The pillared corridors of the imperial palace echoed with the soft patter of bare feet and the whispering swish of robes brushing over the mosaic tile floors. A procession of priests, bearing lanterns, made its way to the locked door that had only one key. Abros Malan, the keeper of the key, approached the ancient entrance and pulled the hood of his veil over his shaven head. All the others in the procession did the same; no one was to enter a holy place with an uncovered head.
The door was adorned with many images and symbols; the sun and moons, many silver and gold stars, pearly clouds, jade trees and vines, sapphire seas, and all manner of birds and beasts graced the entrance into the sacred stairs. Abros fitted the silver key into the lock and turned it with a click; as old as the door was, it had been well taken care of for centuries by the faithful. The stairs behind the door were many, spiraling deep down beneath the earth, but they descended fearlessly. Leading them, Abros felt the familiar sense of anticipation and wonder that he always did when he entered this sacred place; he knew it was a privilege to even pass through the first door.
When they at last reached the bottom, they were met with sight of the entrance to the ancient Celestial Temple, housed in a tremendous cavern that was once a garden. A clear pool stood between the stairs and the second door, flanked by beautiful but crumbling statues of saints. Standing before the door with arms outstretched stood the Holy Emperor, Haintar the Sage. Abros had unlocked the first door an hour before so that Haintar could enter alone and meditate before the others arrived. After treading across the cracked paving stones lined with withered, brown vines, Abros approached the Holy Emperor, offering the second key with a bow.
“Your Imperial Holiness,” he greeted reverently. “Enter the Celestial Temple and walk in the divine presence of the gods.”
The other priests had scattered among the cave, finding places to sit and pray among the ruins of the once grand courtyard. While the Holy Emperor was to enter the Celestial Temple, they would meditate and sing hymns, being as close to the presence of the gods as they were permitted.
The Holy Emperor lowered his arms and turned toward Abros, his successor. He accepted the key, exchanging it for the diamond crown he wore. Although he was the highest priest in the Holy Empire, even he could not wear a crown before the gods. He instead lifted the hood of his veil and covered his dove-white hair, preparing to enter the innermost sacred place. He took a single candle as well, to light the candles and lamps within.
“Pray for me, good brother Abros,” he said, and the Holy Successor nodded, turning away from the doors. No one but the wearer of the diamond crown was permitted to even look inside the Celestial Temple. Hearing the mechanism of the key behind him, Abros listened for the rumble of the ancient doors twice; once opened, and then again, closed. Once he heard both, he knew it was safe to face the doors again, so he did. The Holy Emperor was now out of sight, once again inside the Celestial Temple, the only place in this realm where the gods deigned to meet mortals.
Kneeling on the ground to wait, Abros held the crown in both hands carefully, staring at it as he often did. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, featuring a variety of cut diamonds, framed by delicate silver filigree, and the light refracted through the many facets onto his dark brown fingers almost as if it were enchanted. He rotated it slowly, touching each of the clear jewels as he silently counted them. He already knew how many there were, of course, as he completed this ritual every time the Holy Emperor placed it in his hands and disappeared behind the second door. One day it would be his to wear, just as it would be his turn to hand the diamond crown to his successor and pass through the door to the Celestial Temple.
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Once he completed a full revolution of the crown in his hands, Abros instead gazed at the door itself, and his thoughts tried to go inside. He had envisioned what the interior looked like many times, sometimes rearranging things as if it were a doll’s house; he would imagine the decorative elements, such as the statues of each of the gods that would appear there, or the height of the ceiling, or other details that he had not yet been able to witness for himself. It was easy to picture a place of beauty, basing it on temples and palaces he had visited before, but the reaches of his mind’s eye could never imagine the gods themselves.
There were many portrayals of the gods of heaven, from murals to illuminated manuscripts, and their features were well known throughout the Holy Empire, as described by Emperors and Empresses that had spoken with them across the ages. Abros was sure that he would be able to recognize any of them should he get the chance to see them for himself, whether they took their more human-like appearances, or the stranger, otherworldly forms. Some lucky faithful occasionally saw the gods in dreams, and recorded their visions as well; Abros had read such accounts in the library of the imperial palace, and yet he still could not imagine them for himself.
It was not only the appearance of the holy gods that he could not envision, but the feeling of their divine presence. All who have written on such things describe wondrous sensations and emotions, but their words could only convey so much. How does one impart the awe of seeing their creator? Surely the description of joy and rapture cannot fully express what it is to come face to face with eternal beings of unimaginable power. Abros knew something of what it is to hear from heaven; as a star reader, he had long studied the art of interpreting the skies and receiving their messages, but it was but a taste of what he most looked forward to. Heaven willing, when he would be crowned Holy Emperor, he would at last be granted access to all the knowledge and wisdom and love of heaven on earth.
The ancient door creaked and groaned again, so Abros tightly closed his eyes, so that he might not accidentally look where he was forbidden to see. Once the soft boom of the door shutting confirmed that he was no longer in danger, he opened his eyes and got to his feet.
“Your Imperial Holiness,” Abros welcomed eagerly. “What did they say?”
“Many things,” the Holy Emperor replied, removing the hood of his veil and donning a worn smile. “But I am tired, good brother. I will speak with you about it tomorrow.”
Holding in a sigh, Abros returned the crown to its rightful owner; the same reply was given every time. No matter what questions he had for the Holy Emperor, he would have to wait until the elderly priest was rested enough to relay the words of heaven. By then, often he could not remember everything clearly, or his words were vague. But Abros could not be sure that he too would not be exhausted from an encounter with the divine, so he held his tongue. Retrieving the gold key from the keyhole and tying it to his sashes once again, he offered his arm to his mentor to guide him across the ancient garden path. He cast one last glance over his shoulder at the door to his dreams before continuing on his way to fulfill his earthly duties.