Cathedral Michael Mangels (free ebook reader for pc .TXT) 📖

times before. During the dark days of the Cardassian Occupation, and sometimes afterward during his stint in the Bajoran Militia, he’d sometimes heard battle-scarred veterans and anguished civilians question the beneficence of the Prophets. It was to be expected. Now that he served his people as an instrument of the Prophets’ plan for Bajor, Yevir saw it as his sacred obligation to help all such suffering souls come to understand that the Prophets were the true source of all hope. He owed it to all whose pagh was in tumult, to all who stumbled in darkness.

Even those who were bent on turning a dangerously heretical vedek into Bajor’s next kai.

Mika continued, “A few months ago, my husband and I were made aware of the transmission of the prophecies of Ohalu onto the comnet. We read them and started talking to others who had read them as well.”

Yevir tried to keep his upper lip from curling in distaste, without perfect success. “It’s a shame that Ohalu’s heresies have replaced the true Words of the Prophets in the minds of so many misguided souls.”

“Ohalu’s writings didn’t replace the teachings we all grew up with. They merely supplemented them. They—”

“That isn’t so, child,” Yevir interrupted her. “Ohalu argues that the Prophets are not our spiritual guides, but are instead merely powerful, enigmatic beings whom we mistakenly worship. His so-called ‘prophecies’ undermine the very basis of our society. Without our divine Prophets, what are we? Where did we come from? Where will we go?”

She looked at him pointedly. “Since you and several of the other vedeks have already publicly supported the questioning of the old ways, I’m surprised to find your attitude toward Ohalu so inflexible. You have read his work, haven’t you?”

He replied with a curt nod, then said, “Yes, though it pained me to see the verities of the Prophets twisted so.”

“Then you must know how many of Ohalu’s prophecies have come true,” she said resolutely. “The words he wrote millennia ago have become our reality. It is not some vague future he foresaw, but our lives, our present.”

Mika had placed her finger directly on a raw nerve. Yevir had already sought—to little avail—the guidance of several Orbs on one burning question: Why are so many of Ohalu’s accursed prophecies so accurate?

He knew well that Bajor’s major orthodox religious writings abounded with prophecies, some vague and general, others more specific. But many legitimate prophecies had to be justified, interpreted, clarified, to bring them into line with current events. Why did it seem that none of Ohalu’s prophecies required such clarification? Ohalu’s predictions had so far proven to be uncannily accurate. But if the heretical prophecies were true as a whole, then everything the Bajoran religion was built upon stood revealed as a lie; the Prophets could not, therefore, be Bajor’s protectors, but rather were merely an alien species who studied his people like so many bugs under glass, and occasionally deigned to aid them.

Yevir could not reconcile this. In his heart, he knew the Prophets. The Emissary had touched him with Their power. And Yevir’s mission, his future, his every aspiration and ambition, was based upon his own steadfast, unwavering, unquestioning belief in the Prophets and Their plan.

He gathered his thoughts carefully before answering Mika. “You’ve been taught by Solis. And Dukat. And the Prophets only know how many others. So you must know better than most that prophecies may be interpreted in many ways, especially by those eager to bend those prophecies to their own agendas. Gray can be made to resemble black or white, depending on the elements that surround it. So too can heresies seem to offer solace, especially in times of turmoil.”

Her smile bore a trace of sardonic humor. “Why do you immediately say that the gray is black, instead of white? Have you truly opened your heart and mind to the possibilities Ohalu offers Bajor? Yes, our world is in turmoil. It is going through a rebirth, transitioning from the Occupation to freedom, from war to peace, from an independent world to a member of an interstellar coalition…. Isn’t it possible that the faith of the Bajoran people needs to experience a similar rebirth as well?”

“The Bajoran people need their faith in the invariant will of the Prophets,” Yevir said, allowing some steel into his voice. “Particularly in times such as these.” Not for the first time, he wondered if the Emissary had placed him on the path to becoming kai merely to have him preside over his flock’s disintegration. The thought was a lance that pierced the depths of his soul.

“You may be right,” Mika said. “Placing our faith in all-powerful beings who want to take care of us is tempting indeed. It absolves our people of personal responsibility. Everything we do, or whatever is done to us, is the will of the Prophets. And for those who deny Them, there is nothing but shame and censure.”

“The Truth of the Prophets cannot be denied, child.” Yevir recalled the screams of a mortally wounded resistance fighter, a young woman who’d died in his arms some fifteen years ago. With her last breath she had cursed the Prophets, whom she’d accused of having abandoned her, her family, and Bajor. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the horror of the memory. “The Truth of the Prophets cannot be denied,” he repeated, embracing the words like a lifeline.

But Mika wasn’t going to let him off so easily. “Where were the Prophets during the Occupation?” she said, her tone growing accusatory. “Why have they not aided us in the rebuilding of our world? Why have those who claim to most strongly represent the will of the Prophets been unable to establish a lasting peace with the Cardassians?”

Feeling a frustration he’d not experienced since the Occupation beginning to steep within his soul, Yevir turned his back to her, his hands clenching and unclenching out of her view. He swallowed his distress and mounting rage quickly—Let the Prophets’ love flow through me—and