Silence Unbroken - Prologue

    

              [This story was written in 2018 and has yet to be updated]

 

    Only the Seven and One have walked these halls. 

A robed woman – one of the seven - walked downward the elevated hallway, towards the meditation chamber. Lit by dim candles every few meters apart, casting weak yellow light and soft shadows. As a result, the otherwise featureless narrow hall was transformed into an eerie portal.

The enclosed hallway allowed little air, causing the Seeker mild nausea and a feeling of suffocation. She diverted her attention away from her body. Minor physical discomforts were a very trivial matter, especially at the peak of her concentration – and a meeting of the Seven and One demanded no less.

She was the last to enter the barren meditation chamber. The room was small enough, anything else would have restricted whatever space available. Only four bright conches at four corners existed to provide illumination.

The other Seekers and the Elder sat cross-legged, each wearing the featureless robe and each equidistant of one another – taking his or her intended spot in consideration. The Elder had a small wooden box in front of him.

The Seeker’s footstep was barely a whisper, but against the backdrop of silence it was noticeable to anyone with ears. No one reacted to it, however, with either signs of acknowledgement or displeasure.

As she took her position, they turned to her and nodded – a sign of affection and mutual respect, which she returned immediately with a minute smile. Of course, she did not fail to notice the naked man lying at the centre of their circle, but she paid little attention to him.

“The Seven and One have arrived. We can initiate the conjoining,” said the Elder.

The box was opened and the Elder withdrew a plain dagger. He slowly ran the sharp thin edge across the tip of his index finger. The flesh parted and blood started to flow slowly in drops, trickling down until it arrived at the hilt and fell to the ground. The Elder passed the bloodied blade around the circle. Each repeated his actions and consecrated the dagger with their lifeblood.

When the dagger was returned to the Elder, he pointed it at her. Her heart fluttered, for the honour was too much, but she controlled her emotions and received the dagger. Holding it tightly, she slowly, as if unwilling to disturb the aura that had been concentrated in the area.

The naked man remained motionless, blindfolded and spread-eagled on the glyph. Layers of fat were too apparent along his body. He looked like the type of person whose disappearance would not hurt the human race, she thought initially, but immediately regretted it when she told herself to not be so quick to judge.

Besides, her task – for now – was to act, rather than judge.

Crouching near his abdomen, standing just on top the glyph, she sliced the blindfold vertically. The strike had lightly touched the skin, small amount of blood collected at the wound. His eyes shot opened immediately, full of consternation and fright.

Naturally, his first instinct was to escape – away from the robed and armed woman, and from the strange chamber. Attempting to act was vain, however, as he found his thoughts barely held any influence on his body’s movements. The slight movement of his neck, a twitch of a finger – that’s all he was capable of.

She held his throat just below the chin, and pressed onto his chest with her knee to prevent whatever movement. He tried to scream and struggle away, but her steely grasp was more than enough to keep his weakened body in place. She positioned his head, aligning it with the symbols of the glyph.

Then, the cold edge touched his throat. The blade slowly moved from left to right, almost gently. The skin cleaved slowly, the flesh followed, but the process was slow. She knew there was no need to hurry - a quick escape was not part of the criteria. The more time she took, the better the results were likely to be.

Each time the blade sank just a little deeper. Blood started to flow, initially in spurts, covering her bright olive hands in scarlet. Then the blood started to truly flow, staining parts of her robe in deep scarlet, creeping into the engraving of the glyph and spreading until it was a river of blood. 

The man stopped struggling shortly after a many weak and painful whimpers. The glyph seemed to glow ever so slightly and pleasantly. The deed done, she returned to her intended position, awaiting the conjoining.

For a moment, is seemed as if the room had been engulfed by a deathly silence. Slowly, her awareness of the surrounding diminished, until only the cadences of the Seven and One remained. Even that did little to remove the emptiness and overbearing feeling. And then, even the sound of their breaths faded out of her focus. Nothing could prepare her, or anyone for that matter, for the experience that came, regardless of the times they had participated in the ritual.

For a while, she could sense the essence of her companions - these entities of unquestionable wisdom, unrivalled abilities. She could feel their souls drawing closer. And then, her individual consciousness faded. 

One remained where once were more. The pool of blood in the etched glyph glowed ever so softly, almost as if it was reacting to the presence of the supreme soul - a product of occult wisdom and pure focus. It was an entity beyond the boundaries of flesh, race or sex.

Only the Seven and One's bodies remained. The glow eventually dimmed to a brightness barely noticeable. To the participants, time had no value anymore. It was just a meagre method of inconsequential estimation.

For a moment their breathing stopped. It was just for a moment, but some actions require but a moment.

The breathing began to be erratic and noticeably out of synchronisation. Some of the breaths were faster, some louder. The rhythmic continuity of the cadence became sporadic. 

And then slowly their breaths calmed into initial sighs, long intakes of breaths, and finally they settled into the serene cadence.

Now that her breathing had settled into the calm rhythm, she could allow herself to think, though there was not much to think on. As always, the conjoining had left her drained of something abstract, left her unable to focus her thoughts properly and had brought her no closer to understanding the seemingly strange process that required just a single moment of perfectly synchronised focus.

Why was none of the knowledge gained during the conjoining properly accessible to the mind? Why was the wisdom - uncovered by the combination of the minds - seemingly scattered into nothingness, with only little chunks left to the participants? Why was the Elder able to access and retain more of the knowledge? Why did his assistance clear the minds?

Just the usual questions.

She straightened herself to look at the Elder. Unlike the rest of the participants, he appeared unfazed for the most part. His eyes were focused on the corpse, but she was certain that his concentration was elsewhere. He was the most capable of understanding the revelation bestowed. Undoubtedly he was gathering his own end and preparing to speak, as he always did.

He took in a soft breath and raised his head, his wrinkles brightening in the firelight - a mark of the wisdom of his years.

“The picture is vague,” began the Elder, and rubbed his forehead.  A few beads of sweat slithered down to his chin, and then splattered on the ground. He wiped the rest, leaving his face glistening.

“The light shining on the image is barely a ray. Clarification shall be difficult. Conclusions have to be drawn carefully, and we will tread as safely as possible, so as to not distort the holy words. Misinformation is the worst kind of knowledge, and one would rather do well without it. To make such mistake with the Lord's words is unthinkable, and if a mistake is made by our hands, may we be absolved of our sins.” 

There was something magnetic about the delivery. She felt the subtle influencing drawing her attention. She felt herself feeling the same adoration and reference, and she knew her companions felt the same.

The Elder closed his eyes. The hood draped over his head almost hid his eyes as he looked downwards. And then he began to narrate his vision.

“A cage forms, submerged in smog. Its touch only lays waste. It eats slowly. Metal corrodes, not strong enough to withstand its venom. It only crumbles. The smog breaks free and scatters. Its touch is only followed by death."

The High Priests remained impressive. If any were disturbed by this fragment of the vision, they did not show it. What concerned her more than the deadly smog was being unable to decipher the meaning. She tore her mind away from her ponderings and waited for the Elder to finish describing the images.

“The skies are covered with dark clouds. Between shadow covered mountains, a horde of demons gather under obsidian skies. Evil oozes from their deformed faces, and one look at their vessels reveal the blackened souls. Their sins uncountable, enough to make the insensitive shudder. Acts of revulsion and malevolence are their forte. They walk through crowds, dropping a field of corpse in their wake. The fallen souls rise up and open an eye in the sky. A bloody eye with an evil gaze."

Heavy exhales could be heard. It was obviously not the first time something like this was revealed, not even during her time. That did not make it any lighter. The Seven and One rarely felt euphoria during the gatherings. And very rarely were their tasks not associated with violence and bloodshed.

“Eight little spiders crawl out of the flesh of one. The carcass of the spider sinks below the dirt. The children roam around the Earth, spinning their silk through the skies. The white stands touch the blood soaked ground and turns sanguine. The strings connected to the spiders disappear into the abyss, far beyond my sight. Inferno swallows the Earth, strings burn, and spiders fall.”

She was confused. There had not been any references to spiders, and she was certain if her memory's integrity. The High Priests listened silently. Like her, they must have been pondering about the metaphor of spider.

“All that remains is a wall of fog,” whispered the Elder. He had nothing more to add.

The conjoining itself had been taxing, more for the One than for any other of the Seven. Followed by the description and interpretation, it was not too hard to see why the Elder would be stressed and exhausted.

The remainder of discussion took place in soft whispers and hushed tones. It seemed almost sacrilegious to disturb the near-silent atmosphere. The images were cryptic, as was usually the case, and they attempted to interpret the messages. They tried to analyse recent events that might help decipher any of the messages.

Torches burned until fuel diminished; lights constantly flickered and dimmed; the shadows grew taller; none of the Seven and One appeared to notice these. Their lives had been full of jumping shadows, and they intuitively knew the distinctly between the growing darkness and the shadows cast by another's presence.

Eventually the room darkened, making it difficult for even their experienced eyes to accustom to. Slowly, and one by one, the High Priests rose. The Elder shortly followed.

They remained unmoved. She did not need to listen to them to know what they were thinking. It was always the case after the conjoining – the High Priests seemed to think and act in synchronisation. She knew which question was burdening the minds of herself and her kin. It was the one burdening them and their predecessors for so long.

Finally, someone asked, “Brother, have you heard his voice? Does he provide us with his guidance?”

The Elder shook his head slowly, making his grief apparent, and said, “No, Brother. The Master has not spoken. The silence remains unbroken.”