"Forgive me; I am woolgathering." Verene does not deny her distraction, but momentarily returns her attention to a grimy and tarnished brass-laid design with a frown of concentration, choosing her words carefully. "I do not wish to pry, and if it is too personal you must not feel obligated to answer, but- three times today the sound of your voice has changed as you spoke, and each time I would swear you worked a kind of magic that was not a spell, as I understand them. Were you deliberately invoking magic at those times? From what source does it come? Can you replicate it at will?"
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Anarya looks thoughtful. "Truthfully, I hardly understand it myself. I've never been taught the ways of magic - even the prayers of clerics and paladins which bring about the magic of the gods. It comes to me unbidden - sometimes, I do not even realize at the time." She finishes cleaning off the altar, and busies herself with moving debris from a fallen pew. "That light from before, when the huecuva attacked Xantrius - I had no idea I was capable of such a thing. I was able to summon it again, but it is draining. I am glad of the chance to rest now and recover some of my strength."
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Xantrius returns to the temple and sees to the group's physical needs, offering food and water. Once that is done, he turns his attention to the spiritual. Looking around and seeing the amount of work that has already been done, he turns to Verene. "The two of you seem to have things here well in hand, how may I aid this work?"
As he clears out some of the larger pieces of detritus and carries the piles of debris that have been gathered together, he remarks to the young wizard "From your reaction earlier, I believe that I might have insulted you. I apologize; it was not my intention. I sometimes find myself becoming carried away in my zeal, and I have a short temper with those who profess to have Faith, but are not willing to match actions to words. I realize I know little of you and your beliefs and perhaps I was a bit hasty in my assumptions."
"I see. Thank you for your candor." Verene leaves the now-shining brasswork and moves on to clearing and righting the heavy pew with Anarya. Her bent head conceals her face for a moment, but she looks up again when the pew is set on its legs. "So would you say it is the same sort of innate ability as your usual nimbus?" Foolish. 'Unbidden' means of course it is of a piece with her heritage: a gift given without she ever asked or worked for it. At least she seems to count it as a blessing rather than a burden. But is anyone truly selfless enough to never chafe at a role expected of them due to an accident of birth or ability rather than true choice?
Verene shakes her head a little at the turn of her thoughts. "Never mind. If you didn't even know you were capable of it before today, it would be unreasonable to question where it comes from." She cannot manage a smile, quite, and Anarya cannot hear the gentleness in her voice, but warmth and sincerity show in her eyes. "In any case, I am certainly glad you discovered that particular use of your light when you did, and I hope rest will allow you to call on it again at need. I have never seen its like, although there are legends, from Tianjing in distant Tian Xia — where every man, woman and child can claim at least a drop of celestial blood and often more than that — of heroes who can stop an army in its tracks with a single word..."
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As the cleaning progresses, Verene notes from the corner of her eye both Xantrius's concern for the others and his willingness to perform menial labor. "Perhaps you could help us with lifting and righting some of these heavier pews, or taking away the ones that are so broken as to be unusable," she suggests when he asks what he can do, with an amicable nod. Then he makes his apology while on his way out with a pile of debris, and Verene is surprised enough that she almost drops what she's holding; but she gives the harsh and echoing voice her full attention. Again, she busies herself with dusting an unimportant bit of stonework while considering her reply carefully. If what I said to Lady Tirabade did not reach him, I suppose it's time to be more direct.
"I appreciate the apology, Sir Xantrius, but I took no insult, for I did not suppose you meant any. And I do not grudge—" (untrue) "—that is, I do not blame you, for your devotion. All I objected to was your assumption that it is or should be mirrored in others who have not professed to have faith. Perhaps it is I who owe you an apology, for failing to raise the issue and clear the air; but living in Kenabres I have grown very used to letting such things pass, in the interest of harmony." She waits a moment to see if this has sunk in, and then goes on blandly, "I should perhaps warn you for the future that if you want to convince me of something, appeals to religion will not answer. What faith I have is not in gods, but in people." She looks thoughtfully at his faceless, concealing helm, and adds gently, "It is one I do not expect everyone to share."
Sylvia quietly helps around the chapel, doing what she can to clean up. She offers to additional comments to questions of faith, or those of magic, not having or knowing much of either. But she glances back at the entrance door often, almost wistfully.
I'll be back soon, my love. But I am afraid that I would not make it alone. Stay alive!
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Anarya doesn't seem put off by Verene's comments, as they mirror many of the questions that have been going through her own thoughts since her fall into the caverns. "My powers do seem to flow from my... nimbus, as you said." She smiles shyly as she continues. "The sisters called it a halo when I was little. They thought it must be a sign from Iomedae, and that I would be a priestess when I grew up. I never joined the clergy, but I still felt the call to help those in need with my gifts." She lapses into silence for several moments as she thinks. "Perhaps my words may have power too, as you said. I've always felt a sense of... responsibility about the spoken word. Once, when I was little, I promised to clean one of the prayer rooms, but went to play with one of the temple cats instead." She chuckles softly to herself as she recalls the ways of her childhood. "When the sisters asked me if I had done it, I was so scared of being punished that I lied and said it had already been cleaned. At once I was struck with the most terrible illness, as though Iomedae herself had smoten me for lying." Anarya shakes her head with a smile. "Since then, I've striven to uphold any promises I make. Any time I've broken my word, I suffer just as I did back then."
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After fighting with one of the larger pieces of a broken pew for a few minutes, Xantrius finally gets it outside and away from the temple. Upon his return, he continues moving the larger pieces as he listens to Verene.
"I appreciate your candor. While I cannot say I entirely understand your point of view, I do respect your beliefs. And I do not believe we are so different as you might think. I, also, have faith in people. While I have Faith in the gods, and a particular reverence for my patron, I have been taught that in this life we have to strive and actively work for what we want. The world can only get better and become more beautiful if we make it that way. The gods may intercede very rarely, and give those who have shown them devotion a taste of divine power, but for the majority of people they have only their own strength and skill to rely on. I have seen what some refer to as 'common' people achieve amazing things by nothing more that their own will, and that is one of the great miracles!"
His head bows, and he seems almost embarrassed by his exuberance for a moment before returning to work.
Having buried the former priest under a large pile of buried rocks, Baradesh racked his mind for the prayers of his childhood. He could remember them - the grand chapels beneath the earth, lit in equal parts magic and hard work, where the priest bellowed out the rights of Torag and the oaths to protect the people.
But it had been a long time ago. Instead, Baradesh murmured the general prayer of the dead, hoping Magrim and Pharasma didn't look too harshly on the man. But to abandon one's people like this was...pretty much the worst thing a follower of Torag could manage. Baradesh held little hope for his soul.
Returning inside, Baradesh helped with cleaning and the reconsecration of the Temple. Listening to the conversation, Baradesh added, "Iomadae dinna care much if people belief in her, or in anything else from what I know, so long as they live right by others and fight what is evil." The bulky Dwarf shrugged. He'd never really understood why some people didn't accept the Gods - the power of the Divine he'd seen wielded proved it to him, and there were enough recordings with agents of the divine, let alone the Gods themselves to make him certain - but he didn't have much issue with it. The way he saw it, it was simply another faith.
"My faith in Iomadae is strong," he added, "But faith in those I trust is important, too. I dinnae think She will save my neck if some giant woolouse beastie is trying to gnaw my leg off - a friend will. Dinnae trust many people, mind, but haven't met many worth trusting."
Kneeling, he began the prayers of sanctity and dedication.
Verene's eyes widen as Anarya relates the story from her childhood. She recalls uneasily that Anarya swore that all of them would protect Horgus Gwerm — and had not said until when. "How awful. I should hope Iomedae is not inclined to visit torment on her foundlings for childish misdeeds. Even if it is in some way the price of your magic, it seems rather harsh, especially if you had no choice in the matter. How long does it last? Can you be released from a promise without harm?" She shakes her head slowly, thinking it over. If it were me, I would likely never be bold enough to speak with certainty, for fear I would be made a liar by things outside my control at some inopportune time. "I think many people in your situation would come to resent such gifts for the sting of their cost. That you use them to benefit others without thought for yourself is... admirable. Even if you did not officially join the Sisterhood of the Inheritor as a priestess, you are a credit to them."
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Listening to Xantrius politely as they clean, Verene is at first inclined to feel kindly toward his earnestness: nodding encouragement with the mingled sympathy and wincing recognition of a cynic meeting one who wholeheartedly embraces her own outgrown attitudes. She raises an eyebrow inwardly at his choice of words. Better and more beautiful, hm? But she has to look away and bite her tongue, hard, when he gets to his idealistic assessment of the 'miracles' available to 'common people' through force of will. Nothing she has to say is either kind or necessary, but the truth of it burns her throat like a swallowed coal. And I have seen common people who believe with all their hearts die in slow agony or lose their children to plague, while rich men who pay only lip service to the gods buy their intervention with gold. However fine their goods or noble their ideals, I do not worship merchants. She sweeps with rather more vigor than necessary, searching for something diplomatic to say.
She is saved from having to reply right away by Baradesh's interjection, but if anything his misapprehension is even less answerable without outright rudeness. For a horrible moment, Verene is afraid she will burst into hysterical laughter, or perhaps cry. She looks down and, with effort, controls her face. "Trust me," she murmurs, "I am very much aware of that fact."
There is another long pause while she gathers her thoughts. "I will say to you, sir knights, what I have to other crusaders: I returned to Kenabres precisely because I think there is little disagreement between decent folk in the practical matter of this war. The responsibility for taking care of each other, trusting each other, and making the world better, lies with us alone — as do the consequences of our own or others' failure to do so. In some places and at some times, the intervention of the gods may happen to work in our favor; but for most individuals, to depend upon their whims is folly. We simply disagree about the ramifications of that truth."
Sylvia, listening while she cleans up, whispers to herself at Verene's words, "Damned straight." She quickly glances up to see if any of the others noticed, then just as quickly looks back at the floor and rubble she was trying to straighten up, blushing.
"Just sayin', if'n yer normal folk, and yer expectin' the gods to be givin' out their miracles to save you and yours from the plague, yer outta luck. And most churches, they be makin' ya pay for their services. You do get the exceptions, but rarely do they come down to see us. And if'n ya find yerself on the wrong side of the bars in a slave caravan, no 'mount of prayin' is gonna be savin' ya."
She lowers her head, her dirty hair covering her face, and places a hand over the blue butterfly charm around her throat, "Least, mosta the time they won't..." She looks around, then, eyes red in the dim light, "The resta the time, we got ta make our own luck and help those who need it. I ain't sayin' trustin' them gods is folly, but expectin' them to fix everything is. I'm with Lady Verene with this, though she be sayin' it more eloquent like."
Baradesh considered. "Alas, I dinnae think my training is sufficient to keep up with yon mind, Lady Verene. I cannae truly argue this with ye. Personally, I dinnae like churches to charge for healing. Wealth is not the only thing that should keep a person alive and healthy, ken? But the churches dinnae always have much else but that magic to sell so they can function." The bulky Dwarf shrugged. "Cold Iron dinnae grow on trees - the wee folk wouldnae like it if it did - and someone must part with the gold to make the weapons. People like good master Horgus are one, and the Crusader Queen another, but the churches of Iomadae, Sarenrae, Abadar...especially Abadar, they have also opened there coffers to the fight, and without it the Worldwound would have overrun us."
The Paladin shrugged. "Nae easy answers. Why not grant us all the powers? Nae problem fighting demon beasties then. But mayhap even the Gods cannae afford to dish out that much divine power. Same with simply getting rid of them themselves, I suppose. But why give it someone like Lady Anarya, who dinnae ask for it nor the price it demands? All I can hope is that there is a reason beyond my ken, some task in hand for her that requires that power. That's the price I must pay - I must have faith my Lady knows what is right for me, and trust Her to guide me, knowing that at the same time it's my own strength that lets me walk the path she lays at my feet. And I know it's my strength - not everything I am is owed to those above."
Pausing in his work, Baradesh added, "I can see how people dinnae trust much in the Gods. There's a lot of dark ones out there, and the good ones dinnae seem that intent to help us wee mortal kinds. But I believe that serving Iomadae is right. The Wardstones are charged by the rituals of priests, given form by Hand of the Inheritor himself. I must believe."
The Paladin returned to his work. "Mayhap I am fool for doing so. But if the Paladin that rescued me from demon claws had decided she were a fool, then I'd be dead. She wouldnae had the power to kill the thing. So I understand your choice, Lady Verene, and dinnae wish to change it - but for myself, I'll play the fool and hope what I get in return can save another's life." Baradesh smiled. "Still, dinnae expect a thunderbot to roast the next beastie we fight. Unless someone is a wee bit more powerful than I think..."
Verene nods at Sylvia in silent accord, grateful for her willingness to speak a plain and unpleasant truth. She had not been able to trust herself to convey the sentiment without rancor; it was much better said with Sylvia's matter-of-factness. And despite his demurral, Baradesh's thoughtfulness when he has time to fully express himself is clear, just as it was before.
"I think you both are very eloquent," she says. "And I do not disagree, Sir Baradesh, on any particular point, nor would I call it foolish to have faith in the plans of a virtuous Power who makes her will known to you." The shadow of a smile does not reach her eyes. "Only one who does not. For there is more in this world unplanned than planned."
She turns to a new task, and says in a deliberately lighter tone, "In fact, I can think of only one thing either of you said to which I object. I am no Lady." Her eyes crinkle at the corners, showing she is not offended. "Nor even 'Mistress Tanaquil,' as it puts me rather strongly in mind of my mother. Just Verene, please."
Chuckling, Baradesh nodded. "Aye, well, in that case I am am nae Knight. So I am nae Sir. If you will be Just Verene, then I shall be Just Baradesh, ye ken?"
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Xantrius realizes from her reaction that once again he has said something to offend La-... Verene. He puts himself more vigorously into his work and remains silent, listening as the others tell their stories and viewpoints. Although not very different from his own belief on self-reliance, they are much more eloquent and he finds himself nodding in agreement.
As he looks around at the temple starting to look as it must have when it was new, he feels a sense of accomplishment.
"My mother always said there is something about good, honest work that eases the mind and brings people together." he says as he takes one of the last loads outside.
He waits until Anarya is ready to start, assisting her how he can as he tries to recall anything he can about Iomedae and her worship.
"As you like," Verene says, with the sketch of a bow more suited to a respectable drawing-room than the abandoned tunnels beneath a besieged city. A twinkle in her eye indicates that the irony of the situation is not lost on her. "...Just Baradesh. And what of you, Sir Xantrius? I am not well-versed in the hierarchy of the Crusade, but thought it best to err on the side of formality. How do you like to be called?" Despite her troubled expression and awkward pauses when trying to respond to Xantrius earlier, there is only an unassuming and genuine interest in her voice.
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As they near the end of their labors, Verene pauses to stretch her back, which is complaining at the now-unaccustomed physical strain, and to survey the large, high-ceilinged room with a certain satisfaction kin to Xantrius's, though with less direct reason. "She sounds like a wise woman."
When it seems clear the others are beginning their consecration ritual, Verene withdraws to the foyer of the temple to sit on the stone bench and begin her mending.
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"For my own part, I am not of noble birth either," Anarya adds. She chuckles. "As far as I am aware, at least! I imagine that few noble heirs are abandoned on the steps of temples at birth, though." She seems amused by the thought of her own origins, a topic she has always idly wondered about.
Her cleaning duties completed, Anarya assists Xantrius in the ritual. She is experienced at such things, but has never lead a consecration ritual herself, so she feels more comfortable helping out than taking the leading role.
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After she has completed her mending and fed Thamyris and herself from their supplies, Verene leans against the stone wall, closing her eyes. The little thrush hops to one of her hands, resting in her lap, and looks at her with his head cocked anxiously. Presently he begins to sing, high and clear and mournful as elf-song, and without opening her eyes she joins in, a lower harmony. The melody is easily recognizable as the funeral hymn "Prayer For The Fallen," often sung when many crusaders are lost to the Worldwound at once.
"Fare you well upon your journey,
To the shining lands of yore,
Silent flows the peaceful river
Leave your burdens by its shore..."
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Xantrius stops sharpening his sword and listens to the duet. After the first verse, he joins in with a surprisingly deep and rich baritone that is totally unlike his harsh speaking voice. He sings the rest of the hymn with only a couple of false notes betraying his inexperience.
When they finish, he is silent for a moment, the crosses the room and kneels next to Verene.
"Thank you, that was beautiful and much appreciated. I have not had much cause to raise my voice since my mother died. And I am especially glad you are with us, Thamyris. My faith sees songbirds as a sign of good luck, as sacred messengers and symbols that if we persevere, we shall overcome our hardships."
Looking around, Sylvia is impressed with the work they've done, but it's not the final outcome she envisioned from the other's want to consecrate the place, "Well, if'n we're done with the singin' 'n all, and the place is all consecrated, maybe we should continue on? I mean, I like me a consecrated temple s'much as the next girl 'n all, but we should get movin', yeah?"