Engines of Heaven: A Terrible Glare
Posted on Tue Apr 18th, 2023 @ 3:33pm by Amare & Bomoor Thort & Thane
2,440 words; about a 12 minute read
Chapter:
Additional Stories
Location: Cathedral of the Firmament (World Devastator), Shipyward, Ord Yutani
Timeline: After "Beasts"
This post takes place in 1,213 ABY, around four years before Thane and Bomoor encountered the Cult of Axion on Nar Shaddaa, during their earliest years as Jedi Knights.
" The reason you were left on Garn was that you might put in order what was left unfinished and appoint Glarists in every town, as you were directed. A Glarist must be blameless, faithful to their family, a sentient whose kin believe and are not open to the charge of being wild and disobedient. Since a Glarist manages the Goddess’ household, they must be blameless—not overbearing, not quick-tempered, not given to drunkenness, not violent, not pursuing dishonest gain. Rather, they must be hospitable, one who loves what is good, who is self-controlled, upright, holy and disciplined. They must hold firmly to Her trustworthy message as it has been taught, so that they can encourage others by sound doctrine and refute those who would be Renunciates."
Seripture: Centax Revised Edition
— Adinorr 3:5-9“I don’t see why you insist on bringing me to see him every time,” the rough voice of Jon Shurley echoed along black, metal passageway, lit dimly by a smattering of softly glowing lights along its length, “I have great reverence for the man, but he has little time for my work and speaks only of Jedi and converting the unfaithful. Everything else appears as a distraction to him.”
He walked alongside Contispex, who had once again wrenched him away from his work in the bowels of the great spaceship, the Cathedral of the Firmament, to head up to the spire portion of the World Destroyer vessel, where the new seat of the Nea Glarist religion was located under the watchful eye of the one known only as “The Proselyte”.
“These Republic Jedi spies that were found in Marathon: I cannot offer any insight into their danger or worth to our cause,” he continued, something in the wall catching his eye and causing him to slow down, “Better that you and the “The Proselyte”…”
He stopped talking and grabbed a power wrench from his belt and gave a pipe fitting a swift tightening before continuing on, “Better that you and he talk this Jedi business out amongst yourselves and don’t involve me in the business.”
"Faith is the business of all who righteously walk the path of the Divine," the aged pontiff assured his chief builder with warm serenity and a confident smile. "And this is a matter of faith. You, Brother Jon, are a Chosen One among those who look to us for guidance. It is ordained. I merely usher you to where our Goddess wishes you to be."
Jon studied the religious leader for a few more moments from below his heavy iron-grey eyebrows before relenting with a modest shrug and returning his power wrench to his belt and turning his attention once again to the stretch of hallway before them, with the great doors of the ship’s holiest room looming before them.
“If you believe being here is the best use of my time, then I respect that,” Shurley’s voice was still emotionless, but it was clear to his companion that he spoke genuinely as he always did, “I will serve the faith in whatever capacity I can.”
They reached the tall metal double doors, reaching up to form an arch, above which was a circular golden window. The light from the room beyond shone through like the great Glare of the Goddess, although it was a pale imitation of the true Glare. Contispex was first to place a hand on the great doorway and prise it open, revealing an ever-widening slither of that great golden light enveloping the room beyond.
They stepped through and immediately were greeted with the source of illumination: a great “faux stained glass” window high up on the far wall of the chapel. It was, in reality, a large flat light emitter, but broken up into glowing segments growing ever brighter as you looked inwards towards the centre. Owing to the space-faring nature of the Cathedral, this light allowed her symbolic glow to shine, even in the depths of space. It cast a bright, glorious light on all who entered the holy chamber.
Across the large room, past the rows of seats and the tall grand pulpit, knelt a robed figure with long white hair and a white beard that obscured his features as he bowed his head. He was before an alter on the far side of the room, which was in the shade of the great window’s gleaming light.
As they approached the man, Jon kept his own gaze fixed on the room, admiring its design. Like much of the great ship, he had some hand in the restoration and re-design. However, even the parts he had not directly contributed to, he could still appreciate a craftsman taking great care in the fine design of a room such as this. Architecture, perhaps even more so than his own craft, was a fusion of form and function and the design of this room had to reflect a truly modernised religion that did not hide in dusty chapels of ancient design, but could thrive amongst the stars.
Initially, the frail bearded figure made no gesture of acknowledgement, nor made any perceptible movement that would betray he had recognised the entry of Jon or Contispex. Of all of the Faithful, this unnaturally tall, skeletal man was the only one that made no show of deference to their great pontiff. In fact, it so often seemed the other way around, being a source of great confusion for the few beings that were even aware of the ancient being's role within the church, let alone his presence. He was never seen to eat, drink or sleep, and Jon had never seen him outside of the cathedral, in spite of his role in its reconstruction. It was as if he had appeared one day from nowhere, yet he was treated with an eerie acquiescence by all that came across him.
Bony, desiccated hands with paper-thin skin were unmoving as they rested upon the once-white bedraggled shimmersilk robes that covered the length of his emaciated body, with long yellow nails sprouting from his gnarled fingers. The outfit may once have been considered regal and of value, yet the aged Human man had let the robes become torn and tattered through an unknown life of turmoil and a complete lack of regard for his unkempt appearance, giving him the visage of a mad vagrant, whose ramblings and threats would more oft than not cause beings of sane mind to shy away.
Jon was not known to be a superstitious fellow, beyond his natural regard for the Goddess and the Faith, but the so-called Proselyte, despite his stained white robes and long mane of silvery-white and grey hair, appeared to draw all light from the room into himself, a grim shadow stretching out from his warped personage. His shadows seemed longer and more numerous than was natural, and none of the attendants within the cathedral cared to be in his presence for long. It was even said that the few plants that had been potted within the great machine soon wilted and came to die within his presence, yet none doubted the venerable being's role and dedication to the Nea Glarist way.
Finally, he spoke. A deep, dark and baritone voice that rumbled and could almost be felt within one's chest. His voice seemed to be carried on invisible eddies, unnatural and ancient in its timbre. "Cursed be those that do the Goddess' work remissly," the old man declared, not yet moving or rising from his kneeling position. "Cursed are those that hold back their blades from blood."
Finally, the Proselyte began to rise. Despite his advanced age and the appearance he held as a decrepit and unkempt creature, he showed no signs of age as he came to his full domineering height without trouble or complaint. He turned to the two other men, his golden eyes wide and glaring, giving the look of a being that was examining his prey, unstable and hungry.
"Jedi walk Her earth," he stated, accusation lacing his dark tone.
Contispex, as if speaking as a supplicant rather than with his usual confident pastoral tone as a pontiff, said with a solemn bow of his head to the Proselyte, "None are beyond Her immaculate gaze. The apostasy of the Jedi shall not vex the Faith for long."
Crossing his arms but bowing his head in respect, Shurley kept himself slightly to the side as his friend greeted the husk-like man. Talk of Jedi was not really his field of expertise, finding the few Force-imbued individuals he had met to be too out of touch with the galaxy they inhabited. Their supposed gift led them to live a detached life, drifting through not on merit or ability but pulled by some cosmic wind that made them more like agents of nature, than real beings. Any man that picked up a tool and built something with their own two hands was more alive than their kind. But, he was to believe that 'The Proselyte' was different. Jon was trying to give him merit, but it was difficult when the old man's mind so often dwelt on the others of his kind.
"Better to just kill em' or ship em' away, I'd say," the mechanic piped up, "What we are building here for The Goddess dwarfs the abilities of these Republic magicians. We don't need em'."
The ancient man's molten eyes widened at Shurley's comments, and it was as if the shadows around the Proselyte grew darker and longer, with the air surrounding them beginning to vibrate with invisible activity.
"Little tinkerer of machines and baubles, you may find yourself on the periphery of Her Glare, but you fathom not, nor could ever truly comprehend, the enormity of Her majesty, as you lose yourself within the mundane trappings of sharp lines and harsh materials. The physical world may ever remain your prison."
The comments from the aged Human were eloquent, but his tone suggested nothing but insult to Shurley; his dangerous and unnatural eyes passed only fleetingly over the mechanic, seeming as though he was both surprised and annoyed to have even noticed the other man's presence and commentary, as he now looked to Contispex with that same dark, hooded gaze.
"Bring these Jedi unto me, so that I may enlighten them to the truth of Her Terrible Glare," he said to Contispex in a slow, deep and commanding voice, with no deference nor appreciation given to the pontiff's titles or standing. "Her Gift in them has been despoiled by the Renunciates; Her truth has been kept from them, so that they might lead the Faithful to the Enemy and Their Republic." He drew his skeletal hands out, his gnarled fingers spreading in a ghastly gesture. "Proselytes will they all become before me."
"It shall be, through you, as the Goddess decrees," Contispex affirmed, not as the charismatic spiritual leader that Jon knew him to be, but as a supplicant to an almost otherworldly being whose very appearance evoked a chilling presence in stark contrast to all the beauty that was built around him. The pontiff knew he had taken a significant risk in revealing the truth to Jon, that who truly held the strings behind the entire faith, but he felt the engineer, the blue-collar man of the people, was worthy of coming into the inner circle. He trusted Jon implicitly.
Shurley fought the urge to simply walk away. Seeing the man he respected humble himself before this old wizard was troubling but, more importantly, he had a job left half-finished far below this lofty, grandiose tower.
He did what was somewhat unnatural to him and feigned an interest:
“I have faith in your plans, Proselyte, and will do my part to ensure your plans come to fruition. Two fewer Jedi on their side can only benefit our cause and weaken the Republic’s resolve.”
He looked about the room once again before adding, “If they give you any trouble when they arrive, I’m sure I could rig up some ray shields in here. There should be enough power supply.”
"Your words ring hollow and keen for supplication, tinkerer," the Proselyte replied, a thick, silvery eyebrow rising in mild, but perhaps feigned, curiosity. He turned away and angled his head towards the large stained glass window, his face no longer visible to the two other Humans. "Her Gaze protects me - not the machinations of mortal men. But it is the machinations of such men that can vex my own gaze; why were the Jedi not immediately brought to me?"
Shurley suppressed his irritation as best he could, taking most of his resolve not to just walk away from the conversation entirely.
“I’m not tryin’ to ‘vex’ you, Proselyte," the engineer raised his hands up slightly in front of him as though edging out of a conflict, "But I should leave the matters of Jedi hunting to yourself and Contispex.”
He looked towards Contispex, raising a brow and searching for some permission to leave, but found none so reluctantly turned his gaze back towards the withered old man and added, “Unless you have some use for a ‘Tinkerer’ in yer’ grand plans fer’ Jedi conversion?”
Although the Proselyte did not turn from the stained window, there was an almost palpable air of menace extending from his spindly body at Shurley's words, the loosely-hung and tattered robes seeming to wind in the tension of the moment. He raised those horrific gnarled hands upwards in a worshipful stance, the oversized sleeves slipping away to reveal more of his ancient, creviced skin.
It was clear he had nothing else to say to the other two men.
Contispex placed a warm, assuring hand of authority on Shurley's shoulder.
"We have dwelled in this sanctified hall for much too long," he said, guiding the engineer away to the door. "Come, we musn't allow our thoughts to be distracted. Let us pray together on this. I promise you, my boy, you will know what must be done when Her Glare is fixed upon you. You are, after all, one of Her Chosen."
TBC
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