The Monastery

"Truth is a dangerous weapon, one which once wielded cannot be sheathed."

At what point in a man's life does he face his greatest challenge? At birth? At death? A surprise which leaps out at the most inconvenient moment?

These questions are the anchors to the Ekludian faith of Kintaka.

The monks in the outer courtyard contemplate whilst those in the inner experiment. And only the newest member of the order is allowed in the inner sanctum, where the past holds answers and the future holds questions.

A faith begun before Gods were found and at a time when morality was circumspect,the order had a reputation normally bestowed upon whore-houses and thieving guilds.

Once a scholar favoured the monastery with a description comparing it to a Cesspit. That scholar was later found in a ditch without a skin, no witnesses came forth in the inquiry which followed.)

The monastery itself sits atop a hill, the base of which is surrounded by a natural moat, the source of which seems to reside inside the hill itself.

Further than the moat lies a small town filled with tradition and a solidity which matches that of the bricks of the monastery. Visitors to the monastery rarely deign to stay in the town, and it is doubtful that the townspeople would deign for a visitor to reside there.

The gatehouse lies open, unwelcoming in its stance against intruders. Darkness embraces its territory with an iron grip and any light from inside the dwelling shies away from the open countryside.

Monks stride along the pebble path with a sureness gained only through years of experience. At the front of the line comes a figure which pierces the dark. One cannot mistake the leadership qualities of this man, with every well placed footstep he sends some subtle signal to his followers. As the leaders left foot approaches the ground, the solemn procession stops, and at the back of the line, four of the monks place some containers on the ground. The leader's right hand moves in a slow circle and the line joins itself to become a circle, at the centre of which the gilt enveloped containers now lie.

The leader approaches the boxes and places them on top of each other. A faint click is heard by the ring of monks and the circle seems unsure as what to do, a triangle is drawn in the air and the apprentice monks melt away into the darkness leaving their leader alone.

The bottom container is opened and the wind holds its breath. A faint glow seems to emanate to the next container, and the next, until all four are opened.

A lonely hymn reaches the walls of the monastery, silent acknowledgement of the event is registered in the arch beside the gatehouse. Another notch is added to the previous few.

The leader returns to the monastery alone, carrying the now white containers in his arms. His dignified and searching look commits each scratch in the archway to memory . It is now midnight and the silence overwhelms the land. Another confession is over, more sins have been repented.