She was reluctant to open her eyes. A song filled the air around her, sung in unison by a large, somewhat rough chorus of voices.  The undertow feeling inside her was strong already.  She knew she was in the territory of Savior.

Other than Wheel, the lands between Faithful's capital and its territories, Savior took up the most space, among the territories along the Sea of Meaning, that is.  It bordered one other territory, and its other border, where Faithful ended, was where the Forgetful Forest began.  This meant that Savior was farthest from the Land of Surety and thus from the Great River.

Another verse of the song started and she enjoyed the sound in her ears.  Its fullness echoed in her whole being.

It seemed that, as a journeyer, you had to be prepared to pass up the comforts afforded by devotion within a given Faithful territory or you would inadvertently end up making it your home.  Savior was no doubt going to exercise a persuasive draw.

She had learned in passing that it was famous for its lively infighting.  The curse of the civilized, she reminded herself, but the words shed like rain on a green leaf.  The beauty of the singing was both natural and haunting.

Other Faithful territories, and the Queen herself, had mixed feelings about Savior, questioning whether it had too much sway and acted with too much self-interest.  Tales of Savior’s charismatic preachers were both inspiring and worrisome.  Their words were said to form sensible, and sometimes even nonsensical, incantations for forging listeners’ otherworldly beliefs into swords that could battle eternity itself.  Marguerite's own father’s father had been one.

I am here on a journey to the Bridge of Wonders, she noted, aiming to engage her critical capacities again.  She imagined the goal of the clouded Bridge that she had seen it from the capital of Faithful and meeting with the Queen.  Determination overtook the pull of the music that had been lapping at her emotions like the sea at the shore.  I seek to pass the Harbor of Wishes and enter Surety.  She shifted her focus to her mind’s eye.  What am I to learn from Savior’s symbols?

With this, she opened her eyes.

A line of people walked ceremoniously down the center aisle of the large theater-like space, moving towards the open doors at the back.  The last person in the procession was a man dressed in elaborate robes holding a humble-looking book tucked under one arm.  He was just stepping off the stage.  A few decorative flags hung on the wall behind him.  On a table at the center of the stage were candles and a goblet.  The central life-sized statuary on the back wall, as she expected, was of a somewhat drooping, mostly naked man, feet together, arms out, thorny crown on his head, eyes gazing up.  His figure was suspended on an cross.

To one side of the stage another statue, this one appeared to be carved from stone, on a stone pedestal.  It captured the figure of a young woman, life-sized yet small because she was stooped, wrapped in plain cloth much the same style as the colorful version the old woman in Sanatana had wrapped about her.  The head of the woman in the statue tilted forward slightly and her gaze was down.  The ceiling of the hall was very high and intricately shaped, probably to enhance the acoustics.  Adds to the appeal of the hymns, she observed.  On the walls on either side were intricate portraits and a few proclamations fashioned out of stained glass.  The light coming through them was complexly tinted and muted.  The audience mostly stood in front of long wooden benches in rows facing the stage.  Some looked at a book in their hands while they sang.

Marguerite was in the back row.  The song finished with a lovely chord held for several beats.  The preacher with the book, having reached the exit, stopped and turned to address the whole assemblage.  Lifting both arms, book in one hand, he spoke loudly and with clear cadence,

The Lord bless you

and keep you;

the Lord make his face shine on you

and be gracious to you;

the Lord turn his face toward you

and give you peace.

At the end, voices chimed in all around roughly in unison, “A-men,” and the preacher turned to leave.  The sounds of soft voices and things being rearranged lifted into the air as congregants shared greetings and collected their things.

She realized others would soon be leaving the sanctuary and made for the door herself.  It was very near.  She noticed the preacher standing alone in the building’s foyer, a space large enough for people to gather and also for crowds to come and go with ease.  His cheeks were rosy from having led the service.  Now he looked eager to informally attend to the needs of congregants on their way out.  A few entered the foyer and gathered to chat in out of way areas.  Others left straight away.  Since the preacher was still alone, she approached.

“Hello,” he said first, reaching both hands forward in front.  She did the same.  They squeezed each other’s hands and he held on.  “You are a stranger to me but I take it you are feeling welcomed,” he continued, making eye contact, nodding, and smiling gently.