Day of Jubilation

My generation is the sixth generation since the Reckoning. My generation couldn’t remember the Reckoning, we studied it from a Scholar; she couldn’t remember it either, nor could her mother, but it had been important once, so we were taught to remember. We speak its name with learned remorse and loss, even though we cannot comprehend the devastation. Destruction rippled across oceans, continents, cities, and countries and ripped open a wound most never to be healed. As the world lay bleeding, humanity did its part and survived.

The first generation, "Post Reckoning" it was called, would scrape by together, as they learned to navigate a world without social structure. Currency was eliminated – it could neither be made nor held any intrinsic value when survival was the key goal. Goods, services, labor, and skills rose to the forefront. Those previously considered “lower class” or “blue-collar” like farmers, woodworkers, blacksmiths, and hunters would rise to the challenge and succeed. They were able to trudge through the wreckage, with the simple, unarguable fact that they could keep people clothed, sheltered, and fed. In short, they could keep us alive.

Once survivors banded together skills and beliefs led to a segregation of work. This in turn led to new clans, and with it, the division of humankind once more. The heavy mantle of survivor was quickly traded for Priest, Trader, Scholar, Nomad, Muse, and Militia. Traditions would be adopted, prejudices would be remade, and the world would right itself once more. Since the Reckoning, there had been no unity of the clans.

I am Priest, a member of the only clan with the awareness of and ability to worship the true Gods. We are peacekeepers, knowledge seekers, and a refuge for all other clans. Scholars dedicate themselves to furthering knowledge and understanding from their bastion in the North. Envoys are sent to gather facts and information to move the human race into the future. The Nomads are essentially clan-less. They are the misfits, the unaligned. They mar their bodies with thick black lines of ink and roam endlessly. Muses are focused on the arts, however, their contributions to society are small – you can live without music, you cannot live without faith. However, the least of the clans is the Militia. A ravenous, violent amalgamation of peoples. They wallow in depravity, revel in violence, and desecrate the beautiful world we work so hard to build.

They came to our lands two years prior unannounced and sent envoys as an afterthought. We turned our cheek and prayed for them – that the Mother would help them see past the ignorance and repugnance of their ways – that they too may one day find the Light. In most terms they did not directly interfere with us; they did not enter our streets or city. The quiet was often the only form of communication we had. I was told later it was a sign of raiding parties leaving that left our beautiful city in a reprieve of stunning silence. It was on such night that had been sweetly silent, that the Militia had returned, and the cacophony of noise would be unimaginable.

We were gathered in the main hall at the end of Mass; when screams and roars echoed up from the citadel proper and brought our prayer to an abrupt halt. We waited for the High Priest to give us direction – but he continued on through the boisterous noise. Murmurs rose and fell quietly against the marble walls. One of the great doors to our sanctuary creaked open and a hush fell over the crowd. Another priest hurried his way to the High Priest and whispered something quickly in his ear.

"My brothers and sisters," the High Priest began, ending his prayer unceremoniously. "The Militia are in need of our help. If you know the healing arts, I urge you forward." Without waiting to hear an answer he stepped down and walked the long aisle and out the door. We knew we could not argue, not with the High Priest, and any absence would be noticed. We gathered on the steps whispering and waiting for what would happen next.

Suddenly, there was a heavy silence. A crowd began to gather below, only the sound of footsteps and soft crying reached my ears. I felt a knot of anxiety in my chest then as the mass below began to part and a small troop moved towards us slowly. As they approached I could see a body being cradled in the arms of the others, a woman, her clothing an outrage. They cradled her delicately, as though at any moment she would shatter into pieces, and be lost to them. In the rear of the morbid procession was a boy. He supported her neck and head like one might for an infant. As they passed her head lolled to the side and her gaze fell on me. She was a husk, a shell. Black eyes, unseeing and unfocused flitted from side to side. I looked away in pain. I wanted nothing more to do with them or their ghosts.

Months later, the memory of that night was faint, as I prepared for the Day of Jubilation - the ceremony at the end of every Priest and Priestess’ time as a schoolchild. The launching off point and beginning of their lives as adults and contributing members of society. We spent the last three years of our education focusing on the passions we would like to pursue further.

There are four main Pathways of the Priesthood. Missionary, Arts, Histories/Philosophy, and High Priesthood. There is a fifth, Civil Citizenship, but it is not considered one of the main callings. The Pathway of a Priest will guide their journey throughout life. Represented by colored robes, each provides its followers an opportunity to gain status, however, a Pathway is for life. You will spend your days on the earth honing your skills and building the Pathway for the next who embark upon it.

Crimson - Missionaries: Priests risking life and limb beyond the walls of the city to share our gods with those non-believers.

Azure – Arts: Focus in music and literature, (will join the choir and supply the community with condoned frivolity)

Marigold – Histories/Philosophies: Members of the Great Library, Priesthood Scholars dedicated to furthering their education in the histories of and philosophies for the gods.

Alabaster – High Priesthood: Special members by the gods to serve, commune, and embody the message.

Emerald – Civil Citizenship: The least dignified of the Pathways, those called to support the community (landscaping, farming, citadel cleanliness, etc.).

I had been nervously awaiting the class marks on the Day of Jubilation and was proud to see that I had finished second highest. I had spent my time working with the Head Bookkeeper in the Great Library for the past three years and knew the halls inside and out. I shared my great desire to join those men clad in Marigold not only with the other Bookkeepers but also with the Head Priest himself. He would commune with the gods for two days time, and share the gods decisions on the Day of Jubilation.

I took one final look in the mirror, my brown robes, dull and flat. I would be part of the community after this day. The guesswork of the last three years over, I would finally know my true place within the Citadel. I took a comb through my hair one last time and after settling my robes, I walked out of my room and met my mother in the foyer of the small house. She smiled when I emerged and handed me a single, bloom. The fiery copper of the marigold glowed like an ember in my hands. "For good luck", she whispered.

We left together, her hand tucked tightly into my elbow, and began the long walk to the Citadel center. As we crested the hill I could make out the four massive marble statues that watched over the masses. The statues each stood for a Divine Practice: Patience, Understanding, Spirituality, and Virtuousness. These marked the core values of the Pathways. Missionaries – Understanding, Arts – Patience, Histories/Philosophies – Virtuousness, High Priesthood – Spirituality.

I was flanked by Understanding and Patience as we finally broke into the middle of the Citadel. I smiled at my mother, hoping that my face did not show the fear and uncertainty underneath. I was working away diligently at findind surrender, but a sudden grip on my arm broke my concentration. I looked back and saw my mother with tears in her eyes as she held tight.

“Mother,” I started, a bit affronted by her reaction to my Jubilation Ceremony.

“Whatever happens this day, I love you, and am so proud of everything you have done. You deserved everything you wished for.” She whispered this with a rare ferocity, and a tremor of fear rose its ugly head. Why would she say such a thing in such a way? I turned to ask her, but trumpets sounded and the audience began to move away from the students. I lost her in the crowd.

I turned and saw my classmates climbing the marble stairs, and confused I just climbed them as well. I quickly got in line, next to Ragem, as I finished second highest in the class and awaited the ceremony to begin. It started as all ceremonies do, with pomp and circumstance. The High Priest motioned for the end of the music and the ensuing silence was somehow deafening.

“We are gathered here today, on this happy, Jubilation Day, to celebrate the next generation of our community. The direction of the Citadel, while ever onward, will be forever changed, for the better, by this tranformative young group. May your Pathways lead to the Light.” To the left of the High Priest was a table, stacked with black boxes. On the top of the boxes would be our names, carefully drawn out, and when the lid was lifted, we would know our Pathway, and would raise the robe to the crowd. We would be welcomed by our Brothers and Sisters and begin our first true journey in life.

“Ragem.” The High Priest called. One of the Priesthood took the top box and following the High Priest presented it to the Ragem. “Your achievements of the highest in the class have set you apart and your mirth and story-telling have always been a source of fun for us all. May your pathway, lead you to the Light.” I watched as Ragem took a deep, nervous breath. After a moment’s hesitation, he peered inside and I could see the crimson color even in the dying sunlight. Ragem’s face beamed and he raised it above his head slowly, letting the Citadel see his Pathway. The Priesthood helped Ragem drape himself in the burning red fabric and a boisterous applause broke out. Fear and excitement welled up in my stomach, my heart felt as it would falter in my chest. The next box was collected and the High Priest stood in front of me, his face neutral, arms at his sides.

“Garet, you are the second-highest in achievements and have shown your dedication to the Citadel and those people within it. Your care for the common good is raised above any I have met and I would guess it may be higher even than those I’ve yet to come across. May your Pathway lead to the Light.” I smiled and with shaky hands I began a journey I could not turn away from. The last rays of the sun extinguished and the Citadel was thrown into a shadow realm before I could properly see what was inside. The silky material was darker than I expected but surely it was the light. I felt all of my fears had been unbidden, as I had known they would be. With the pride of the Priesthood, I raised my robe into the torchlight.