by Garon Whited
I was wrong about the meeting.
We sorted out a number of things on the agenda. The big thing was formalizing the functions of the sanctorii—the religious figures using their theological powers—to assist the curiate (kur-ee-AH-tay)—the overall structure of the City Guards and the judges. I really had to hammer on the idea the court system was getting an overhaul and was going to do things my way, and the Temples of Truth, Law, Justice, and Mercy could assist us. Or they could walk away and have nothing to do with it. They were welcome to help, but the courts would hold the power of the Rod and the Axe, to punish or to kill.
Sometimes, you lay it on the line and say take it or leave it. They took it. They wanted to be involved, to have some sort of official sanction. I think they were worried about the god-king’s religion overshadowing them completely. If so, I may have finally found a use for my own religion: Convincing other religions to participate instead of dominate.
Then Tianna blindsided me with her question about what other temples would do for recognition in the government. From the look on Seldar’s face, he was as surprised as I was. Beltar didn’t seem surprised, but he’s got a great poker face.
“To be frank,” I told her, “I don’t know. There are a lot of government functions—enforcing the law, minting money, collecting taxes, training the army, regulating trade, all that stuff. Those functions are going to continue with or without the Temples. Wherever a specific temple seems to have both a willingness to help and the… what’s the word? Dominion?… over the subject at hand, I’m willing to consider letting them.”
“So, you have a place for the Lord of Wealth?” she asked. “Presumably, making coins?”
“That wouldn’t be unreasonable,” I admitted. “I’d like to talk to a priest of the Lord of Wealth, first, and see how he can help us.”
“And having factors at the docks, weighing the fish brought in, sorting them—the various sea gods and the fishermen’s gods might provide priests for that?”
“I’m not against it.”
“And what would the Mother of Flame do?” she inquired. “Preside over the kitchen hearths in the Palace? Or would She need to compete with the Lord of the Forge for recognition in smithies?”
“You raise an excellent question, Granddaughter,” I told her, showing teeth. “Since you bring it up, why don’t you go away and make a list of all the things the Mother of Flame is good at? What does she have to offer?”
“I—what?” she asked, taken aback. “Now?”
“Right now. You have our royal leave to depart. You are, in fact, dismissed.”
Tianna’s hair flickered, but she rose from her seat and left the room with dignity.
“Majesty?”
“Yes, Liet?”
“What of the Grey Lady? Also, what of your own Temple?”
“The Grey Lady does not perform a function for the government. It’s not the business of the secular authorities to interfere in the afterlife. Our mandate is strictly material, dealing with the trials and tribulations of this world to make life better for everyone.
“However, that being said, I’m sure anyone who dies under mysterious circumstances will be taken to the House of the Grey Lady and asked if he or she met with misadventure or murder. We wouldn’t want people meeting the Grey Lady in an untimely fashion.”
“And your own Temple?” she pressed. Everyone else became immensely interested.
“At the moment, I don’t know. I suspect they’ll carry on the tradition of providing security for the King and Queen. It’s possible we may open a government-run hospital. If so, they’ll probably be useful there, along with the Mother of Flame. All the gods who offer to heal the ills of the flesh might be represented there.”
“Then, the Temple of Shadow will not be the state religion?”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
“What will be?”
Which told me, right there, I still have a massive disconnect between the way I think and the way everyone in Reth— the way everyone in Karvalen thinks. After all the people I’ve turned into midnight meals, shouldn’t I have a better idea of how the locals feel about things? Or do I retain only disconnected fragments of information, bits of experiences, rather than patterns of thought? I can learn a lot of the language by drinking it in, but I can’t adopt the way they think? Is that it?
Upon consideration, that might actually be a good thing.
“All right,” I said, “this is an idea I’ve had only for a little while and it’s taking time to form up. I’m not sure I can explain it adequately, yet, but I know what I want to do.” I leaned forward and put my folded hands on the table.
“Bear with me; I’m going to try and explain something I don’t fully understand, myself. Right now, we have a monarchy. Now, the monarchy is in charge of the people. The purpose of the monarchy is to supervise and regulate the society—the people—for the good of everyone. Still with me? Excellent.
“The gods, on the other hand, come in a couple of types. Some seem to supervise and regulate things that are not the people. Clouds, wind, rain, good fortune, bad luck, sunrise, sunset, harvests, and so on. Others are there to assist people with things not entirely in their control. Healing the sick or wounded, aiding in certain types of crafts, raising children, having a happy marriage, finding love, and so on. Everybody still with me?”
“Your Majesty,” Percel began, “are you… quantifying the gods?”
“Not at all. I’m categorizing them. The Mother of Flame is female; your own Lord of Justice is male. Those are two categories, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“And the Lord of Justice is one of the gods who deal primarily with something not entirely under mortal control: Justice. We try to achieve it, but we can often use some help. Is that a fair assessment?”
“I suppose it is. Yes.”
“My lord,” Beltar said, “perhaps none of us are accustomed to thinking about the gods in the way you do.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I agreed. “But I’m a nightlord and a king.” I nodded at Beltar; he nodded back. The gesture was not lost on the council.
“So,” I continued, “my intention is to set things up such that mortals run their own affairs in an organized—well, more organized—fashion. I want a well-run, efficient kingdom to manage the larger concerns of the people. That way, the people can get on with their lives without worrying about whether or not the road to the farmer’s market will wash out, or if the orku will be raiding them this winter, or whatever else.
“To do this, I want the gods—through their ministers and priests—to help.”
“In what way?” Liet asked, sounding curious.
“I want the gods to do their jobs, same as always. But where they can go through the mortals, they should go through the mortals.”
“That sounds dangerously close to heresy,” she observed.
“And it’s something the Church of Light will never agree to,” I added. There was a silent pause while everyone digested that.
“The Church of Light doesn’t want to share anything,” I went on. “It wants to not only rule the world, it wants every other temple broken into pieces and destroyed. Its ultimate aim, from what I understand, is to banish all the other gods from the world and see the world itself destroyed in light—shadows and darkness banished forever as everyone goes back to what they claim is the primal source, the Lord of Light.
“I don’t want that. I want a world where we honor the noble virtues, live long and happy lives, and work together to make it better, year by year, generation by generation. I’m willing to include all the gods in this, wherever we can find—or make—a place for them. And if they don’t have a good application in the administration of a kingdom, that’s fine. I have no objection to them—or anyone else—throwing up a temple and holding services.
“But I will not have the Church of Light kicking over our work, worming its way into the structure of the kingdom, and trying to undermine everythi
ng we do. I view this as an us-against-him situation, and I want you—all of you, not just the churches represented in this room—to stand with me.”
“My lord—”
“Hold it. Before anyone decides, go away. Go talk to your respective deities. Talk to other churches. Spread the word through the ecclesiastical grapevine. Then come to Carrillon; we’ll hold a big meeting there and sort out who is with us and who is with the Church of Light.”
“What of those who do not wish to ally with either power?” Percel asked.
“I’m tempted to say they can be regarded as enemies, exactly like the Church of Light, but that’s probably what the Church of Light would do. I intend to be better than the Lord of Light in every respect.”
“And we are duly thankful,” Seldar replied, prompting a general mutter of agreement.
“How about we assume neutral parties will be told to build their temples elsewhere?” I suggested. “I’m willing to discuss it, but I mean it when I say this needs a lot of backing to work. I’m not offering dominance to any religious power; I’m offering a partnership or an alliance. Instead of fighting for the whole of the world, I’m offering a guaranteed piece of it to anyone who will agree to help. The gods can all share the pie and everyone gets a slice, or they can fight over it until it breaks apart and the Lord of Light leaves only the crumbs.” I shrugged. “Go ask them.”
I turned to Seldar.
“I’m done with this meeting. I’ve got to make transportation arrangements. Take over, please.”
“Granddad?”
I looked up from the amulet Kammen sent me. I had some good ideas on how to make the effect a solid effect, working on an area, rather than an empty shield, like a bubble. Modifying it would help with insights on blocking gates in my vicinity—or alerting me well before they manifested, at least.
Tianna stood at the door, politely not entering until acknowledged. I doubt the guards at the door had anything to do with it, but she’s a good girl. She wouldn’t want to fry them for doing their duty.
“Yes, sweetie? And come in, come in.”
She entered and a guard outside slowly swung the door shut. She found a seat and plopped on it.
“Do you have any idea the trouble you’re causing?”
“Nope.” I clicked some magical lines of force back together and set the amulet aside.
“Granddad, this attitude of yours toward religion is… is…”
“Heretical? Blasphemous? An affront to all right-thinking individuals?”
“To a lot of the gods, anyway.”
“There’s a shocker. What would you suggest?”
“Just throw them all out and build temples to the Mother of Flame,” she answered, promptly.
“And then what?”
“That’s all you really need, isn’t it?”
“Forgive me, but you’re sounding like Lotar or Tobias.”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“You don’t have to. But the Church of Light did it in Rethven, long before you were born. It worked out, sort of, if you like having zero tolerance for any of the other gods.”
“Why should we tolerate them? You’re the King. You can declare a state religion.”
“I could. What I’m choosing to do is oppose the Church of Light.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“I’m not sure I do, either. It’s just an idea.” I thought for a moment. “Here’s a question. Do the other gods exist?”
“Of course.”
“And yet, you would deny them any representation within the kingdom?”
“Of course. It should belong to the Mother, just the same as the monarchy belongs to you.”
“And will the Mother handle the souls of the dead? Or will the Grey Lady? Or will I? Will she bring rain, stop floods, prevent plagues, and so on?”
“Not all of that, no,” Tianna admitted, “but She will happily help all those who worship Her.”
I had an idea. It was a detestable one, but I do a lot of things as a king I don’t like.
“Okay, let me tackle this from another viewpoint. Am I a god?”
Tianna was silent.
“If I’m the god-king of Karvalen,” I continued, “what do you think the state religion should be? Me? Or someone else? If you consider what I could be doing, what I’m expected to do, I’m being almost offensively generous. As it is, even the grey sashes from the Temple of Shadow aren’t—officially, for the most part—knights, and so have no legal standing in the kingdom. They can’t legally smite the wicked without a red sash, but even after I confirm someone as a knight, they keep wearing the grey. By contrast, if a red sash has a bunch of people smite the wicked on his orders, that’s another matter.” Tianna remained silent.
“Here’s the thing,” I continued. “I’m offering less of a religious takeover and more of a sort of religious citizenship. The gods are service providers, businessmen. They do their thing. I don’t order them about, just ask for their help and cooperation. If they don’t want to give it, they’re not obligated.”
“That is not what the Mother wants!” Tianna said. “She wants a dominion, not some… some… petty shop where people can buy Her blessings by the drop!”
“I see your point,” I admitted. “I don’t expect her to love the idea. I don’t expect her to like the idea of sharing, either—a lot of the gods are like greedy children, really. But if she doesn’t want to share, if she won’t tolerate other gods, then she’s no better than the Lord of Light.”
Tianna opened her mouth to say something and I held up a hand.
“Stop! Understand me clearly before you tell me I’m wrong. You’re my granddaughter and you can get away with a lot. But this is between me and the Mother. You can tell her I’m the god-king of Karvalen and it’s My dominion! She’s welcome to come play in it, however, along with pretty much everyone else who is willing to work with me on making it a nicer place.”
I shifted my voice into a lower register and tried to remember I was talking to a Priestess of the Mother of Flame. It wasn’t easy. I keep seeing my granddaughter, not a priestess.
“Now, Priestess of the Flame, you have His Majesty’s leave to depart… but your granddad is always happy to see his granddaughter.”
Tianna stood up and started to leave, then turned back.
“Granddad?” she asked, in a very small voice.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“If I weren’t a Priestess of the Flame, what would I be?”
“Hmm. That’s a good question. Offhand, a Princess of the Blood, possibly Queen. Certainly a talented and incredibly skilled wizard. Maybe a magician, but I hope not; they’re a stodgy, strictly-by-rote bunch, even if they do have some impressive spells. You might be my wizard assistant, I suppose, but I tend to think you would strike out on your own and have a shop where people hire your services for serious, complex, and difficult problems. In fact, I might be on your payroll as a consultant.
“That’s off the top of my head,” I added. “Why?”
“No reason. Just… wondering.” She skipped over to me, kissed my cheek, and left.
Sparky’s pressuring my granddaughter, I realized. I concentrated for a moment, thinking: Sparky is pressuring my granddaughter.
Yeah, came the reply from the other me. Tianna is a priestess. It’s allowed.
Got it. Did I mention the plan to you?
No, but it’s all anyone can talk about up here.
Really?
No, I’m just making it up because you asked, came the sarcastic reply. Yes, really.
You’re not funny.
That’s funny, coming from you.
Are they really discussing it? I asked.
They really are. You kicked the hornet’s nest, that’s for sure.
How’s the debate going?
I wouldn’t call it a debate. More of a shouting match. The Hunter likes it and Ssthitch is willing to give you the benefit of the doubt—he do
esn’t like the idea, but he’s willing to tackle it on a trial basis. I think it’s because he isn’t really affected a whole lot by what happens in Rethven. Karvalen. The kingdom. Still, it might net him some worship from fishermen and sailors. Reason, of course, is firmly in your corner, but when’s the last time any god listened to Reason? The Lord of Light is livid and is trying to downplay the whole thing, hoping it will go away if no one supports it. Even if he does draw on worship from other worlds, he doesn’t like the idea of being the sole exclusion in this one. Oh, and I think I like the idea, by the way, aside from the part about the grey sashes having no civil authority.
It’s a religion versus government thing. I’m avoiding a theocracy.
You think I’d do a sucky job as the god-king? my simulata demanded.
Haven’t I?
You were hell on wheels as a Demon King.
And I’d like to avoid doing it again. Meanwhile, on Olympus… Do you think we’ll get a consensus?
Do you think you’ll get a unanimous vote out of Congress? These idiots couldn’t agree to pour fresh pee out of a boot if you wrote instructions on the heel. But I think we’ll get enough of the major gods on board that the others won’t make too much of a fuss—at least, not down there. I expect to hear a lot of grumbling and snarky comments from the nay-sayers.
Sorry.
Don’t sweat it. I plan to ignore them with Olympian dignity.
You can do that? I asked. Where did you pick up dignity?
Priests. They have a definite idea about the appearance and dignity of their object of worship. I sure didn’t get it from you, he snickered.
Ah. Fair enough.
I closed up my mental fortress again and went to have a waterfall—after scanning the room carefully. Talking to god, even if it’s more like talking to myself, always makes me feel icky, somehow. Besides, I wanted to test my new spell for detecting scrying portals. Just in case.
Bob arrived late this afternoon. We sat down to a dinner with his two… children? Creations? Progeny? The two elves he already sent, Alliasian and Filiathes. We discussed what I did in analyzing them and I explained how I needed to examine what he called a First Elf to find the differences.