Sunrise
1 - The High Priest
It was an hour before dawn. The sun priest's room was dark, except for a candle that he never extinguished, for it was his protection against the dark forces of the night.
The small cubicle was heated by the scalding hot stream that ran underground. The heat manifested itself in the form of tendrils of steam curling upwards, clearly visible, like the heads of a gigantic hydra, snaking towards the sun, as if to swallow it whole.
The High Priest slept tranquilly, his mind at rest and his subconscious swathed in ethereal light. His matted hair, which fell over his shoulders and his chest in knots and tangles, and his dense beard, were wet with the steam that permeated the inner sanctums of the massive stonework temple. The priest awoke, rejuvenated, and ready to do the Lord's work once again, with astounding vigour.
The morning was fresh and the air was cold and clear, as it was bound to be in the mountains. All around the Temple of Light were huge green rolling hills, all glistening as the morning's gift fell upon the dew drops on their trees and other foliage.
Fog enveloped the lower parts of the great mounds, the valleys being practically invisible, swallowed by the cloud-on-the-ground.
The hill where the temple had been standing for over half a millennium, had no fog around it, because of the hot stream that snaked its way through it.
Gradually, a cool wind began to blow. It dispelled the fog. It was in the windy and light flooded courtyard that the monks gathered. The floodlights gave off painful white light. Cars pulled up to the huge stone gate. Men in suits got down from the expensive, luxurious and chauffeured cars. The sun had thrown a few streaks of orange on the sky above the east. Birds chirped and squirrels ran through trees.
There was activity in the monks' ranks, but all disciplined, composed, conscious activity. Chaos was unknown.
A group of young monks huddled in a corner, shivering in the icy wind, which they weren't used to. More than a few of them had red noses and watery eyes. They were there to name themselves.
The Order of the Worshippers of the Sun believed in the power of self-realization, and so did not place much emphasis on names. Once they were inducted into the Order, acolytes could name themselves whatever they thought appropriate to their level of spiritual enlightenment. The more experienced men and women named themselves something seemingly random, but close to what defined life for them.
I was in their steps only a few decades ago. How long it seems to be, the High Priest thought. He had been exceptional. At the age of twenty two, he had been more detached and wily than those who were then at the top. He knew where the world was meant to go. He also knew that he could not change it's fate. Only a few things would last longer than anything the earth would see in the future. So when asked what he wanted to name himself, he simply replied, “Rising Sun”.
These young ones, they have no future. Our time is at an end. The beginning of the End is come.
But some of them will learn well. And they must be taught. Science, the art of weaponry and fighting, survival, teaching – everything that I know.
The monks worshipped the sun as a source of energy and knowledge, a purifying power. They were teachers, scientists, explorers, hitmen, or simply priests, but the Sun united them all. They were an infinitesimal part of the universe. It made no difference what they did. The cosmos would simply go on. Life, death, loss, gain, happiness, grief – it was all pointless.
Rising Sun stood in front of the temple, inspecting the passive but radiant faces in front of him.
“My brothers, sisters, sons and daughters, it was this day, five hundred years ago, that the High Priest Adio Saan Jua had this great home thrown open to us worshippers. These walls, eight hundred feet high, are a mystery to us even today. How could they arise such a huge for, when even today, with all the machines that the two great nations of Ziemia and Ardhi possess, we are not able to construct one?
