- Chapter 9: The Disciple -

"You stupid witch!" he screamed, slamming her up against the wall. "What did you do?!"

Autumn regarded her companion with relative calm. Though her heart was fairly pounding, this was not the first outburst she'd witnessed from him. "That should be clear. I got us both out of there."

"With magic!"

"How else?" she inquired.

"You shouldn't have taken us out at all! The situation was under control!"

"Me falling from the rafters with an unidentified assailant on top of me, and you about to be ripped into pieces by an Iomite priest transforming into a monster? That is not my idea of under control."

"Dealing with unexpected enemies was part of your job. If you couldn't handle that, the way I was prepared to handle that monster if need be, then you deserve to die. And even if the situation were out of control, that's no reason to resort to using magic, especially not in front of the very people we're trying to guide away from that sort of thing!"

She sighed. "We've discussed this, Marcus. You're entitled to your opinion, but I see no connection between magic and religion, and our leaders are plainly inclined to agree with me."

"You think the cultists in this country are going to appreciate the difference, if there is one? You saw how they reacted to that priest's transformation trick. What will they think if we're telling them that the gods are fictions, but we use the same sort of flash?"

There was a snort of soft derision, and the two of them turned to see Silas, their commander. Marcus immediately let go of Autumn, who landed neatly on her feet. She rubbed at the back of her neck. It felt sore.

"Use your head, Marcus," the commander said. "If they realize that people who reject the gods can use the same sort of power as those who serve the gods, they'll stop seeing that power as a divine sign. It will be just one more illusionist's trick that anyone can use. Now," - he took a chair and seated himself - "...I gather that things didn't go as we hoped. Give me your report."


"Wait."

They were at Alric's front door. At the sound of Nancie's gentle voice, both Hindel and Alric turned around. She lowered her eyes rather than meet their gaze, and fidgeted with her skirt.

"Hindel, could I talk to you... for just a minute?"

In spite of himself, Hindel felt his heart skip a beat at the simple request. He looked back at Alric.

Alric looked around thoughtfully. "The sun's going down, but you're still liable to be seen if you linger out here. You'd better go on inside; I'll take a little walk."

"Thanks, Alric."

"A little one," he repeated for emphasis, and turned to walk down the street.

The two of them went inside, Hindel bending down slightly to fit through the doorway. Nancie closed the door behind them.

"Hindel," she said, not wasting any time now that they were alone. "About the man you killed... You did the right thing."

"Don't say that."

"No, listen. You're just thinking about it from your perspective, about how he tried to kill you, and I understand that, but there's more to it. He desecrated the shrine, Hindel," she said, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper, as though there were children around who might have nightmares if they heard of Brehen's deeds. "Coming into a shrine with an intent to murder is a sacrilege, especially with you being a priest. Men like that should be killed, in Iom's name, just as you did. It's really no different from when you sacrifice someone to Iom, and now that you're a priest you'll be doing that one day, too."

"'No different'?" Hindel exploded. "It's completely different! When someone is sacrificed to Iom, their essence becomes a part of him. It nourishes him, adds to his power, and gives the person's life a new home with him. By killing Brehen, I took that precious gift of life and just wiped it out, wasted it! Can't you understand what a horrible thing that is?"

Nancie's eyes lowered to the floor. "I'm sorry. I didn't really mean that they were no different, just that... You do them both for the good of Iom."

"That's another thing." She looked so ashamed that Hindel felt bad for having raised his voice to her. But he had to go on, though he did ease up on his tone. "I always thought that when I became a priest, it would be me performing the sacrifices. But when I saw my first human sacrifice, on the day I met you, I realized that the priest is just an instrument. The real sacrifice is being performed by the person who's giving up their life. They die to be born again in Iom, earning glory for both our god and themselves. The priest just makes sure that it's done right."

She looked back up at him, and her for a moment her breath was stilled. "That's... beautiful. So people sacrificed to Iom really do become a part of him? I mean, since Iom speaks to you..."

"Yes, they do." His brow furrowed. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She blushed and looked down again. "I'm sorry, it's just... your wings."

"They're just wings," he said, still puzzled. He could understand if Nancie was repulsed by them, but the looks she was giving him were not ones of disgust. They were more like... adoration.

"Really? I thought... Well, you know... Iom has wings."

Hindel stared, her meaning slowly breaking through to him. "But Iom's wings are feathery, angelic. Mine are leathery, like a bat's." It was a halfhearted response, one which did not reflect his own beliefs about Iom's appearance, but he was not comfortable with the direction Nancie was going in.

"But that's just the artists' depiction, isn't it? I mean, Iom is our protector, and angelic wings convey that idea better. If Iom has wings like those, it still makes sense that they wouldn't paint or sculpt them that way."

"That's true, but..." He decided to put it directly. "You're not saying I'm some sort of incarnation of Iom himself, are you?"

"Oh, no!" She put a hand to her throat. "No, never! You don't really think I'd suggest something so blasphemous?"

"It wouldn't be blasphemous if it were true," he said, though the idea still unnerved him as well. "I'm just trying to understand what it is you are suggesting."

"Isn't it obvious? Hindel, a tiny handful of people in history have been able to call on Iom's power to make them transform like that. People like high priest Leifo, and Woldol, and Valor. But no one has ever transformed into Iom's own image. To have done that... It can only mean you have a very special bond with Iom. This makes Iom talking to you seem minor by comparison."

That was true. Assuming, of course, that this was what Iom looked like. He looked down at himself. The question was on his lips, and he knew that if he asked it, Iom himself would answer. But part of him didn't want to know, felt that Iom's appearance should remain a mystery. Moreover, the notion that he was wearing Iom's image seemed to reduce his god somehow. Illogical, since it was by the power of Iom himself that he looked this way, but there it was.

There was a knock at the door, and Alric stepped inside without waiting for an answer. "I'm back." There was no immediate response, as they both found it hard to pull back from what they'd just been discussing. "Mmm. Nancie, if you'd like to stay here too, I think I can work that out."

"Oh, no. No, thank you, but I had better be getting home. I'll try to come by sometime tomorrow." She turned and left, her head bowed in a solemn and pleasing manner.

After Nancie closed the door behind her, Alric watched Hindel for a moment. "You fancy her, don't you?" he said.

"What? I..." Once his attention had fully returned to his host, Hindel blushed slightly at the question. "I don't think this is the right time to think of such things."

"Mmm. So you haven't known her long enough to know one way or the other." He shrugged. "We'll leave it at that, then. Why don't you pull out some spare clothes from the closet in that room over there and change back to your normal body, and I'll make us something to eat." As he took out a pot and set it on the stove, however, he suddenly added, "A bit of advice, though. Don't take too much time figuring out which way your heart is pointing. Life's too short for that."

It took Hindel a minute of concentration to figure out how to make the change go in reverse, but once he did, it proved to be as easy as making it go forward. He watched as the dark chitinous armor his body had become change back to soft human flesh with hardly any effort at all. The only discomfort he felt was the unexpected disappointment at how feeble and delicate his human body was by comparison. It felt as though simply tripping and falling could snap all his bones.

Even this feeling he embraced, however, for it gave him a better understanding of his god. How hard it must be for Iom to feel concern for creatures that he could crush as easily as we crush a bug. If it weren't for the fact that he needs our sacrifices to feed his hunger, I can't imagine him bothering with us at all. It's strange to even think of us having that same sort of relationship with lesser creatures.

The thought filled him with a deep calm, a sort of contentment with his faith. As he dressed himself, he repeated to himself his favorite chant, "Iom save us. Iom protect us. We live to your endless glory. We die to join your being. We are your people forever."

To his surprise, Alric's clothes fit him almost perfectly. Once finished dressing, he sat himself at the kitchen table. Alric served them a simple soup, which they ate mostly in silence. Hindel still didn't feel ready to discuss everything that had happened at his ordination, and as with his father, he and Alric were not uncomfortable with long silences. He did, however, ask Alric what had made him think that he was romantically interested in Nancie.

"A lot of little things," Alric answered. "The biggest one, though, was the way you were looking at her as she left just now."

Once they were done, Alric showed Hindel to his room. It was the same room where he'd gotten his clothes. Something clicked in Hindel's head.

"Alric... You have a wife and son, don't you?"

His friend smiled. "Had. Yes." Hindel went silent at that, but Alric, perhaps sensing the question on his mind, continued after a few moments, "The wife enlisted in the army shortly after our only child was weaned, and died in the war with Cypress. Our Timothy contracted an illness five years ago. Died at sixteen years old."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Even the gods can't ensure that everything ends happily for everyone. I should have realized sooner that having Timothy at all was a gift from Iom."

Compulsively, Hindel confessed, "My parents were in the Cypress army during the war."

"Ah, yes. Sir Hindel and Lady Natasha." Hindel nodded. Running his hand over his salt-and-pepper beard, Alric mused, "Isn't that something? Your parents helped restore the people's government and standards of living, and now you are helping restore their faith."

"What I actually meant was... It could have been one of my parents who killed your wife..."

"They were fighting for what they believe is right, just as my wife was. There's no shame in that." He smiled. "Now get some sleep. Tomorrow is bound to be a big day."

Hindel nodded, and sat down on the bed to undress himself. As his host was about to leave the room, however, he said, "Alric, I... I never thanked you for earlier."

"Earlier?"

"When you tried to help me against Brehen, you know, tried to pull him off me. And before, you kept Nancie out of danger." He gave Alric a look of solemn gratitude. "Thank you for that."

"It was my pleasure. Honestly, Hindel," he said as he began to close the door, "...I can't remember the last time I felt as alive as I did then."


When they'd finished recounting what happened, Autumn leaned back and commented, "This just reinforces what I said from the beginning: we're wasting our time here. You can't convert a nation whose entire foundation is based on one religion. We should just conquer them, or better yet, get the other nations in this region to conquer them. There's already plenty of bad blood against Iom."

Marcus growled, "So that's why you forced us to bail out early."

She gave him a withering look. "Don't you dare accuse me. I do my duty, regardless of my personal opinions."

"Yes, you've already proven that," Silas nodded. "But you've overlooked the reason for your failure, Autumn. The people of Iom are not a lost cause. The problem is that young priest. Whatever power it is he wields, he can use it to convince the people that their god truly protects them. If we neutralize him, the people's misguided faith will continue to crumble, as the reports I've seen tell me has been happening for many years."

"If that is your order," Autumn bowed her head, "...then I will gladly handle the task of killing him in his sleep."

The commander shook his head. "Too risky. What if his power allows him to survive death itself? Then we'd only be providing further evidence of Iom's protection. Besides, it would be better to discredit his power in public view." He leaned back against the wall. "And I think what Marcus said earlier has given me a good idea of how to do that."