Elona, High Priestess of Los Angeles, stood among the concrete rubble rolling on inexorably in all directions. She had donned the ceremonial costume found ages ago in a sub-basement warehouse cache, reached through forgotten, uncharted tunnels. Her apparel mirrored the hues of the sacred graffiti runes left by unknown, supernatural hands. She stood there now on behalf of her people to pay homage to the God of Concrete. Their faith told them a new and complete structure would someday arise out of the dead, crumbled blocks strewn in the flat grayness around them. The Holy Tower would penetrate the sky, giving them new life and glory. According to the legend, it would be possible to climb a several day's journey on tower stairs bringing them past the dark dust clouds blanketing their world. At the structure's summit they could view the Holy Orb known as the Sun. The entire clan turned out for the solemn but hopeful ceremony, watched minutely each move the Priestess made and repeated in their minds each syllable of the ritual incantation, a ripple of silent echoes, thousands strong. Her people had faith in their religion. But the High Priestess, though she went through the motions, did not believe the Sun existed.

Story #111