I remember one day back in my youth. It occurred long ago. In fact, you might even say that its my first real memory. I was excited in the fidgety enthusiasm that it seems only the very young can muster. Our family had left our farm early in the morning, long before the sun rose. Father had not told us where we were going or why we were going, only that it was a surprise. That of course, was enough motivation for us younger ones, myself and my two younger sisters. Even my two older brothers, though they attempted to hide it behind a mask of maturity, were excited.
For far to long, at least to me, dying of anticipation it was to long, we arrived at our destination, Kalla, a small little town some distance from our house. This in itself was enough of a treat, it wasnt often we left our small farm, and though I can see now it is a tiny and insignificant village, to my childish mind, Kalla seemed to be the largest and most wondrous thing I had ever seen.
I did not, however, explore its vastness that day, though at the time I wanted to. Father only took me by the hand and said, in his deep, authoritative voice, Come. And so I went, in childlike innocence, trusting in my Father, even though I couldnt think of anything more exciting than to explore the town. But regardless, he led my family to the town square, where a crowd was already starting to gather. I could see nothing of particular excitement happening, no reason for so many people to be gathered in one place, so I started squirming and complaining to my Father that I couldnt see. He only said Hush, patience, though he did lift me on his shoulders so I could see more of the crowd.
This occupied me for some moments, as from my new vantage point, I scanned the crowd, pretending that I was a giant walking amongst them. Then, just as I was getting bored again and preparing to squirm yet again, I saw them, the reason for our coming.
It started with a group of men. Of course then I didnt know enough to count them, but knowing what I know now, I am pretty sure there were two dekas, twenty men, of Whites. Officially they are known as the Order of the White Lion, but everyone just calls them Whites, and for obvious reasons. They strode in, with carrying their large, white shields in front of them, large enough to cover their entire bodies, yet held with a comfortable strength. In the other hand they held a spear, taller than themselves, an almost flimsy weapon, yet, as I have reason to know, terrifyingly effective. Their armor, copper breastplates and helmets, caught the early mornings sunlight, sparklingly, and shining brightly to my delight. Across their shoulders, was thrown a cape, pure white, with not even the dust from the roads dulling their original purity. They marched into the square where they formed two lines, facing the crowd, their backs to each other, with a small space in between them.
My attention next turned to the people behind the whites, of which there were five. Three were humbly dressed, which is probably why I have no childhood memory of them. It has only been from long experiences with them that I can now describe them. They are dressed, as I said, humbly, yet not poorly. It is not that they cant afford better, its that they dont care, their minds weighted down with duties they must perform for the good of the units they are attached to and the civilians that inhabit the surrounding area. It is probably a good thing that they belong to a Military Order, the Order of the Lightbearers to be exact, and thus forced to standardize their dress, or else I wouldnt be surprised if they would go around naked all day. Instead, we are spared that sight by a pale yellow cloak, a simple piece of clothing, with no design or frill to ornament it.
At the time, it was the two on either side of the three Lightbearers, which arrested my attention. And make no mistake, they are well deserving of the attention. Each was armored, similar to the Whites, yet different. Instead of the round, pure white shields that the Whites carried, their shields were almost rectangular, rounded at the top and slightly tapered at the bottom. The shields were pained white, yet in the exact center a yellow sun was skillfully painted. Instead of white cloaks, these men wore a red cloak, the color of the setting sun. On these cloaks was again a picture of the sun, this time done in golden threads. On top of their helmets, bobbing with the motion of their head, was a scarlet plume, which fell gracefully like a waterfall, terminating at the base of their skull.
These five men went into the middle of the clearing that the Whites had made. It was obvious that they were going to do something, but my Father, if he knew, was not telling me, only making hushing noises in response to my questions.
From the left, the crowd stirred again, shifting its attention from the centre of the circle. There, making their way towards the centre of the circle were five men. Four of the men were carrying a bed. On the bed was the fifth man. Though I did not know it at the time, the man was a beggar who lived in the village. He was unable to use his legs, or anything below his waist for that matter, since birth, and thus could not work. As a result, he made his living begging for his livelihood. Now this man was brought to where the strangers stood. As they laid their burden down, the four men who had been carrying the bed backed off, standing at a respectful distance, waiting, like the rest of us, to see what would happen.
One of the Lightbearers bent low, placing his face near the beggars. He said something in a low voice, which none of the crowd was able to hear. He then started touching the man, running his hands gently over the body, his touch light, like a stone skipping on top of water. He then stood up and started conversing with his two fellow Lightbearers in hushed tones. Eventually they split up. One of them went to the head of the bed, placing his hands on the beggars head. Another went to the foot of the bed, touching the feet. The third stood in the middle, his hands slightly upraised with his palms facing up. He was facing east, the newly rising sun bathing his face in a soft glow, the air around him turning a soft yellow from the sunlight.
And yet, even at that young age, I knew that this was not normal, as the light around his face grew, well the best way I know to describe it is thicker, working its way down his body, coiling around his neck, and then arms, like a slithering snake. Eventually it reached his hands, which the Lightbearer placed on the cripple. The crowd held its breath as the coils of light went over the beggar, diffusing itself like fog escaping the sun. The light worked its way up, surrounding the man in a glowing cocoon. And then
it faded. The crowd let out its breath. Nothing, it seemed, had changed. You could see the almost palatable pain of disappointment on the cripples face, his hopes dashed. And yet the strangers did not seem perturbed at all. The one who had been touching him merely got up, dusting himself off and offered his hand to the beggar.
Come on, get up already.
Tentatively the beggar grabbed the outstretched hand, which pulled, the leverage forcing the cripple to his feet. He swayed once, looking like he was about to fall, but then, miraculously, he steadied. He took one step and looked up, his face beaming, as he took the first steps he had ever taken in his life.
The Lightbearer put his hand gently on the now healed mans shoulder and addressed the crowd. This is the power of Sol. Talk to me if you want to hear more.
We were hooked, of course. The entire crowd followed the strangers, begging them to stay, to teach their religion to us. The Church of Sol gained many converts from that village, and I hear many more flocked to it after hearing the story of the healing.
As for my own family, we proudly joined the church. My eldest brother, seeking to put its teachings to practice joined the Whites to protect the people in the north who, we heard, were still plagued by barbarians. It was there he died. My father took it stoically, saying nothing, merely handing my dead brothers military equipment to his next son, my next older brother. He fought with distinction, honoring our family and Sol. He is now a centi, commanding some Whites in the south. As for myself, I too joined the Whites. I, however, received notice of the Solarians. I am now one of those red-cloaked men who travel with the Lightbearers, spreading the Light everywhere I trod.
