The Temple

I opened my father’s diary, going straight to the final few pages.
“My dear son,” he wrote to my older brother. “Prinn does not seem interested at all in the Temple. Therefore, I write to you. I understand wholeheartedly your continued concern for the prospects of the plantation, but I must remind you that the Temple still sits on our land.” Here he underlined the word “our.” He continues, writing, “As such, the Temple is our problem. If not for intellectual pursuits, then perhaps you will be persuaded to remove an obstruction on your future property. But first, as it is a structure, a landlord must evict squatters before demolishing their illicit structures on any of his properties. It is only the most sensible, and indeed, the most moral of suggestions. Therefore, in your case, you must enter the structure and expel any inhabitants forthwith. But that means you need to open the doors, do you not? For however can one remove a man from a building without going in there first? And you know that the structure is impervious to fire or explosives, and even earthquakes, floods, and storms do nothing to disturb it.
“Here we have a conundrum, my son. The archaeologist’s dilemma. How can one explain so old a structure being in such immaculate condition? Where did it come from? Who erected it where it stands? And for what purpose? And are the architects still walking the earth, or have they passed into the annals of history, never to return again?
“These questions, my son, are questions I wish to pass onto you, that you may answer it. I approach the end of my life confident that one of my four children will eventually have that same spark of curiosity that I had when I first purchased this land and uncovered the Temple. We did indeed grow wealthy from transforming it into a spectacle of wonder, asking for a modest sum in return for access to see the Temple, to touch it. Now, many hundreds of pilgrims, scientists, curious onlookers, and tourists come every week to marvel at the mystery of the Temple. I hope, though, that one day, we may be able to access its interior, and finally resolve some of our most enduring questions concerning this building.
“I do not sense the same drive in Prinn, or in Quolos, or in Kre, but in you, in you Foros, do I sense the drive. In your eyes do I see the spark. Please, my dear son. Continue my work. I have multiple copies of the manuscript I recorded all my notes and findings in, and I suspect they may aid you somewhat in your pursuit for the truth.
I love you, Foros. You and all your siblings. And I wish you the best in running our plantation, and unveiling the truth behind the Temple on our land.”
Father drew his last breath two years ago, and now, two years on, Foros runs the plantation, handing out wages to peons at the end of each week. And I went to the Academy, I studied archaeology, and I returned home to unveil the mystery. Father was a good man, but he was not a perfect man, and no man can see into the future with certainty. And in Father’s future, it was I who headed the plantation and Foros who became the archaeologist.
I looked down at the Temple from an elevated hill covered in a grand pink vineyard, where the plants reached only up to waist height. I heard footsteps, but chose not to turn and face the source of the noise, continuing to stare at the mysterious structure.
“It’s almost supper,” said my younger sister, Kre.
“Yes,” I said.
There was a pause, but then Kre said, “You’re still fixated on the Temple then?”
“Always,” I said. “I actually had a dream about being inside last night.”
“What happened?”
Thusly, I explained.
“I dreamed that the doors opened slowly, a low, metallic creak droning as the doors drew back. I walked inside, and the floor, the walls, everything was made of marble. Bright lights from great lanterns hanging from the ceiling illuminated the interior. In the center, of this large and expansive room there was a font, filled with the cleanest water. It was so perfect, it reflected my image back to me, like a mirror. I dipped my finger into it, and the ripples were almost imperceptible. I drank a small handful of the water, and felt a tingling sensation. Then, I woke up.”
“It sounds like that might mean something,” said Kre.
“Or it could mean nothing,” I answered. “Eye of the beholder.”
“Have you spoken to an oneiromancer?” she asked.
I looked at her, confused, but she only smiled. Then I chuckled slightly, and she laughed. “For a moment, I thought you were serious there.”
“I know you, Prinn,” Kre said. “And I know that you’d rather leap off a cliff than indulge in any sort of spirituality.”
“I am a man of science, Kre,” I answered. “I have…”
Now, as I started to speak, I looked into the sky, near the horizon, and saw some sort of shapes. These nondescript, dark entities hovering above the horizon, just above the mountains in the far distance. The seemed to fly over the mountain, like great flocks of birds, and they seemed to approach us, for they grew larger and larger. Eventually these so-called flocks revealed their true selves: they were no birds, nor even any animal that I had ever seen. To by absolute bewilderment, they seemed to be ships. Indeed, they were vessel, flying through the air, heavier than the air, with their wings still and immobile, unlike the wings of a bird or insect. The roar of what sounded like those new engines powered by steam water that the Southerners first devised echoed throughout the valley. That thought quickly led me to truly a frightful conclusion.
“The Agnars!”
I rushed back through the vineyards, going into the manor of the plantation, and going into our cellar. I went to our gun rack and took one of the new breechloading rifles and some cartridges. My mind was racing too fast to even think clearly. Then, Kre came down, panting, with some sweat drops falling down the side of her face.
“Prinn, what in Goddess’s name are you doing?” she asked.
I paused, noting for the first time my winded, rapid breaths. I closed my eyes and took a moment to assess the situation. No man can fly. And if he could, would we all not hear about it? And the Agnars are an open people. Indeed, news spreads like a flood – quickly and irresistibly. Thus, there is no possibility that the Agnars could have such technology. Not at the very least that the symbols on the side of the vessel was indeed completely alien to me. They were indeed aliens. But of no country of this Pahd. They were beyond Pahd. But then, where were they from? And how could they achieve such incredible technology? I had no answers, and was burdened only with more questions. I took the rifle with its ammo, but kept it slung over my shoulder as I traveled to the Temple at a brisk pace. Kre was behind me.
I was shaken with great fear and uncertainty when, as we moved behind the cover of a handcart, we saw who our uninvited guests really were. They appeared as soldiers, dressed appropriately for the semi-arid conditions in this valley, but had some sort of flexible suits of armor beneath their clothing. Whatever, then, would the purpose of their outer garments be? In any case, they also had on metal helmets conforming to the shapes of their heads. On that matter, their heads were like a kuud, with long snouts ending at the nostrils, long ears, fur all over, and bushy tails. Certainly this contrasts with the average man, who has but smooth, slightly tanned skin, a thinner, prehensile tail, and a lack of a snout, along with our hair restricted to select parts of the body. They had only two eyes, much to my astonishment.
“Stay here,” I said.
“Not at all!” Kre responded. I looked back at her, but she only glared at me in defiance. I rolled my eyes and looked back at the strangers. I heard a slight commotion. One of the strange soldiers spotted the two of us and crouched down. He appeared to have a somewhat heated discussion with his comrades before continuing his watch. He kept staring at us, his weapon – I assume it was some sort of gun, based on its construction from a distance – pointed towards the ground.
A group of four of them, wearing some sort of strange uniforms colored differently from the soldiers. These individuals had no weapons, and seemed mostly interested in the Temple. As they approached the Temple doors, I stood up, leaving the safety of the rock, with my sister following behind. The soldier looking at us stood up on his two feet as well and shouted something. All the other ones stopped to look at us. The four at the Temple quickly went back to work, setting up some sort of device or apparatus at the right side of the large doors. I looked over the soldier’s shoulder to try and observe more closely.
Eventually they opened the door. I wholeheartedly expected it to swing open as in a double door, but it was in fact like the portcullis of a fortress, and ascended up to open. A shout rang out among them. The soldiers withdrew further and further towards the Temple. I stayed still, and so did my sister, although she was terribly frightened. Then as the door further and further moved up, I saw no grand foyer, no great hall, no marbled floors, although it was indeed illuminated, but not by any flame I could have imagined, and certainly was more luminous than any electric light. At the rear of the building I eyed what appeared to be a sort of plain-looking area with some sort of podium. I pondered if it was some sort of sacrificial altar. Some soldiers stayed behind to guard the entrance – rightly so – while most of the others moved to the altar. Then, one of them manipulated the podium, and they descended into the floor, no doubt thanks to some sort of mechanism to lower them to a subterranean level.
My curiosity for the Temple burned only brighter.
Category:The Weekly