Page 157 of Paladin's Faith

Yes.

“I bargained with a demon to save my friends.”

I know.

“I fought Your chosen to buy time for the demon’s followers to escape.”

I know.

There was no censure in the god’s voice, only statement of fact. Shane felt the silver light blazing against his eyelids and opened them again. “Why aren’t You angry?” he cried, and realized that he wanted the god to be angry with him, because…because…

Because you are angry with Me, little brother.

Part of Shane knew that he had no right to be angry with a god. Part of him knew that people cursed the gods when they had no one else to blame.

Those parts were shoved aside as he cried, “Why did You abandon me?”

Little brother, I did not.

“I waited for You! For weeks! You called the others, why not me?”

Because I could not. Silver fire flowed past his fingertips and lost itself in light. From the hour of your birth, you were promised to the Saint. I had no claim on you.

“Oh,” Shane said, which seemed woefully inadequate, given the circumstances. He stared into the fire. A priest had suggested to him that this was the case, and he had hoped desperately that it was, but he had never quite made himself believe it.

He believed it now.

“I’m sorry.”

As am I. We did not mean to cause you pain.

It occurred to Shane, finally, to ask the question that he should have asked first. “Am I dead?”

You are not.

Shane rubbed his face. He was increasingly unsure if this was his real body, but it felt like his hand and his forehead and the gesture made him feel slightly better. “Then what…how… Forgive me, Lord. I did not think that You spoke to mortals.” The Saint had certainly never spoken to him in words, only in fire and glory.

Fire and glory, and, if Shane was being honest, being pointed in the proper direction and shoved. There were never any explanations afterward, but then, he had never expected them.

It is rare that any of Us can speak to mortals. The channel that lets Us touch a mortal soul is a narrow one. To force it open is no kindness.

The raw wound in Shane’s soul twinged at that, as if someone had breathed across it.

The Saint’s passing scarred that channel closed for you, little brother, or else I would have claimed you then. The demon’s passing has ripped it open again, though those same scars protected you a little.

“A demon could get in, but a god could not?” asked Shane. The bitterness in his voice horrified him, but the Dreaming God did not seem to notice.

Can you set the bones of a chick still in the egg?

“No,” Shane admitted.

Nor can I, no matter how well-inclined I may be toward the chick. There are subtle gods, but I am not among Them. The flames danced briefly, as if with rueful laughter. I am not used to owing a demon a favor. It is not a comfortable thought.

Shane almost said, “Tell me about it!” but that seemed like an unwise thing to say to a god. The flames began dancing again though, and he had a suspicion that the Dreaming God knew perfectly well what he was thinking.

Very well, said the Dreaming God. Because of what has happened, because of what you have done, it is given to you to choose.

“Choose? Choose what?”