It is an afternoon at the end of winter, a season that does not truly exist among the eternal eastern dunes of the Sultanate of Alashaha. There, stretched upon the burning sands of the desert coast, lies Deacon Filipus, the only one who appears to have survived. Slowly he opens his eyes, and Küny’s blinding light forces him to narrow them until he can adjust.
He feels dizzy. Küny’s intensity, striking him directly from the western horizon, stains the sky with vivid evening colors. The violet firmament is remarkably uniform. Filipus cannot tell where he is, not at first. Little by little, his senses and his memory return.
His face is pressed against the hot, salty sand. His pale right cheek aches as the ground leaves its mark upon it. This coast lies on the estuary formed by the mouths of the Itsza and Shraí rivers, an estuary as broad as a sea. On its western shore stands the Morguendis Orientalis Empire, with its imposing citadels and ports. On the eastern shore, meanwhile, rise the eternal dunes of the Sultanate of Alashaha.
A wave of icy water from the estuary breaks across Filipus’s back. Foam covers him completely, like a cotton mantle wrapping and soaking him. He reacts, braces his hands against the ground and crawls away from the successive waves that strike him—the very waves that restored him to consciousness. With the dreadful weakness he feels throughout his body, he can barely propel himself enough to rise.
He crawls until his strength fails, once he realizes he has put several meters between himself and the water. There he collapses face down again. His cheek strikes the burning sand, scraping against ground still damp from the salty surf. He closes his eyes and lets an unusual summer warmth embrace him in the heart of winter.
Küny, forever blue-white, moves slowly toward the southern horizon, intent upon hiding. From there it deepens the colors of the sky, soon to become twilight. The same pale light hurts eyes already burning from saltwater; it dazzles, sickens and stupefies him. The heat radiating from Küny is particularly intense. To his left, reddish dunes rise as high as cliffs, reflecting Küny’s light and heat to a height Filipus cannot calculate. To his right, the beach stretches toward the southern horizon with no visible end.
All of it makes Deacon Filipus half close his eyes. He wishes to see, think and remember nothing more. He only wishes to die. He believes he deserves it, for he has failed so completely that forgiveness seems impossible. His dark-red cassock is pierced and torn, reduced to tatters in places.
His hands and face—the only exposed parts of his body—are filthy with grime and blood that the saltwater cannot wash away, despite his soaked clothes. Deep wrinkles furrow his fingertips. His lips are scraped, pale, wounded and dry; bruises surround his eyes. Drops of blood that ran from the left side of his head have dried across his face like fingers. His nearly shaven hair bears a single black lock, very long, extending from his nape to his waist.
Near him, where the waves break upon the shore, lies a strange and conspicuous weapon resembling a machete. Saltwater cleans the bloodstained blade and removes pieces of skin still clinging to its edge. The man breathes deeply and tries to concentrate on dying, but a pair of sighs breaks his concentration.
He opens his eyes once more. Before him the vast beach again displays its radiant splendor, and Küny’s dominant blue-white brilliance blinds him anew.
"What are you trying to teach me, Solaris? What more do you want from me? I have given you everything… everything," Filipus mutters through clenched teeth toward Küny.
He chews sand despite himself. Once the question is spoken, Filipus raises his gaze toward the highest reaches of the cloudless firmament. The sky’s unbroken violet darkens with every instant, its color intensifying. The astonishing arrival of the darkest night stains the waters of the estuary whose waves break beside him.
A powerful turquoise hue grows stronger as daylight slowly disappears. The cliff-high dune to his left darkens with the firmament. The hot breeze gradually becomes mild, gentle and soundless; it no longer troubles him. His head falls again, beyond his control.
A small crab walks sideways nearby. It mistakes the dying human for something lifeless, perhaps an animal in its death throes, and moves from beside the man’s face toward the sea. Its tiny legs make faint tinkling sounds upon the red sand.
The agonized man watches the crab pass without moving anything but his eyes; even blinking is difficult and painful. The intense light bathing him makes him drowsy. He hopes that, rather than falling asleep, he is dying, and the thought brings him some peace.
"Do not leave yet, Solaris. I need your answers, please," he begs the mightiest star in the daylight sky. "Grant me the peace you always give me, even when I do not understand your designs."
Because he can neither sleep nor die, he feels he must obtain direct answers from Solaris. He rolls across the sand until he lies on his back. Desperate, he shakes his face against the ground. In his mind he still sees atrocities committed by a man surely sent by demons: a Shalamand named Shalah’Madi.
That commander, trusted by the Sultan of Alashaha, inflicted torture, disembowelment, throat-cutting, beheading, flaying and the rape of several young virgins upon the Morguendis troops. Filipus remembers Shalah ordering the sacrifice of a child, an immolation that set an entire village ablaze.
The memory makes him writhe in anger. He presses both hands against the ground and tries to rise. He attempts to scream with all his strength, but can do neither. Just as he is about to lift himself, he falls back upon the sand. His failed attempts to scream force the saltwater he swallowed while submerged to pour from his stomach.
After vomiting so much of what had collected inside him, he is left so weak that he feels himself about to lose consciousness. Horrifying images sink into the darkness of his mind together with his awareness. Before Küny’s light disappears behind his closed eyes, a luminous spark appears and reveals something uniquely and incredibly beautiful.
Directly before him he sees a humanoid being seemingly made entirely from the purest, warmest and most beautiful light, intensely white.
"Then you desire answers, Filipus?"
"Solaris!"
"Yes. Here I am. I will give you answers. Tell me, what do you need to know?"
For a moment the man is speechless with astonishment. Despite the powerful radiance pouring from the being’s body, Filipus is neither blinded nor burned. He can look upon it directly without harm. An aura between white and blue surrounds the celestial body’s outline.
Instead, the light is enough to restore the warmth the drowning had stolen from him. He feels well—truly well—there beside a being whose presence alone seems to calm every pain, sorrow and burden. He now breathes easily and peacefully; all exhaustion has vanished.
"I am Deacon Filipus of your Holy Church," he finally says.
"And with all my heart I thank you for the devotion you dedicate to me with your life and soul in every cycle," the luminous being declares.
"Have I died, Solaris? Is this the moment when my soul leaves my body and I join you in the eternal light, where nothing and no one can ever reach or harm us?"
"It is, Filipus. You have just crossed a threshold that will gradually lead you to me. But you must understand that you must not come—not yet. I need you there in Zyllyön, fulfilling your steadfast purpose of faith."
"I no longer know what my purpose is, Solaris. I beg your forgiveness if I have lost everything you taught us through your texts of immense wisdom. But I failed. My mistake is unforgivable. I no longer even know where I am or who I am… I deserve to die," Filipus replies in sudden anguish. "Take me with you. Guide me toward the pure light of your infinite goodness. There is nothing more I can do here to make amends for what I have done."
"You must neither worry nor torment yourself over the mistakes you have made, Filipus."
"But, Solaris, hundreds have died because of me. When we landed upon these shores of Alashaha, we fell into Shalah’Madi’s trap. We were massacred, betrayed. It was all my fault because I…"
"Enough, Filipus. Remember that I saw everything. I know what happened. As I have said, you need not worry about it. You must return as soon as you open your eyes again. I promise that when you do, you will feel well once more. Though you will remember everything and your guilt will not fade, you must still fulfill your purpose."
"My purpose and intention have always been to reconvert all these godless kingdoms, my beloved Solaris. They must know you, know that you exist and embrace your light. But to reach the peoples, lulled by the pagan faith forced upon them at birth, I first need to remove those who rule them. I believed that was my purpose, but I failed."
"You did not fail. Your purpose remains intact, Filipus. You must continue in your purpose—you must—but first remember that the eternity of light awaits you. You must earn it, and to earn it you must first fulfill your purpose."
"Thank you, my beloved Solaris. You cannot imagine how deeply I love you. Some mornings tears fall from my eyes when I imagine that I might remain beside you for all eternity, as I do now."
"Cry if your tears are born of happiness, Filipus. In body and soul you will return filled with light, health and strength. You will radiate all of it toward those who deserve it."
"I will, Solaris. Yes, I swear it by all the boundless love I bear you."
"You must know that my light, however intense it appears, is dimmed by the dark and immensely powerful force of godless faith."
"I know."
"That force grows ever stronger. It invades me from every corner of Zyllyön."
"I will not allow it to spread any farther, Solaris. I swear it."
"You, my beloved Filipus—you above all others—must do more than merely try. You must find whatever generates such dark power among your peers. You must stop it, destroy it and grant wisdom to the people, so that no one is ever excluded from the light I offer."
"I will grant the most beautiful expiation to every person I can."
"It must be granted to everyone. No one may remain outside—not even fools whose folly has blinded them with hatred and the darkest devotion."
"They merely ignore and deny your existence and your boundless peaceful goodness, Solaris. They need to be guided toward you, and that is what I shall do."
"Guide them, Filipus. Guide them all, as you know how to do better than anyone. And eliminate the darkness and everything that weakens the pure light of goodness."
"Solaris! Please, I beg you, direct me in your design. There is so much I need to know. Without your help I will be lost."
"Whenever you are lost, Filipus, look toward the sky. Seek me, and I will always be there, shining for you, watching over you and protecting you."
"Thank you. I will."
"And now… return."
"No—not yet!"
Solaris moves away from him, its light becoming steadily fainter and smaller.
"Solaris, I need you! I still lack so much knowledge!"
The luminous figure of Solaris shrinks to the size of a watermelon, then diminishes further until it is no larger than a fist.
"Do not go yet! Please, my beloved Solaris!" Filipus screams, tears in his eyes.
Amid intense ringing in his ears, Solaris’s blue-white light contracts to the size of Küny and remains suspended in the sky. It is moments away from entering the warm southern waters of the Turbakrov Ocean. Then Filipus suddenly opens his eyes again. He discovers that Küny’s light has temporarily blinded him; he has stared directly at it throughout that long conversation.
"Return and march, my dear penitent," he hears Solaris say as its final words.
Filipus is once again upon the lonely beach on Alashaha’s western coast, lying on burning sand that now grants him a little mercy. Evening is near. Küny’s light—which to Filipus and believers like him is the light of Solaris—remains intense on the southern horizon, though far dimmer than before.
Clumsily but firmly, Filipus presses his hands against the ground and this time succeeds in rising. His pains have returned, yet they cannot prevent him from standing. Once upright, he surveys his surroundings with what little remains of his dazzled sight. Solaris’s radiance is so deeply imprinted upon his retinas that he struggles to focus.
He takes one final look at the bodies of the massacred Morguendis people, the courageous soldiers who crossed the estuary with him from the Morguendis Orientalis Empire to bring expiation to the Shalamand peoples of the Sultanate of Alashaha. The landscape is devastated. So much blood stains the sand that purple channels run all the way to the ocean.
An entire legion of three hundred soldiers has been slaughtered by the ever-rapacious Shalamand forces of Alashaha, led by the tyrant Shalah’Madi and backed by the limitless resources supplied by the reigning sultan. Had Filipus not been mistaken for another corpse, he too would now lie among the bodies surrounding him.
A sudden anguish takes hold of him. He fears he will not find Küny’s light—the light of Solaris—in which he needs to seek the promised warm refuge. He searches the horizon and finds it at once, sighing with relief. Directly before the little daylight remaining in the cycle, he sees a small rowboat, one of those used to reach the sandy shores.
He runs toward it, still half blinded and burdened by the many pains in his body. Finding it pleases and comforts him: it means Solaris still preserves its immeasurable luminous and calorific power over him, at least for now. Filipus does not forget that he has returned through Solaris and now owes it a devotion even stronger than the one he practiced before.
He has no intention of losing the support of that immense power or the opportunity it has granted him. He climbs into the boat and rows as quickly as he can, leaving the dunes of Alashaha behind. He has much work to do, and although he does not know how he will accomplish what is required, he understands that he is now a penitent whose march will not end until he fulfills his divine purpose.
END OF AVAILABLE CHAPTER