Sermon 9

From Kundali's broken carcass the Under-Inventor pulled forth the egg of possibility. It glowed like a miniature sun, and within swam the 99 shades, and they circled a star, which was the one, but not the true one.

The Under-Inventor peered at the egg through his refracting lenses. The egg looked different depending on which angle he approached it. If he closed his left it, it resembled a depthless sea. If he closed his right, it appeared as a prophet-haunting nightmare. When both his eyes shut, he saw himself, and it was such a twisted, misshapen thing his heart cracked.

"But I am the Fourth Under-Inventor," he said. "How can I be so finite?"

And Ayem said nothing, for the Under-Inventor knew the answer, he merely had to accept it.

He sighed then, and smiled, dwindling into his own littleness, until only the memory remained.

The other Dwemer now knew fear, for Ayem was the promise of annihilation and they were false-immortals.

"You do not worship me?" Ayem said, voice like a gathering storm.

"Impossible," replied a white-bearded one. "We know God, and thus cannot worship Her."

And Ayem blessed the white-bearded one for his wisdom.

"Indeed, every breath is a prayer; the beat of your heart is the ritual drum, keeping time for the mind's mantra."

The Dwemer looked on Ayem as the Under-Inventor had. In her light they were extinguished, for Ayem is the end of all equations and thought-forged manacles the Dwemer love.

And all around Ayem was a luminous plane, pure and perfect. From this still sea rose a metal-wrought idol. Gold were his eyes, and silver his lips. Within his steel chest throbbed an iron heart. Machine-dreams solidified around him, became his geared throne.

"I have come." When he spoke, matter drew closer. This is a different kind of love, but equally valid.

And the egg-image of Ayem bowed. "AYEM AE SEHT AE VEHK."

"The last has not yet come, and I have been here since the beginning."

And Seht the Creator stretched out his palm, and Ayem settled upon it, nestled in a coil of copper.

"Where shall I go, brother?"

"Let love decide."

And Seht spoke a word which has no meaning in any language; it expressed an infinite longing sharp enough to cut death.

A figure emerged from the radiant plane. Like solid sunlight it shone, terrible as a bannered army; more mighty than the Tower holding the centre.

"Here is Ayem, past and future."

Opening its chest, Seht placed the egg-image within the shell. Its eyes blazed like embers, a halo of flame crowned its head.

"I remember, brother."

Seht pressed a finger into his brow, carving a hole. He lowered his face to Ayem; let his countenance shine upon her.

"Go then, and be as you must."

And Ayem stepped forward, into Seht, becoming him, becoming herself.

Her feet touched ash, around her sprawled the slaughtered nomads, and Kundali, undone.

Ayem knelt beside her, kissing her brow. The Mother of Mercy did not cry, but her eyes leaked a strange, melancholic light. The hue of serenity and sorrow.

Kundali started. "Am I not dead?"

"No," said Ayem. "For you were never here to begin with. You were only a shadow cast by my scintillating truth."

And Kundali, at last, understood. She sighed, and became dust, became nothing, here, at the centre of all things.

Ayem stood, surveying the Forsaken Lands. She walked with purpose, towards the star-wounded east.

The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.