Ray - Monastery (3)

Stirleo laid a hand against his chin. “Enlightenment, you say? I haven’t noticed anything like that. Yet you’re the first to arrive here since the appearance of this holy celestial body. Aside from remembering the Sun, the moon, and the stars, very little has changed.”

“It seems to be making those who aren’t as lucid as we are much clearer-minded. It gives them new ambitions,” Eri summarized.

“Am I to understand that not all of those ambitions are good ones?”

“Indeed. Both good and bad. People have begun to pursue new goals. They questioned me as a Lucid and even attacked those under my protection. Demoa, through the new symbol, also seemed to gain a much deeper grasp of her Lucidity, and we escaped. Still…”

“Disturbing,” Stirleo remarked. “Tell me, Eri, do you think those people will still follow you? Or was it nothing more than a passing fever?”

“I don’t think they’ll come after us, or at least not anymore. They wouldn’t dare come here. The followers of this Monastery would deal with them swiftly.”

“Could deal with them swiftly,” Stirleo corrected.

“Of course. Yet they don’t know that. The Monastery’s reputation is, after all, one of great power.”

“And not without reason! Still, come, I’m actually here to welcome the new students. There will surely be other chances to discuss these things in depth. For now, the two of you, come and arrive properly at my Monastery. I am Abbot Stirleo, and it pleases me to receive new lucid minds here and guide them on their path to themselves. Let’s go to your quarters; there are still a few rooms left.”

Stirleo laughed at his last words as if he had just told a joke, and strode along the riverbank. Demoa, Eri, and Ray hurried after him.

“Why… why did you laugh?” Demoa asked, slightly out of breath.

Stirleo glanced back briefly.

“There aren’t many people here. Perhaps a hundred at the moment. Most of them are studying Lucidity. Only a few are actual students.”

“Then why so many buildings?” Ray asked in bewilderment.

“Sparky, these buildings were improved and expanded over time by those who studied here,” Eri explained. “It is what is required of you to start your Pilgrimage: to understand the Light well enough to shape the Dream around you in a lasting way. It became tradition to demonstrate that understanding by leaving something of yourself here. The buildings are splendid, though their styles are very mixed, and now you know why.”

Ray looked around in amazement. As she had noticed before, many of the ground floors were alike, as though they had grown straight out of the earth. Above them, marble houses and temples rose, their upper levels adorned with every kind of ornamentation. She found the idea beautiful: a monastery built by a community, where everyone who had learned something important still dwelled, even if not in body.

“The bridges too?” Demoa asked, glancing upward.

“Not quite. The bridges were shaped through the Lucidity of our Sages and Monks; they are more complex and grand. They are their ideas, woven permanently into the Dream, even if they themselves have since awakened. Their thoughts linger here, fading only slowly. The Monks try to maintain them, of course, yet inevitably their own ideas weave in, so the bridges slowly change. Still, they are as splendid as the day they were created,” Stirleo explained, his eyes shining with pride as he gazed at a magnificent silver-and-gold bridge that arched above them, linking two domed towers across the path and the river.

“So much has grown here? I like that! Who knows what this place looked like before all this beauty, all this holiness of the Light, flowed into it and transformed it,” Demoa said aloud.

Stirleo suddenly stopped and looked down at the river beside them, its waters bubbling softly as they flowed down the slope. He seemed more thoughtful now, his earlier ease giving way to a gaze that drifted into the currents.

“It was beautiful even then. This river, it was already here. And the creatures too. The plainhoppers, the waterskimmers, the deep-breeders and lava-birds. All the green trees, radiant and full of life, even beneath the dim gray sky. Where else could we have built such a place? It felt right,” he said, lost in thought.

Ray’s eyes widened.

“You… you founded this place? How long… how long have you been here?” The words tumbled out before she could stop herself.

She flinched at once. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get too personal.”

“I don’t really know anymore,” Stirleo said. “Only since the Sun appeared, since there has been day and night, have I had any clear sense of time at all. How long could it have been? I can’t say. Eri? Do you remember?”

Ray thought she must have misheard him. Demoa also stared at the Pilgrim in shock.

“No, I don’t remember either,” Eri replied.

Stirleo looked at him, something sad in his eyes, yet softened by a faint smile. Then, without another word, he moved on, leaving the river behind as he climbed a set of steps toward a great, palace-like building farther up the hillside. Ray was so confused she nearly forgot to follow. When she finally caught up, Stirleo was standing at a balustrade, gazing across at one of the buildings on the opposite slope. It was smaller than the others and the only one without additional decoration.

“Eri, don’t you remember sitting up there, cultivating for what felt like ages, slowly melting the rock to form a foundation for our little House of Light?”

“I do. And I remember you sitting there just as long, shaping the walls afterward.”

The two exchanged a brief smile, and Ray suddenly felt out of place, as though intruding on something that wasn’t hers to witness.

“You should know, you two… ah, I haven’t even asked your names yet, have I?” Stirleo said suddenly, nodding toward her.

“I’m Ray. This is Demoa.”

“Pleased to meet you! Now, you should know: the Monastery was once like a normal monastery. At least, I seem to recall that monasteries are usually quite small, in the world before the Dream. Yet over time, it grew, and now it’s almost a city. One where only memories of the Light dwell, housed in all these buildings. No doubt, before long, you too will leave your own marks here.”

Stirleo fell silent then, focusing on the path ahead, though his steps grew lighter and his bearing more at ease. Eri’s mood lifted as well; again and again, his eyes wandered toward the little house he had built so very long ago with Stirleo.

After a long climb in silence, they finally reached a platform jutting out from the slope, just beside the building they had been climbing toward. A handful of people stood there, dressed in simple, colorful robes, most of them chatting or gazing out over the valley below the balustrade. All turned as Ray and her group climbed the final stair, and she felt their eyes upon her, heard their quiet whispers.

“Greetings, everyone! These are Ray and Demoa, they come from the stream,” Stirleo announced almost ceremoniously. “You know how it works. Show them where they may cultivate, where they can retreat, and where the first exercises take place. Lance, I’d like you to keep a special eye on them. You’re the newest here, you probably remember best where confusions are likely to arise.”

An older man with cropped red hair and a stubbly beard beckoned them over. His weary eyes softened as he gave them a reassuring wink, the golden trim of his robe glinting faintly. The others nodded in greeting as well, and Ray felt a rising excitement at the thought of meeting these new people and finally learning something about the Light that could truly guide her forward.

“Well then, Stirleo and I have much to discuss!” Eri said, and to Ray’s surprise, everyone bid him farewell warmly, calling out how glad they were to see him again.

“Eri is very well known here, isn’t he?” Ray asked Lance cautiously as the Pilgrim and Stirleo disappeared into one of the nearby buildings.

“Oh yes. He’s the one who’s brought everyone here! Not alone, of course. He accompanies the Sages who keep lodges near the places of arrival, though he’s always wandering, always moving from one arrival to the next. Sometimes I think he’s searching for something. I once asked him, and he gave me that look—you know the one…” the student said, nervously shoving up his sleeves.

“Yes, I know exactly what you mean,” Demoa replied with a slight shiver, and Ray couldn’t help laughing.

“Well, he said, 'Of course I am searching! For how to fit in! After all, I'm still on my Pilgrimage.'” Lance managed to mimic Eri’s tone surprisingly well, and Ray burst out laughing too.

“Completely absurd,” said a woman who looked a bit older, her blonde curls tumbling down her back. “Considering he probably introduced the Pilgrimage himself, with Stirleo.”

She had mostly muttered it to herself, then startled at her own words and giggled.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m Ormir, and as you can see, I haven’t many good manners,” she joked, bowing slightly and giving Ray a conspiratorial wink.

“You’re probably right,” Demoa said thoughtfully.

“Do you think so?” Ormir asked, now looking pensive herself.

“Yes. If he really founded the Monastery, then he must also have shaped its customs, right? So why didn’t he tell us? Why hide something like that? He’s a riddle,” Ray sighed.

“You’ve got a point there,” Ormir admitted, furrowing her brow.

Ray looked to the building the Pilgrim had disappeared into.

What else don’t we know about you, Eri? she wondered uneasily.