The Fallen Tabernacle of David (4)

Becoming an Apostle Candidate demanded, even by the most generous reckoning, that several conditions be met.

First, one had to possess three superhuman specialties, and among them a miracle of a caliber that brooked no rival. Second, one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had to have taken part in Scenario Resolution six times—or else performed a role in its resolution so central that "central" was the kind word for it. In practice, one had to bring off what amounted to a one-man show. Third, one had to hold a faith that would not be shaken.

And yet this third condition was measured by a most peculiar standard.

Speak of a faith that never changes, and the mind invariably summons a believer of formidable piety, someone so exacting in fidelity to doctrine that one begins to wonder whether they are not altogether too severe. A few might even picture those who have crossed into the country of the fanatic. But people who have actually met the Apostles are, more often than not, startled by how little ceremony they keep. Apostles who will only chuckle and let the matter pass, even when their God is insulted to their very faces, surely account for more than half their number. They are not, in short, what the world means when it says devout believer.

No. The truth runs further than that.

Nearly every Apostle is a Christian who has forsaken the faith at least once. In the upper reaches of the Church, the passage they have all walked is commonly called the Curse of Knowledge—or else the Valley of Indifference.

As a rule, a believer's knowledge of the hidden world grows in proportion to their faith. The religious of the surface world never advance beyond believing simply because belief is what is expected of them. Then, by some chance, they step into the hidden world, and there they behold miracles with their own eyes. They discover objective proof of God, past anything that belongs to the subjective. The more they learn of what lies beneath, the deeper their faith drives its roots. They go on encountering the miracles of God, and they feel in their bones a gulf of power so vast that no demon, nor any god of another faith, can so much as draw near. They grow certain that our Lord is the King of Kings, and the God of Gods.

And then, at a certain moment, they understand.

A being born of human faith, and kept alive by feeding upon human faith. Every stage of its coming to be, and of its going on, no different from any petty god or demon. Is the one we call our Lord, in the end, nothing more than an aggregate of the collective unconscious—mere thought, possessed of nothing over the demons but a greater strength?

The moment one sees it, faith is driven into the ground. Just as the advance of biology at last dragged humankind down into the order of the animals, even a great god tumbles into a station hardly different from that of an immaterial machine. Faith climbs without end, in step with one's knowledge of the hidden world, and then, once a certain threshold is passed, it plummets. Because that curve traces the very shape of the uncanny valley, they call it the Valley of Indifference. The Apostles, and no small number of Gravekeepers with them, arrive there in the end.

"But after the uncanny valley, the mountain of supreme delight is bound to come along."

"Supreme delight... pardon?"

At Seoyeon's words, Hitomi's face went blank. Her eyes asked, quite plainly, what on earth that was supposed to mean.

"...No. What I mean is that if one can overcome even this Valley of Indifference, it is taken as proof that a worldview has formed which will not waver before virtually anything."

It had been, in its way, a joke she was rather proud of. A joke that cannot be grasped on the spot is a joke that has failed, and Han Seoyeon's gaze dulled, just a little.

"To think that Margarita would make a face like that..."

"Ninomae Hitomi... what kind of enchantress ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is she, exactly..."

"It really is enough to make that Seoyeon step forward and say she wants to be married."

The shift was slight enough that anyone who had not seen her often would have struggled to catch it. Even so, it seemed more than enough to leave most of the Apostles in the room aghast. They fell to murmuring among themselves—however did one change that Seoyeon into this—and began, as the parlance had it, to talk Hitomi up past all reason. Fortunately Abraham had not translated that far, and so the sense of it never reached her. Had she understood, her face would have gone scarlet with embarrassment.

"In any case, a faith broken once and then brought back to life is, as you might expect, quite different from what it was before. One cannot help holding a worldview a long way from traditional theology, or from fundamentalism."

It had broken in the first place because those classical values would no longer hold. The confession they came to from that place—and yet, even so, I believe in the Lord—was bound, of course, to stand at a considerable remove from the standing doctrine of the Catholic Church.

"So, well... there is hardly room among the Apostles for anyone who hates homosexuality the way Hitomi fears. They might dislike it in private. It would not, at the least, be for a religious reason."

Which was why the matter of same-sex marriage could be raised at all, even with the Pope himself in the room. Of course, it was the sort of talk that would bring the old values crashing down—those of the surface world most of all—and so nothing said in this council could be suffered to leak beyond it.

"There's another point to it, too. If anyone means to oppose an Apostle marrying their own sex, they'd better not wait to clash later and cause an incident. Settle it here. Have it out now... that's the idea."

Alejandra grinned, and went on.

"An Apostle has decided to do what they want, and it isn't anything that harms other people. The only one who can stop that is another Apostle of equal standing."

A fight against a fellow Apostle was a heavy burden even for an Apostle. If someone meant to object even so, no one would bar them. Resolve of that order could not be barred in the first place. The message was only this: if you are going to do it, do not let the trouble grow later. Step forward now. She explained as much, and then her gaze turned. It came to rest on a muscular hunchback of a man—Cesare Bianchi, Apostle Philip.

"If you ask me, we only need to hear what he thinks."

She had not singled him out for any other reason. At bottom, Cesare Bianchi's leanings ran close to homophobia. He heard her, looked for a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moment at Han Seoyeon and Hitomi, and snorted.

"Drop it. Homosexuals are fucking awful, that's a fact. But so long as they aren't sucking face and pitching a fit in front of me, it's none of my business."

Lesbians, he added, were preferable to gay men, if one insisted on a comparison. He settled his hunched back against the chair as he said it.

"Besides, I'm not idiot ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enough to pick a fight with Bartholomew just because something's unpleasant to look at."

Where Apostle Bartholomew was concerned, a lesson had already come down through three generations of the seat: do not fight Bartholomew. If the warning attached to the two before her had been do not fight, because you cannot possibly win, then Han Seoyeon's case differed, in that it ran simply I don't want to fight. Even so, it came to the same thing. He had no wish to quarrel with one of the three Omnipotents of East Asia.

"Good. Then we may take it that no one is stepping forward with any particular objection?"

Pope Dionysius II said it with a pleased smile. No one answered. That silence was plainly assent, and his expression grew all the more satisfied.

"Now then, Seoyeon. How does the wedding schedule stand? You've settled on a rough date, I trust?"

"...Your Holiness? What do you mean by that?"

What followed was enough to leave even Han Seoyeon, long used to the Apostolic Council, a little wrong-footed. In the drift of this conversation, there was only one way to read why he should ask after the date at all.

"Why that look, Seoyeon? In what world's etiquette does a father fail to attend his daughter's wedding, or a godfather fail to attend his goddaughter's?"

"No—no, wait. Please wait just a moment, Your Holiness?!"

"I'm not proposing to take your hand and walk you down the aisle, of course. Officiating would be quite enough for me."

"Your Holiness?!"

Anyone who was not aghast at that was no Catholic. Flustered, Han Seoyeon looked reflexively to Hitomi beside her.

"His Holiness the Pope... officiating the wedding...?"

Her eyes were trembling as they never had before. Even someone outside the faith would know how heavy the name of Pope sat.

"Well. I figured Nikolai would be like that."

"His Holiness does have a surprisingly bullheaded streak—"

"Course. The wedding of a friend's daughter, and his own goddaughter besides. His Holiness would have to be there."

The irony was that everyone but those two took the news as nothing out of the ordinary.

Before Han Seoyeon, Dionysius II had shown only his mildest face, doing all he could to be a proper godfather. Consider, though, whose company he had kept before he was Pope, and the answer offered itself. The Vampire Slayer, Han Jihan. The man who fell in the wilderness, Giacomo Marchisio. Wei Chen, the foremost oil king of China. With those three he had roamed the world—a quartet that stirred up every manner of disaster, and then put every manner of disaster to rest. And the one among them who had outstripped the other three to win the name of Death Knight was this very man: Nikolai Viktorovich Pushkaryov, Vladimir, who reigned as Pope Dionysius II.

"I won't be hearing objections this time, Seoyeon. Refuse me, and I will come even if I must issue a papal decree to do it."

"No, that is..."

"Or shall I pay an official visit to Japan and simply appear at the venue? I was under the impression you didn't care for quite so much commotion, Seoyeon."

"...As Your Holiness wills."

In the end, Han Seoyeon yielded. Dionysius II's voice carried a sincerity that said he would truly go that far.

"Oh. If even His Holiness is coming, you'll send me an invitation too, won't you?"

"...I rather thought the fringe benefits were more your concern, Alejandra."

"Oh, come on. The chance I might run into my favorite is strictly secondary. Can't you hear how sincere I am about blessing your marriage?"

She had certainly reckoned that a wedding of Hitomi's would bring Bansei Marin, her fellow talent of the second generation. Alejandra had been a devoted fan since Marin's years as an active idol—long retired, and well before any VTuber debut—so it was a little late to be pointing the habit out. Still.

"Apostles alone, and more than a few of them... This wedding is going to be terribly grand."

"I—I can't invite guests of that rank. What am I supposed to do...?"

"Hardly. Hitomi will be bringing Miss Yuri in any case, won't she?"

At this rate, one could almost suspect they had reached the point where the venue manager would be carted off with a hole through the top of his head.

"Anyway, tell me once the date is fixed. A one-day Peace of God would be the thing to proclaim, wouldn't it?"

"Well... I would rather not be interrupted."

Seoyeon nodded at the words that followed.

The Peace of God. Even now, for the sake of the Apostolic Council, it stood proclaimed across the whole of the world. Put plainly, it was a threat.

If several Apostles were to attend—Han Seoyeon, the very center of the wedding, among them—then a Peace of God would have to be issued. There was nothing else for it.

"And, as came up a moment ago, there's a strong chance people from Anathema Production will be at the wedding."

"That is why I asked that we take it up together with the previous item, and talk through both at once."

"Then, returning to the first item on the agenda..."

With that, they set the wedding aside for a little while and began to speak again.

The Apostolic Council had only just taken its first step.