Rocalla's Saga: Arrival
7: The Cathedral

7: The Cathedral —

1054 Riika 15

Once we are outside of the library, Father Krohen speaks again, “Good morning, Miss Rastama, how may I be of service?”

“I am hoping to learn more about your church and your culture here. But we can return at a later time if it is more convenient for you.”

“No, Miss Rastama, now is as good a time as any. What do you hope to learn?”

“You may call me Rocalla. And this is my friend, Dierdra Laak.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Laak. You look familiar, but I don’t think we have ever been introduced.”

“Dierdra will be fine. I’m sure we haven’t met. I’ve only lived in the city for a few months. Before then I lived on a farm outside Helkavallan, a couple of days travel to the southeast of here.”

“I see, well, welcome to Mandelbroggen,” he says.

“Perhaps you could give us a tour of your cathedral while we talk,” I suggest.

“It’s not my cathedral. It’s the church’s cathedral, built by the people. But I would be happy to give you a tour.”

Father Krohen leads us back through the priests’ residence, giving a brief description of the rooms through which we pass, before taking us outside once again. Together, we walk through the herbal gardens, this time at a slow enough pace to allow for pleasant conversation.

“I imagine these gardens are beautiful during the summer,” I say.

“Yes, I enjoy working out here during the warm summer months,” Father Krohen says. “Watching the bees and butterflies visit the flowers, inhaling the delightful scents filling the air, it all makes for a very peaceful and reflective experience. You should come and join us here in the gardens next summer.”

“That sounds like a delightful idea,” I say.

Once again we enter the cathedral, this time by the small side door in the southwest corner. Father Krohen leads us through the church, traveling counterclockwise around the circumference of the interior. In the center of the crossing is a spacious platform on which is placed the altar and chairs for the priests to use during the services. Towering columns support the vaulted ceilings. Wide rows of pews fill both sides of the transept and a double row of pews covers much of the nave, through which a wide center aisle leads to the huge double doors at the main entrance in the back.

We spend most of our time talking about the cathedral itself, the stages in which it was built, and the history of the local church. Our voices and footsteps echo in the emptiness, imparting a hollow feeling to the space.

“The city of Mandelbroggen has stood here on the south bank of the Klarrhegga River for over three hundred years. But it was not the first civilization to occupy this spot,” Father Krohen says as he continues his lesson.

“How do you know that?” Dierdra asks.

“Besides being a priest, I am a student of archeology and history. If you examine the roots of the city, you will replace that it is built upon the ruins of previous cultures.”

“I’ve never seen anything around here that looked out of place,” Dierdra says. “Everything pretty much looks the same, except perhaps the town hall next to the market square, which is kind of big and unusual.”

“You haven’t seen the roots because you haven’t looked hard enough.”

“Show us the roots then,” I say.

“I can show you some of the roots. But we’ll have to take a trip down into the cellar to do it.”

“Please lead the way,” I say.

Father Krohen takes us through the ambulatory, past a small chapel and into the church offices that are tucked away behind the altar. From there we enter a side room where he lights a lantern and offers me a torch to carry, before we descend some well-worn stairs to the area below the cathedral.

“Take care,” he says. “The steps are very smooth from years of use.”

I appreciate the warning, as it allows me to take extra time while descending. As I step down, my left hand rests on the rough sandstone walls.

The first area that we enter resembles a root cellar. There are a couple of dozen water jars along one wall. A floor of well-packed dirt is separated from the ceiling by only two-and-a-half meters. The air is dusty, smelling of age and stone.

“Here you can see the foundation of the cathedral. This area was once used for food and water storage, for use in case of siege. But we don’t store grain here any longer, because it attracts rats.”

Father Krohen leads us through one of the two arched openings along the far wall. The openings are like short tunnels, and their floor slopes downward into the next room.

This room is more spacious and a bit taller. It is difficult to get a good feeling for its size, as the lantern does not drive the shadows out of the farthest corners. I light the torch that I am carrying in order to see better.

A short distance to my left is a large pool of water, which by my reckoning must sit just below the altar upstairs. As I walk toward it, Father Krohen begins speaking again.

“That is the pool that we use for conducting baptisms,” he says. “During these services, members of the church come down here in darkness. We start with a single light at one of the altars.” He indicates a pair of altars on opposite sides of the pool, well back in stone alcoves. “Then as the service progresses, we light candles from the flame to illuminate our surroundings.”

“I hope no one falls in the pool and drowns in the meantime,” Dierdra says in a low voice, apparently to herself. The fact that I hear her means that Father Krohen probably does as well.

“The pool is not deep; it only holds a half meter of water.

“Have you been baptized?” Father Krohen asks Dierdra.

“Yes, of course I have,” she answers. “As I am sure nearly every man, woman, and child in North Plessia has been. But I don’t remember it. I know it only through the retold memories of my mother and father.”

There is a pause before Father Krohen speaks again. “And you, Rocalla, is baptism a part of your faith?”

“Yes, and I can clearly remember mine. It was a little over eight years ago, after my fifteenth birthday. I was baptized by our village priestess in the D’nawelliyan River, in the hills above our town. It was early spring, I was completely immersed in the river, and the water was very, very cold.” Recalling the time brings a smile to my lips. “I started my studies to be a priestess two years later.”

No one speaks for a few minutes after that. Dierdra and I walk over and investigate one of the altars, then continue exploring the perimeter of the room behind the alcove surrounding the altar. Father Krohen follows a few paces behind us. In the outer walls are sarcophagi with names carved into the stone.

“This is where we lay the bodies of our departed priests,” Father Krohen says. Some of the tombs appear quite old.

We continue our tour through the narrow aisle. “There are more of the departed down that passage,” he indicates another narrow hall between the outer wall and a thick inside wall, presumably below the columns upstairs. “But that is not what I brought you down here to see. Come, let me show you something more interesting.”

He leads us toward the northeast corner of the cathedral. Ahead of us is another wall, but this one is different. It is rounded, and made of sepia bricks that have become worn with age. The wall rises to a low dome-like structure that just reaches the ceiling above us.

“This is one of the remnants of the Sikorallan civilization, the oldest culture that I know of in Mandelbroggen, or North Plessia for that matter. All of their buildings, even all of their rooms, are circular. Here, I will show you.”

Opposite the entrance where we came in, there is a ramp that descends about a meter, then enters the dome-like structure through a petite archway. Inside, we replace ourselves in a cramped round chamber. Father Krohen leads us across the room through another low passage into a larger circular room, which has three additional passages leading out of it.

“This is really interesting,” I say. “How big is it?”

“I have discovered twenty-three rooms in all, although many of them were partially collapsed or filled in when the cathedral was built.”

“What were they used for?”

“Some were bed chambers, as there are bits of straw mattresses in them. Others were used as storage; some of those hold empty water jars. Some I still haven’t figured out yet, or fully explored.”

“Did you replace anything of value?” Dierdra asks.

“Yes, knowledge of a lost culture,” Father Krohen replies. He leaves it at that, and Dierdra does not press him further.

“I’d like to see more,” I say.

Dierdra leans over and whispers in my ear, “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“I’m fine,” I whisper back, “the floor is even, and the exercise is doing me good. My knee feels much better now.”

Father Krohen leads us through a maze of rooms. The third is partly filled in, and we have to squeeze through a narrow passage to get into the fourth, which Father Krohen informs us is outside the walls of the cathedral above.

“But I’ve never seen anything like this outside,” says Dierdra.

“What is left of it is all buried underground.” He then takes us deeper into the ruined structure. In our eleventh room, we stop. “This is about as far as it goes,” he says. “There are two or three small chambers ahead, but this is the last large, intact room.” We walk around, exploring the area and examining the deep sienna bricks. On my third trip along one part of the wall, I notice that my torch is flickering oddly.

“Dierdra, come here.”

“What is it?”

“Hold my torch, please. I want to check something.”

Handing Dierdra the torch, I put my cheek up close to the wall, brushing against the cool, textured surface. After a minute, I replace a spot where I can feel a slight breeze coming from between the worn bricks. “There is something behind here.”

“What?” Dierdra asks.

“A passage, or an air shaft, or something.”

“How do you know?” Father Krohen asks.

“I can feel air coming in through the bricks.” At this I start to poke and pull on the bricks, until I replace one that is loose. After a minute of prying and persuading it, I am able to remove it from the wall. “Here, Dierdra, let’s have a look.”

She holds the torch up, but all we can see beyond the missing brick is blackness. I decide to start removing some more bricks, hoping that Father Krohen does not mind.

“If you bring this wall toppling down on us, I’m not going to forgive you easily,” Dierdra says.

“Relax, I’ll be careful. I just want to make a big enough hole to see what is on the other side.” I glance over at Father Krohen, who merely nods his approval. After working for about twenty minutes, I have removed enough bricks to allow me to stick my right arm, shoulder, and head into the hole. When I do, I replace a wide passage. But the biggest surprise is on the left, just inside the opening.

“Well, what do you see?” Dierdra asks.

I pull myself back in, knocking loose another two bricks in the process. “Father Krohen, you had better take a look at this.”

On the other side of the opening, the skeletal remains of a man are chained to the left wall. Tattered remnants of his clothes cling to his frame, and a cross on a metal chain still hangs from his neck.

“I can’t believe it,” Father Krohen says, pulling himself out of the hole. “It appears that you have found Bishop Narvaan Kel. Please wait here; I must go fetch the others.” With that he is off, running through the underground ruins with his lantern, before we can even reply. Within seconds, his light is no longer visible.