The Ritual

They walked the path silently, as they had for a thousand years. Skin drawn tight across the bones, their appearance resembled that of skeletons.

“One more time, brothers, we shall pay homage to Corlyk, the Master,” said Thylex, head abbot of the order.

“When shall we see the great ones return?” said the youngest.

“Do not speak of such things, it is heresy, to question the plans of the great one,” cried Thylex.

“Question the Great One? I have come here for nine hundred years with nothing but faith. The young one’s question is valid, Master Thylex,” said Oberon.

The leader held his tongue. It was the best way to reply to Oberon, thought Thylex.

With the fire at its peak and offerings given, the three monks bowed low and said the ritual prayers.

“I fear we shall pass into twilight before the great one visits us,” muttered Thylex.

“I will accept your words as true, brother,” said Oberon. “They are all we in the order have to cling to.”

As the fire turned to embers, the three turned and made their way down the mountain.

Perhaps next cycle will bring the return of our lord and Master,” said Thylex

“Perhaps not,” said Oberon with a wry smile.

With the ritual complete, the monks of Octavia return silently to the order with no word of the future.

“Maybe next year we shall finally see the folly of our ways. Then begins the real work of helping those who live among us. Rather than pray to a long-dead prophet who offers hollow words and despair,” muttered the youngest.

“Perhaps you are correct,” said Oberon. Only Time would tell, thought Oberon.

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