Chapter 12
The bell before dawn rang out beneath the still-dark sky.
I straightened my blanket, then quietly climbed down to the floor.
Still half-asleep, Philip rubbed his eyes and gazed up at me blearily.
"Good morning."
Philip's eyes widened, and he froze for a moment.
"Ah... Good morning, Noah. You're up early."
Philip slowly got to his feet, scratching his head as he smiled sheepishly.
Then he folded his blanket and turned back to me.
"When you get up, you wash your face first. Come with me."
As if to save face, Philip said this and started walking.
As though following his lead, I quietly took his hand.
A little anxiously, as if relying on him.
Philip looked surprised for a moment, but then smiled kindly and squeezed my hand in return.
Still holding hands, I walked alongside Philip into the courtyard.
Several monks were already lined up at the well, drawing water in turn.
When our turn came.
Philip eagerly hauled up the well bucket and filled the pail with water.
"You're still little, Noah. Leave the water-drawing to me."
I smirked inwardly.
He seemed like he'd make a very dependable mentor.
"All right, next is worship."
Philip took my hand.
Only a few candles were lit inside the chapel.
A massive emblem behind the altar caught the faint light, gleaming dully silver.
Philip led me to a corner of the wooden choir stalls, their backs rising high, and seated me there.
My five-year-old legs didn't reach the floor; they dangled in the air.
"Wait here. You can close your eyes if you're scared."
Philip knelt beside me and bowed his head deeply.
All around us, I heard only the rustle of adults' robes as they filed in, and the soft sound of their footsteps.
――Clack.
The priest's staff struck the floor, its sharp sound carrying through the freezing air.
At that signal, lights flared all at once throughout the darkness.
I sensed dozens of monks who had been hidden in the dark rising to their feet all at once.
"O sole Lord who calls forth the light at dawn, we praise You."
The priest's first words rumbled as if they came from deep underground.
I observed my surroundings, marveling at the bizarre efficiency of this ritual and the space in which it took place.
First, there's the hour of rising, before dawn.
They target the moment when sleep deprivation lowers the brain's defenses, then unsettle our survival instincts with cold and hunger.
And then there's this enormous stone chamber, built to amplify sound.
"The Lord's light rises and fills the earth."
The massed voices of dozens of adults struck the stone walls with tremendous force.
The floor, the chairs, and even my small chest began to resonate under the pressure of the sound.
――To think they could create such a low-frequency trance in an age with no concept of acoustical engineering.
The chants battering us alternately from the left and right overloaded the brain's information processing and shut down logical thought.
Philip stepped forward.
He drew a deep breath, then sent out a sharp, high soprano, a pure white thread weaving through the gaps between the adults' deep, ground-hugging bass voices.
"――Praise the Light!"
I looked at Philip singing beside me.
――Philip, are you part of this apparatus, too?
His crystalline high notes were a metaphor for "salvation" against the adults' earthy bass. He threaded a beautiful lie through the hopeless darkness, making people reach for that light of their own accord.
And now, the finishing touch.
Dawn light, perfectly timed, streamed through the eastern windows.
Using the frankincense smoke as a screen, the beams of light hijacked my vision.
Sound, light, scent, hunger, and group psychology.
Terrifying. If you hammer this into a five-year-old's brain, you've created a conditioned reflex called "faith" that will last a lifetime.
Beside me, Philip's lips curled in satisfaction.
He probably thought I'd been struck by the "presence of God."
Unfortunately, my trembling wasn't from being moved.
It was dread at just how polished this era's "brainwashing system that exploits beauty" was.
"...Ah, ah, ah..."
I deliberately let out a sound that wasn't quite a word.
I let tears fall convincingly and stared at the light with vacant eyes.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
――Very well. I'll play the perfect "component."
The ritual ended, and the echoes of the hymn were swallowed by the stone walls.
As the monks filed out without a sound, Johan came over to me.
Then he gazed at me with a compassionate expression, as if sizing up his prey.
――I didn't miss the arrogant delight in his eyes: the pleasure of having offered an innocent soul to God.
I deliberately let my shoulders tremble a little, pretending the light had dazzled me and left my vision unfocused.
In a voice that sounded feverish, I whispered:
"In the sky... in the light, I felt like someone was calling my name. It was so warm..."
After a pause, I deliberately let my gaze wander and pointed to my chest with a trembling fingertip.
"My heart keeps pounding. I'm not... alone anymore, am I?"
――Auditory hallucinations, tachycardia, the first stirrings of a sense of belonging—there couldn't be a more perfect set of early symptoms of faith.
Aware of Johan's gaze, I performed the birth of a "pious beast" surrendering its will.
Even so, tears shed in a five-year-old's body were harder to stop than I expected.