Holy Marsh wrote:"His Works require the sacrifice of all Faithful in one way or another. Many of our Brothers and Sisters work the entirety of their lives to produce, and when they die, their family carries on this task, sometimes thanklessly, almost always eternally. Others are wounded terribly in war, their bodies torn to test their souls. Others die, their appointed time met and their fate sealed, their joy eternal once more as they are reconnected to the Akalaha.
We ask, Our Great Protector, that the Arch-Bishop's soul has been taken from this Earth as her appointed time had been met. Because she was found worthy in your eyes. Not because she misrepresented Your Will, but because she pleased you the most and you find yourself enriched by her mortal life.
We ask this in your name. Atali'Roftalan, e'rush tzeliradin brolindarin, cazadore clui'kasha. Sela'Dinar."
"Sela'Dinar."
The Cardinal-Superior and his small entourage stood in an enclosed space with the window open to the southwest, in the direction of the First Cathedral. It had taken some time to find this spot, as any other point of prayer was not worthy of the Arch-Bishop's death.
It had also taken time to finish the many prayers. There was the prayer for the dead, prayer for the soul's passing, prayer for guidance, and the prayer of reconnection just to name a few. Not all of these were required, but it was a naturally response. Saranasata was lost momentarily. The Arch-Bishop, Janice, had been a healthy woman. He had earnestly despised some of her more pacifist policies- the dismantling of the Home Guard among them- but respected her as a person and as the personification of the Holy Marsh's will.
With her soul having passed on into the Akalaha, her life having ended, a new sign shone brightly to all faithful. And having read the leaves correctly, Saranasata knew the future. He would be Arch-Bishop, and billionbs beating hearts and souls in need of guidance would soon look to him. The thought both chilled him and warmed him in equal measures fear and joy, pride and terror.
His attendant returned, having brought with him the shattered form of his host. Without waiting for permission and without hesitation, he took her hand with his two.
"A'sili, chu'chalen arvlock." He said before letting her hand go, "I know the Arch-Bishop was a friend of yours. I suspect you are deeply wounded in some ways by her passing." He finished, his intuition not challenged as her face and body language showed in plain view a woman in suffering. But as soon as he was warm with her, a certain chill soon developed within that shown through his eyes.
The Will and the Work were never to be delayed.
Palace of the Revolution Hallways...The walk down the halls to where the Marshite delegation had set up their impromptu sanctuary had seemed far too much like some surreal collage to Christine as the aide had led her there. No matter that she passed murals and frescoes and statuary celebrating the various resistances of freeholders against slavers, peasants against extortionate lords, nascent capitalists from the Age of Sail against mercantilist navigation-laws and their enforcing cutters; every ideology was represented in some triumphant allegory
somewhere in the titanic building these days. The various civil-society groups affiliated with those ideologies saw to that; ever since ten years ago the more-offensive individual samples among the Communist-era trappings had been quietly shelved and new space auctioned off to all parties willing to pay into the redecorating of the Palace, those parties had seen to that with an efficiency to rival feeding piranha. No, as far as Christine was concerned she couldn't be entirely sure at times whether she was walking the same cold, lonely steps to where her stillborn son Harold lay buried as she had so many times before; as she would so many times from now on each would've-been birthday of his until she too finally left this mortal realm. Maybe this was just that despite having to try no thanks to her job, she was well and truly poor at dealing with death even yet?
While she let the soothing bits of Marshite glide past her eardrums, Christine felt parts of that gloomy haze crushing her present home in the past's aura lift. Now she felt that which had been blacker than the foulest void was merely murky as roiling smoke. Still, though not possessed of
quite the same degree of effect Janice's invocations of Marshite blessings to Christine'd had, Cardinal-superior Serenasita's prayers did help well enough. She could maybe see some color in the world now, just perhaps...
And that turned, momentarily, to another surreal recall right then. The aide had led her through normal halls; what
had been normal anyway, until the area had been repurposed by the Marshite delegation. Clearly the security had seen to their requests, but Christine had noticed some people still making way out of the area early while the aide had been bringing her here. And on that way, though she'd been too ensconced in sad reverie to really notice, she'd noticed some shadowy persons along the way. Sticking to the halls... Yes, sticking to the shadow of the halls, usually around whom she figured were members of the Allanean delegation. But which Allaneans, she thought, had eyes like what had briefly (she was sure) fixed-her dead-on; irises like ruby rings and pupils sapphire-blue?
Of course, she had more
immediate eyes to worry about now right in front of her. Serenasita was back to all-business again; she could see the change in his affect and frankly, it made the perfunctory impression that his particular blessings had given worse. She couldn't help but think that though his loyalty to Janice was and had been genuine, he was as much attending to protocol as anything more heartfelt in the prayers underway right here at this lower-floor window facing southwest out of the Palace base. And she didn't
want to think that way!? It was just... damn; body-language, always having to play the stick immediately after the carrot! And before she was done enjoying a good gnash, too...
"It is good that you called for this summit to go ahead as planned. The Holy Marsh's Will is delayed by mourning for no mortal, not even the Holiest among us. Slavery is an affront to the Holy Marsh Himself and must be destroyed as swiftly as we can achieve it and as totally as mere mortals can accomplish."
He started walking down the hall with his host, who even in mourning had a certain glow about her that was regal and emboldened. That was a good thing.
"Marshites have a saying regarding slavery that is often misinterpreted by the ignorant. 'In order to become a master, one must become a master at being a servant'. What this means is that in order for Marshites to become the masters of humanity's path to salvation, they must first become the greatest servants possible to the Holy Marsh. This is the greatest expression of free will that the faith allows. We choose to serve, to devote, to pray and to hold fast our faith through the fires of eternity. Slaves have no such choice, no choice to devote oneself. This is a denial of their basic right given to the Holy Marsh- to devote oneself to one of the many paths of salvation. Those that deny these poor souls this right are vile, disgusting beasts that deserve to be wiped out and the entireties of their culture erased from the fabric of reality for time immemorial." He finished as they reached the platforms once more.
"Every second we spend here is one more soul lost to the flame for an eternity of wandering. We must quickly get to the decision points of this meeting so we can then act on what we decide here."
She smiled again as she let him lead her down, however; for the first time in some minutes'. Too often in her experience, spoken language came off the worse against body-language in terms of communication priority. Here, though her misgivings weren't totally gone, they had been adequately quieted. Although not herself a Marshite, and of no inclination yet to become one formally, Christine had through Janice gained sufficient basic understanding of what Cardinal-Superior Serenasita was saying to understand; both the mistake he mentioned and why it was such.
Her own life, as she recalled for an instant, had made that understanding easier. Not always the ways she'd imagined it would, either; 'twas one thing to join a then communist-led revolutionary coalition almost a world away from her birthplace in Prestonia to successfully overthrow the kleptocrat Governor Wudda Tis'ata, on the ruins of whose Governor's Palace from the days the Atrean Empire had first held sway over its Eastern Star Sea island colonies, before he'd unilaterally pinched them as the Empire convulsed to create a private-empire all his own, this Palace of the Revolution had been built as the signal of the then-Eastern Star Popular Front's triumph. It was something else, after the United Socialist States of Wagdog had been successfully established despite subsequent calamities both metaphysical and political, to recognize and correct in one's own self the beginnings of the evil the Cardinal-Superior had spoke of; fortunately for all involved however she and Charles had in time managed it, and so far succeeded in keeping their own pet revolutionary nation-building project to a higher standard than most. More 'paths to salvation' were open now to her own people than then, even if then had also seen many as well and no less; now it was a (not mere) matter of seeing them stay that way and more join the list.
She nodded as all the reply she needed. "I had suspected as much; that you would want, no..." She was still being clumsy! "That
Janice would want, the decision I took." The proceedings would go on, unaltered; mentions made where appropriate but as Cardinal-Superior Serenasita had pointed out, this had begun about more than just the late Janice Krywenscki in the first place; now it was about far more. She bid her leave from the pontiff and approached where she'd previously taken her leave from the proceedings for this small, but important, task.
Reviewing Stands, Palace of the Revolution Complex Parade Grounds...Taking her place at the podium, she saw things were pleasantly still in the early period before the parade started. Maybe she'd even managed to beat Eileen here? No small luck
that, arriving before her own grand-marshal of the proceedings despite delays...
Christine took the podium gracefully from Charles' watch, lightly hugging him as he stepped down. "Good boy; I see the natives and guests kept order, without you needing to loose the dogs on them."
"Well, good company
is as good company does, dear." His thin smile still had some gruffness to it, though wasn't cold. "We're ready for you to kick off the ceremonies, as is your right." He bowed and waved her way to the podium, Christine mounting it and fixing the assembled soldiery well with her initial gaze as her husband sat down where he was allotted to. After a short scan she saw Marshal Millenhaus' staff car waiting at a far corner of the parade-ground square, prepared for its special task. Good; no need for any more delay, not that she suspected even such good guests as these would put up with it. She then closed her eyes and breathed a moment, before addressing all present again.
"I offer my sincerest thanks to all here, this day, for awaiting my return from what necessary delays pertinent to the passing of former Arch-Bishop of the Theocracy of the Holy Marsh, Janice Krywenscki, imposed upon my prior plans for celebrating the official opening of this conference. It was a great indulgence to ask of all of you; the assembled soldiery of the Revolutionary Guard in your inspiring discipline, the gathered dignitaries of our own and other nations' diplomatic corps in their trained patience, and all citizens of ours with a stake in these proceedings in their faith that we may yet do what best good possible in a world steadily under subversion by the forces of evil. Thanks to you, all of you, the memories of Arch-Bishop Krywenscki and all those whom she fought for... whom
we continue to fight for, shall not yet perish from this world; shall not yet expire for want of justice being done.
"In the spirit of that struggle for justice due, by any means necessary and proper, I hereby entrust to one of our special guests the opening of the commemorative parade. In the name of those fallen to the violence of the slaver, throughout all afflicted lands and ages, I ask us all to give the proceedings to our own Chief Marshal Eileen Millenhaus, Secretary of Defense on our nation's Supreme Directory and Chair of the Joint Chiefs-of-Staff, and the Protectorate of Lyras' own Senior-Marshal George Wallins. Let the colors of freedom and resolve fly!" Christine motioned to the staff car where Millenhaus stood, and it began...