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<I wish I could promise you that, Bahzell,> Tomanâk said seriously. <Unfortunately, I can't. Not even a god can tell you what will be. All we can say is what may be.>

<Indeed?> Walsharno's ears shifted. <Forgive me, Tomanâk, but I had always assumed a god could see the future as readily as the past.>

<The problem, Walsharno,> Tomanâk said, <is that in reality, there is no future or past. All time, all events, coexist. Mortals live in what you might think of as a moving window that briefly illuminates what they conceive of as separate moments in that single reality. It is a factor of their mortality that they cannot see it whole and entire, and so they order what they do see and experience into a past, a present, and a future.>

Bahzell frowned, intrigued almost despite himself. A portion of his awareness remained firmly focused on the movement of Walsharno's muscles under him, the caress of the late afternoon breeze as the day wound towards twilight, the jingle of mail and weapons harnesses, the creak of saddle leather, and the slightly dusty smell of grass crushed under the hooves of coursers and warhorses alike. But most of his attention was focused on the question it had never occurred to him to ask and on the answer he would never have anticipated, if he had asked.

<I'm not so very sure as I understand any of that,> he put in, <but I'm mortal positive I'm not understanding all of it.>

<Nor do I,> Walsharno agreed. <Are You saying gods can see all of time in a single sweep? Because, if that's the case-if You see what we call the past and the future simultaneously-then why do You also say You can only tell us what may be, and not what will?>

There was no disrespect or challenge in the courser's question. He accepted what Tomanâk had said, as a yearling accepted the decrees and explanations of his herd stallion. He was simply seeking explanation, not demanding that Tomanâk justify what he had already said.

<Mortals think in terms of causes and effects,> Tomanâk replied. <And insofar as mortal affairs are concerned, that's a useful and effective way to visualize what they experience. But the truth is that a given cause does not have one fixed, inevitable result, as mortals persist in thinking that it does. All possible outcomes of an act, or an event, are equally real and valid, Walsharno. Mortals observe and experience only one as their moving window travels across the moment of resolution, but all are present and real . . . both "before" and "after" that perception and experience mortals define as "now.">

<My brain is after hurting,> Bahzell observed dryly, and Tomanâk chuckled again in the back of the link he and Walsharno shared. <If I'm understanding you aright, then are you after saying that whatever it may be we're thinking happened didn't? That we're only after imagining it did because we've not the eyes-or the minds-to be seeing what truly did?>

<No,> Tomanâk replied. <The problem is that mortals lack the proper frame of reference to visualize all that's bound up in what you think of as "now," or "the present." In a way, that's the very thing that makes you so valuable in the struggle between the Light and the Dark, Bahzell. In a fashion I can't explain to you because of the difference in our frames of reference, mortals define events and will ultimately define whether the Light or the Dark triumphs in this universe by the framework they impose upon the reality they cannot fully observe.>

He obviously recognized Bahzell's and Walsharno's confusion, for he went on.

<Think of it this way. "History" is a mortal creation, a procession of mortal experiences which moves through the interconnected past and future. It . . . selects which single outcome "occurs" out of the collision of all possible causes and all possible effects for each given event. The word "until" is another mortal creation, a consequence of the way in which you perceive time and events, but "until" that moment of mortal experience of an event, all of its possible outcomes happen. Indeed, if you wish to think of it this way, the perception of each individual mortal creates its own individual universe for every outcome of every event.>

<But in that case,> Walsharno thought slowly, <there must be as many universes as there are possible outcomes.>

<Precisely,> Tomanâk replied simply, as if the staggeringly complex and preposterous implication were perfectly reasonable. <As I told you once before, Bahzell, the Light and the Dark are engaged in a struggle across more universes than you can possibly imagine. You simply didn't realize that it is you mortals who create those universes. And, in the "end," it will be the balance of all those universes, the preponderance of them, in which Light and Dark have triumphed which determines the fate of them all.>

<Now I know my head is after hurting,> Bahzell thought after a moment. <But if I've puzzled out even the least tiniest bit of what it is you're after saying, then you can't be telling us what will be after happening because we've not yet reached that moment with our "window"?>

<Exactly,> Tomanâk agreed, <and yet not complete. Mortals believe we gods see all of time and space and that, if we chose, we could tell them what will happen. But they're only partly correct. We do see all of time and space, and because we see all possible outcomes, we cannot tell you which one of them you will experience. We could tell you which outcomes are more likely, or less, but we cannot tell you which one will be for you, because all of them will happen somewhere.

<Yet that's only fair, my children, because only you can tell us what the ultimate fate of all of us will be. Because in the moment that we reach the final end of all mortal perceptions of all mortal events and the decision is rendered in favor of the Light or the Dark, then all other possible outcomes will disappear, as if they never were. Ultimately, your fate lies in your own hands, not ours. What you choose, the struggles you wage, the battles you win and lose-those are what determines the fates of the gods themselves. And that, Bahzell, to answer the question you asked me once, is why you and all other mortals, and why each and every one of all those infinite universes, are "so all-fired important" to us gods.>

Bahzell and Walsharno were silent, stunned by the immensity of the concept Tomanâk had just laid before them. The idea that there were an infinite number of Bahzells paired with an infinite number of Walsharnos, each fusion experiencing its own outcomes, fighting its own battles and meeting its own fate, might have made them feel small, and insignificant. No more than two single grains of sand upon an endless beach. Yet they were anything but small and insignificant. The exercise of their free will would determine their fates, and their fates would be not grains of sand on a beach, but stones in an avalanche thundering to a grand conclusion which would determine the fate of all universes and of every creature who had ever lived . . . or ever would.

<That's . . . after being quite a mouthful for a man to be digesting,> Bahzell said after a long, thoughtful pause.

<It is,> Tomanâk agreed. <And it isn't a mouthful most mortals are prepared to bite off and chew. Not everyone has the capacity to understand and accept the implications, and many of those who do refuse to accept them. The fact that you can both understand and accept, and find in that understanding strength for the battle, rather than hopelessness in the face of such immensity, is one of the things which make you a champion, Bahzell. And you, as well, Walsharno.>

<I?> Walsharno came to a sudden halt, his ears straight up and his eyes wide. <I, a champion? I'm no such thing!>

<Oh, but you are,> Tomanâk said almost gently. <Not by yourself, perhaps, but a champion nonetheless. The first courser champion, as Bahzell is the first hradani champion in over twelve centuries.>