The Hall of Dreams
Gary Beck
I do not know how big the room really is. No one does. The legends say the Keeper of the Visions knows. Surely Uriel, the Keeper, would know, but I certainly didn’t have the nerve to ask him. Some of the Folk say he is too soft and offers too much ritual forgiveness, rather than rigors. But no one dares say it to his face.
Like anyone else who survives the school of trials, I grew up without thinking much about the Hall of Dreams. I was too busy trying to survive each day to worry about readiness time. If the elders decided that I would graduate, I would then have two years, until my tenth name day, to prove that I could benefit the people. There was too much of a daily struggle to worry about a future day that I might or might not reach.
The time of proving made the school trials seem easy. Each day was a demanding series of tests that would demonstrate my value to the Folk. With the support of my clan group, especially my elder brother, who was my guide, I had a good chance of becoming a citizen, which meant life.
Guides were forbidden to reveal secrets of the Mysteries. On first waking on Vision Day, a candidate’s Guide had to visit the verifier and swear non-interference. But a kindly Guide could give a lot of encouragement without violating the law. My brother’s support was comforting. Believe me, I needed all the help I could get.
I never understood loneliness until the final weeks of proving time raised my hopes that I might reach Verdict Day. Time passed, faster and faster, as my thoughts turned wild and chaotic. I felt isolated and cut off from even my sleep group. In truth, I was. The clan may have invested a lot in me, but I was only one candidate out of many. Only a few passed. Limited resources made life among the Folk a privilege, not a right.
I presented myself at the Hall of Dreams on entry day. Uriel the Keeper reminded all the candidates that pride goeth before a fall, along with many other precedents that we had memorized in the School of Trials. But if I didn’t feel some pride at being a member of the surviving class, I never could have endured the worries of the last few weeks. Only a citizen could know what I was feeling and they were much too busy to care about an unproven’s fears.
So here I was at last, receiving final instructions before entering the Vision chamber. Uriel looked taller and more terrifying than ever before. Unlike some bolder candidates, I didn’t dare meet his gaze during ritual procedures. I regulated my breathing, sustained my pulse and heartbeats at the proper level and reached for the lever that would open the portal of the Vision chamber.
My last thoughts were a fantasy that I would have a true vision of the forefathers, or their ancient fabled life on the surface, though I could not completely suppress the fear that I was unworthy. I took a deep breath, opened the Portal of Life, invoking the ritual of testimony that would mean life or death: ‘When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the Political Bands which have connected them with another….’