“Again, you misunderstand.” The archbishop leaned toward her, resting both elbows on the desk. “Adrienne, Olgun never told you the full import of what you did for him two years ago, did he?”
Her stomach tightened, and for a frantic moment she fought a sudden urge to flee. “What do you mean?”
“You saved Olgun's life.”
This time, the laughter died before it left her throat. It sounded absurd-save a god's life, indeed! — and yet, it felt right.
“Adrienne, there are a great many theories and philosophies within the High Church. Sitting around and debating the unknowable is something that overeducated old men like me enjoy so much, we've made it part of our official ecclesiastical duties. And one of the things on which we choose to speculate is the nature of the gods themselves.
“Why do you suppose the gods seek our worship?” he asked her. “What do you suppose they would do-they would be-without us?”
“Olgun?” Widdershins asked hesitantly. There was nothing, nothing from the god save an embarrassed silence.
“Consider that most of the gods of the Pact come to us from the scattered tribes and communities before the founding of Galice. That a god of great import in one city might oversee a single bloodline or guild in another. That they are older than modern society, and yet so few of them-or at least, of those we still acknowledge-demand observances that would be considered immoral to contemporary thought.
“Some of us in the Church believe that our worship actually shapes the gods-not so much as they shaped us, of course, but what traits the bulk of a god's worshippers believe he has, he has. What emotions we believe he feels, he feels. And without our faith, without mortals to honor and revere him, he would cease to be. He would…Well, in all ways that matter, he would die.”
“No.”
“You are Olgun's last living worshipper, Adrienne. If you perish, so, I fear, does he.”
“But I'm not the only one who believes in him!” Widdershins insisted, half lunging from her seat, all but tripping herself in the folds of her gown. “You believe in him now!”
“I believe, but I do not worship him. That's what they need from us. Devotion, not simple acknowledgment.”
Widdershins wanted to scream, to lash out, to cry, to deny it all, and she couldn't quite figure out why. Was it just the idea of bearing such an enormous responsibility? Wasn't it enough that she was liable to get herself killed by her own thoughtless actions? She had to take responsibility for the life of an “immortal,” too?
“If I'm the only one keeping him alive,” she said, brightening as she saw her way clear of the archbishop's smothering web of revelation, “then he'd be doing everything in his power to protect me! So what the figs is all this about him getting me killed?”
De Laurent smiled gently. “Listen to what I've been saying, Adrienne. Our worship gives them life, power, and personality. I would imagine that the fewer worshippers a god has, the more each individual shapes his nature. Your relationship is, if you will, monogamous. Just you, just him; something, I might add, that is absolutely unique in my experience. Neither of you is consciously aware of it-well, I'm sure you're not, though I guess I ought not speak for a deity-but you've been shaping each other's disposition since the day of the murders.”
The thief rocked backward, found herself sprawled crookedly across the plush, upholstered cushions. I don't want to hear this!
“You're a risk taker, Adrienne. You told me you always have been. You also told me it's gotten worse in the recent past, that you've been taking chances even when you knew they were dangerous, even stupid.”
“Because of Olgun,” she whispered, hands clenched at her sides. “I've made him more prone to taking risks…”
“Which he has been, albeit unintentionally, channeling back into you,” de Laurent concluded. Then, at the look of betrayal that shone so clearly on her face, he quickly added, “You should hold no malice for Olgun over this. I doubt he was any more aware of this than you.” He paused long enough to give a hefty shrug that lifted his entire cassock. “And even if he knew, there's little he could've done about it. Even the gods can no more escape what they are than can man.”
“Is that true?” Widdershins demanded, her attention clearly focused elsewhere. De Laurent felt nothing at all, but the young woman nodded slowly, accepting whatever silent response she'd received.
“All right,” she said a moment later. “That explains a lot of what's happened to me-not least of which is my attempt to rob you, which has to qualify as ‘stupid' if anything I've done ever has. But it doesn't get us any nearer to figuring out what's going on, or who's trying to kill you.”
“You seem awfully convinced it's not your thieves' guild,” de Laurent noted, stroking his chin. “Are you so certain?”
“I was there, William. I told you, I saw no evidence of ritual in their chapel. More to the point, they didn't have the first clue what I was talking about when I accused them of sending that thing after me.”
“These are thieves, Adrienne. I'm sure lying is something at which they're more than a little proficient.”
“I'm a thief, William,” she retorted. “Telling when thieves lie is something at which I'm more than a little proficient.”
“I see.”
“Besides, why would they want to kill you? That would draw exactly the sort of attention that the guild usually bends over backward-and bends other people over backward-to avoid.”
“Maybe.” The old man leaned slightly forward, as though suddenly intent on memorizing the patterns of swirls and whorls in the polished wood of his desk. His fingers idly traced the designs, over and over.
Widdershins remained patient for almost a full minute. “You,” she blurted out finally, “are trying to work up the nerve to tell me something.”
De Laurent smiled sheepishly. “It's not that I don't trust you at this point, especially given what you've confided in me. It's just that this is a Church matter, not one I can discuss lightly with anyone.” He paused again, considering.
“I'm not in Davillon to determine whether it's time to appoint a new bishop, and which of the various candidates I should recommend. Oh, I'll do that while I'm here-it's well past time anyway. But that's an excuse, nothing more.”
“Then why-?”
“There are ways other than worship,” de Laurent told her, apparently changing the topic, “for a god to draw power, though none as long-lasting or as steady. That's why people offer tribute, or sacrifice animals, and why some of the more vicious cults still practice human sacrifice, for all that the Hallowed Pact forbids such travesties. An item, or a life, dedicated to a god brings that god power.”
“I'm sure that's very interesting, but-”
“Recently, the pure of faith in the High Church have felt something, Adrienne. We've received dreams, visions, omens. There is, at the risk of sounding terribly melodramatic, a dark power growing in Davillon, and I can assure you it's not because someone's been successfully proselytizing. And I'm now all but certain that it is this power that spawned the inhuman minion hunting you, and sent it to destroy Olgun's cult two years ago. I've come to learn what it is, and if possible, to deal with it.” He frowned. “And yet, beneath its darkness, there's an almost familiar-”
He clamped his teeth together as his guest bolted upright, head cocked as though listening to a voice he couldn't hear-which, no doubt, she was. In a flash, she was standing beside the window, back pressed firmly against the wall. Taking a quick breath, the thief made ready to sneak a peek, but first she needed a favor.