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Page 2.
Chapter 1. Shan the Heretic
 As I begin my story, I have come to the end, which is where I started—Graniston Domes in the foothills of Mount Olympus. It is where I was raised from childhood, though now I am a man of mature age. I will get to the matter of Shan the Heretic, and how this story begins, in a moment, but first I must frame the tale in its grand, panoramic sweep—both regarding Holy Mars herself, and the greater universe within whose jet black reaches our Sacred Mother broods like a glowing jewel of garnet.
I am defending myself in a trial for my life, and it is not looking good. The Council has convened under the same huge tent where the assassinated Holy Mother not long ago officiated at the divine rites. Now a ring of disturbed faces with frightened, outraged eyes regard me as if I were the poison that killed her. Not far from me sit Duke Balesso and his henchman Voreill—the two who surely had more to do with her murder than all the rest of Mars' folk.
Immediately around us on the windy plateau are the domes and gardens of the Granistons, a Free Domers stronghold. In the distance, receding into ruddy clouds, looms the vastness of Olympus. The horizon on all sides is the same ring of barren, rust-colored hills in whose embrace I grew from boyhood to priesthood, then to exile and Triberhood in the lowlands, and finally to an adventurer in the Temporale who has now returned home in chains.
The Tribers of the Red Sand Seas have a legend that once, long ago, water fell from the sky. The Tribers are people who wander the red deserts below, rather than live in cities. Their lives are hard as they wander among the refuge stations of the valleys and canyons seeking food, water, and air. The Tribes may be a rough lot, but they have legends far more imaginative and brighter than our dark stories. We Domers, independent people of the Domes, who live on the mountain slopes higher up, find Triber legends amusing. I did not know then how the people who live in the royal cities high up on Olympus Mons thought of the rest of us. This is what I have said here so far today:
"I, Brother Farr, speak now for the record. My testimony is meant not only for the Council of Inquisitors, but for any other audience my words may reach—like those I visited in my journeys, who may hear of me again, even if it is simply that I was executed as a heretic.
"You want to accuse me of the murder of the late Popess, our Holy Mother, and you want to accuse me of heresy in that I bring truths that upset your fables and stories. I assure you, I remain a devout priest of Divine Mars long after the cynics and agnostics among you cease to care. What I seek is not to defend faith that needs no defending, but Truth, which needs defending from those who want to make reason a slave to faith. Beyond all this, however, there is a far greater urgency.
"Mars is failing. The deserts are rapidly taking over fertile land. The breathable atmosphere is thinning as forests die and water evaporates. Within a few decades, life will only be possible in the Domes and cities, and in a century or two even those will fail. Our population growth is falling. We have entered a desperate age that offers no hope unless drastic action is taken. That means defying traditions that have gripped State and Temple since the creation age 2,000 years ago, when the gods Nasa and Sol expelled Madam and Evan from the paradise of Erdith and brought the first humans to the red valleys.
"We, Domers, Tribers, or High City Royals alike, take for granted that every few miles sits one of those masses of metal and stone we call the god rocks, at which we can replenish our breathing gear. Did those god rocks spring into being all of their own? Did we evolve alongside them, as some claim? Or were they put there for us when we were placed on Mars by the Godpods, as scriptural literalists insist? The answers I bring you today won't be to anyone's liking, but what I bring you is the truth.
"The important thing is that even the god rocks are failing, and sometimes the traveler without a spare bottle of oxygen is found dead before the next station. Such tragedies are increasingly frequent, and serve as silent warnings about our coming desperation. I know that the literalists among you reject all appeals to reason and feel that blind faith is superior, but you must understand that no amount of faith or wishful thinking can change the truth.
"I was exiled from my Dome, where I had served all my life as a monk of Divine Mars. I have made a journey to other places, and even other times. I have seen things that reveal our true history. Together with the priestesses Trinity and Singularity, I bring pictorial evidence to support my assertions. I will relate these things before the Council that is now conducting my trial for heresy, and will determine whether I shall live or be executed.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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