If you were an observer, high up in the all but cloudless sky above the quaint little town of Agnipur with a total population of about a thousand souls, you wouldn’t be impressed, except perhaps by the unusual rock formation that seemed to encircle it. With the high vantage point it would become clear that the town lay inside a huge caldera of a long dormant volcano.
Due to its remote location – almost fifty miles from the nearest highway – one had to use a horse or an ox-cart to reach Agnipur. Or one’s own two feet, which apparently the lone visitor in town had done as evidenced by his fatigued and dusty demeanor and lack of a horse. The extreme temperature and humidity of the Aiminian Flatland at the end of a long summer hadn’t helped matters.
The visitor was a human male in his early forties, with a few specks of gray in his dark-brown hair, which was uncommon in this part of the world, although not rare enough to do anything more than attract an extra glance or two. He was dressed for a long journey in his light yet tough trousers and dust-colored cotton tunic, although whether the color was dye or actual dust from the journey was difficult to tell.
Prompted by either instinct or providence, the man suddenly straightened, and glanced upward. A small portion of the azure sky shimmered as if a heat source was disturbing the empty air, and then, the perturbation vanished.
In the south-west corner of the sky, dark-gray clouds heralded the end of summer with a deep rumbling call.
At long last, the Monsoon had arrived.
The stranger shot another apprehensive glance at the seemingly empty sky and trudged toward the only inn in Agnipur, the Wondering Wanderer.
Quarter of a bell later, the same time Branson, the innkeeper, was haggling for a better price with the visitor, less than half a mile from the inn, two boys, nearly into adulthood, were sitting in the shade of an immense banyan tree and arguing about one of the deeper questions in life. Both the youths had brown skin, dark hair, and lean build typical of the people of the country of Aiminia.
“The purpose of life is to devote yourself to the service of Allfather,” Hammond declared in a solemn voice that discouraged further questions, something Arjun pretended not to notice.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s what most priests believe in. But is it your purpose? As a potential Healer, you won’t be admitted into the Brotherhood, you know,” Arjun pressed.
His light-brown eyes, eyes that had a keen depth to it, and unusual height – three digits over six feet – hinted at ancestry from the eastern region of the country. However, the color of his hair – black as the darkest night – suggested one of his parents was from the southern or western part of Aiminia.
Hammond gave a morose nod. “I know. I’ll serve the Creator as a Healer in the Order. It’s a worthy calling. A great boon to be born with such ability, Allfather be praised.”
“And a great curse,” Arjun said. Even Shiyelia, their closest friend, was starting to show signs of apprehension when he and Hammond discussed Healing in front of her.
“A balance of sorts, you could argue. To keep us humble.”
Arjun had his doubts whether Aimin the Allfather would have approved of the mistrust with which the general populace regarded the Clerics. After all, he was a Cleric himself, the greatest the world has ever known.
“Why did you ask about my purpose?”
Arjun shrugged. “Most people have a purpose. A reason for their existence.”
The skeptical squint he got in return conveyed far more of Hammond’s thoughts than the two syllables that followed. “Really?”
Despite knowing that trying to elaborate might alienate his friend, Arjun couldn’t help himself. “Bran…his purpose is to teach. He loves doing it, even when people don’t have enough coins to pay him. Justin lives for the joy of crafting wood. From dusk till dawn, he’s at it, with very little to show for all his efforts, other than the title of a mundane master.”
Arjun’s last attempt at trying to discuss this issue with a friend hadn’t gone over well. Shiyelia had simply looked at him as if he’d contracted the Dread Disease from his mother.
“Justin… I swear he fondles the wooden planks,” Hammond smirked. “Almost as if they’re lovers.”
Justin is likely a good woodcrafter because of that love. Arjun didn’t voice the thought aloud.
Instead, ignoring Hammond’s innuendo, he continued. “Most folks have a simpler purpose in life. To put food on the table. Have a roof over their head. They’re not even aware that they have a purpose.”
“What’s your purpose, then?” Hammond asked, a bit too forcefully. “Where do you see yourself five years from now?”
“I don’t know,” Arjun said. And it bothered him a lot that he didn’t. More than it perhaps should. A strange bout of melancholy took hold of his Heart Chakra. Longing for the answer to a question which seemed frivolous to most. Including Hammond.
Arjun could tell. As always.
Hammond gave a smile, a look of triumph in his eyes. “So that’s your purpose. At least for now. To find the purpose.”
Arjun grinned, shrugging off his melancholy. “How did you know what you wanted? You may not even like life as an Acolyte in the Order…or the Brotherhood of Priests, for that matter. The grass never looks as green up close.”
“I suppose I’ve always known.” Picking up a giant banyan leaf from the brownish-green grass beside him, Hammond gazed up at the great tree. Near the top, pale bluish-yellow air essence, something Arjun could barely sense, formed little vortices that almost seemed drawn to the kernel flowing inside the trunk. “Life of an Acolyte has a certain simplicity to it. A sense of peace. Being a small part of something greater,” said Hammond, indicating the tree, a bonfire of vibrant white-gold kernel in their essence senses.
Arjun envied his friend’s unwavering faith. “If only it could be proved…or disproved…” He bit his tongue immediately, fearing the outburst.
Sure enough, Hammond shook his head, cheeks flush with anger. “What…you want to disprove…”
“All I’m saying is that you can’t prove the existence of Allfather just as you can’t disprove it,” Arjun said, trying to placate his devout Aiminist friend, his envy turning to frustration, as it always did.
Hammond perked up. “You can’t disprove Aimin existed, eh?”
“Well, say you meet an atheist and when asked how he knows that Allfather doesn’t exist, he replies he hasn’t seen anything so far to suggest that Aimin exists. After all, good people die every day and evil ones prosper.” Despite his friend’s trademark dubious demeanor, Arjun decided to press on. “But, that doesn’t necessarily mean he won’t find proof of Allfather’s existence tomorrow or next year. As my old philosophy teacher used to say, absence of evidence doesn’t necessarily imply the evidence of absence. And as to the inconsistencies we observe between people’s deeds and fates…who can know the mind of Aimin? Besides, the worthy souls are assured a journey into the next world, the World of Wonders.” This tidbit of the Tenets had always comforted and fascinated him in equal degree.
“Makes sense. I see you’ve thought about this.”
That he did. A lot. After their last conversation on the topic. But Arjun just gave a slight nod.
“But how can you say Aimin the Allfather, Creator of all of Cosmos, didn’t exist? He’s described in the Historica just like the First Emperor. Hell, he even wrote the earliest part of the Historica,” Hammond argued, not for the first time. They’ve had similar arguments in the past. And just like last time, Hammond was uncomfortable, disturbed even, discussing the subject.
Arjun could sense the emotion more keenly than he would’ve liked to. Another curse. One that was his alone to bear.
“So it is claimed. But even the history scholars cannot say definitively it was Aimin himself who wrote the earliest parts, as you very well know yourself,” Arjun reasoned.
“Yes, but how can you not believe in the Creator? How can all this,” Hammond gestured to the sky, trees and buildings, encompassing everything around them, “exist without Him? Every effect has a cause. Every creation, a creator.”
Does it? If so, where does that chain of cause and effect end? Does it end at all? Perhaps the chain forms a circle, where cause and effect merge. Or is it an infinite chain? Could there be one single effect which lacks an associated cause? That sudden thought, oddly, brightened up Arjun’s mood.
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“The Tenets don’t claim that Aimin created everything…only that he created us.” Even Dualism agrees with the Tenets of Aiminism on this point. “Besides, I never said I don’t believe in the existence of the Creator. I just can’t prove it.”
“That’s why it is called faith, you know. One cannot prove everything.”
“Perhaps.” No harm in trying. Or do we believe more in the idea of Allfather than Allfather himself?
“Faith is believing in something greater than yourself,” Hammond said, voice full of that conviction Arjun so envied.
As for the definition of faith, it is believing in something even when there’s absolutely no logical reason to – or more common still, believing in something when there’s every logical reason not to. But Arjun kept that definition to himself, not wanting to upset his friend.
“Suppose, for the sake of argument, Aimin himself comes down from the Repository of Heavens and lands on this very field, right in front of us, and says, ‘Kneel before your Creator,’” Arjun said. “Would you believe him?”
Hammond gaped at him, then flicked a surreptitious glance at the partially overcast sky, his kernel signature turning turbulent. “Maybe… I suppose. Why would he come down here anyway? It’s the middle of nowhere,” he demanded, seemingly disturbed by the prospect of a divine encounter of the first kind. Arjun could hardly blame him. According to the Historica, during the later part of his life, Aimin’s visit to a human abode foreshadowed a time of great change for said human. Or what’s more likely, if the visit had been of a more mundane nature, it hadn’t merited a mention in the illustrious pages.
Arjun refrained from mentioning the obvious. The Tenets explicitly state that in the eyes of Allfather, all humans are equal, regardless of place of birth, residence or social status. So He could just as easily manifest Himself here, to the two of them.
Instead, after a bit of internal deliberation, Arjun decided to broach another subject – one he’d been pondering for some months, ever since he’d read that book in his father’s collection about aditarun history.
“Some say the Creator wasn’t alone when he created humankind. He had help.”
“Hogwash! Only the Dualists and aditarus say otherwise, and we all know aditarus are egotistical bastards.”
“What about Anantika?”
“Glorification of creation, albeit one of the first creations. Believed only by ignorant humans,” Hammond insisted, parroting the Tenets almost to the letter. He waved a dismissive hand. “Even the aditarus themselves don’t believe she’s worth worshiping.”
“I wonder what the stonehorns believe,” Arjun mused. “My Crown Chakra could never retain all the names of their gods.”
“Don’t know and there isn’t any way of knowing,” Hammond paused, “though I bet old Thurma knows. She’s as old as the oldest stonehorns. Maybe she knows one or two.”
“Perhaps one day we could ask them.” The only stonehorn and the few half-stonehorns Arjun had met weren’t overly talkative. With surliness verging on open hostility, they’d proved to be less than ideal conversationalists. He’ll need to find someone with a friendlier disposition. “Supposedly, they have little tolerance for humans – all except Sigilmasters, Artificers, herbalists, and Healers. Always wondered why.”
“Because they have long memories and most of those memories are filled with their conflict with us humans,” a voice croaked from behind the banyan tree, and Thurma, or old Thurma as even the members of the Council of Elders called her, hobbled toward two of her students.
Dressed in a traditional dark-green saree, she had a deeply wrinkled face, most of her teeth had fallen out long ago and her arms were not as steady as they used to be. But her knowledge of herbs and anatomy was unparalleled, while her kernel signature was brighter than two of her students put together.
“So you do know a few stonehorns.” Arjun could barely contain his curiosity.
“Did. Long ago. A story for another time,” she said in her typical clipped voice. “Now, let’s go. You two lazy-heads are late for lessons as it is, and it looks like the Monsoon has finally arrived. The storm’s gonna be a big one.”
Thurma squinted at the south-western sky, then turned, and started limping toward her cottage at the other side of the banyan tree, energetic steps belying her age, which was close to two-fifty by Arjun’s reckoning.
The two friends looked at one another, grinned and followed. Thurma’s lessons were rarely boring.
The small cottage had only one room and a kitchen, with an outhouse and stable behind it. Off to the side was an extensive and well-maintained herbal garden, the pride and joy of Thurma’s existence.
Although the room was big – almost twice the size of Arjun’s own room – it seemed tiny and cluttered. All sorts of herbs, potions, and Alchemical equipment lay scattered about in an apparently haphazard manner, though Thurma would vehemently claim otherwise if you so much as hinted that a bit of organization was required. After knowing her for three years, Arjun had come to realize there was some truth to her claim. Her cottage was a reflection of her mind, her Crown Chakra. Complex eddies of golden kernel swirling in a pattern that none but she understood.
An incredibly detailed anatomical diagram of a human male and female adorned one wall while another yellow parchment displayed sketches of flora and fauna found in different regions of Gaia, the eastern continent, both drawn by Thurma’s own hand ages ago.
Underneath those two, a smaller image showed the twin-layered kernel channels of the body that connected the Chakras, creating the unique essence circulation system known as a kernel signature. There was overlap between this system and two of the humanoid body’s anatomical layers. The energy layer mainly followed the nervous system, whereas the second, deeper, layer, coincided with the blood vessels, though there were some notable exceptions to this rule, especially around the Chakras. Near them, the channels seem to come alive – diverging, multiplying, thickening, and finally, offloading their precious cargo inside the whirlpool called a Chakra.
Unfortunately, as Arjun was yet to cross the First Cumulative Kernel Threshold in all the opened Chakras, or Awaken his fourth one, feeling the channels themselves with his own essence senses remained out of reach, if only just. Breaking through the First Threshold was, of course, years away. But the second criterion was almost within reach. He feared as much as wanted the fourth to fully Awaken, since the next one almost surely would be the Stomach. Right now, it was just sitting there, opened but dormant. A constant reminder, promising both Power and Madness.
Another curse. This one inherited from his mother, through Bloodline Resonance. The Lineal Chakra that it will eventually Awaken was the scourge of all humans.
Arjun shook loose the dreary thoughts and concentrated on the present.
To the left of the wall with the sketches were a bunch of scattered, yellowed, worn out objects that instantly eradicated all worries and put an involuntary smile on his face.
Books, scrolls, and tomes. A ton of them!
Two large floor-to-ceiling bookcases held rare – and even better, outlawed – books on topics ranging from medicine, botany, anatomy to zoology and history. And perhaps most controversial of them all: Religion. With four main religions in the world, all heavily represented in Gaia, the continent was a boiling pot of culture, cuisine, and conflict. Arjun had read most of them, including one day sneaking in to read a book on so-called alternate history forbidden in Aiminia. Being the only Healer in town and a very good Healer at that, meant people tended to ignore Thurma’s insatiable appetite for knowledge.
“So what are we going to study today?” asked Hammond, “You said you’d give us an introductory lecture on the human brain.”
Arjun grinned in anticipation. The Crown was by far the most complex of the seven primary Chakras.
Then, noticing a sketch placed near the rug on the floor, Arjun pounced in joy. “Is that what I think it is?”
The two friends hurried toward it, having recognized the sketch of a human brain and the even more intricate structures that swirled inside the eddies of the Crown.
It was one of the most bizarre pictures Arjun had ever seen. Detailed as most of Thurma’s sketches were, it depicted different regions, magnifying them when necessary, with their names and functions explained at the bottom of the page by Thurma’s characteristic small precise hand.
“Now, sit down, both of you, before you fall over.” Thurma liked to precede her lessons with admonishments, although after studying under her for so long, Arjun had learned to recognize it as mild approbation due to their eagerness. “And put on your Aimin-blessed gloves,” she said, indicating the pair of leather open-palmed and fingerless bracers hanging from their belts. “After seeing life in the outlying villages, I hope you two now appreciate the value of hard-earned silver. A single pair of those costs four silver, couple of month’s wages for a simple miner.”
Arjun quickly put them on, grimacing at how the iridescent blue network of sigils on the rough outer layer failed to smoothen the flow of kernel as much as his other pair, gifted to him by his father, with a stern warning not to put them on in public. Even this one attracted way too much attention.
“Before starting, let me just say one thing. We know next to nothing about the Crown and the brain, and by we, I mean nobody knows much, not just me,” Thurma began after sitting down cross-legged on her favorite rug.
The two Aiminian youths, seated likewise on the floor, looked at one another, bewildered. This was very unlike Thurma, beginning a class on a negative note.
“So if you have questions, there’s a good chance the answer is not known by any human, aditaru, or stonehorn. But you should ask them nonetheless. Lack of knowledge is an excellent motivator for discovery.” Thurma’s eyes locked onto the two pairs of her students’. “Mind you, what I teach here today, you are never to practice outside this room. Even in this room, only if and when and exactly how I tell you. A Healer messing with the brain even with the best of intentions can have deadly consequences.”
The two youths gave identical solemn nods. Neither wanted his patient rendered comatose. Or worse.
“Healing as you two already know is done in three stages. First stage is diagnosis through touch, but in order to diagnose what is wrong, you must first know what a healthy brain feels like. That requires knowledge and experience, which you’ll need to gain first.” Thurma stopped to make sure her students understood, then proceeded in her mellow clipped voice. “After understanding the problem, second stage, which you could argue is still diagnostic, is identifying the cause of the ailment, meaning the disease.” She paused, looked at the two boys and then continued. “Last stage is the actual Healing, called active Healing which also requires direct contact with the patient.”
Her two mesmerized students nodded, almost in unison. They both knew all this, of course, but mentioning that to the cranky old Cleric didn’t seem wise. She also had the habit of dropping nuggets of wisdom in between innocuous statements.
“You must learn to crawl before you can walk. Can’t risk doing any active practical demonstration,” Thurma said. “It’ll be quite a while before you’re ready for that.”
Arjun gave a reluctant nod. One must always begin at the beginning.
“As you both know, Crown of an animal is a lot less complex than that of a human. So, this is going to be an exercise in passive Healing. Let’s start with the simpler brain of Mini.” Grabbing hold of the squirming cat, she placed the regal little troublemaker in front of her hesitant-but-eager students. “Touch her head and tell me what you sense,” she said, indicating Arjun with her head. “Nothing active, remember. Only passively try to perceive the Crown Chakra.” Her voice gained an even sharper edge. “And if she loses her head, so will you,” she said, scowling in her usual encouraging manner.
Mini purred, stretched, yawned and settled down to doze just as Arjun apprehensively placed his gloved hands on her head.