They all think they know me; that I'm happy in my position.

But I want to be something more. I want to be a saviour.

LoG, 26

Kamil came to stand by Drian's side.

Drian was trying to hide his tremors. Fortunately, it worked pretty well, considering he was unusually tall and bony for his nineteen Big Ones. He felt his cassock to be too broad for his gaunt frame and thought how much he wished to disappear.

To become anyone, anything, except Drian, The Man of Cloth, Junior Abbot of The House of Credo of Bronze Cliff. Father says I should be happy with what I have now. Maybe he is right. Being The Man of Cloth is an honourable profession. Perhaps painting is just a dream that will never come true. Drian put his hand on the forehead to get a better view of The Senior Abbot. Damned Light was still hampering his mind.

Kamil pulled a black handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

"Very well, Drian," he said. "Your participation in The Desiccation Ceremony was impeccable. I expected nothing less from you. Everyone who dares to challenge the existence of The Mind deserves all the water to be extracted from his or her body. I'll be sure to talk to your father, Nalon. You are to be his worthy replacement, there is no doubt about that, oh no. The following Big One, when you are twenty Big Ones old, I will send a letter to The House of Credo in Begi. Maybe it's time for you to reach the next level of study when The Men of Cloth are in question."

Drian let out a sigh of relief. He knew this day was a test for him. It seems I've left a good impression. I don't particularly care about that, but I'm sure my father will be happy. He always wanted me to become The Man of Cloth. I impressed Kamil, and that is by no means a small thing.

"Thank you for your trust, Senior Abbot," Drian recited in response.

Kamil studied him during a few moments. Then, as if someone lifted a veil of suspicion from his face, it brightened and he said, "You're welcome, Drian. You deserve it."

His smile sent shivers down Drian's spine. He felt like an accomplice in the murder. The swarm of guilty conscience mosquitoes stung him all over. 

No one should be allowed to kill anyone. Isn't that what The Mind commands? Yet here we are, slaughtering numerous people. Celebrating it, even.

He heard Kamil's voice as if it were coming from a great distance. "Well, let's go towards The House of Credo, shall we?" The Senior Abbot pointed the finger at the black glass building joined with the rock, just like the destiny of all humans in the settlement was, too.

"Come, let's freshen up inside. There are fresh fruit and cheese from The Market Square, and I got us four bowls of water. Why not come in for a bite? The Third Meal is just around the corner," Kamil winked at him as if revealing a big secret that only the two of them understood.

"In fact, Senior Abbot," Drian said, "I promised my father I would share The Third Meal with him. I do hope you understand." I have to go to the Well, he thought. I need to talk to Liton. Where was his friend the whole Light? Drian's eyebrows rippled with worry.

"Ah. Rather unfortunate," Kamil said, and Drian thought he felt a trace of resentment and frustration in the voice of The Senior Abbot. "If so, then ... Of course, of course, Drian. I'll see you next Light. Glory to The Mind."

"Praise it," Drian said and added, "Gratitude to The Fount."

"Gratitude to it," The Senior Abbot replied monotonously. Kamil rushed towards The House of Credo, lifting his cassock and frowning as he walked past a water-stained circle in the sand.

It was the only thing that remained from a wooden cage for The Desiccation Ceremony. The body wasn't there anymore.

Where is the body? Someone from The Weller Community must have taken it to the Wells, Drian mused.

He waited for a while until Kamil turned around the corner. Then he came closer to the cliff. Looking downwards, Drian was collecting his thoughts. He felt as if he were treading a path that was not his to walk on. Other people's choices and legs of a stranger pushed him towards the undesired target. He remembered Kamil's words: "I will write to The House of Credo in Begi" and felt sadness.

His father, Nalon, was so insistent that Drian follows in his footsteps and become part of The Monoliths. 

If only I had a little more time to decide ... Making a decision requires me to take a risk. Choose a definite path. Turn left or turn right. I am not ready for that choice. Not yet. The idea surfaced in Drian's mind, and he smiled. Kamil had just praised him. Well, I'll probably have to do something to get him angry and postpone my trip to Begi. Deep down Drian knew he didn't want to leave Bronze Cliff. At least not yet.

As he was looking away from the horizon, in the gentle half-turn, suddenly, he saw it. The Fount. It twirled with incredible speed through sand, looking like a whirlpool. Despite the distance that separated it from the high rock, Drian could effortlessly discern its glittering outline that briskly moved back and forth in a circular motion. He wondered what The Mind's newly devised invention this time was, and what would come out of The Fount. Last time at the top of the cliff, a small group of hitch horses appeared out of nowhere.

Drian stomped his foot on the ground and touched a hand-painted swirl on his robe. Then he resolutely turned around and headed to the Wells. He dashed through The Market Square, ignoring people and objects as he passed them by. It wasn't like he expected to see a familiar face.

On The Light of The Desiccation Ceremony, numerous stalls with all sorts of delicacies from Lagad and Begi, domestic handmade black fabrics, water from The River Tebesum, stood silent and empty. Even petty traders closed their businesses so they could form the ghostly circle around a wooden cage. And The Dark was close. Another reason that all should swiftly return to their Namases and The Wells.

Drian often wondered what it was like to live in The Wells. Ever since he was a small boy, he stayed in one of the highest Namases, near The House of Credo. He didn't remember whether he had ever gone down to The Wells. Water had always been on his desk, with no need for The Descent.

But, Drian smiled to himself, I must have descended to The Wells at least once when I was a child. Because how else would I have met Liton? At the very thought of this ironic giant, his face brightened. 

Then a dark shape sprang out from behind a rock, and Drian frowned and halted. What is that? He took cover behind another big rock, feeling a little scared. Who would hide in that way? He thought.

"Hey," Drian cried out to the boulder. "Show yourself." 

When he didn't get an answer, Drian stepped forward. 

There was no one to be found. 

Drian laughed out loud at his own cowardice and went on to The Wells. I must have started seeing things; that's the state of mind I am in now.

He heard the tramp of feet and jumped in fear. When he looked back, behind him stood a tiny, patchy-haired girl, black cloth dangling around her waist. A future She-Weller, if she isn't one already, Drian thought. Tears smudged her squinting, half-closed green eyes.

"Hi, honey," Drian whispered, so as not to frighten the girl. Then he knelt beside her. "Are you lost?" he inquired in an urgent voice. The child shook her head briefly. Deciding that the child knew her way home perfectly well, but worried that there was no sign of her mother or father around, Drian offered: "I'm going to The Wells. You could come with me. What do you say?"

He tried to take her hand, but she wriggled out of his grasp and remained at a safe distance. When Drian marched towards her again, the child made a half-turn, as if to escape, but she stood still.

Her eyes raced down to the swirling symbol on his robes. She studied Drian's yellow pupils. He felt as if she was judging him. Then the girl opened her mouth and showed the path of the throat. She is hungry, Drian thought. 

I will feed her. It is all I can do, anyway. We Men of Cloth are praised for our charity. As long as we remain silent. If we were to ask: how come the food and water aren't freely available to everybody? That's where the real problem would begin. 

Drian reached into his leather bag, and after a few moments of fumbling around it, he ferreted out a piece of fresh bread. The girl kept shaking her head like a small angry animal, and Drian finally realised what she wanted.

Water.

"Ah, I see," Drian said, and stroked her head, feeling the bristles of her cropped hair under his palm. "Here you go then, Miss," he said in a half-joking tone of voice and gave her a small sealed wooden flask.

The eager child grabbed the flask and sat on the ground, drinking thirstily. She threw the empty canteen in the dust, and then climbed the nearby rock, barking with satisfaction.

Drian placed the receptacle and the uneaten piece of bread back to the bag. He proceeded to his destination. He felt something tighten around his heart. What just happened? Why would the young She-Weller ask for water? They're supposed to have plenty of water reserves underground.

The more he was moving towards the left side of Bronze Cliff, the rarer the Namas dwellings were, ceding place to yellow and emaciated grey heather. Nothing grew in this part of the village, and it was no surprise.

So much underground water ...

Inside the square of The Wells, there were four rectangular windows, large enough for the whole human figure to pass through them. The entrances to The Bronze Cliff Wells were here since forever, to the left of The Market Square, Namases and The House of Credo.

The homes of The Wellers stretched for miles and miles underground, meandering through the countless labyrinthine subterranean passages. The Wellers were born underground. They worked and died in the tunnels. The water was everything to them. The more water they could find, the more they could exchange for food. They kept out of the village, rising to the surface only from time to time, to trade water for food with the sellers of Lagad and Begi.

It was impossible not to recognise a He-Weller or a She-Weller. They were always slender and muscular, taller and more elongated than the most. The children wore a black cloth on the surface, and grown-ups were clad in dirty black pants. Drian knew they were always naked underground, except for the rag that covered their mouth while they were digging.

The Wellers wore pants only when they visited the surface, thus respecting the norms and customs the society imposed on them. All of their body hair was vigorously and regularly removed ever since they would enter maturity. They did it with a specially sharpened flint stone. It was easier to dig that way. Many had long, hard, yellow fingernails and toenails.

Drian would often imagine them crawling through burrows in their search for the blessed fluid. He wondered if they slept in tunnels or makeshift lairs.

Many Wellers love such a free life. And then there are others, who grow tired of forever seeking water surrounded by darkness. They collect water until they have enough for themselves and their entire family. They buy a Namas and then leave The Wells and their lives of Water Gatherers, Drian mused.

He was sure that Liton had more than enough water to change his way of life and live in a Namas. Still, that was probably something his old friend didn't want to do. Judging by the stories of which at least one part must have been true, Liton would often donate his water to those eager Wellers who wanted to move out.

Drian's thoughts returned to the four holes in front of which he now stood. The Mole Men used these to enter The Wells. Usually, one Weller stood beside the openings, guarding the entrance.

How Drian recalled it, they took turns every four hours. The Weller who would stand guard was the link with the outside world. If a trader, a Man of Cloth or Village Elder came to look for someone or talk, the news would spread quickly starting from the Weller at the top to those at the bottom of The Wells.

This time, next to one of the holes, sat a woman. Her legs were hanging on the edge of The Well, entirely apart, her body twitching back and forth. Drian blushed at the sight of her bare breasts with large pink circles. Making an effort not to think of them, he closed his eyes.

Her left ear twitched. For a moment, she almost seemed like the dog that heard a sudden sound. She abruptly turned her head toward him. Drian could see she wasn't wearing the rag on her mouth. Surprise outlined her pale face and then her almost toothless lips twisted into a contemptuous smile. She didn't speak. She merely pinned her gaze to Drian's, never taking her eyes off of his face, as if she were challenging him somehow.

It was only then when Drian saw a bald male head with long shaggy black beard between the woman's legs. Liton, he thought. The fleshy tongue of his friend, the fastest digger, The King of Tunnels and The Mole Man, moved along the thighs of The She-Weller, pleasing her as she stood guard.

Drian felt a stir in his loins when his demanding body part erected. He lingered there for a few moments, watching the scene, hypnotised, and then, confused, cleared his throat.

Liton emerged from between the woman's legs and burst into loud laughter. "Drian! You are out of line, pal. You're so desperate to get laid that you hide and watch people while they are enjoying themselves."

Drian laughed and then suddenly became serious. "Believe me, that isn't why I am here, Liton."

The giant jumped out of the hole and stood next to the woman. She stepped forward and shot a warning glance at Drian, reaching for her stone hatchet. "And why are you here then, Man of Cloth?" she emphasised each of the three last words. "To gloat over the death of one of the Wellers? The Weller that you yourself killed?"

Drian swallowed hard but replied calmly. "I'm not the one who killed him."

"Liar," she hissed.

Liton put his hand on her shoulder. "Kela," he addressed her in a firm tone of voice.

"You're protecting him," she yelped. "And he's one of them."

The tiny body of the girl whom Drian gave water to drink just a few minutes ago ran on all fours towards the trio. She positioned herself between Drian and Kela.

"What do you want, pup?" the more mature She-Weller growled.

"He gave me water." The child took a defensive stance.

The expression on Kela's face changed for a moment. Then she shook her head and jumped in the Well entrance.

The little girl relaxed, but she didn't pull away from Drian. However, one word from Liton was sufficient. "Go," he said, and the child leapt into the air and disappeared in the second hole.

Liton stepped away from the Well opening, completely naked

He wiped his chin with his hand. "Mila," he said.  "Her parents died in a fall from scaffolding tunnel. She is a brave little girl. Look. Don't blame Kela. She hates all Men of Cloth. Besides, the man who died today was a friend of hers."

Drian lowered his eyes as a sign of grief. "I'm sorry. I understand."

"You don't mind me being naked, do you?" Liton joked.

"Nothing related to you could shock me anymore. To be honest, I'm more surprised by your beard. Ever since I can remember, you were bald and beardless."

"Mila's parents aren't the only ones who died on the scaffold." Liton's voice sounded sombre.

Drian's eyes widened in horror. "Nelut?"

"Yes, my brother and another fifty Wellers fell into the abyss with them. It was an accident. I am letting the beard grow as a sign of mourning," Liton added.

Drian saw Liton's shoulders sag for a moment, but then a proud attitude of the person who was used to leading returned. "We went deeper than ever before. Creating tunnels instead of investigating them. The earth collapsed on this group because they were the first scouting squad."

"I don't understand. Why did you create more underground passages?"

"We had to, Drian. Listen. In the existing tunnels, there is no more water," Liton whispered, placing his palm on Drian's shoulder. "We were trying to dig deeper. To find more. We were desperate."

Drian's eyes widened. He considered all the possible consequences of what he had just heard. "Do you think this is something temporary, or what?"

"Damned if I knew," Liton replied. "I believe I can count on you not to spread the word any further." 

"Of course." 

"What brings you to The Wells? It's been a long time. I haven't seen you at the entrances ever since we were kids."

"I want to take the dead Weller's body to The Glass Dome."