The Truth of Saint Amathia

“Top of your class in the seminary I see.”

Father Dolion of the Church of Saint Amathia spoke, casting his gaze down upon Brother Samuel. His spectacles sit high atop a strong roman nose making his eyes appear larger than they really were. He wore fine white robes, with a gold embroidered collar and sleeve cuffs. Brother Samuel could make out finely crafted sandals adorning his feet tucked beneath his robe.

“Your superiors speak highly of your pastoral abilities and you have become a pillar of the tiny community of which you come from.”

Father Dolion scanned down the parchment, his face set in stone giving no indication to Brother Samuel of how he was doing in this meeting. Sweat dripped down his brow and he squirmed in discomfort as he felt his back sticking to the old brown robe he had traveled in. Having not had a moment's rest since his arrival to the Church of St Amathia, he was filthy and his cotton robe hung awkwardly in the places that had taken on sweat.

“But most importantly,” Father Dolion continued, leaning in close, the scent of frankincense hanging on his robes. “You are trustworthy and you know how to keep secrets.” He emphasized his words sharply, with great importance.

Brother Samuel had kept much hidden in his time in seminary. He deemed them to be little actions of unimportant people who had been but a ladder rung in his climb through the hierarchy of the Church. He had made it through seminary, the harsh judgement of his superiors and peers. He had conquered the Labours of the Miniscule. He had lowered himself to nothing. A beggar for a time, blinded for a year with a mask of iron. He had survived plague and severe injury. He had struggled day after day for years and finally he had something to show for it. An audience in the Church of Saint Amathia. A chance at a position of leadership within the church he had devoted his mind, body, and soul to.

He would pass this final trial.

“I see only the Truth shown to me by Saint Amathia. There could be no greater privilege than the ability to spread Her Truth and Love to all.” Brother Samual spoke with a practiced ease.

Father Dolion eyed him at that, turning his nose up in response. A grim expression played across his face. “Yes, Truth.” He paused for a moment, lowering the parchment he had been reading from. “You presume to know the Truth?”

Brother Samuel paused, his mouth hung open in reply. Unsure of how to respond to such a seemingly obvious question. How could he not know the Truth? All who hold rank in the church speak the Truth. It is taught from the beginning.

He remembered kneeling in the pews of his old church, praying to Saint Amathia every Holy Day. He spent countless hours, kneeling, knees and back aching, pondering the Truth.

“I- of- of course Father, I know the Truth of Saint Amathia. I know She could never have abandoned us. I know now that hardship, disability, plague, is a part of the Plan. I understand that suffering is the natural order of things because suffering spurs growth.” Brother Samuel finished. His mouth dried with the effort and he reached clumsily for the crystal glass before him. He was rattled but pleased with his answer. He took a sip of water, and awaited Father Dolion’s response.

Father Dolion eyed Brother Samuel curiously, his eyes glancing over the frames of his spectacles. He leaned towards Brother Samuel, his face set in a cold expression. “Yes, but you do not know the Truth. Not fully, that is.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyebrow raised conspiratorially. “Would you wish to know the Truth, Brother Samuel?”

Brother Samuel had always expected there to be something more to the Truth. Something that the upper echelon of the church knew. Their devotion bordered on fanaticism. Their words hung heavy with judgement and absolute assurance. Something that the average minister did not seem to have. Brother Samuel had always been dreaming of that Truth. The understanding behind the words. The full and utter devotion to Saint Amathia.

“More than anything, Father.” Brother Samuel spoke, determined in his decision. He would become a leader of this church. A Hand of Saint Amathia, beckoning others to the Truth.

“If you are sure, then you will have it.” Father Dolion said, “but know, if you learn the Truth, and turn away from it,” he paused, his mouth set in a grim line, “You will forfeit all you have attained here, and there will be no place for you in this church.” He spoke without emotion. “You will not be allowed to serve in any church, in any congregation, for the rest of your life. You will be excommunicated and your word will be as good as Falsehood. If you turn away from it before learning of it, you will not be punished but you will never be able to ascend in the church.” He paused for a moment, resting back in his chair. “Do you still wish to know the Truth?”

“I-Um,” Brother Samuel fumbled with his words. He had not known excommunication would be such a short step away after all he had struggled through to get to this point. He had devoted years to this mission. Countless hours studying, praying, he had taken vows of celibacy and solitude. He had spent years studying the Truth and he could quote the Holy Scriptures front to back. If there was more to the Truth that he did not know, and he had always suspected there was, he would have to learn it. His labours would not be in vain.

“I do, Father Dolion. I wish to know the Truth, all of it.” Brother Samuel said finally.

“Then you will know it, but go forth knowing the finality of this. Not all who learn the Truth choose to continue. But those that do,” he paused, rising from his desk, “prosper in the light of the Truth, giving all they are to it, and so their favor is rewarded.” He strode past Brother Samuel, out the door of the administrative chamber. “Follow, and learn the Truth, Brother Samuel.” He called out behind him as he walked brusquely down a corridor, deeper into the heart of the church.

Brother Samuel followed hurriedly down the hallway. His heart thundering in his ears as he quickly made to keep pace. The anticipation was almost overwhelming. He was on the cusp of greatness at long last.All the years of struggle, finally amounting to something.

He kept pace with Father Dolion. The hallways shifted into darkness as they made their way down, into the belly of the church. Brother Samuel thought that they were far deeper than any mere basement. They were deep within the earth. The temperature rose around them as they passed torches now lit to guide their path.

As they made their way along the corridor, Father Dolion began to speak. “It is believed that the Truth of Saint Amathia is that she has not abandoned us. The suffering of the world is not due to her absence, but a part of the growth of humanity, a part of the greater Plan.” He paused, allowing Brother Samuel a moment of agreement

“Yes of course Father, this is the Truth as I know it.”

“This is of course, not the Truth in its entirety.” Father Dolion paused, stopping Brother Samuel short in his path. He was confused and looked to Father Dolion, only to notice the massive fresco upon the wall behind him.

It depicted great tragedy. Cataclysmic events occurring on a grand scale. Massive storms of fire and lightning, the earth rupturing under the feet of scores of people. It depicted famine on a world wide scale. Millions starving and dying, descending into chaos. It showed plagues of insects and disease, scouring the land. Above it all, a figure of angelic form and demonic disposition. Wings of gold encircled by rings of fire. Horns and halo resting atop the figure's head. With three faces, each depicting a different form of despair. One weeped in immense sadness, one was twisted into a form of deep fear and anguish, the third depicting deep rage.

Brother Samuel could not break his gaze from the magnitude of what he was seeing. This was the apocalypse. Has this happened far in the past? Or, Brother Samuel thought, was this the Plan? Was this the vision that Saint Amathia had had for the world? Or was this the world without Saint Amathia. Brother Samuel furrowed his brow, deep in thought.

“I see you are confused, Brother, so allow me to enlighten you.” Father Dolion finally spoke, breaking Brother Samuel out of the spiral of thoughts happening all at once.

“Brother, the Goddess is real, she has never abandoned us, she has always craved, always needed our worship. And she blesses her most devout followers with nothing short of prestige.”

Brother Samuel furrowed his brow. The image depicted here was so unlike the image of the Weeping Mother that he had always known. She was always depicted as human, if not angelic. He had never seen such a depiction of Her with horns, spouting multiple faces.

Her tears, to Brother Samuel, had always seemed mournful. Even the face depicting the Weeping Mother was different, these tears were of outrage, her expression a mask of fury.

“This is…” Brother Samuel gestured to the whole of the image with his hands splayed wide. “This is… Her? What she used to be? Or what she could be?” He was grasping for something, anything to push away the glaring truth in front of him.

“This is Saint Amathia Brother. Her True form. And Brother I can now finally tell you that the suffering of this world does, irrefutably have meaning.” He gestured with a grand sweep of his arms toward the fresco.

“It is all for Her.” he said grandly. “The suffering of this world has but one purpose and it is to nourish our Goddess. We, the Church of Saint Amathia have been given the power we wield, the notoriety of name, the trust of the people, the power to incite change on a grand scale, and we do Her bidding.”

Father Dolion continued, a feral look in his eye as he spoke.

“We have been the source of plague and famine, of natural disaster and economic growth and collapse. We do this with the power she grants us for the purpose she has designed. And Brother, the power she grants is real. Slickness of tongue, charismatic quality that controls the masses. A hand in the Church is a hand moving the world forward. Shaping it in Her image.”

Brother Samuel recoiled at this. Her image was that of catastrophe. Her power turned the masses to puppets.

The trials he had to overcome to be here. Could they possibly be worth giving up in the face of this? He could be granted Goddess-given power. The wealth of the church was unmatched to any other organization in the world. This gave him pause and the sudden realization hit him: This church was the largest organization in the known world. The scale of its power, the depth of its control, was all encompassing. Overwhelming.

His legs quivered and gave out under him and he dropped to his knees before Father Dolion.

“You understand the Truth now, Brother Samuel.” Father Dolion spoke softly, a hand placed on the Brother’s shoulder. “Now I have one final question,” he paused, kneeling and meeting Brother Samuel's eyes, “ do you wish to meet her?”

Brother Samuel froze, a chill coursing through his body, the hair on his forearms and neck standing on end.

“M-meet her?” Brother Samuel breathed, choking back a sob. “You couldn’t possibly mean..”

“I do Brother, it would cement your place and grant you the power you seek. The notoriety you’ve slaved so long and so hard for.”

Father Dolion stood, guiding the Brother to his feet and leading him further down the corridor, ending in a massive set of doors. The doors were closed and across them were intricate carvings of the three faces of Saint Amathia, weeping, screaming, and raging. Around them were intricately carved rows of knots and curves forming the border.

Brother Samuel stumbled, his legs seeming to drag as if they were made of stone. He realized he had at some point wet himself, the front of his robes sticking to his legs. A sense of deep dread filling the pit of his stomach.

He had passed his trial but he did not like the outcome. All the suffering in the world, for Saint Amathia. If only it were Her abandonment of the world that was the cause of suffering, Her absence!

Brother Samuel fell to his knees, unsure of where to direct his anguish. Who would he be praying to if not the very deity he was repelling with every fiber of his being. It would have been better if she were a lie. If she were just a magnificent metaphor to blame for the planet's suffering.

But She is the Truth. She is the noble, the blind man and the beggar. The wealthy, the sick and infirm. The left hand extended in blessing, and the red right hand clenched tightly around the world.

She is judge, jury, executioner and the one in the gallows.

Brother Samuel could feel her feeding from his anguish behind the door of stone. He could feel her piety as well as her indifference. Her immense, unquenchable thirst for more.

Brother Samuel could take no more. He would not have her blessing if it meant he aided in damning the world. He could not accept Her. And he could not face Her. He knew if he were to face her, to come face to face with the Divine, he would have no choice. He could not go past this doorway, for fear of nothing short of death to his ego. Brother Samuel knew he would no longer be himself in the face of such omnipotence.

“Father I-” he swallowed hard, his throat like sandpaper, “I will not, cannot go further.”

The Father was silent, peering down on Brother Samuel with an air of disgust. His lips pressed tightly in a thin line.

“You will be excommunicated, fully isolated from the church, from Her Grace. You would still do this?”

Brother Samuel stumbled to his feet, his mind set but dread of his choice setting deep within his bones.

“I cannot accept Her, or Her gifts. I will not.”

Father Dolion glared down, judgement heavy in his sneer. The Father had heard enough, dismissing Brother Samuel with a flagrant flick of his wrist. “Then be gone, and you may never set foot in our church again.”

So Brother Samuel left, a deep pit of dread filling his soul.

It, too, became a part of Saint Amathia.