The Paradise Gate

Ch. 11.2 A Divine Composition

Dalli glanced over at Lycinder, wondering if he was bored yet. If anything, he probably found this service to be little more than a sign of how pathetic human understanding of the cosmos was, but to her surprise, he looked fascinated by the proceedings at the front. She gave a mental shrug and turned back to toward the altar.

"'In the beginning, there was only the Creator and the Aether. All things were equally possible and impossible. There was balance, and it was good,'" the old priest began, and Dalli was confused because this was the beginning to the Book of Song.

"'The Creator was alone, so He began to Sing.'"

That line had never bothered her as a child, but now it struck Dalli as presumptuous. It seemed to her that it was a human thing to assume that being alone meant being lonely. Maybe Lycinder was rubbing off on her.

"'He Sang of the Aethral Host, and they became.'"

The cruel fist of grief wore a spiked glove as it closed around Dalli's heart. She remembered the many times her father had quoted this line to her, his eyes sparkling with a million exciting possibilities. He had loved this bit of scripture because he'd sad it was the root of the entire field of aethral harmonics, this idea that there was power and possibility in sound.

The chantor went on, at last breaking from the stiff formality of the ancient verse and speaking directly to the children. "Now, that's all well and good, but what was the Aethral Host?"

Chantor Janneck paused to see if any of the children would answer, but they'd not yet warmed to this strange man in his funny robes, and they simply backed closer to the folded knees of their parents who knelt on the pillows behind them.

"We also call them the Aethral Choir, and they were a mighty host of angels. The Creator gave these, his first children, a very special gift: he gave them the ability to Sing. I bet you know what singing is, don't you?" Chantor Janneck again looked expectantly at Ahlgren's grandchildren, who nodded shyly in response.

"Momma sings 'Old Tom the Prickle Pig' after prayers if we're good," the oldest boy ventured proudly.

This got a round of laughter from the pews and the old chantor's smile widened indulgently. "I bet she has a lovely voice, too, b—"

"No, she doesn't!" the middle child piped in, drawing an even louder laugh from the congregation as Elin's cheeks pinkened and she hid her face in her husband's sleeve.

He laughed, but put his arm around his wife's shoulders and directed a sheepishly apologetic shrug at Chantor Janneck.

Even Lycinder smiled, Dalli noted.

The chantor cleared his throat, holding in his own chuckle, though his eyes sparkled with mirth. "But," he began again, "that is a different kind of singing. Like the Creator, the Aethral Host could make imagined things into realities with the power of their Voices, and they helped Him Sing the world into being."

"Like magic?" This from the oldest boy, again.

"It might seem magical to us, but the Song of Creation is a holy thing, and nothing like the unclean sorceries beyond the borders of Tyr'Tiel."

This statement had Dalli scoffing internally as she crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat, letting her focus drift from the chantor and his recitation of a doctrine she thought both outdated and unfounded. Dalli suspected the Church's defamation of these so-called sorceries had more to do with the perspective of an empire not yet entirely sure its conquering days were over than it did with any evidence that such powers were evil or inherently at odds with the will of the Creator.