The Sermon

A Gwij microfiction

“With the kiss of existence from our maker, Bilik, we came to populate our world.” Ecclesias Hyune kissed the Corel Stone and raised it toward the windowed wall looking out onto a sliver of the slate-blue sea beyond barely visible through the dense cloudtower. “We succumbe with our love to Gwaijir, the Great Birther of The Idea and our beloved Bilik and his unfortunate twin Kado, without whom nothing could be compared.”

Hyune quietly placed the dense white stone peppered with emerald back into its case kilbit stone casing. He slowly began to turn, as he did every mid-morning for the past 64 years – the mental process of each action long dead in the monotony of routine. His long heavy robe dyed to match the moody sea did not turn along with him. He formed himself into a soft screw. He now faced the companion window wall facing northwest toward the distant northern Border Cliffs barely hiding behind the slowly dissipating Old Fog.

He corkscrewed further and looked out toward the ever-shrinking congregation standing a few steps below following his gaze and words. They are as automatic as me, he thought as he clasped his hands hidden under his oversized sleeves. So few these days. 300 at most 350.

The congregation was mainly made up of employees and residents of the mixed-use Buzan-Curan Tower. Almost every district throughout the Confederation housed a Bilik Gwij worship hall, usually the top floor of a cloud-grazer. All worship halls had to be the same; two windowed walls, one facing toward the sea and one facing the closest portion of the Border Cliffs. The dais had to be raised above the congregation, and only a simple open floor for the congregation to stand. Because of the simple and open plan, worship halls were always bright but sterile.

He continued the service. “We, Bilik’s creations, are ever thankful to you Taqessi for carving out this sacred land and protecting us from the beyond unknown.” He looked at the scattering of worshipers. They don’t even know who Taqessi is. “Face your neighbor and give grace to Bilik for gifting us companionship on this island of plentitude surrounded by a sea of danger and unknown.”

The standing crowd then turned en mass to face their neighbor. I’m in some strange automaton training facility? The crowd responded in dead unison still facing their neighbor. All mirrors looking at themselves looking at each other, “We humbly give thanks for the grace of Bilik, spawn of Gwaij.”

All those vacant eyes, Hyune looked away to avoid becoming contaminated with the same virus. He’s afraid he already had. He has been longing for his childhood home district recently. Thoughts that would never have entered his mind a couple years earlier. It was poor and often violent area, but there was life; real happening life.

Without him prompting them, the automaton crowd took it upon themselves to begin the next cog in the ceremonial routine; reciting the litany for Mosh, Gwaij’s cherished companion and their hall’s patron deity.

---