GOSPEL OF THE HIDDEN MAW
The Parable of the Bone Shard
Empress Teta, One Week Before Tython
"So mote it be," Ananeos said once more, and once more the crowd echoed his words. "So mote it be!"
Looking up from his blessed scriptures, the gaunt high priest raised his skeletal hands, and a new kind of hush fell over the assembled crowd: an eager,
hungry silence that signaled impending slaughter. With one gesture, sweeping his arms apart as though breaking a wishbone, Ananeos parted the masses before him. They crammed closer together, opening three clear paths through the packed cathedral. Along each path, starting from the distant doors of the temple, three dark processions began. Heathen Priests swept down the corridors with burning torches in hand, the flowing robes that hid their feet making them appear to float above the ground.
Their faces were covered by wild, chaotic masks, their design formed from hundreds of intertwined tentacles - imitations of the faces of the Star Gods, the ancient, eldritch expressions of the endless galactic cycle. And not all of them carried only torches. In each of the three processions, three of the priests dragged huge wicker constructs made up of three poles - a tall central pole adorned with two upward-curving arms. And on each of these wicker totems was bound a squirming, terrified captive, prisoners seized in the invasion of Teta. These were the cream of the crop from among those who'd fallen into Mawite hands: high-ranking officers of the planet's defense force.
Strange, haunting music abruptly filled the vast chamber, echoing off the high stone walls:
the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the thin, monotonous whine of accursed flutes. The musicians were yet more Heathen Priests, these ones hooded, their faces lost to the shadows. The only other sounds were the
scraaaaaape scraaaaaape scraaaaaape of the wicker totems being hauled along the stone floor... and the muffled whimpering of the gagged captives lashed to them. When at last the procession reached the dais where Ananeos stood, the priests raised the three poles until they stood tall, their curving upper arms splayed as if reaching for the skies.
"The Avatars hunger," Ananeos declared.
"The galaxy must pass through their Maw and be consumed, for only then can it be remade. Too long have they been denied their rightful feast. Too long have the Jedi and their ilk clung to the rotting corpse of the universe and called it compassion. But such days shall come to an end, as all things do. It is inevitable." "HAIL THE INEVITABLE!" the crowd shouted again. At the base of each wicker totem, the three Heathen Priests who had carried it produced durasteel flasks from within their robes. They began to splash the contents all over the wicker - and all over the prisoners tied to it. Their whimpers intensified.
"As proof of our faith and our intention," Ananeos continued,
"let us now offer a small taste of the meal they deserve." Stowing away the flasks, the priests accepted torches from their fellows. The captives began to scream, terrified shrieking that seemed to meld perfectly with the strange, atonal music. As one, the torches touched the bottom of each totem, and fire
rushed up the structures. They would burn for exactly thirty-three seconds before crumbling to ash, manipulated by the Force gifts of the priests. The screaming intensified, becoming agonized... and then
stopped moments later.
"Food for the gods! Let these flames be their threefold tongues!"
"FEED THE MAW! FEED THE MAW! FEED THE MAW!" Three times the crowd chanted, writhing in religious frenzy.
Then the warriors fell silent once more, and watched in rapt attention as the wicker totems - utterly consumed - crumbled to ash. A great wind blew through the chamber, without any apparent source. It scattered those ashes across the assembled faithful, their upturned faces ecstatic to feel the touch of their gods. Back on the dais, Ananeos opened his flayed-skin book once more.
"Now you know our purpose," he declared,
"and you know that all things are possible with faith. But some of you still doubt." His burning eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Some of you still know fear." He paused, ensuring he had their full attention again, then continued.
"We go to the wellspring of the Jedi, to fill it with poison. But some of you ask: what victory can there be against Jedi, who slaughter us in the thousands? Though you have faith in the Prophet, you have no faith in yourselves, for you know you are but mortal flesh and blood. No matter how you struggle, you will never be the equals of a Jedi on the battlefield, nor overcome the combined fleets of the entire galaxy united against us." No one spoke to confirm this accusation, but it was true. How could they
not doubt? They had seen the carnage the Jedi could inflict.
"Faithful of the Maw, hear me: your holy purpose is not victory in life, but in death."
One skeletal finger marked the page.
"Listen well to this final parable, and heed the runes we will teach you..."
"... for in the runes lies the Prophet's final victory."
Now it came to pass that, in the wake of the great campaign in the East, the old powers of the South were roused to anger. They looked upon what the Brotherhood had done, the world it had broken and the empires it had shattered, and they feared for the stagnant galactic order that they revered. And so they raised up their legions and came north, to the holy domain of the Maw. The Silver Jedi, an entire regime of Ashla's demigods, charged in to spread their unwelcome light in the Maw's sacred shadow. And the Confederacy, the largest of all the galaxy's great powers, dispatched its vast fleets - bristling with Super Star Destroyers - to strike down the Prophet's followers.
The tables were turned, and for the first time the Brotherhood was not the besieger, but the
besieged. And the warriors of the Maw looked upon the foes that came for them, and they saw the incredible power of their enemies, and despite their faith they knew fear. Though the Avatars were omnipotent, the warriors of the Brotherhood were mere mortals. Their flesh and blood was easily cleaved by laser-swords and rendered to ash by fires from above. How could they hope to stand against the mightiest legions in all the galaxy? Their doubts lay heavy upon them, and though they prepared well for war, they grieved that they could not better serve the Voice of the Avatars.
In death they would be of no more use to the gods, and death seemed their inevitable fate.
The Prophet saw what was in their hearts, and he knew that they did not yet fully understand the teachings of the Avatars, or the holy promise they had made. And so he gathered all his warriors together to hear his holy words. He brought them to the deepest jungles of Lao-mon, and there he showed them a great skeleton. Though the flesh had long since rotted from the bones, it was clear that it had been a creature of incredible size and power, a titan with no equal in all that savage and primal land.
"Look upon these remains," he said,
"and hear the promise of the Great Ones. Truly I tell you: all the mighty will be laid low, and the rulers toppled from their thrones."
But still the warriors were afraid. "Teacher," they said unto him, "we believe you. We have faith in the power of the gods, and in you, their Prophet. You can overcome any challenge. But we are only mortals, without your divine spark. Against a beast such as this, we would be powerless." The Prophet rebuked them, saying,
"Still your faith is lacking, and doubts cloud your minds. Truly I tell you: this beast was not brought down by a creature of equal power, but by lowly ones such as you." And he brought them to the titan's gaping jaws, hanging open in death, and he showed them what lay there. Embedded among the beast's jagged teeth was a bright shard of bone.
"Generations ago," the Prophet said unto them,
"this creature came to these jungles from a distant star, carried by careless men. All the native beasts were smaller and weaker, and their teeth could not pierce its armored hide. And so it moved among them at will, and slaked its endless hunger upon them." He stretched out his hand, and he showed them a great pile of gnawed bones and broken skulls, and yet the skulls were grinning.
"In time, a canny pack of hunters came to end the beast's dominion. But each was only as large as one of the creature's toe claws, and even fighting together they had not the strength to break its armor and harm it."
The Prophet pointed to the belly of the beast, where many more shattered bones lay, and again he spake unto his faithful.
"Yet still the hunters did battle with the creature, and they fought until they were all consumed, swelling its belly until it grew fat and lethargic. And as the beast chewed and chewed on its gluttonous meal, the skeletons of the hunters broke in its mouth, and a bone shard lodged painfully in its gums. Then the corpses of the hunters decayed, and flecks of meat rotted amid the beast's teeth, and the splinter grew infected. The beast sickened and died, slain by corruption from within, and the natural order returned to the jungle."
And the warriors gave praise and thanks unto the Prophet, for at last they understood the power of a worthy death.
And the Jedi came, and the great fleets, and they struck down upon the Brotherhood with great vengeance and furious anger. And the faithful of the Maw died in their millions, for even a hundred of them were no match for even one of Ashla's demigod chosen. And their blessed warships were torn from the sky, for none of the works of their hands could compare to the behemoths of the Confederacy. And the holy city Gehinnom, that had been the seat of the Prophet himself, plummeted from the heavens and was lost, and the great fortress at Goshen was sacked, and its walls torn down. But the warriors of the Maw did not succumb to grief or hopelessness.
Instead they rejoiced in the fulfillment of their holy purpose: to die with faith in their hearts and blades in their hands.
And when the next dawn rose, the domain of the Brotherhood - though shaken to its foundations - was yet inviolate. The worlds claimed by the Maw had been preserved with the blood of the faithful, as the embalmer preserves the corpse with sacred oils. The would-be avengers of the South were cast out from all the holy places, and there was great rejoicing in the temples of the True Gods. And the warriors saw that the Prophet had spoken true, and they cast out all doubts and fears from their minds, armoring their souls with blind faith so that they might never again be shaken. And the Holy Truth drew in new followers, and the Brotherhood grew strong again, and the war went on.
This is the third lesson:
through sacrifice we triumph. It is not
in spite of our losses that we find victory, but
because of them.
No other force in the galaxy can match our willingness to die for our righteous cause.
