Opening her mouth to protest, the words already halfway up her throat, she instead blurted, “You worship an evil god that wants to consume the world, and that’s pretty hard for me to think kindly of.”
Bluebriar’s brows rose. “Succinct! Although that begs the question, why aren’t you inmoreof a hurry to leave.”
Fern raised her paws and then dropped them in her lap miserably. “I don’t think Astryx would survive if we did. And . . . I’m thankful. You’ve been . . . kind. I don’t know how to square that with what you are. What you do.”
The abbess nodded and thought for a long moment before replying. “Whatdoyou think we do around here?”
Squirming uncomfortably, Fern finally said, “Um. Worship Tarim . . . ? I heard the chants. Awful lot of tentacles around the place.”
“Nearly correct. But please continue, what do you expect we get out of that?”
Fern blinked. “Um. Horrible divine favor? I guess . . . his will done in the Territory, or something like that? Doom befalling your enemies? A little casual smiting?”
Smiling humorlessly, Bluebriar stared into the brilliant glow of one of the tall windows. “We don’t spend much time educating anybody on the finer points of Tarim’s will. We’re not proselytizers, so you can be forgiven for being so terribly wrong.” She returned her gaze to Fern’s, unblinking. “It’s more accurate to say we devote our time topreventinghim from enacting his will. Why do you think we’re called penitents?”
“I guess I’m not sure.”
“Tarim is a god of endless hunger and consumption. His will to devour is never-ending. But he is vulnerable to appeasement—penance, for the temerity of existing.”
“Penance?” Fern asked, with a suspicious frown.
“Oh, not offerings of souls or blood or anything overly messy. As beings of infinite cosmic power go, Tarim is remarkably insecure.” She gestured heavenward. “Fervent, frequent, andsincereexpressions of our unworthiness before his terrible majesty are enough to shift his regard elsewhere.”
“Hang on,insecure?”
The abbess nodded. “As a teenager at a barn dance.”
“I’m sorry, I want to make sure I have this right. Are you saying that you all spend your days apologizing for how insignificant we are to preserve Tarim’s self-esteem, because otherwise he’ll throw a tantrum and eat the whole world? And that you believe that actually helps?”
The abbess cocked her head and thought.
“Yes, that’s pretty much it.”
“How do youknowit’s working, though?”
“We could pause to test the theory, but if we’reright,then I wouldn’t be around to be smug about it, which would be disappointing. I think we’ll carry on, just in case.”
“But . . . you could be wasting your entire life for nothing?”
Bluebriar regarded Fern shrewdly. “I’mcarrying on because I believe a mad god would devour all of existence if I stopped. From what you’ve said, you’re still wringing your paws about leaving behind a life that no longer suits you. The Territory will carry on existing no matter whatyoudo, so rather than worry aboutmestaying the course, perhaps you should abandon your fretting, and thank the Eight that you don’t have to.”
Fern’s mouth fell open.
“Just something to think about,” said the abbess as she heaved herself out of her chair. “Now, do enjoy the library. I really must get back to my duties. The world won’t rescue itself, after all, and I have a wobbly celestial ego to soothe.”
28
For the first time in her life, surrounded on all sides by books unread, Fern hadn’t the slightest inclination to pick one up. In the emptiness the abbess’s departure left behind, she turned Bluebriar’s parting words over in her mind like an unfamiliar stone.
“Boy, she sure put you in your place,” piped up a voice from her cloak pocket. “You must feel really petty.”
“I’d take you out of there so that you could see the expression I’m making, but you don’t have eyes, so I’m not sure how that works,” she replied crossly.
“Yeah, sure, don’t bother until you’ve got somelettersto open.”
“Mm. I think I’d need something sharper.”
“You take thatback,” cried Breadlee.
