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Micro-fiction 080 – Sacred Words (Echoes series)

An exploration of religion, mysticism, injustice and sanctuary, on a distant planet in a distant future.


Sacred Words

On a world in the far future a woman, Jaha, flees into the temple. The commotion outside halts for a moment as those chasing her contact their superiors for instruction. On this planet, some thousand years after the Great Expansion from OId Earth, versions of the old religions persist in spite of hurried reinterpretations of sacred texts. Many of those were disputed by rival sects, continuing the age-old suspicions and rivalries, superstitions and mysticisms. This temple, in the great city of Kintapo, peers out across the deserts of the as-yet-unreclaimed land, gazing at the distant mining operations and the gigantic plantation-creating machines. Those who had migrated across the galaxy, leaving families and friends behind all acknowledged the need to build such places of worship on each of the new planets. The temples serve both those who share their faith, and the grumbling malcontents who reject any form of belief, for the solace afforded by the vast chambers within offers quiet contemplation for everyone, fanatic and non-believer alike. As with all good religious buildings it provides a focus for the entire community, and a sanctuary for those such as Jaha.

“Oh my days.” Jaha had stumbled up the new stone steps and flung herself through the ornate iron doors. She knows she has merely delayed her pursuers, but perhaps that will give her enough time. She takes control of her breath, and smooths her long tunic, checking to see who might be at prayer or some other form of observance within.

“I didn’t realise quite how beautiful this was.” She half-whispers to herself, raising her eyes to the arches high above, the patterns of blue skies and pointed stars mingling with the blooms that top painterly vines reaching up from huge pillars. The floor from which the looming columns grow is tiled as a series of interconnecting forest paths, with the patterns of roots, leaves and fallen plants scattered in concentric circles radiating from the centre of the Temple. And there she sees the book, wider than the size of the man kneeling in front of it. Even from so far away she can see the vastness of its presence, the gold glowing from each clasp, the illuminated text reflecting the subtle light from the slits in the domes above. And the man before it, he seems to be rocking back and forth, his head covered with a dark green hood that flutters and shakes.

“So that must be him.” Jaha flattens herself against the cool wall behind her, quickly removes her shoes and pads softly forwards to the first pillar, peering round, her wide brown eyes fixed on the book at the centre of the temple, and the man before it.

“Surely there must be others here?” She looks up at the galleries, each of which teases its own ornate vista deep within, with arch upon arch around the great dome.

“Ah, there is movement.” She notices the hoods of other supplicants dipping between the arches, but no-one seems to be in a hurry to respond to her sudden interruption, or eject her. Perhaps they really would respect the old ways, and give her sanctuary?

“That book.” She refocuses on the centre of the dome, and pads forward to the next pillar, now able to hear a ripple of muttering. She looks up, wondering for a moment if it comes from above, but then she presses forward once more, closer to the book, and realises the murmurings are coming from the hooded figure.

“An incantation.” Her eyes flare, she compresses her mouth and steadies her breathing, before moving forwards.

“Just one more pillar.” The distant words are clearer now, they float from the hooded figure as he bends into the huge pages of the book, as though they are lifted one by one and swirl in tiny eddies, drifting above the figure in a slow whirl of heat and light.

“As the prophesy determines,” the hooded figure intones, “these words shall bring the glory of the past to the torments of the present, and we shall fold ourselves once more into the comfort of the universe to fulfil our destiny.” The final words on the page lift up and join the entrails of their predecessors.

“No!” Jaha’s eyes open wide, “It cannot be.” She sees the hooded figure fall forward, into the book, and swiftly dissipate into the swirl of heat, light and words, the fragile substance of his body disappearing within a moment.

The galleries all around seems to blink, as the entire dome of the temple falls into darkness and distant bells sprinkle tiny sounds from every corner until a rush of air restores the light.

Jaha runs to the book, sees that the ancient text is returned, that all is as as it was, except for the figure, the man in the dark hood, he has disappeared. She stares at the tiles on the floor, and finds her vision slipping.

“Quick, call the guard!” Other voices emerge around her, as she falls away. Loud bells toll and doors are crashed open, with the sound heavy boots on gentle tiles assailing Jaha as she folds to the floor.

***

“I did not kill him.” Jaha has woken in a rough-walled cell. A barred window high up reveals the night sky. The man in front of her, his moustache twitching with contempt is ready to hit her face again.

“He disappeared before me.” She coughs out the words, once more. She knows her time is limited, in these cells her dignity and life are no longer her own.

“Stop!” A voice from outside the cell curls in from the end of the corridor.

“What is it?!” Jaha’s tormentor turns and heads for the door of the cell.

“You must stop this.” The voice is louder.

Jaha looks up and sees the figure with the green hood. “Not disappeared then.”

“Not killed either. So there is no crime.” The words are spoken quietly to Jaha’s tormentor, “please release her.”

“But–“ The moustached man stares at the no-longer disappeared man. He pauses for a moment, then complies. He swears, tearing at the bindings that hold Jaha to the chair and pushes her out of the cell.

“Come with me my friend. You have suffered much on my account.”

“Indeed.” Jaha half shuffles, half strides, shaking the bruising from her legs as they walk from the Guardian’s chambers, bumping into a guard on the way out, towards the temple at the edge of the city at night.

“Where did you go?” Jaha eyes her companion.

“Ah, somewhere I have long planned to go. And it took three weeks to recite the incantation to do so. I have tried many times before.”

“Do many know the secret of this?”

“Not many, of course, you now are one.” He turns to her, “why did you come to the temple, you are not a believer I think?”

“Ah, I was given a sacred task.”

“Oh?” The green-hooded man halts.

“To kill you.” Jaha pulls the dagger she had stolen from the guard on the way out of the station, and plunges it into his neck. She feels the blood trickle down her arm.

“You and your kind are an abomination.” She whispers into the face of the man, pulling back his hood, revealing a bald head that is crowded with markings and character strokes. These are ancient words, now abandoned they screech at the stars and scatter into the air, deserting the fallen head of the once-disappeared man, to flee back towards the temple.

Jaha smiles, then plunges the knife into her own stomach, her task complete, her destiny fulfilled.

[end]

Part of a new series of micro-fiction stories, released as These Fantastic Worlds SF & Fantasy Fiction Podcast on iTunes, Apple Podcasts, Google Play, Spotify, and Stitcher  and more. Also on this blog, These Fantastic Worlds.

Text, image, audio © 2021 Jake Jackson, thesefantasticworlds.com. Thanks to Frances Bodiam and Elise Wells,  Logic ProX, Sound Studio, the Twisted Wave Recorder App, and Scrivener.


More Tales, More Audio

There are many other great stories in this series, including:

And a carousel of 10 audio stories from the podcast with information about submissions.

Here’s a related post, 5 Steps to the SF and Fantasy Podcasts.