The Fool stood in the tilled earth among the body parts being sowed by the Nameless One. He looked out into the distance and saw a stone church sitting at the edge of the field. The Fool decided to make his way over.
The soil on the way was deep. His feet sunk into the soil and it felt like he was being pulled down into the earth. The top of the ground was warmed by the sun, but as soon as his feet broke the surface, the soil became cold and moist. He also had to watch where he stepped, as body parts and heads were strewn all over the field. He would see eyeballs just barely sticking out of the ground, along with fingertips, the ends of noses, and hair.
He Who Can’t Be Named watched the Fool traverse the field towards the church with little to no interest. The Fool couldn’t tell if there was any sentient being inside that skull. Was he animating himself, or was there a puppet master?
The church was a pile of stones, basic in design, with a steeple and a bell tower. The Fool climbed the front steps and entered an empty room. On the other end of the small cathedral was a large stained-glass window, which let in the church’s only light. The Fool could see dust floating in the rays of light.
A man was standing up before the window. He started using a hammer and chisel to work on some designs on a column next to the altar. The repetitive taps of the hammer and chisel echoed throughout the small church.
The Fool approached the artisan. The man was focused on the task at hand. There were accented scrolls and leaves carved into the column, beautiful and well-done work. The Fool walked around the carved column and the man carving it to see the intricate shapes and designs. The Fool was impressed.
Very good work, the Fool said.
Thank you, the man said. There wasn’t a lot of enthusiasm in his response.
Do you not think you are doing a good job? the Fool asked.
It’s not that, the man responded, but I don’t like doing this. I prefer to paint and do frescos, but I am an architect’s apprentice.
The Fool could see that the detail on the carvings was indeed the work of a painter’s hand, and not an architect’s.
Why not switch masters? the Fool asked.
It isn’t my decision, replied the man, it is the decision of my father. He wants me to be an architect and not a painter, since it pays better.
If you master painting, the Fool responded, then you would be paid enough.
The man chuckled at that.
If only it was that easy, the man said. One can’t just do whatever one wants whenever one wants.
Why not? the Fool asked.
The man didn’t respond to that, but the Fool could see that there was a lot of thought going on in that young head of his. The Fool looked out and saw the Nameless One reaping souls across the field. Funerals were coming and going.
What is this place? the Fool asked.
This is the temple of Death, the man responded. It is a place to worship death and new beginnings. We must be okay with things ending and things beginning when we aren’t over the old things.
The Fool laughed and said, This is exactly the lesson you need. Kill the architect’s dream and begin your own dreams of paintings.
The Fool didn’t wait for the man’s response. He instead walked back out onto the killing field, back to the Nameless One that the temple worshipped.