In the forests, birds chirped, singing a lullaby for the sleepless owls and for the sleepers beneath the soil. Seated right in the divide between the domain of man and that of nature was a small, lone chapel cloaked in the darkness yet illuminated by moonlight. It was partly claimed by nature and partly not, with grasses crawling up the sides but entering not.
In this building, there were no priests nor congregation, for it was folly. Neither were there seats nor an altar to be seen. Instead, there were shelves spiralling up to the window at the top, and many books stacked neatly on them. Two people were in this uninhabited construct. The first was an old man in a cassock, and the other—a young man absorbed in the things he saw.
Azrael's eyes were glued to the statue towering above him. The features could only be observed as much as the moonlight allowed, hence appearing as a man of indiscernible age who held a quill in one hand and an open book in the other. The open book had words written on its pages, carved into stone with precision that defied time and dust.
It read: In those days, I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh.
"Who is this man?" Azrael asked, being able to see the words that were written.
Skinny Old Jones stood before another section of the library, hands folded behind his back.
"That is Joel," he answered. "Not the Joel of the bible, however.."
"But those words…"Azrael pondered. "They are from the bible. That was part of the prophecy of Joel, the prophet."
"An interesting coincidence, don't you think?"
Skinny Old Jones began to walk about, with slow, confident steps, fists tightened behind his waist. "You're free to think of him as the founder of the Sanctuary. In other words, the very first Christian to have made it here."
"Hmm. So, he's the one who paved the way for many others."
"Indeed, he is," replied the old man. "And he had said some rather interesting things."
Skinny Old Jones glanced at him. "That artefact you collected. A shard salvaged from a demon's carcass. What do you make of it?"
"Well, knowledge of these anomalies is kept from the likes of me. I can assume the Sanctifiers and Cardinals alone know of these things."
"It's a piece of Lucifer's Pipes. And there have been quite a lot of these pieces found lately," Skinny Old Jones said. "This anomalous series of events has been happening for quite a while now, but this information has been hidden by the Cardinals."
Azrael furrowed his brows. "And why is that? Can this cause an uproar of some sort in the Sanctuary?"
"It gets increasingly complicated now, Azrael," said Skinny Old Jones with a stern gaze. "These things can only be hidden for so long. And the Cardinals are aware of that. However, there is a reason they stay silent. And history is to blame."
After saying those words, Cardinal Jones walked past a line of books, away from Azrael's sight and deeper into the dark.
"It is time," he said. "To uncover the secret things."
Azrael heard some sort of whirring, twisting, and turning of wheels and machinery. And then, a wall of darkness slid to a side, revealing a depth which once remained unseen. Cardinal Jones walked into that depth, and he emerged from it with a black box.
Blowing and rubbing off the dust on it, Cardinal Jones returned and stood before Azrael. Of course, the young man's interest had gone into the chest, hoping to pry it open with his very own eyes. What was this box? And why was it hidden? Especially in a place so far from the Academy.
Skinny Old Jones presented the box—which looked like a small treasure chest to Azrael, and he received it in steady hands. The young Crusader held it for a while and watched, unsure of what to do—to follow his wishes or not. Only when the Cardinal nodded did he go ahead with it.
The inside wasn't tainted with the slightest speck of dust, unlike the outside. Padded with some red foam, the internal layer of the box promised its content a great worth to the eyes and heart of the observer.
Seated in the middle of the box were three old-looking brown pamphlets. They were ancient manuscripts, yet the words were imprinted boldly on them, and the ink did not fade as if frozen in time.
"This seems pretty valuable…" Azrael muttered. "Which times do these come from? Or rather, whose pen told these things?"
"It was written by Joel himself," said the Cardinal. "Joel Adams."
Azrael almost dropped the box, flustered by how much more valuable the object was. Seeing this, Cardinal Jones smiled slightly but briefly.
"Joel Adams was a poet and storyteller," he said. "And he had written a few manuscripts before becoming a Christian. However, he supposedly burned them all after his conversion. As such, it is unclear whether those papers were written before or after his conversion."
"...Are these three papers perhaps…related to the Sanctuary?" Azrael asked.
"They are. In an intriguing way,"
Cardinal Jones gestured at the pamphlets. "Why don't you go ahead and read them?"
Azrael nodded.
It read:
The Spider crept up the hill
For his family had gone down to nil
The Spider only wished to survive
But, he stumbled upon lots of food to thrive
'Here,' the spider thought. 'Here, I will be safe
From humans and hunters and those embodiments of hate
I will live in peace forever, for they can't reach me here.
I shall abide atop this hill, not down there in hell'
But, the spider could not be selfish. The others were still being trampled.
The Spider wished to save them, but his mind was in shambles.
He looked at the gold, eyes widened to behold
The clean, running water, and the glittering, endless streams
The tall-standing Spire and the sunlit glorious gleams
The Spider and the spider had thought of different thoughts.
Contrasting thoughts. Like brilliance and null
The Spider said unto the spider "Why do you oppose me?
Why do ye reject your head? And that too, so swiftly?"
"Because you are corrupt," answered the spider like a foe,
"You have seen the gold and are now too heavy to go,
You have adored the streams, and now hesitate with your blows
You cannot remain our head, for you have fallen low
Send us away now, lest we drown in certain woe."
"But, I am the Head," said the Spider in retaliation
"You cannot go without me, for thither lies certain destruction
I am the Head, and you are the body
You cannot leave, or our end shall be bloody"
"The head is infested!" cried out the spider
"The head is infected and stained by outsiders
The ants have gone in, boring skull with tooth
The ants have dug in, turning brain to ruth
You cannot remain our head, for you have fallen low
Send us away now, lest we drown in certain woe."
The Spider rejected
But, the spider insisted
The Spider implored
But the spider deplored
From the head went Limbs, Abdomen, and Thorax
Spinneret spinning vigorously like a war axe
The Spider did wrestle
But the tussle was settled
"We are divided," cried out the spider
"We have no leader," cried it much louder
"We have a new head," said Limbs to the spider
"Can you not see? Then behold much wider
In the land of the living, we all are abiders."
"We live! We live!" The glad spider cheered
"A Head! ahead! Morphed at times unheard."
"We must go down," told Limbs to the spider
"But we do so alone, all eight of my members."
"Why? Why?" The spider asked Limbs.
"Why? Why must you leave us like this?
Can you not see? The last head still is.
He mocks and jeers—most surely at ease
"The Darkness still is," answered Limbs at once.
"The others still suffer, still far from ensconce
"And that's why we go, to restore the lost
We fight for the light, regardless of cost
Till we return
Please take no low turn
The Head be with you
It is he who is called True
"...."
"Do you understand the words you read?" asked the old man.
"I have a theory," Azrael answered. "But, it's full of holes."
Skinny Old Jones flashed a smile at his inquisitiveness and puzzlement. And then, he began to stroll about again, walking next to a mountain of books.
"There have been many theories as to what those words might imply. But, in 9 out of 10 theories, there was a strong inference of the 'Spider' as the Cardinals and the 'spider' as the Sanctuary."
Azrael's eyes widened.
"I see now…So that's why."
"Indeed," the Cardinal nodded. "The 21 Seats obviously frown upon the ideas of this man. I've heard talk of him being possibly possessed."
"Possessed? Is he, though?"
"Hmph! The Cardinals will do anything to save their seats," he mocked. "I've told you many times how hypocritical those garment-adorning people are. Of course, anything that presents them in a negative light will be dimmed upon. It is why you're only just hearing of Joel Adams, even though he should be someone that everyone in the Sanctuary knows of."
Azrael thought to himself for a while. "Why then hasn't it been destroyed? We're talking of the very same 21 Seats that monopolised over half of the lands in the Sanctuary, hence rendering many places into Drylands. I know they wouldn't bat an eye before destroying these manuscripts."
Skinny Old Jones clapped. He clapped because he was proud.
"You've finally grown to see things as they are, Azrael," said the old man.
He walked before Azrael towards the door. It wasn't that whence they came through, but a different door that led to a mountain.
Ahead of the door was a path carved in soil, grass, and wood. It was an old passage, which nature had claimed, with flowers sprouting here and there, as well as mushrooms growing on railings, planks, and boardwalks. This path led to a mountain with green bushy hair. It was a nest of trees, which climbed as far as one could see.
If that was all to it…then it would have just been a picturesque sight.
Azrael's lips twitched, shook, and separated.
"So many…..graves…"
The crosses were countless.
Many of them. Poorly made wooden crafts—some new and straight, and others old, bent and fallen. The scope was a painting of green, with countless brown stars contrasting with life. A forgotten graveyard, with Mother Nature as its keeper.
"Why…so many deaths? Why?"
But Azrael already knew the answer to his question.
"I need not say this," said the Cardinal. "But, yes, this is the Tomb of the Slain. The lives of many, whose blood was shed for the body of Christ. It's the resting place for our brethren, who sealed their testimony in blood. We believe this, even though we do not have all of their bodies. That as their remains enrich the soil, their souls pass in joy."
Azrael lowered his head and said nothing for a while. The Old Cardinal did not interrupt, for he was aware of his turmoil. He was, of course, grieved.
"Why do you show me this?" He asked.
Skinny Old Jones sighed. "It is a grievous thing that I must tell you. For the hour of your calling is nigh!"
"...."
"You are one of the Limbs, Azrael," said the Cardinal. "And you must be one of those that must go to quench the rising darkness."
"Rising?"
"It's an army of darkness, my child. Satan and his armies have ventured forth to recover the shards of Lucifer's Pipes that have scattered about throughout the Earth. Their goal is obvious—it's a preparation for the Times of the Prefiguration—a foreshadow of the End Times."
"Unison in evil," Azrael muttered. "So war is coming to the Sanctuary."
"Enthroned at the vilest heights, is the Spirit of the Antichrist, who you must face before his coming into the world," said Skinny Old Jones. "He promises great danger to humanity, and will strive to turn the already hardened hearts of the many into that of those who are doomed for damnation. You know what this means. An unchanging heart. An unrepentant sin!"
"Do the 21 Seats know of this?"
"This is a revelation from God to I alone," he answered. "Did you think it to be a coincidence that we both are the only two in the Sanctuary with the gift of being God's Mouthpiece?"
"You taught me that anyone can be God's Mouthpiece," Azrael replied in a subtle tone. "We only have flashy blue eyes to go with ours."
Skinny Old Jones laughed. "Indeed. And I meant every word of it."
The two stood silently for a while.
"The Cardinals seek to destroy those manuscripts," said the old man. "But I have counterfeited it, and hidden the true one from them. Keep this, Azrael. It's not just a poem, but a prophecy. Half of this prophecy has already been fulfilled. The divide between Cardinal and Brethren has manifested itself. The 21 Seats only care about acquisition of generational wealth, which is why they hoard so much land at the other side of the Sanctuary, away from the knowledge of many. But, I have told you these things from a young age, so as to sharpen your eyes, steel your mind, and discern with prudence. What you do with the things you know, is up to you."
"A spider has eight limbs," said Azrael. "Does this mean that I travel with seven others?"
"Indeed. But it's in your best interest to assume that I don't know who these people are."
"So you won't tell me who they are…" Azrael bit his lip. "But…isn't it…dangerous?"
"You worry too much for others, Azrael," replied the old man. "What part of the Christian journey isn't dangerous?"
"The destination?"
Skinny Old Jones chuckled. "Even the gateway to that destination is death."