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Long ago things had been very different. He had been pre-eminent, first among all the gods on Dunmanifestin. Fors Forsa, the God of Sunlight, the Son of the Morning… None could rival Him in power or beauty and They all knew it. But of course this made Them jealous and They had begun to plot against Him in secret. He knew Blind Io was behind it but They were all in it together, it was so unfair. It wasn't as if He'd harmed any of Them, after all. All He'd hurt was Their pride. They couldn't bear the thought that He was better than all of Them, They were so petty.
In the end there had been a war, a terrible war. But the odds had been stacked against Him from the start: all of the other gods against Himself alone. It was so unfair. And so They had "triumphed", all of Them against One, and They had tried to destroy Him. They had almost succeeded, but He was not so easy to destroy. Yes, He had been diminished. More, He had been broken and scattered to the winds, but He had survived, if only just, and he had begun to build.
It had been slow at first –He had spent virtually all His power in battle- but his desire for revenge was strong. So he sought out grudges and petty resentments and hurt feelings and nurtured them and fed them and helped them grow. And as they had grown so had He. Oh, it wasn't like His old powers but it was something, and the more He cultivated them the stronger they became, until He eventually became powerful enough for hate.
Hate was strong meat and had to be handled carefully, especially hatred of "The Other", but it was hot and nourishing and He began to grow mighty upon it. He had fed upon the Omnians for centuries, and on their hatred for outsiders, and He had become mightier still and then that idiot Brutha had almost destroyed Him with his half-witted message of love and forgiveness.
No matter, He would be avenged upon the Omnians too, for there was a glut of hatred for them and He was feasting upon it. The banquet was here in Ankh- Morpork but there was sustenance to be had all over The Disc now. Wherever the Omnian Diaspora went hate was sure to follow. And so He travelled and He tended the hate and he fed on it and He helped it spread. But He always came back to the Big Wahoonie because this was where the hate was strongest.
Naturally, He prided Himself that this was because He had nursed it so carefully over the years. Now that hatred was ready to explode and when it did He would gorge upon it and become greater than He had ever been. Then They would be sorry, everyone would be sorry, and He would have His revenge.
Chapter XXII
It was the sorriest picnic in the history of picnics, even without the flies. Bliss had persuaded Lucy to come along with her. After all their time together on the nightshift they had become friends, or as close to being friends as Lucy thought she could ever be with anyone. Partly it was their shared selflessness and dedication to helping others but it was also Bliss's attitude to Lucy's past. Lucy felt that she could never ask for anyone's friendship, because of all the terrible deeds she'd committed over the centuries, but Bliss said it didn't matter. Provided any sinner truly repented then Om would forgive them without question, Om having had a radical change of heart about forgiveness in recent years.
Lucy did want forgiveness, deep down; she just didn't think she deserved it. However, she'd agreed to take an afternoon off to attend the Temple of Om one Thursday. Bliss had lent her a dress, a veil and some lacy gloves. Like most Omnian girls, Bliss looked ravishing in her Thursday Best, but Lucy looked positively ravishable.
Across the central aisle young men and not so young men; decrepit grandfathers and mere boys fought with themselves. The better angels of their souls strove for higher things, but their throbbing hearts kept dragging them back and, indeed, down to other throbbing things. Bliss was annoyed by all the salacious attention, but Lucy scarcely noticed. In part this was because she'd been the object of such lascivious looks for virtually all of her long unlife, but mostly it was because of what she was hearing. Not the hymns, of course. She loved beautiful music but she'd been as surprised by the words as Patrick had. Especially as they reminded her a great deal of her previous way of doing things. No. What had held Lucy enthralled was what the preacher had been thundering-on about.
"Mercy shall be the whole of the law!" he yelled, "and compassion shall be the highest virtue! ALL shall be pardoned if they but show leniency…"
She was stunned. Was it possible that there might be clemency somewhere even for such a wretch as her? Was that a tiny flicker of light beyond the blackness through which she saw the world?
"Brutha said that he who has not forgiveness in his heart shall not know the Absolution of Om!" shouted the preacher. He was nearly apoplectic with gentleness and so, almost uniquely among the men present, had no eyes for Lucy.
"And he who knows not pity!" he shrieked, "shall not see the face of God!"
And Lucy whispered: "Amen".
It had been easy for Smite to persuade Bliss to come in the first place, even though Patrick would be there; they were old friends, after all. Also, her hostility towards Patrick was growing less with each unfortunate he brought to the hospital to be cared for. Of course, if she'd known the true circumstances in which he was saving these people she'd never have spoken to him again, but he was genuinely helping them; just not quite as quickly as he might have done. She didn't even ask him how he did it, though she must have known he was using more than strong language. It was enough for her that the victims had been in real peril, that Patrick had saved them and that they'd been incredibly grateful for his having done so.
And so here they were on a scorching Grune day in Hide Park. Patrick was dressed in a dazzlingly-white linen shirt and dark-blue linen trousers. Smite wore shorts and a shirt that was slightly too small, giving the overall impression of an oversized schoolboy. The girls were in light, flowery summer-dresses. Bliss's dress was flouncy and made her look sweet and innocent. Lucy's, by contrast, hugged her slender frame in a most provocative way, even though her dress was almost identical to Bliss's –because she'd borrowed it from her- and, as she was smaller than Bliss, it should have hung loosely on her. Bliss had coquettishly painted her toenails bright pink. Lucy had done nothing to hers , but they looked as if they'd been painted scarlet anyway, just as her lips always looked as if she's freshly applied wine-red lipstick (unless they'd chosen to match her nails) and gloss, even though she never did either.
Smite had brought a selection of fresh fruit that he'd bought in the market that very morning, under Patrick's watchful eye, to make sure he wasn't ripped off. Bliss brought a range of breads and sweet and savoury vegetarian nibbles, all of which she'd made by herself. Patrick had brought orangeberry-juice and Quirmian, chilled, sparkling water, plus wine, the grapes for which had been trodden by beautiful, naked virgins; at least according to the label. Needless to say, it came from Genua. Lucy had brought nothing. Never having been to a picnic before, she hadn't known that she was supposed to. Naturally, she felt terribly embarrassed at having been so rude so, from her point of view, the day had started well.
She had wanted to sit out in the blazing sunshine but the others had demurred, preferring a spot by a babbling brook –having never been near the Ankh it was as clear as glass- beneath the shade of a large oak-tree. She was a bit uneasy about not feeling uncomfortable, but she thought at least she could rely on the food, for she detested fruit and vegetables. However, the little taste detonation that went off in her mouth when she bit into one of Bliss's onion arokap was almost shocking. The lentil dumplings were just as bad and the potato, carrot and pea asomas, if anything, even worse. She was sure that vegetarian food wasn't supposed to taste like this. Patrick took it in his stride as he'd already been for dinner at Bliss's parents' house and for Smite it was just normal. She also tried the orangeberry juice –sweet and delicious- and the fizzy water –wonderfully cold- but avoided the wine. The idea of beautiful, naked virgins brought back too many bad memories.
Suddenly she found that she was enjoying herself and was almost giddy with the sensation. She had spent so many years courting misery that she'd forgotten what it was like to feel pleasure, and she'd never felt pleasure like this before. There was nothing sordid or corrupt about it. No one suffered because of it. It was the simple, innocent enjoyment of life itself. They were eating and drinking and talking about inconsequentialities, even laughing, when something shocking happened.
She'd been reaching for another summer-roll while listening to Patrick's funny account of his first date with Bliss, when Smite gently stroked the back of her hand. She reacted as a normal person would to having boiling water poured on it. She snatched it away, cradling it as if it had been burned and looked at him with a horrified face, eyes wider than dollar coins and a mouth like a howler-monkey. All the colour drained from Smite's face in response. The sudden movement had brought Patrick leaping to his feet as his Assassin's reflexes took over.
"What happened?!" he demanded.
"I…I…I…" stammered Smite, hopelessly.
"Nothing," said Lucy, feeling ashamed.
"I'm so sorry," Smite finally managed.
"No, I'm sorry," she replied, "I shouldn't have reacted that way."
"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have presumed…"
"No, I'm sorry, it was ridiculous behaviour on my part…"
"Ok, you're both sorry," said Patrick.
"I'm sorry too," Bliss piped-up.
"What!?" he said, "what are YOU sorry for?"
"I'm sorry for the way I've been treating you," she replied.
"Oh, to hells with it," he decided, "I'm sorry for the lot of you."