165. [COUNTERPOINT] The Promise of Names

  [PRINCIPLE—Herald of the Proving Rites] believed in the power of names.

  They were particularly fond of the name they themselves had attained as part of their ascension to Devahood. It was an apt representation of who they were—a soul of principle—as well as a permanent guidepost for their ideals and aspirations. For the Path of a Wayfarer did not end simply by reaching its summit. If anything, the hard work had only just begun.

  Presently, Principle meditated alone inside the Lulling Lotus—their personal mooring here in the vast expanse of nullity that was Devalem. Principle had deep appreciation for their Anchored Realm as an open canvas of sorts, free from all manner of distraction and optimized for the inner cultivation they sought on a daily basis. The Lulling Lotus was especially well-suited for private meditation. Perhaps too much so, if Principle were to be perfectly honest. As its name suggested, it had an irresistible way of lulling its occupant to—

  “Herald.” A muffled voice carried from the other side of the manifold petals. “Not the time for a nap just yet. I’m here to escort you to the Whispering Lotus.”

  Principle started, catching themselves just before their chin drooped to their chest. They hastily gathered the hem of their kasaya into one hand, to then phase out of the Lulling Lotus.

  “Amitabha,” Principle greeted, their free hand held to their chest in prayer. They’d been expecting a visit, but the identity of the visitor had nonetheless come as a surprise. Good thing they’d had a chance to collect themselves before coming face to face with: “Duality. It is a rare delight indeed to have you back among us.”

  Duality, Herald of the Harnessed Wrath, struck as imposing a figure as their name suggested. A towering head of bleached mohawk was tempered only by a heavy iron mask. This sat atop a tall, muscular frame that filled out a faded military jumpsuit, complete with combat boots, rolled-up sleeves, and numerous nylon straps of indeterminate function. They’d been showing off the veins on their folded arms while they waited, but they did a double take as Principle joined them.

  “Amitabha to you as well, comrade,” Duality answered, letting a hint of wry humor trickle into a voice distorted by heavy iron. “And might I suggest a mirror as an easy cure for your narcolepsy? Because yours is certainly a sight for sleepy eyes.”

  Principle was not one for frivolous jests, especially those made at their expense. But they took this one in stride. For they knew well the effect their face—or more accurately, the complete lack thereof—had on others. They gave another bow, hand still held to chest, as they followed up on their initial greeting.

  “I pray your recent travels have been gentle on the soul and rich in insight.”

  “Good joke, comrade,” Duality said, rather confounding an utterly serious Principle, “but alas, Suradao is still the unrelenting crucible it’s always been. Indeed made even worse now that a vacancy has opened up here in Devalem. No, both Humility and I are only on a short break, before we must go right back to making sure Mount Meru doesn’t burn down on the Asuras’ account.”

  “Amitabha,” Principle said again, this time meant as commiseration. “I must say, I was shocked and dismayed to learn of Sublimity’s desertion. I pray they will come to their senses soon and return to the fold, lest the Realms fall even further into disorder.”

  “Shocked, were you?” Duality said, brushed by a bolder stroke of wryness. “I wasn’t. That upstart was a disaster waiting to happen. Knew them since their Suradese days, and if I’m shocked by anything, it’s that they were patient enough to have achieved Devahood in the first place. But enough shop talk. I came here to get away from work, not be reminded how much there’s still left to do!”

  As Principle and Duality—Tidereign’s and Suradao’s overseers, respectively—marched on in companionable silence, the former reflected once more on the power and significance of names.

  Duality was certainly an interesting name, one that perhaps even more strongly evoked Tidereign’s nature than Principle’s own. However, that wasn’t to say it had no place in Suradao: the Realm of a unitary vice born of multitudinous virtues. Principle yet hoped to learn much and more from they who’d Harnessed Wrath. They only rued the scarcity of opportunities to do so.

  Sublimity, on the other hand, was a mystery unto itself. At its most surface level, it spoke only to superficial beauty, which the white-and-gold Herald and their armored hound certainly possessed in abundance. Digging just a little deeper, one might derive some sensible symbolism describing the very act of ascending to Devahood.

  But the interpretation that most fascinated Principle was one a layer or two below that still. Sublimation. The refinement of base matter into something impossibly pure—and therefore infinitely more than the sum of its parts. Whatever hardships the young Deva had visited upon themselves, Principle sincerely wished they’d come out on the other end having made good on the promise of their name.

  “I almost forgot,” Duality spoke again as the pair arrived at the Whispering Lotus. “A word to the wise. Don’t go in there expecting your usual gauntlet from the Abiding Ones. As far as I can tell, it’ll be a strictly private conversation. With the One.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “You don’t mean…?”

  “Good luck, comrade!” Duality gave Principle’s back—the bare portion undraped by their kasaya—a hearty clap. “Amitabha and all that. Let’s hope we get a chance to catch up properly whenever things have calmed down somewhat.”

  “Of course. Amit—”

  Duality didn’t wait to hear the rest of Principle’s farewell. Suradao’s overseer turned abruptly and left, loudly pounding the lotus-white floor with their combat boots. For a while, Principle stayed in place and watched their ‘comrade’ go. They then rolled more folds of their kasaya onto their non-praying hand, before phasing into the Lotic space proper.

  The Whispering Lotus was, at least in Principle’s opinion, a grave misnomer. There were no whispers here… for the place had been sealed off from all light and bled dry of all sound. It was a level of nullity that could unnerve even a pious monk. Principle concentrated on stilling all facets of their physical self, lest the ‘interview’ be even more one-sided than it already promised to be.

  No whispers. Nothing stirred within the darkness. Yet a blank canvas came alive all the same.

  [Designation: ODYSSEY—Deity of the Once Been]

  Principle held their breath, once again awestruck by the simple and direct majesty of the name Odyssey. Which belonged, of course, to the oldest and most patient of the Abiding Ones.

  How many hundreds upon thousands upon millions of Wayfarers had passed through Mount Meru over the Kalpas? Yet, as far as Principle knew, only one among them had ever become a synecdoche to stand for the whole. What wide-ranging journeys fed into the wisdom of this ancient soul? And what far-reaching promise did their guidance hold for the future of the Six Realms at large?

  “Every time I speak to you, Herald, I feel as though I’m the one laid bare for examination.”

  Principle might’ve blushed if they had the cheeks for it. They certainly would’ve bowed and uttered another ‘Amitabha’, had their entire being not been buried stiff by a Lotus’s voiceless Whispers.

  “Would that there were a more… dialogic way for us to do this. But while I occupy this seat, there are certain dogmas and procedures I must abide by. You understand.”

  Principle did. They were duly moved by the Abiding One’s generosity of spirit… and equally admiring of their steadfast orthodoxy. They might have even shed tears if they had the ducts for it—and certainly would’ve bowed ever deeper.

  “Well, let us get at the heart of the matter. Even I must admit things in the lower Realms are currently… something of a mess. As you know, Naraka’s former overseer has abandoned their post and acted with conduct grossly unbecoming of a Herald. The Council of the Abiding Ones has therefore declared Sublimity an exile and dangerous renegade who must be brought to heel before they could sow further unrest across the Six Realms. Elegy has been tasked with capturing Sublimity, and in both their and Humility’s absence, Gnosis has graciously offered to pull triple duty. Namely to oversee Pretjord, Manesfera, and Devalem—to the extent, of course, that Devalem needs oversight at all…”

  Principle managed to rein in their reactions… until this last notion. Of course Devalem needs oversight! Loath as I am to question the [Integrity] of my fellow Heralds, I must wonder. Had Elegy perhaps been more vigilant in their work, could some of these mishaps have been avoided?

  “Which leaves you, Herald,” Odyssey continued, having missed (or perhaps chosen to ignore) Principle’s inner monologue, “as the only active-duty Deva left to deal with the anomaly.”

  The Herald in question was once more distracted—back to their dissertations on names and what they meant in the larger picture.

  Personally, Principle found this ‘anomaly’ label rather distasteful: at once vague and lacking entirely in subtlety. Neither could they do much with ‘Serac Edin’: a nonsense pairing of a geographical term with a surname of indeterminate origin. ‘The Upheaver’ on the other hand…

  “Now, after that disaster in Pretjord, my fellows in the Council would push for extreme measures. Mandated extinguishment and things of that nature. Which is why I’ve asked them to sit this one out. For I’m very much curious to know your thoughts on the matter.”

  My thoughts? Principle had no voice with which to speak them, but they gladly spilled them all the same. Anomalous though the circumstances of her transmutation might be, Serac Edin is but one of myriad Wayfarers who dared to blaze new trails for herself and hers. If we as Devas were to uphold the sanctity and equity of Pathsight, we must do so for all Wayfarers and all Paths. Otherwise…

  The Herald’s ‘thoughts’ trailed off, as their wandering mind once more hovered over a name of particular importance. Their own. Principle.

  “Otherwise?” Odyssey pressed.

  Principle’s featureless ‘face’ would’ve twisted into a savage grin, had they the mouth and teeth for it.

  To do otherwise would be to admit that our principles would not stand up to an outsider’s challenge. Are we atop the summit of Mount Meru so afraid of one potential risk factor… that we would stray from, nay, forsake our Paths altogether just to quash it?

  The darkness remained utterly still and silent for some time. Then, the Lotic space filled with an ancient god’s subdued laughter—the whispers of a future unseen yet promised by manifold clashing wills.

  “Very well,” Odyssey declared. “It’d be a falsehood—for me, for you, for anyone—to claim perfect neutrality in this matter. With that said, I’m curious to see how things might unfold under your scrutiny. I’ll leave the rest with you, Herald. May your Rites yet Prove exacting in their demands.”

  Long after the interview had ended, after Principle had vacated the Whispering Lotus, and as they fought against the Lulling effects of their own Lotic space, the Deva mulled over a single question. The promise of a name. The light it shone upon a soul’s innermost self. They asked,

  Who are you, Serac Edin?

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