Behind the Veil (An Unofficial Entry- Dreem-WOTW Contest S2 R5)

This is my (unofficial) entry to Dreem's Word of the Week with the prompt: ENTROPY. I missed the deadline cause this story got out of hand, but I hope you enjoy 😇

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Estevan slipped on the cobblestones that were still wet from the brief but intense shower earlier, slid down the hill on his back to the amusement of onlookers, and merged with a stream of pilgrims and worshipers who were making their way down the street in a cacophony of bells, cymbals, trumpets, and drums. He jumped up to his feet and looked back to check for any signs of his pursuers, but his would-be-in-laws were nowhere to be seen.

He let himself be carried in the turbulent flow of the procession, which in spite of the seemingly chaotic scene, was steadily moving towards the wide open doors of the cathedral ahead.

Like a salmon who finally reaches a spawning stream, he stood at the entrance staring at the solemn figure of Jesus on the cross, bleeding from hands, feet, and top of head, where the crown of thorns cut into his skin. Soon, he was pushed onwards by the other attendees, and seeing no other option, he followed the flock into the hallowed halls of the grand cathedral.

Statues of saints adorned the columns that rose up in the air and swooped in golden arches towards the high vaulted ceiling. Murmurs and whispers filled the cavernous space just like it had for centuries. Paradisical scenes of saints and the heavenly host adorned the middle of the ceiling that was illuminated by a faint glow emanating from the ornate stained glass windows.

He shuffled forward and sat in a nearby pew, where there was an empty space at the edge of the bench. Looking back over his shoulder, he surveyed the crowd consisting of clergy, devotees, and curious tourists making their way to their seats.

When mass began, memories flooded back of Sunday mornings visiting the cathedral and being bored out of his mind. It was torture for a lively inquisitive child to sit still while some old man rambled on about stuff the boy didn't understand. More often than not, he ended up fidgeting or playing with whatever trinket he had in his pocket. Perhaps now that he was older, he reasoned, he might be able to bear it.

Soon, a familiar pressure began to build on the top of his head, his eyes wandered to the different architectural elements of the church. His fingers twitched.

The priest on the altar read from the scriptures, chanted, and directed the attendees with his solemn voice. Although Estevan remembered the hymns from childhood, he didn't remember their exact words. He noticed that some attendees carried fancy leather folios that contained the printed hymns.

Beside him, a veiled lady held open her book, which contained the words in ornate letters. Unfortunately, he was too far to make them out even as he slightly cocked his head towards her.

To his surprise, the lady moved her folio closer to him without saying a word.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She nodded.

Through the translucent veil, her face looked radiant with smooth cheeks glistening and delicate jawline moving as she sang the hymns with much pious fervor indeed.

Mass carried on, and the minutes passed as if each was an eternity. They sat down, listened to the sermon, repeated after the priest, knelt and prayed, stood up, sang more hymns, sat down again, and on it went. The ritual felt more intense than he remembered as a child, perhaps because he was now fully focused and paying attention to the liturgical rites. His mind felt numb, and he had fallen into a mental stupor, as if drunk or high. All thoughts and worries of angry in-laws were gone from his mind, replaced by the mesmerizing sensations elicited by the church service.

The veiled lady seemed very much affected as well. Her breath grew shallow, she sighed deeply and trembled with emotion. Pulling back her veil, she dabbed her teary cheeks with a black embroidered handkerchief. When she sang, her voice rang true and clear.

Estevan wasn't so bad at singing himself, having taken singing lessons in primary school. Taking cues from the sound of her voice, he modulated his pitch and tone until they were in synch.

A bell tinkled at intervals towards the end of the sermon. Then, near the middle of the floor, there was movement from the parishioners, some of whom were holding a large rope that reached all the way to the high vaulted ceiling then down again with its end attached to chains on a large censer.

Slowly, the men raised the censer, which was now blowing aromatic clouds of incense. The attendees watched in awe as the instrument rose with its tarnished silver surface, carved with intricate images of biblical stories and ancient Christian traditions. As if roused from slumber, the censer began to swing, gathering energy as it traversed the length of the hall towards its zenith.

A vessel of fire and fragrance filled with mysterious herbs and resins, the censer swung majestically- the aged ropes that held it creaked and moaned- and deposited its perfumed essence on the worshipers below.

Estevan felt dizzy.

Beside him, the veiled lady began to weep. Her shoulders shook, her face was thrust forward as if ready to receive the billowing mystic clouds.

The sweet musky aroma lifted up his senses, made every inch of him come alive with a ecstatically divine and primal energy. Up and down, the censer swung to the sound of a reverberating organ that groaned with discordant notes. Blades of colorful sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the swirling curlicues of incense that flowed through the thick atmosphere.

The attendees began greeting and wishing each other peace. Above them, the frantic swinging of the censer continued, higher and higher, its force of momentum straining the ropes, rattling chains, as if trying to reach some divine point in the celestial canvass.

Estevan became aware of his neighbor, the veiled lady, who was looking at him and offering her hand. He clumsily stuck out his own as if to shake hers, but she took his forearm instead and cradled it. The clouds of incense rose and subsided between them. For a moment, he felt suspended in the aromatic hazy space where only her eyes were real.

“Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ,” the lady said in a sonorous voice, searching his eyes.

He was quiet, then he stammered, "Yes, thank you, likewise."

She lowered her eyes with a slight smile and slowly withdrew her arm.

Soon, the censer began losing its momentum, and the incense clouds lost their structure, diffusing throughout the room until they had completely dissipated.

Mass over, the crowd of attendees began moving towards the exit, and like molecules, dispersing through the doors.

Outside, the air smelled crisp, and the clouds had disappeared, leaving a beautiful sky that somehow seemed more intensely blue than usual.

He started walking up the hill from where he had come. He wasn't afraid of encountering his angry in-laws anymore. The turbulence of emotions in his breast had subsided into an ocean of peace. There were some things that he could not right, he realized, but there were others that were under his control, and he would strive to do better.

He took a last look back at the cathedral but saw no signs of the veiled lady.

Images generated by @litguru using Stable Diffusion software

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