Prophecy

Excitement and energy ran through the air. It was a special day. It only came once a year. The whole temple charged abuzz the entire morning from fresh acolytes to the senior priests. Young believers cleaned the floor and polished the Pillar until lantern light reflected from the crafted stone. The entire village lingered with offerings even as they were escorted out to wait.

Only the Speaker could remain within the Sanctum. Such a role naturally carried a great weight and responsibility to listen and understand the divine words of Ministra. The most learned and educated were picked to be the decipher of God’s riddle. In each temple a Speaker was selected so that the yearly wisdom could be quickly conveyed to the public and share in the future prosperity.

I was the Speaker for Linoth, a small village of maybe a hundred. In the west lands of Ject, few made passage to our tiny hometown. A Pillar in most settlements put an end for such pilgrimages to be needed.

Visitors to our temple weren’t a concern. There were far more vital and compelling tasks to occupy my time. The deciphering of divine wisdom always proved a challenging, yet rewarding experience. Past records provided me insights with each new revelation. It was a repeating cycle of learning and reflecting for growth.

It was something that I knew since I was a child. When everyone just listened at the Conveyance, I tried to pick apart the words. I turned it into a game to try to understand the difficult words before the Speaker explained it. But Her words elevated above us. A perfect interpretation was impossible. This was a message from a being far beyond us. That was the beauty though, finding a meaning within the complex.

Yet I was no child anymore. Such games ceased to have the same difficulty and I found that grasping Her words to not always be the insurmountable mountain that they appeared. Her prophecies varied I learned, some came vague and others nearly crystal clear. A child’s mind changes perspectives.

My heart ached and pounded in equal measure for today. This wasn’t my first time, but I don’t think repeated experiences could ever dull my emotions to the moment. It didn’t help me that this was an annual event, so I never could adapt to it.

But I was young. What if this was a year that Ministra spoke in complex words I had never heard before? Would I be able to solve the mystery that She laid out before me? No, the Priests would help me. I wasn’t alone. They had more experience. It would be fine. Right.

At worst, when no consensus could be reached Speakers and Priests from across the Kingdom gathered. That would normally be enough, more heads to the equation. Even if that didn’t always solve it. Some years they just failed. What did they miss in Her guidance? What could have been different in the Kingdom had we understood?

Would it be a year like that? Grant me strength!

And yet even in the most difficult times I could learn something new. New meanings and ways of thinking came from Her grace. That alone was enough to keep me steady against the cracks that threatened to shatter everything within me.

I fought with my body’s urge to pace. It felt like the seconds slowed down to intentionally delay the revelation. Like some dark hand played with chaos to taint the good word of Ministra. I had to remain still, knelt before the Pillar. Patience was needed. It was practiced and exercised. Logic and reason had to hold firm and not release panic and anxiety.

At my knees rested a square cushion of simple refinement. It had been donated by Garsh, a young and talented craftsman. He probably made half of the linens and blankets in the village. They could be the most detailed works with entire scenes of Xandar’s Crossing or an adorable cub for a baby to marvel at in their crib.

It had the right amount of padding that I could still feel the stone floor through the tightly woven threads. It made it feel like I could still feel the reach of Ministra. Plus, it didn’t destroy my knees. The hard stone wasn’t kind to the body and hours within the Sanctum weren’t meant to be a punishment or trial. Ministra never wished for Her children to suffer.

No, She was enlightened and cared for thoughtful pursuits rather than zealotry. Not that all made such interpretations of Her grace. There was nothing I could do to change the mind of our neighbors. As long as they didn’t bring their conflict and wild notions into the Kingdom, it didn’t really matter all that much to me. I would never see them in my lifetime. I didn’t have that interesting of a life or important enough for that matter.

A Speaker might be critical to know the words of Ministra, but they never left the village as the Head Priest might. They weren’t a large public figure. I did have to speak to the village, but that was the end of my obligations. The thought of conferring with other Priests in towns or even standing before the Lord terrified me more than if I couldn’t understand Ministra. Standing in front of the familiar faces of my family and friends was frightening enough to manage.

I focused my mind towards the Pillar hearing the distinct trill that preceded Ministra’s word. You could always know the feeling of the divine by the slight tingle through the air. The hairs on my arm stood up subtly. It was something that most wouldn’t notice as anything other than an odd feeling or something creepy that they couldn’t pick out. But I experienced it enough to pick each sensation out.

I leaned forward a little, eager to burn each word into memory. To memorize the word was to feel Her within. I looked up to the tip of the Pillar. Crafted broadly in granite, it lasted for centuries with little weathering by time. Wood trim decorated the base and the widest point before it tapered back. Each year carpenters replaced it as their donation to Ministra.

Near the top, recreated from the original, supposedly exactly as presented, “ministra” was carved into the hard rock surface. It was shaped exactly to the words of the divinity which all sacred texts followed. Difficult to etch into stone with the smooth curves with no flourish or detail. A simple and to the point language to follow.

A chime echoed through the sealed chamber built to perfect the containment and preservation of the words. It didn’t decay or fall apart into ugly discord, but slowly lowered until ceasing. Crisp and clear, it hummed through the air the singing of Her. Beautiful and inhuman, as expected of the divine.

I straightened up into a tight seated position with my legs folded and hands on my lap. My fingers only touching at the tips in practiced form. I cleared my mind. Ministra would speak.

“Announcement: Final message to follow. Termination of designation Etnera confirmed in one standard year. All work has been completed. No further messages. Thank you for your participation. End of message.”

The warm hum that filled the air sucked up out of the ceiling as though a void drained everything. Silence collapsed down upon the Sanctum. Heavy and awkward it spread out into all corners making it impossible to ignore or push away.

I could only sit staring at the Pillar with my mouth slightly open. Never had Ministra delivered such a prophecy before. She provided direction and aid to growth. She revealed a crisis to face. But this was no riddle or course. No words to guide their new year forward. It was a parting.

An ending.

What did Ministra mean?