholars and seek the connections between our two faiths.” He sighed. “There is so little opportunity for such reflection and contemplation on Cardassia Prime. But this world? I have rarely found a place so open to spirituality.”
“The Vedek Assembly will have to be consulted,” Cotor said quickly, speaking before the kai had a chance to reply. There was open misgiving in his manner. “To grant a place for an alien credo on our soil…There is no precedent for such a thing.”
Meressa sniffed in mild derision. “The Prophets are not so venial or so weak as to be afraid of another man’s view of the universe. They welcome the challenge of new ideas. I would hope the Vedek Assembly would not do the opposite.”
“It is a serious request, Eminence,” Cotor pressed.
Hadlo hesitated. “Please, I do not mean to be the cause of dissent—”
“You are not,” said the kai firmly, “and I will see to it that your appeal goes forward with my backing.”
Hadlo bowed. “Thank you, Eminence. I firmly believe the coming together of our faiths heralds great things.”
“I know it,” Meressa replied, with quiet honesty. “And if you will come with me, Hadlo, I hope to show you why.” The group crossed a line of golden tiles set in the marble floor of the cloister, to a series of stone basins on the outer walls of the great shrine. Temple servants were there holding bolts of white linen, and with automatic reverence Gar and Arin backed away. Arin, as a ranjen and a rank higher, took one step back while the prylar took two. Gar’s fingers curled into his palms, and he fought to push down the nervous energy coiling in his chest. To be so close to the shrine and yet be unable to go any further—it filled the young priest with conflicting emotions that were hard to separate.
Abruptly, he was aware that the kai was looking directly at him as she washed her hands in the clear waters from the basin. She dried them with the white cloth, but instead of moving to the next phase of the ritual cleansing, she turned and came across to him.
“Eminence?”
“Ask me,” she said quietly, pitching her words so that only the two of them could hear what she was saying. “Go on, Osen. Give voice to the question that has been stuck in your throat since last night.”
It would have done him no good to feign ignorance; Meressa was perhaps the most intelligent, most compassionate, certainly one of the most insightful people he had ever met. Any thought of politely deflecting her question faded, and he let out a thin sigh. “Eminence, why are you doing this? You are about to usher an alien into the presence of the Prophets! And you have ignored Vedek Cotor’s rightful concerns over such an action!”
She nodded. “I have indeed, my young friend. And shall I tell you why?”
He straightened. “You are kai. You do not have to explain your decisions to a mere prylar if you do not wish to.”
“But I do, Osen, and I will.” She touched him on the arm, and her hand was cold from the chilly water that fed the basins from the spring beneath the monastery. “You are a little like Cotor. You are clever, but you are also afraid. You have never stood in the presence of a Tear.”
“I have not yet had that honor,” Gar husked.
“Part of you longs for that moment, and part of you is terrified of the prospect of it, yes?” He nodded woodenly, and she continued. “As was I.” The kai smiled. “And, perhaps, you are jealous of Hadlo? You wish it were you?”
Gar felt heat rise in his cheeks. “Yes. I do, Eminence,” he admitted. “I know I should rise above such things.”
“You are only mortal. And there will come a time when Gar Osen will stand before the ark in that chamber. But not today.” Her hand dropped away. “I will confide in you, because before I do this I feel as if I must.”
“But…the ritual…”
Meressa silenced him with a gesture. “Rites and prayers are only frames for our faith in the Prophets. Truth is what they ask from us, Osen, truth and love. I have always been
one to test the hidebound ways of our church to stop us from becoming parochial. That is why the Vedek Assembly has Cotor here to watch me. I vex them with the choices I make and the things that I do.” She studied him. “They ask me why I have an untested prylar from a provincial city on my staff.” Meressa glanced at Arin, who stood watching the Cardassians. “They ask me why I overlooked my ranjen’s dalliances with illicit substances and rescued him from the ignominy of a colonial posting. And now they will ask me why I hold out friendship to these aliens and offer them the chance to walk our path.” The kai leaned close to him. “It is because I sense the future. The Prophets gave me insight, and I feel it coming. I am certain that only through leaps of faith, through trust, can we progress.”
All at once Gar’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what Meressa was telling him. “Eminence, no! You must say no more! You cannot speak of it!”
But she kept talking, and Gar couldn’t turn away. “The pagh’tem’far. The sacred vision granted by the Prophets. When I first encountered an Orb, they showed me such sights…” Her vision became hazy, and Gar knew she was seeing that moment again in her thoughts. “Such images and sensations that it will take me a lifetime to meditate on the meaning of them all. But I recall one thing with clarity. One moment with such sharpness that it burns inside me still.”
“You must not,” Gar managed. “The visions gifted by the Tears are for those alone who experience them, not for others. You must not tell me.”
She smiled gently. “I think the Prophets will not mind this once. If it convinces you that I am right, then they will not be upset by it.” Meressa gazed into his eyes. “I saw a future yet to come. The Celestial Temple revealing itself, and in the heavens above, a giant’s iron crown floating among the stars. I glimpsed an age of unity for Bajor, all of it stemming from one moment. The arrival of those not of our world, but also connected to it. An alien who is no alien.”
Gar swallowed hard. “And…and you believe that these Cardassians could be these offworlders the Prophets showed you?”
“I cannot be certain. That is why they are here. The Orb of Truth will answer that question.” She was silent for a moment. “Now do you see?”
The prylar felt rooted to the spot. That the kai herself had trusted him with her personal insight—it was a heady sensation. He nodded, unable to frame an answer, and she left him there pondering her words.
Bennek’s fingers were light on Hadlo’s shoulder. The Cardassian turned to face his junior and saw the worry there on his face. “What is it?”
“I question this,” said the young cleric. “You have no idea what they expect of you, of us. We know so little of their ways…”
Hadlo smiled slightly. “What are you afraid of, Bennek? Do you think they will drink my blood or brainwash me? It is a temple, nothing more. They will show me their great and holy relic, and I will give it the reverence it deserves, and then we will move on to matters of greater import.”
Bennek spoke in a whisper as Hadlo used the linen to dry his hands. “You meant everything you said to them, all this talk of enclaves?”
“I did,” he replied. “We must look to all possible outcomes. We will forge a friendship with these people, but with one eye toward Cardassia. If the Detapa Council attempts to expunge us, a place to find sanctuary with sympathetic souls would be of great use.”
Bennek was about to say more, but then the kai approached him. “Hadlo,” she said, offering him her hand. “Are you prepared?”
“I suppose I am,” he told her. “Is there anything I should say or do once we enter the shrine?”
She smiled warmly at him. “Open your heart and your mind. The Prophets will do the rest.”
The doors closed behind them with a solid, heavy thump, and Hadlo’s fixed smile faltered a little. The realization came upon him in an instant; what if Bennek’s concerns were justified? The cleric had a point—the Oralians really didn’t know much about the ways of the Bajoran church. What if Meressa asked him to do something strange, something unholy?
Hadlo clamped down on that line of thinking, rejecting it as foolish; but the nagging voice in his head would not be silenced.
“This way,” said the kai, leading him forward.
Inside, the shrine chamber was circular, with walls that vanished away toward a ceiling covered with intricate murals of alien figures, great oceans of stars, and unfamiliar landscapes. There were freestanding walls twice the height of a man ringing the center of the shrine, spaced at regular intervals. As they moved around them, the Cardassian glimpsed a shallow dais and upon it a wooden box. A honey-colored light seeped from the container, spilling out across the room. He noted that Meressa did not at any moment look in the direction of the box.
She drew to a halt in the shadow of one of the barriers and indicated the dais with a sweep of her robed arm. “I will go no further,” said the kai. “This is the pagh’tem’far. This moment belongs to you alone, Hadlo. Step to the ark and look within.”
He felt his throat become arid. “What…what will happen?”
Meressa bowed her head. “You will look into the Tear, and the Tear will look into you.”
Hesitantly, Hadlo stepped through the gap between two of the walls and into the very heart of the Kendra Shrine. He saw the box more clearly now, what Meressa had termed the “ark.” The container was made of old wood, polished smooth by the action of thousands of fingers upon its surface. Complex Bajoran ideograms decorated the edges, illuminated in the soft yellow-green glow from within. Through misted oval lenses in the sides of the ark, Hadlo defined the shape of something infinitely complex, turning and shimmering.
A thread of old memory rose up inside him. A boy’s bare feet padding along the rough stone floors of the Temple of Oralius, decades before it had been torn down and ground to rubble. His new master’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him away from a mother whose trade for his life now meant she could afford to feed his brothers and sisters. Young Hadlo, at first not understanding, coming to face the priestess with the mask of the Fate upon her. The sudden knowledge that he was in the presence of something greater than himself. The need to subsume himself within it.
He felt a stab of panic. The Cardassian was not sure what he had expected to see, but it had not been anything like this. Some sculpture, perhaps, or the mummified bones of an old dead saint. He held up his hands and watched the waves of light cross over his skin. His flesh tingled and the image wavered; for a moment he saw not the gray quality of his own species but the pale tones of a Bajoran.
Hadlo blinked and the illusion vanished. The box compelled him toward it, and he found his fingers moving across the wood. It was pleasant to the touch, as if it had been warmed by the glow of a summer sun. Seams parted and the ark opened to him, almost of its own accord; a helix of glittering, shifting intricacy lay there, casting its light over his face. And inside it…
Inside Hadlo saw—
Whiteness hazed his sight, burning the stone reality of the shrine away from him, casting the Cardassian into a footless void of numbing darkness.
I am falling and falling and falling—
There were voices speaking in tongues, chattering in Old Hebitian, crying out his name in Lakarian dialects, laughing and hooting. Hadlo looked down and saw pale flesh upon his hands. He raised them to his face and there were no ridges upon his neck and about his eyes, only a raised serration across the bridge of his nose. A heavy weight of metal links dragged upon his ear.
No, this is not who I am—
He felt rough caresses over his legs and bare feet, a touch like old dry parchment. Hadlo’s gaze dropped to see serpents crowding around him, rising up like a tide. Gray vipers moving about his body as if he were not there, more and more of them now, burying him under their obdurate mass.
He cried out and threw them off, stumbling away. His feet plunged ankle-deep into drifts of ash, and the cleric turned, his robes catching in a tormented wind, tearing his pastel hood from his hea
d. Hadlo glanced up and saw the vestiges of an obliterated city ranged around him, beneath angry clouds that spat flames and lightning.
He heard the distant screech of disruptor fire, the crack-and-thump of chemical explosives. The ash was everywhere, thick in layers that coated the stone ruins, turning and wheeling in motes that clogged the air in his lungs. He made out toppled towers and shattered statues robbed of their majesty, cracked domes and piles of dead bricks. Hadlo struggled to make some sense of the murdered vista, searching to find some commonality, some indicator.
Is this Cardassia? Or Bajor? Which is it? Which one? Answer me!
From the wall of howling, windblown ashes came shapes that formed into figures of hooded men and women, the masks of Oralius tarnished and broken over their faces. Hadlo lurched forward and grasped the closest one, snatching the façade away. It disintegrated into powder in his fingers and beneath there was nothing but a bare skull, the grinning mask of the dead. He recoiled, feeling hot streaks of tears down his face.
Is this what will be? He shouted the words to the smoky air. Oralius, answer me! Is this what will come to pass if I turn back, or if I press on? I must know!
Glowing warm light fell on him once again, and Hadlo saw Orbs; not one, but many of them, emerging from the drifts of black ash, burning it away with their radiance. He reached for the closest one, sensing salvation within the turning helix of light; but as his fingers touched the surface, the object faded as hordes of snakes coiled in around it, dragging it away. He swung around, casting about, but each Orb did the same, diminishing and disappearing beneath a mass of serpents. They left him in the darkness, with no light to show him the path.
Hadlo’s hand went to his face. He touched the familiar bony ridges around his eyes and then there was nothing but whiteness.
Bennek watched his master take the cup of liquid with a trembling hand. The old cleric seemed to be barely aware of where he was. When the kai had emerged from the shrine with Hadlo at her side, the deathly pallor of his master made the priest gasp. Hadlo’s color was returning with each passing moment, but the hollow look in his eyes made Bennek wonder what sights he had seen inside the sealed chamber.
Star Trek Terok Nor 01: Day of the Vipers Page 13