Divine Esoterics
The stranger tapped my shoulder as I was kneeling in front of the fountains, spraying the holy water over my hands, as prescribed in the Teachings of the Goddess. She looked at me with piercing, augmented eyes, and asked her question.
"Do you truly believe in Fallanism?"
The answer was to be succinct. Of course I believe in Fallanism, I said. Most people don't, to be fair, but the influence is still there, and a believer's duty important as ever. Even if they don't realise it, many engage it in superstition or when time comes for festivals to roll into town.
"Then surely you can define it."
I paused to think for a moment. I was a minor Summoner back then - merely a dancing girl for this particular yanna, this minor shrine, a seller of trinkets and a maker of offerings. But I thought about it. The thing is, Fallanism is tricky to explain, especially to outsiders, to those who have grown never knowing the beauty of a shrine, the peace of an orchard tree. An answer is hard to find, and perhaps deeply personal. I knew not the purpose of her question, so I sought to give as good an answer as I could.
Most people will bicker, but I think everyone will agree that to believe in Fallanism is to behold the Aesimar - spirits who inhabit our natural world, and many argue, our artificial one also. To believe is to accept the reality of the Goddess - the Inheritor of Elvenkin, the Earliest Aesimar, the guardian of creation itself. The beauty, I thought, or perhaps half-said, is in the harmony that is achieved despite millions of different ways and interpretations.
"So how come every yanna does everything differently?"
I failed to see how that was a problem, I think. In Fallanism, in particular, countless doctrines, traditions, and rituals exist. From country to country, region to region, yanna to yanna. That's the point, - legends and folklore and superstition organized into a loose belief system. It started as a nature religion, thousands of years ago, evolving through the ages around the figure of the Inheritor, but never losing sight of the spirits that still inhabit our world.
So I answered confidently.
"Because we have many traditions, to be sure, but all seek to appease or commune with the Goddess and Her myriad of Aesimar, in a way or another."
"Why appease what you cannot tangibly appreciate?"
"Because, even though the forest is gone, and the river is gone, and the Aesimar's dwelling is gone and replaced by this megabuilding, the Aesimar lives on. The Aesimar demands offerings as reparations, or become Erinyaes, and spread bad luck upon the land."
The stranger smiled. I honestly did not understand what compelled her to ask me about my faith - her angle, her take.
"And the Chantry? Do they make you a better Fallanist?"
Now I started feeling annoyed, wholly ripped from my daily meditation, but my role was to provide guidance, and in the Fall, that was in short supply. The Chantry of Heaven's Fall - the biggest of all yanna, and the wealthiest too - offered some structure, and a place of pilgrimage to those seeking to further commune with the Goddess. But most Fallanists - most people - mostly made offerings at their local chantries, looking after family Aesimar or perhaps spirits tasked to watch over specific areas or jobs.
"They fund smaller yanna like this one, so that we can continue to honour our traditions."
"And where do the donations go?"
I shrugged. I figured my yanna's High Summoner took the donations and brought them to the Chantry, and then it was reinvested. I felt a bit stupid, and a bit wary - was I being audited? I stood up, seeking to leave, as I felt very uncomfortable now. Yet the stranger stopped me in my tracks and grabbed hold of my arm. I stared in her eyes. Beautiful purple eyes, with the depth of a waterfall, and a quizzical look.
"Tell me, my child, do you fear death?"
There was a beat. I though it was a threat, at first, I won't lie. But then I felt calm in my soul. This person wanted genuine answers, I thought, and it was literally my job to give them. Her black hair gleamed in the fresh rain. There was something ethereal about her. Her ebony skin gleamed in the rain. Her elven ears pointed upwards, perked in anticipation of my response. Rationally, I wanted to scream and leave, but something compelled me to stay, to trust.
"Well..." I started, hesitantly. "Death is but a process. When I die, I will rejoin the collective unsconscious that keeps our planet's heart beating, and should I be found especially valorous, I might become an Aesimar - a spirit of my own - or coalesce with my family's Guardian Aesimar, strengthen it for my progeny."
I know some people would laugh and call me naive. In this city, paved by steel and asphalt and concrete, sitting in the middle of a dead world, cynicism often passes for wisdom.
"And what if your soul were burdened, heavy? What if you were impure?"
"Goddess forbid" I said. "Far from me to ignore rituals and cleanse my soul. But, if you were to live and die an unclean death, you might be rejected by the collective consciousness. Become an Erinyes, a wraith. Haunt whoever or wherever defiled you." I scanned her again. Something was troubling me. My cyberoptics can pick basic information about everyone I meet, but they insisted that I was alone in the entire yanna. Were my eyes deceiving me, or...
"Are you this yanna's Aesimar?" I asked warily. She did not respond immediately. But then, she smiled warmly.
"You will be found pure. Even in the concrete jungle that now covers my home. So long as you remember the forest, the river, and the little mill that used to spin here, before the Sunder, before the Grace."
Her whole body gleamed with blue-teal energy, and I realised the translucent nature of her skin. I looked at her feet and noticed that she was hovering, gently, above the shrine-grounds.
"Is it my time?" I asked. The figure laughed at my stupor and naivety.
"Not yet, my child. Your world is wrought with death and decay; decay that feasts on death and self-sutains beyond reason. But you, who visits the yanna and looks after my river and my forest, help ward off the decay. When I rise again, My Grace everlasting, you shall Summon me, and I shall steer your people true. What will be was; what was will be; that it be so."
"Wait!" I said. Had the resident Aesimar tested my faith? It was my turn for questions - but answers I would not receive, for the figure before me dissolved into wisps, and I was keenly certain this was no holographic trick. I tried to grasp at her hand, but it had vanished before I could hold onto it. I was left alone in the shrine-grounds, at the foot of the giant skyscraper, where the forest and the river once stood.
Then I knew I would rise through the ranks of the yanna, join the Chantry itself, and become its High-Summoner. But never was I prepared for the decay I found without and within...
