Drip-Fed

The morning prayer was the second most blessed time of the day for the exiled angel. Certainly, being with her loved ones was an even greater reward. The hour spent every morning in unity of faith was a pleasure of a different variety. Priests, Paladins, and other people of the Classes leaning into the faith met to kneel before the altars of their respective gods. There were forty of them, thirty-three to the original gods and a further seven so that those following lesser-known deities could decorate them as needed.

On some days, Korith was in one of these isolated side chambers, praying to the Kobold deity Hoard. Not so today. Looking around, Aclysia only saw her brethren in the faith in the monolithic chapel. Unlike the rest of the rundown monastery, this part was kept in pristine condition and quartz of various colours were inlaid in the walls, moving in waves above the doors that led into the rooms with the shrines in them. The colour of the quartz matched the season of the deity and, if such quartz had been available, even the specific shade of their colour. Thirty-nine doors were decorated this way. Only that of the Progenitor deity was exempt, located at the back of the central chapel, locked and wrapped with silver chains.

First, they all prayed together, saying their thanks to the Progenitor, then they moved to shrines which befit their personal faith. Aclysia was alone during that segment. No one else in the temple worshipped Hashahin. This was hardly surprising; the god of Acts and Actors was one among the thirty-three whose aspects and attitude didn’t find a lot of followers among the faithful. It took a particular character, equally respectful of the divine and liberty minded, to want to follow the Great Actor.

After personal prayers, they all returned to the chapel and discussed topics of theology. These respectful dialogues were headed by a different person each day. They prepared a particular verse from their holy texts or an explanation of their god’s aspect and presented that to the congregation. Then they all probed at it, tried to peer into the wisdom behind the words, and constructed theoretical situations where it did or did not apply.

Those were the fantastic parts of her learning.

“Magic flows from the magical cortex towards the hand,” Pronthin explained boredly, while raising his own palm. Out shot a bolt of white faith energy at a distant target, dedicated to no season in particular. The sight was odd, alien even, particularly when coming from a teacher of a new generation of Priests. “We are no different from other mages in that regard. Bolt and Ray are our primary attack spells. Heal and Mend are our primary healing spells. Burst and sustain, in damage and in healing, the two basic shapes all magic takes.”

Aclysia stayed quiet, listening to the explanation with as much respect as she could muster for the thin, bald man. They were in a courtyard. The stone floor was covered in dirt and stray leaves, not having been swept forever. Across the yard were a number of targets, the stone surfaces covered in the remains of blasts.

“Even when it comes to buffs, those being spells that increase the effectiveness of our companions or ourselves, the conjuring of the magic and the shaping of it through our minds does not fundamentally differ from other Classes,” Pronthin continued. “I have demonstrated this over the past two weeks. Magic is not a gift from the divine and neither is the usage of it. Thank your creators, if you wish, but the gods did not give this to you.”

Aclysia pressed her lips together. She wasn’t alone in this. Several of the other Priests were annoyed with the callous tone their heretical teacher took when teaching faith magic. Rumour had it that his attitude was just a test, trying to teach his students patience when dealing with the obtuse or the cynical. The metal fairy regarded that as mere coping, Pronthin struck her as a bitter non-believer.

“Three things, however, separate the Priest and their magic from other magical Classes. Two and a half, if we’re being technical. The Miracle, the True Miracle, and the capacity to Smite.” Pronthin raised his hand again and cast another faithless Bolt. In the process of flying, the pale energy surged to double its size, before exploding with a loud BANG upon hitting the target. “A Miracle is a spell performed in a state of mind aligning with one’s faith. Many Classes rely on control or unleashing of their emotions to boost the capacity of their bodies. This is different. The effectiveness of the spell increases after it has left the Priest’s body. Nourished by the Omniverse itself. We are attuned to the tree from which all magic springs, our Sparks vibrant with belief in something greater.”

Aclysia nodded eagerly. It confused her a bit. Not that she agreed, but that these words came out of Pronthin’s mouth. The teacher spoke so passionately about general faith, yet was so bitter when it came to gods.

“With enough meditative exercise, you will be able to enter the state of mind to call a Miracle forth reliably. Some of you may even be able to permanently stay in it. This will greatly boost your effectiveness, but I do not recommend it. Embodying divine aspects is taxing, particularly on your social life. If you have ever met an Inquisitor, you will know that being a zealot does not lend itself to good teamwork or reasonable thought. It makes you the best Priest and the worst teammate. Continue your theological debates and prayers, attempt to be truly honest with yourself, know when you are in line with your values – your values, not that of your gods – and, when your mind and soul feel like they are in the right place at the right time, you will be able to bring forth a Miracle.”

Pronthin lowered his hand and turned back to his students. His eyes reflected a passion rarely seen. Over the next three seconds, it faded rapidly, accompanied by repeated tensing and releasing of his jaw. When he spoke again, he was back to sounding tired and bored.

“A True Miracle, I’m not capable of showing you. Gods exist in a splintered state, allowing them to observe thousands of simultaneous situations unfolding all over the Omniverse and for them to answer summoning calls no matter what else they are doing. Rarely, if ever, do gods consolidate all their might into single physical shape. Importantly for you, this means that your god may be watching and granting you a fraction of their power to aid you in doing good when you are at your most desperate. I wouldn’t bet on it.”

‘Something obviously happened to sour his relationship with the divine,’ Aclysia realized.

“The half I was speaking about earlier is the capacity to Smite,” Pronthin continued unabated. “Specifically, we call this Smite casting. The same emphasized connections of our Sparks to the whole of the Omniverse that allow us to perform miraculous feats above our own power allow us to subvert the rules of spellcasting.”

Pronthin raised a hand. Everyone waited for the spell to occur. Eyes already raised, they spotted the white streak of energy descending seconds before it hit. Enveloping one of the stone targets, the spell covered the surface in white fire. The flickers were so pale that they appeared two-dimensional, like holes in one’s vision.

“We are extensions of the holy Omniverse,” Pronthin explained. “It is in us and we are in it. This understanding enables us to not only cast from the boundaries of our own body but also from the world that surrounds us.” He gestured upwards. “This is most easily done from the sky. The reason for this, I will keep for myself. I wish for all of you to attempt to find an answer. You may discuss it with one another, but I recommend you try to find it for yourself first. Once you have it, I can teach you properly in Smiting.” The holy fire he had conjured was still burning behind him. “I don’t think I must explain why being able to cast from positions outside your bodies is a boon, particularly for healers. Smiting and Miracles also go hand in hand. The longer a Miracle travels, the more power the Omniverse can bestow upon the spell, the stronger it gets. However, Smite casting is also more costly and the Miracle only works as long as your state of mind is maintained. Any questions?”

The students pondered, nothing was raised, and Pronthin dismissed the class with a few final words.

“Try to understand why Smiting works best from the sky and find out the state of mind you require to create a Miracle. You are in self-study until you find either of them. If you haven’t found an answer for either in a week, return to me.”

_______________________________________________________________________

“Honoured teacher,” Aclysia caught Pronthin in one of the many small seating areas of the monastery after the other students had left. The old Priest was reading a political text, sitting on a U-shaped bench. In the centre of the stone table flickered a medium-size fire keeping the half-open place warm. “May I talk to you?”

“If you had a question about today’s subjects, you should have asked it while the others were there,” the bald man remarked.

“No, I wish to ask a more personal question,” Aclysia responded.

Pronthin loudly closed the book and placed it on the table in front of him, just far enough from the fire that there needed to be no worry. “Is there anyone around?” he asked.

The metal fairy poked her head back out of the doorless entrance and looked down the corridor. Left first, then right, spotting no one in either direction. “It appears not to be so, honoured teacher,” she responded.

“Alright. Aclysia, I don’t poke my head into your business. What an exiled angel is doing here, why Maltos cares so much about your man, or whatever other business you have, I do not care to know about it,” the heretic sounded just a tinge annoyed while he opened up about all of this. “I would prefer it if you gave me the same common courtesy.” He grabbed the book again.

The metal fairy remained where she was. Indecisively, she grabbed the front of her robe. It was sanctified by a god other than her own, which did cause some confusion among her fellow students, but it was also the best and only one she had. Besides, she had grown quite fond of the feeling of silk on her skin and having heard a few sermons of Sloan, the god of Depth and Darkness did not sound as malevolent as she originally anticipated him to be. The foremost lesson Sloan had for his followers was that the hardest decisions require the greatest of wills. A fairly straightforward bit of wisdom, encouraging the followers of the eleventh deity to do what they deemed right no matter how difficult it may be. In some ways, something became more right the harder it was.

The most fundamental lesson of Hashahin was that everyone had their part to play. It was a lot harder to apply that to one’s life. Aclysia was certain what her part was, that of a woman in support of her loved ones, of Apexus and Reysha. She was there to guide them, to encourage them to do the right thing and steer them clear of the darker paths. How one optimally performed in that role, that was a more difficult question.

A tiny part of the answer was that she did not want to step back here. “I believe you stay out of our affairs not out of a respect for us, but out of a-“

“-an utter lack of care, yes,” Pronthin interrupted. “I do not make this difficult, Aclysia.”

“You indeed do not, teacher,” Aclysia responded drily, unable to completely swallow her annoyance. “My question is born from a care for your wellbeing. If you truly do not wish to answer, I will respect your boundaries. If it is only your lack of interest to have a conversation in the first place, I desire to pressure you to give me an answer.”

The bald man pushed air out of his nose. “Let’s hear that question then?”

“Why do you hate the gods so much?” Aclysia asked.

“Because they abandoned me,” Pronthin gave a cold and bitter answer. “I was once quite like you and your fellow students. Hopeful, placing my faith in the gods, living to ideals, sacrificing my time in search of divine revelations. Then they failed me. When I needed their aid the most, they were silent. They forsook me and I forsake them. I was gambling on the favour of beings that create worlds on a whim. A foolish decision.” He raised his hand haltingly. “Spare yourself the attempt to convince me of the gods’ good will. You aren’t the first student through the years trying to dismantle my cynicism and you won’t be the last. I’ve learned too much about divinity and reality to ever invest myself in the code of any god ever again.”

“Then why teach at all?” Aclysia inquired. “Why provide this place to pray and study the theological, if it is all lies to you?”

“Not lies – pretentions,” Pronthin responded. “Investing in a deity is rolling a die. The worldview they preach may serve you well or it may lead you to your doom, depending on where you go. Take Keligula, deity of Earth and Empathy. Devote yourself to her teaching and enter a Leaf of merciless war and see your worldview shatter witnessing the atrocities before you or die trying to help the wrong soldier. As you lie bleeding in the fields, committed to her to your dying breath, will she smile upon you or will you feel every bit of life drain from the wound? A toss of the die, reliant on the whims of a distant consciousness.”

Aclysia listened to all of that and then, slowly, nodded. “You are right about the risk inherent to strong belief… but is it right to become cynical of the entire world due to it?”

“Right or wrong, you can care, I do not,” Pronthin waved off and then tapped on the book by his side. “Do you know what this is?”

“No, teacher.”

“It is a propaganda work, written by hand by the supreme president of an empire spanning fourteen Leaves, about fifteen years travel from here,” Pronthin explained. “A first edition, predating the mass-printing of it, detailing how it was good that they massacred an entire nation for the sake of stability and how it is civilized that they colonised another. Do you believe they adhered to any virtues?”

“The framing you gave me leads me to say no, teacher.”

“The framing, exactly,” Pronthin responded. “What good is a framing? Why constrict yourself to a mode of thinking? Raise one over the other, and you lose sight of what is pragmatically correct.”

Aclysia looked around the monastery. The rundown, grey, dull, and lifeless building that Pronthin inhabited. “It appears to me that committing to certain beliefs is required in order to live a life in order.”

“And you are free to do so,” Pronthin waved off again. “Just leave me out of it.”