“Right. Sometimes people have what they call ‘visions’ of God, but there’s no proof they aren’t just delusional. Even so, it is exceptionally rare.”
“Some gods keep to themselves,” admitted Rognir, “so not appearing doesn’t necessarily mean the god doesn’t exist. Do you think that if people had more faith in this god of yours that he’d be more likely to appear?”
She shook her head. “No, because many people devoutly believe in God and yet He does not appear.” She shrugged and added, “Mostly because he’s not real.”
“How are you so certain he is not real?”
Anna spread her hands. “There’s no real unbiased proof He’s any more real than any other notion of gods on Earth. See, the prevailing idea is that having faithin God’s existence and plans for you is what’s really important, so He purposely doesn’t appear.”
Rognir furrowed his brow. “What purpose does that serve?”
“I don’t know. None, really, unless you consider that God isn’t real at all and therefore faith in Him does indeed become everything.”
The dwarf nodded, brow furrowed.
She continued, “Many religious leaders try to keep people from seeing this by discouraging such thoughts. They say things like people can’t possibly understand the ways of a god, so we shouldn’t ask such questions. If you’re a humble person, you accept Him on faith, and to question is to be arrogant and therefore unworthy of God’s benevolence. It’s a social manipulation tactic, basically.”
Warming up to her subject, she added, “If the priests were as benevolent as they pretend, they wouldn’t need to use fear and coercion to make people believe. And why should belief be so important? Either God exists or He doesn’t. Why does my belief matter? If I stop believing in Him, do I make Him disappear?”
Rognir grunted. “Fascinating. I’ve never heard of anything like that with gods, on this or any other world. Ours is a simpler scenario. Our gods simply show up as they desire.”
That surprised her. “So then they really do exist?”
“Of course.”
That set her back a bit. “How many are there?”
He puffed on his pipe. “On Honyn, the humans have fourteen, while we dwarves have nine. The elves have twenty-two. You’ll find it is different on other worlds.”
“Interesting. Are there any worlds where the gods never appear?”
“No,” Rognir admitted. “I’ve never heard of that until you mentioned it, but there are worlds where they are quite fickle and only show up every thousand years or so, sometimes on cue.”
Anna found that interesting but had trouble accepting people would expect her to call on the gods to heal them. A total lack of sincerity on her part would doom any attempts like a self-fulfilling prophecy. If she didn’t believe, they wouldn’t show, confirming her disbelief.
“How does a priest heal someone?” Anna asked again. “I know you said they call on the gods – a specific one, I assume – and touch the injured person, but what else can you tell me?”
He pursed his lips, thinking. “You must be familiar with the gods, their teachings, and personality, and have some affinity or love for what they represent. They can sense this when you call upon them and it influences their decision to help. If you only intend to call upon one god, that’s the only one you must know intimately. It’s best if you’ve spent some time speaking with this god first. Some gods, even benevolent ones, can be capricious. Have you been told the names of the gods here?”
Anna paused, realizing that was probably in the scroll she’d refused to look at. She confessed.
“You should read it,” he advised, “if for no other reason than to make conversation with those wanting your advice. I can counsel you as we continue.”
“You seem to know a lot about this.”
He winked at her. “That’s because I’m somewhat of a priest myself, lass, though my skills are meager.”
Anna wished she’d known that before and wondered if she’d offended him at all, but she didn’t think so. She’d been careful to discuss only God on Earth, not gods in general. She’d admitted her atheism in front of the wrong people before and had some turn on her rather nastily. Even less devout Christians could turn ugly over that. She called herself a “benevolent atheist,” meaning she didn’t go around denouncing believers. Sometimes she wondered if that was a mistake. If religions could crusade, maybe atheists should, too.
She decided to look at the religious scroll after all and left Rognir behind in a growing cloud of smoke from his pipe. On returning to their suite, she found Eric leaving for a swordsmanship lesson with Morven, Ryan sitting in a chair, looking bored.
“While everyone else is busy,” she started, “can you give me a riding lesson?”
Eric spent the next hour learning to swing a short sword properly, focusing on defense, since avoiding death took precedence. To his surprise, the training included footwork that came easier with his background in martial arts, so the elf quickly focused on just the sword. Before long Eric’s hand hurt from the grip twisting in his palm as the force of Morven’s attack made it shift. He’d learned some basic skills that were in desperate need of refinement, and the elf had him work with his non-dominant hand, too. Morven dismissed him to give his hands a break. Eric left with his thanks and a promise to resume later.
As he neared the suite, he noticed the door was ajar and stopped short, the hackles on the back of his neck rising. Strange voices came from within. Something was wrong.
Lorian led Matt to an octagonal room with tall granite walls, a domed ceiling with two open windows, and a single, thick, mahogany door, which he closed but did not lock; there was a thick beam that could be lowered to do so. This was the first fortified room Matt had seen here, most others having
