“You recollect that you asked me who the Keepers were,” said Father Sifans. “You asked if we saw them. Here is my response.” He indicated the world below them. “The people down there do not see us. Even if they look upward, they are still unable to spot us. We are superior to them. So are the Keepers superior to mere members of the priesthood. Within our fortress there is a secret fortress.”
“Father Sifans, help me. Is that secret fortress … is it friendly towards us? Secrecy is not always friendly.”
The father blinked his eyes. “The question should be rather, Is the secret fortress necessary to our survival? And the answer to that is, Yes, whatever it costs. You may find that a strange answer, coming from me. I am for the middle way in everything but this. Against the extremities of our life, against which Akha seeks to defend us, extremes are called for.
“The Keepers keep Truth. According to the scriptures, our world has been withdrawn from Wutra’s fire. Many generations ago, the people of Pannoval dared to defy Great Akha and went to live outside our sheltering holy mountain. Towns like Vakk which we see before us were built under the naked skies. Then we were punished by fire, which Wutra and his cohorts sent down. A few survivors lived to return to our natural home, here.
“This is not merely scripture, Yuli. Forgive the blasphemy of that ‘merely.’ This is scripture, I should say. It is also a history that our people have lived. The Keepers in their secret fortress keep that history, and many things that still survive from the period of naked skies. I believe they see uncloudedly what we see clouded.”
“Why are we in the Holies not considered fit to know these things?”
“Enough to know them as scripture, a parable. Myself, I believe that the naked knowledge is kept from us, first, because those in power always prefer to hoard knowledge, which is power, and second, because they believe that armed with such knowledge we might again attempt to return to the outside world of naked skies at such time as Great Akha banishes the snows.”
Yuli thought with racing thoughts. Father Sifans’ frankness astonished him. If knowledge was power, where stood faith? It occurred to him that he was possibly being tested, and was aware of the priest awaiting his answer with alert interest. Playing safe, he brought in the name of Akha again.
“Surely, if Akha banishes the snows, that is his invitation to return to the world of skies? It is not natural for men and women to be born and die in darkness.”
Father Sifans sighed. “So you say—but you were born under the skies.”
“I hope to die there, too,” Yuli said, with a fervour that surprised himself. He feared that his unpremeditated response would provoke his charge-father’s anger; instead, the old man placed a mittened hand on his shoulder.
“We all desire conflicting desires… .” He struggled with himself—either to speak or to stay silent—then said calmly, “Come, we will return, and you shall lead the way. Your reading of the wall-scrolls is becoming excellent.”
He closed the shutter on Vakk. They regarded each other as the night rushed back. Then they returned through the dark sleeve of the gallery.
Yuli’s initiation as a priest was a great event. He fasted for four whole days, and came light-headed before his cardinal in Lathorn. With him went three other young men of Yuli’s own age, also due to take all the vows of a priest, also to sing for two hours, standing in stiff clothes and unaccompanied by music, the liturgies memorised for the occasion.
Their voices rose thinly in the great dark church, hollow as a cistern.
Darkness be our guise
Ever, and sting the sinner within
To sing. Bremely we begin
Priests, priests, of great rate,
Golden in ancient Akha’s gaze,
Armoured in ancient right.
A solitary candle stood between them and the figure of the seated cardinal. The old man remained motionless throughout the ceremony; perhaps he slept. A breeze blew the candle flame fluttering in his direction. In the background stood the three charge-fathers who had sponsored the young men to priesthood. Yuli could see Sifans dimly, his nose wrinkled upwards like a shrew’s in pleasure, nodding to the chant. No militia were present, or phagors.