You know, there are moments when you look back on your life and wonder just how you could have been so wrong about something.
When I had gone to bed in my new room at the farmstead, I had been quite sure that Joan was a good person. I had been impressed with her piety, her faith in God, with the obvious dedication she put into her task. I had also been touched by her kindness, the way she had tried to make me feel at home, and how she had tried to put me at ease.
Simply put, I had thought that she was pretty cool, someone I’d trust to have my back.
Oh, how wrong I was.
The truth had quickly become so clear to me. She was a fiend in human form! A twisted torturer escaped from the pit and here to make my every living moment an unbearable hell! Nothing else would explain the sheer ferocity of her attempts to torture me and wring every ounce of despair that she could from my flagging body.
“KEEP THAT SWORD POINT UP!!”
My internal declarations of her inhuman cruelty received further proof as the blonde swordswoman yelled at me, even as she swung her sword and smacked me over the head with it. Granted, rather than being the razor-edged weapon at her hip, or a blade forged from heavenly light, this sword was just a wooden one. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt like hell when it hit me. And that hit was only the latest of way too many this morning and didn’t do anything to improve my mood.
Still, I didn’t want to be . . . clobbered again, so the sword I held came up once more, despite the burning in my arms.
This was the first of Joan’s lessons in swordplay. And really; as it went on I was seriously beginning to consider the merits of being killed by an evil god. At least that had the appeal of being a quick death. This was turning out to be torture in disguise.
The day had begun quite well. My host had been kind enough to let me sleep in fairly late, and had even provided breakfast when I came down. To be sure, porridge wasn’t my favourite meal, but there was plenty of it, and also lots of local honey to sweeten it up. There had also been bacon, fresh fruit, and even freshly baked bread. Seriously, this was the kind of meal that you’d expect in really expensive hotels. At the time I’d been really surprised and had thought that if this was what I had to look forward to each morning then I would have to be careful that I didn’t end up piling on the pounds.
Oh, how naive I had been.
As soon as the meal had finished Joan had told me to go and change into some clothes that would be suitable for heavy exercise and to then come out and meet her in the yard. Since it was pretty warm outside I’d made do with a t-shirt, tracksuit bottoms, and trainers. It was a simple arrangement that I thought would be fine for just about anything.
Had I been more aware of what I was going to face I think I would have demanded full plate armour.
The first thing that Joan had done as soon as I met up with her was to hand me a sword, and quite a big one at that. It wasn’t quite as reckless as you might think though. The sword was large, something like a metre in length, and thick enough that it could take a blow every bit as strong as the ones it could deal, but it was also as blunt as a letter opener. Sure, the tip was pointy and could do some serious damage if it got the sword's full weight behind it, but as far as the edge was concerned the sword was more of a shiny club than it was a keen-edged blade of death.
When she gave me that sword some boyish part of me started to jump up and down with glee at the back of my mind. There was something about holding a sword that appealed to me. I wanted to start swinging it around, see how hard I could hit something with it, even try and copy some of the classic swordsman poses, like He-Man or Star Wars.
Of course, I had asked why I was learning swordwork at all. Sure, it was cool, but was it the best use of our time?
Joan had explained how she was doing it to help lay a foundation for when I got my powers. Training like this was going to get me into fighting shape quicker than simple fitness training would. It would also help me sharpen my reflexes and learn to cope with getting hurt in a fight. Lastly, swords were generally more useful to demigods than guns, melee weapons being more suited to being empowered than ranged ones. Also, there was a good chance that I might end up with a shaping power similar to hers, so I might end up creating weapons I’d need to know how to use.
That had sparked off a whole bunch of ideas and fantasies in my head, and I was all too eager to start learning so I could become a sword-wielding badass!
My excitement did not last for long though, not once Joan took control of the lesson. And a lesson it was, she had no interest or time for playing, instead, she immediately set about teaching me how to use the sword she had given me. First, there was how to position my feet, then there was my posture, then how to hold the sword, and then how the sword should be held in relation to my body. Just that took up the better part of an hour, and by the time she was satisfied, I was already starting to feel a bit sore.
That was when she moved me on to actual sword work, and let me tell you that was even worse. She seemed to think that the priority was to be able to use the sword to protect myself. I could see the logic in that, after all the purpose of this was to let me have a better chance at living through a possible attack. I wasn’t meant to be able to take my attacker down, just keep them from taking me down. That made sense, and I could agree with it.
Unfortunately, Joan’s idea of training was to come at me hard and hit me if I failed.
She showed me how to use the sword to block, how to hold it, and how to angle it to deflect rather than fully obstruct a blow. The problem was that as soon as she was satisfied that I had the general principle down she began a very practical teaching method, namely, she tried to hit me, and I tried to block or dodge. Of course, I was well aware that she was hardly giving it her all; if she had then I would have been on the ground as nothing more than a lump of tenderized meat.
Still, she wasn’t exactly taking it easy on me either. If I missed blocking then she would hit me, and it would hurt. In the first few minutes, I quickly acquired an unpleasant collection of welts and bruises on my arms and chest, each one payment for not being fast enough. Still, pain was an excellent motivator, and Joan wasn’t accepting any complaints. When I protested the hits, she just asked me if she thought that those trying to kill me would just leave bruises. How was I meant to argue with that?
So, I kept on doing my best to dodge away or block with the sword as Joan swung her wooden one at me again and again. And again. And again. And again.
I don’t know how long we were at it. It felt like hours, but the realist in me told me that it probably was only about thirty minutes, three-quarters of an hour at most, that was how long it took my body to run out of energy to the point where I could neither raise the sword nor dodge any more.
I really must have been a pathetic sight, because rather than follow through on her last attack she lowered her wooden sword and told me to take a break. I didn’t so much sit down as I simply collapsed on the spot, my face pressed up against my left knee.
I was quite prepared to just stay there, in fact, I’m pretty sure that if Joan had just left me there I’d probably have simply fallen asleep on the spot, but the French saint had no intentions of letting me off that easily.
“Debout, soldat!”
I barely registered the words before I felt her on my shoulder. My T-shirt was damp and sweaty, and her hand felt oddly cool and comforting, even through the thin material. Then I noticed that I was feeling better. Then I noticed that I was feeling way too much better.
It’s a weird sensation to realize that you’re feeling better than you should. There is this sort of tilting to the world, a feeling that things aren’t the way that they’re meant to be, then things sort of slide back into place as you work out what’s going on and manage to mentally compensate. For me, it took a couple of seconds to figure out what was going on. I just sat there, stunned, as the pain and fatigue flowed out of me like dirt being washed away by warm water. It was only when I looked over my shoulder and saw the green glow emanating from the hand resting there that I was able to put the pieces together.
It was the same power that she’d used to put that tree back together, she was now using it on me. I wasn’t a tree though, so why was she using it on me? Then, as I felt the pain from my bruises start to fade, the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. It wasn’t some sort of plant-repair magic, it was healing magic! Yes, that made a lot more sense. As I worked it out I recall that I smiled to myself in relief, thankful that this would mean that I wouldn’t look like a mass of red and purple bruises later.
Ah, such sweet innocence.
As soon as I was all healed up, and my energy recovered, she had me on my feet and was starting the whole thing again. She worked me relentlessly until I was completely spent, my muscles were utterly exhausted.
Of course, they didn’t stay that way for too long; Joan healed me up again as soon as she saw how finished I was. Then we did the whole cycle again. And again. And again!
Yes, Joan was an evil fiend sent from the depths of hell to torment me!
“Very well, that will be all for now. Let us get something to eat.”
Words cannot describe just how much relief I felt on hearing that! They also served to make me aware of just how hungry I was.
“Food?”
“Yes, Adam,” She confirmed. “The healing that God has granted me allows me to repair and reinvigorate your body, but it still requires material to fuel itself. The healing I performed on you has most likely used up much of the reserves of your body, so now we must see about replacing them.”
I blinked at her, my mind still feeling a bit fuzzy. It was like I was hearing the words, even understanding them, but they weren’t really stringing together properly. The one thing that was quite clear was that she was offering me food. That sounded good, very good. Good enough to get me back on my shaking legs and begin to stumble towards the house.
“ATTANDS!”
The single shouted word was enough to freeze me in place. Had I done something wrong? Was I meant to bow to her like a sensei at a dojo, or something?
“Take a shower and change your clothes first, that will give me some time to get the food ready.”
That . . . made sense. It seemed like the deodorant I’d used wasn’t up to the challenge of Joan’s training.
“I’ll . . . I’ll be right back.”
And so, on somewhat shaky legs, I dragged myself back to my room, threw my clothes into the laundry hamper, and had a shower. And let me tell you, that shower was pure bliss! The feeling of the warm water washing away all that grime and sweat, even as it massaged my body with the water pressure, felt almost worryingly good.
I was able to get dried and dressed in a commendably short time, my stomach urging me on with intermittent growls the entire time. Whatever Joan had done to me to get me up on my feet after I ran out of steam had helped me work up an appetite.
The last thing that I put on was my watch, and as I did so I glanced down at it. My eyes widened as I saw the time, nearly three o’clock.
Had it really been that long? Actually, had it really been that short? That kind of exhaustion did some funny things to one's sense of time, so I suppose I was surprised in both directions. Experimentally I clenched my hand and flexed my arms. I wasn’t sore exactly, but there was a definite sense of tiredness there, as though I’d had a heavy workout a few days ago.
Joan had said that what I did need fuel to fix, so did that mean she was speeding up my body’s natural recovery rather than reversing the damage, or something like that? If that was the case then I could see the advantages to the sort of training we’d just done. If I remembered right building muscle was a matter of exercising until it hurt since your muscles were getting tiny micro tears from being overused, then healing up and the muscles becoming a bit stronger than before. I suppose with this method I could skip the whole ‘having to heal’ bit and repeat the workout again and again consecutively, getting just a bit stronger each time.
Such thoughts were able to occupy my mind for the time it took to make my way down to the large dining room of the one-time farmstead, but once I got there I will admit that my ponderings flew from my mind like scattered birds.
I was confronted by a positive bounty of food waiting for me on the table. There was a whole roast chicken there, though how she’d managed to prepare it I had no idea, there was a bowl full of boiled potatoes, their surfaces glistening with melted butter and a dashing of herbs, cooked carrots, a salad, and those little sausages that are wrapped in bacon. I think that I nearly dropped to my knees to offer thanks right then and there, but that would have delayed me from partaking of the delicious feast before me, so instead, I settled for making a beeline to the nearest chair.
“I see that I was right in thinking that you would have quite the appetite after our training,” Joan commented as she cut off a drumstick and served it on a plate along with an assortment of vegetables, then passed it over to me.
I confess that it was only then that I realized I could feel the drool welling up in my mouth. It was with an embarrassed expression on my face that I received the plate of food, but that didn’t stop me from nodding my thanks and then reaching for it eagerly.
“Adam.”
She didn’t speak my name harshly, but there was an edge to her tone that made me freeze in place, unsure of what I might have done wrong.
“You are forgetting to offer thanks to the Lord for our food once more.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
It took me a moment for her words to connect in my head, the majority of my mental processing power taken up by the delicious smells coming off the food before me. For a moment I considered protesting but decided that it just wasn’t worth it. Instead, I clasped my hands before me and tried to come up with something to say.
“Lord Almighty,” I began, casting about for what to say next. “Thank you for this food. Really, I mean that, thank you!
“Thank you also for this opportunity. Thanks for the chance to get stronger. And thanks for giving Joan healing, I don’t think I’d have been able to make it to the table without it.”
That last comment drew an amused smile from the French saint as she looked up from her own clasped hands. She nodded, seemingly satisfied with the brief and improvised grace, something I wasn’t going to complain about. Reaching out to my plate, I set down to tucking into it with relish.
For her part, my host served herself a second plate and then began to enjoy the food herself. I did note though, that the portion she served herself was somewhat smaller than the one I was happily devouring, and that she wasn’t attacking it with quite the same urgency that I was. For a few minutes, there was no talking.
After a bit though, namely a chicken leg, some of the breast, plenty of potatoes a few carrots, and a generous portion of salad, the gnawing hunger in my belly felt appeased. It was at that point that I finally realized that I was being rather rude to my host.
“Ah, ummm . . . thanks for the food?”
It was more of a question than it was a statement, but Joan took it with a smile.
“It is fine. Though I did not have a body in Heaven when I began my own training I do recall how taxing it was. Your response, though somewhat more . . . pronounced than I was expecting, is perfectly understandable.”
I nodded, then gently waved my fork at her, the speared piece of chicken breast on it glistening slightly in the light coming through the windows.
“Well, this is great, and believe me I mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry before, but this food is amazing!”
“Merci. Cooking was something of a pleasure back in my mortal life, and during my time in Heaven I found it to remain something of a pleasant pastime.” Her brows drew together slightly in puzzlement as a thought seemed to occur to her. “Which is something of a surprise since when I existed in the Heavens I did not have a body to feed. So how was I able to enjoy food?”
She paused for a moment, then shook her head.
“Another of the holes in my recollection, I suppose. It is hardly of any import.”
It was funny; that I hadn’t noticed the oddities in the way she spoke until then. She never used contractions, like ‘isn’t’ or ‘couldn’t’, with her it was ‘is not’ or ‘could not’. It left her sounding oddly formal, her language technically perfect, but lacking the more informal touches that came to those that spoke it daily. It was as though English wasn’t something that she’d learnt naturally, but rather as if it had been somehow downloaded into her head when she was resurrected.
I actually found her exacting and formal manner of speech to be somewhat endearing, especially when combined with her French accent. However, that wasn’t the main issue at the moment, there were more important things to focus on.
“So, how do you think things went today?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? I wanted to know just how much that torture session had paid off. I’d sometimes work up a sweat on a decent walk on hills and the like, but it was more the act of travelling on my feet rather than the actual exercise that I liked. All that I’d gone through earlier; I’d never pushed myself like that before.
“Well, I fear that I cannot say you are a born master of the blade,” she replied, setting her cutlery down before her. “That said, you do not seem to be disadvantaged either. You learnt as we practised, and if you can learn then you can improve.”
Well, I will admit that I was hoping she was going to tell me that she was impressed with how fast I’d come along. I mean, come on! Supposedly I was the child of one of the super weapons of Heaven, shouldn’t that mean that I automatically came with a licence to kick ass? I couldn’t help but be disappointed.
“Your body is in surprisingly acceptable condition,” She continued. “We shall need you to build some more muscle, but at least you do not need to burn away unwanted fat. Between your efforts and the gifts granted to me by the Lord, we should be able to have you in much better shape by the time of the ritual.”
Well, that wasn’t quite what I wanted to hear, but I couldn’t really argue with it.
“So . . . I guess that we’re going to be doing that again?”
I didn’t want to moan, but I couldn’t help the tone of my question. Then I thought back to how she’d worked me over before, and I decided that the tone was well deserved. Joan answered me with a smile that was just slightly apologetic.
“I know that this is not pleasant for you, but it needs to be done. Until we awaken the divine blood in your veins all we can do to improve your future odds is to strengthen your body and hone your combat skills. I know that the method we are using is taxing upon you, even soldiers training for the battlefield enjoy more time to recover in between. But if we wish to make the most of the time we have this is the best option available to us.”
I silently nodded my reluctant agreement. Why did she have to be right? Ah well, her words were as good an opening as any regarding something that had been of interest to me.
“Just how good are your healing abilities?” I asked, after swallowing my mouthful of buttered carrots. “I mean, you were able to heal me up pretty good, and you were able to put that tree back together. Could you do that with a person, reattach a lost limb I mean?”
She shook her head at my question, her fork absently stabbing into her salad as she did so.
“Sadly, my gifts are far more modest than that. The healing magic I have been gifted is suited to accelerating healing and recovery, but it is unsuited for such complex tasks as mending severely shattered bones or damaged organs. I suppose that it could be said that I am not so much a healer as I am a soldier trained in advanced first aid. I chose to focus upon gaining the strength of arms that I never possessed in life, to be able to wield a sword in the service of God Almighty rather than simply carrying a banner in His name. In doing so I forfeited the chance to wield other miracles in His service, though in return I gained much in the way of martial prowess and power.”
She paused to take another bite of her chicken, her face pensive.
“I do recall others though, angels and souls that were far more gifted than I with healing. During my training, I witnessed some of the skirmishes with the forces of hell and saw the wounds the soldiers of heaven endured. You would not believe what the healers could accomplish. Whole limbs could be regenerated in a matter of minutes, malignant biles broken down and reabsorbed into the body, injuries or defects in the most complicated of the body’s organs could be repaired with ease, for the greatest even returning life to the recently dead was possible.”
She went quiet for a moment, her eyes distant as she stared into her hazy memories.
“There is much that I have forgotten, but that was left to me, the memory of the glory of the mercy of Heaven. Unlike so many of the other powers that the servants of God wield, healing is a gentle power, true mercy and the desire to right what is wrong with a body.”
Joan’s eyes left the past and focused on me.
“If we are fortunate then the blood of Heaven in your veins may well awaken with the ability to heal. The Lord said that you would be powerful, and healing is one of the greater powers in the Heavens.”
I frowned slightly.
“You didn’t mention that before.”
I didn’t say it as an accusation, rather it was meant as simple confusion. Joan must have taken it the wrong way though because she looked somewhat guilty as she replied.
“Forgive me, it only occurred to me while we were training. Many gifts are all but standard to the angels, such as flight, great physical strength and speed, and some sort of elemental dominion. However, some of the more esoteric gifts employed by the higher-ranked angels are such things as healing, purification, or even blessing. If the Lord intends for you to be a power upon the Earth in his service then it is entirely possible that you will be gifted with such.”
I nodded, then paused as a thought that had been welling up in me for ages made itself known again. This was a question that I really wanted the answer to, but I wasn’t sure if it would be offensive of me to ask it of her. Joan hadn’t struck me as someone that was fanatical about her faith, but at the same time, it would take a blind man not to see how strong that faith was. It was something of a tightrope, but it was one that she balanced well. Yes, I was sure that I could ask this of her. Still, there was no reason not to at least be delicate about it.
“Joan, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you, about God. Would you be . . . offended if I did?”
“I hardly think you able to ask anything that would offend me in any great way,” She replied, smiling again. “What do you wish to know?”
“Well . . . why does God need me? I mean, he’s God, the Big Guy Upstairs, the most powerful of all, the Almighty, if there’s anything that needs doing why can’t he just wave his hand and make it so? Is he not strong enough? Are the other gods stronger or something?”
Joan’s smile faded, and for a moment I thought that despite what she had said I might have managed to get under her skin. However, rather than being angry her expression instead became serious.
“I can see why you would wish to know that,” She said, her tone grave. “There are many in this world that ask why God allows things to happen. Why does He allow the wicked to prosper, the violent to harm the weak, the cunning to exploit the gullible? It is a question that has become even more pronounced now that the Paths of Divinity have once more opened up. Why is it, so many ask, that while gods thought to be only heathen legends walk the Earth once more, all we see of our Heavenly Father are the angels that serve Him? Why does He not descend to aid us? Why does He not smite the wicked, the cruel gods, the demons that mock His name? Why does He need you? Is He too weak? Has He grown impotent in the face of His foes?”
I simply nodded my head. Yes, those were the questions that had been plaguing me since she told me what was going on.
“God is mighty, vastly more powerful than even the mightiest of the other gods, but it is that same might that leaves him unable to intervene in the world as lesser gods do.”
She paused again, her now empty fork waving in another gesture that seemed to take in most of the world around us.
“God created everything, the world, the rules that govern it, the universe it exists in, the realms that surround it. All of these were built by his power and were painstakingly assembled so as to allow a sane form of life to exist. The problem was that for Him it was akin to building the most insanely complicated house of cards that you can imagine.
“The universe is too delicate, too fragile, for God to operate upon it. He would be like a giant in a world made of sugar glass, His every movement, His every step, destroying the world around Him simply through the weight of His existence.
“That is why He created angels in the first place, they were meant to be tools that He could use to affect the universe without bringing it crashing down about Him. In time, though, he saw that his angels were gaining an existence of their own, and he came to regard them as his children rather than just his instruments.
“Regardless, that is why God needs to work through servants and agents. His own power is what restrains Him.”
That . . . made a certain level of sense. Once the gods returned various other religions had seen a serious uptick in recruitment. When demons and angels made their appearances Christianity and the various religions that worshipped God had been vindicated in their faith. It had left a large number of questions though, questions which the immortals were frustratingly reticent in answering. For example, many gods were supremely confident in themselves, often to the point of arrogance, but even so, they had acknowledged the ‘Creator’, as the Abrahamic god was known to them, as the highest power of all. That such power existed but was constrained in some way did do much to explain the behaviour of some of the gods that had returned.
“What about sending more angels through? Couldn’t he help that way?”
“The same problem applies, to a certain degree. Creation exists in a certain state of balance, and if He does certain things then that balance can be disrupted. Demons can access the mortal realm on their own by circumventing certain laws that bind them. However, if God were to send armies to the mortal plane this would create an imbalance that the demons could exploit to bring over even greater numbers of their own. That is why the numbers and potency of the angels that are on the world are limited, to deny the demonic forces an avenue of entry that could reduce the mortal world to one huge battlefield.”
I frowned, something not adding up.
“But demons come here anyway; there was that mess in southern Brazil a couple of weeks back! Surely that isn’t something that they can just do whenever they want, right?”
She shook her head.
“As I said, they are bound by a number of limitations, but there are ways that they can circumvent them. Mortals can call to demons, invited them over, give them a path that they can follow. There have always been those that are willing to sell anything in order to gain something, even family members, or their very souls. Depending upon the nature of the invitation, the quality of the path made, and the size of the opening, the number of demons that could make use of it could be enormous.
“Angels can also be summoned in this way, but the rituals needed are far more complicated, mostly to protect the mortals that might use them. Heaven has no desire to harm those that call upon them, a limitation that the demons do not share. Along with several other factors, this means that it is easier for the demons to utilize these extra options than it is for the forces of Heaven, meaning that they are limited in what forces they can send to aid here.”
She brought up a fist to gently thump herself on the chest.
“Resurrected souls such as myself are different in that it is easier to send us to the mortal plane than it is to send an angel. Since we were once naturally of it we have a lesser impact upon the world by returning, even with the powers that we have gained.”
“Are all the returned heroes resurrected by God then?”
“No, many are, but there are other forces at work as well, and they wish to bring their own champions to bear upon the world once more.”
That led to another question that I really wanted the answer to.
“So . . . what are the other gods? Were they created by God too, or are they something else?”
By now much of the food was gone, and I was starting to feel far more comfortable, the emptiness in my stomach pleasantly filled. I was actually starting to feel rather lethargic, but I was trying to ignore it for the moment, this was something I really wanted to know.
“It is . . . difficult to explain.” She paused for a moment. “Do you know what the gods say of the matter themselves?”
I nodded.
“They’ve all got their own mythologies. Like the Greek gods say they came from Gaea and Uranus, or the Viking gods say that some celestial cow licked the first god into a form or something like that. Ummm, wasn’t there one pantheon that was born from a turtle laying an egg, or something?”
That got a chuckle out of her.
“No, Adam. I think that you might be incorrect on that last one. Still, you are correct in that the different pantheons and groups of divinities each have their own tales and pasts. The thing is that the gods are not entirely wrong in what they claim as their history.”
She paused, her forehead creasing in thought for a moment.
“The gods are not like the angels in that they were deliberately created for a purpose. Nor are they like the demons that were once angels, but fell from grace. In truth, they have more in common with the demons that are created naturally by the environment of Hell in that they are beings born from their environment.”
“The gods are demons?”
That didn’t sound right. Sure, a handful of the deities that had returned to Earth had proven themselves to be monsters at worst, and simply colossal assholes at best, but there didn’t seem to be the sheer malice that the demons were becoming well known for.
“No, demons are born from the very essence of hell; the gods are born from completely different sources.
“It is . . . difficult to explain. All of the gods are tied to some aspect of the universe, the older ones even moreso.”
She paused for a moment, then continued.
“Many religions and myths have a manifestation of the primal beginnings of Creation, an elder god or progenitor. These older gods are . . . reflections, shadows, or facets, not the actual source of it. Certain aspects of existences were so powerful that they gave rise to aspects of themselves that were alive in their own right. For example, there is the original void from which all were born. It is expressed in different ways in different mythologies and gave rise to incarnations, such as the Babylonian goddess Tiamat, the Greek void Khaos or the Norse ice giant Ymir.
“These older gods gave rise to younger deities, divinities that were closely tied to the emerging land, divinities that were influenced by the emergence of humanity. Those younger gods were closer to humanity, they were both the shapers of mortal civilizations, and the ones that were shaped by them. Gods such as Odin or Zeus formed alongside humanity, they did not create it. They did influence them though, and it was from those influences that many of the myths of Creation arose.”
Huh, I guess that answered some of my questions. Still, I had so many that hadn’t been answered yet, like what the truth was about the Devil, how were souls divided up in the afterlife, who got to choose which souls were good or bad, so many questions.
But you know what, by that point, I think my brain had just about all the world-shaking revelations it could handle. For the time being I was going to content myself with what I had learnt about God, angels, returned souls and the other gods. There’d be more later, I was sure, but for now, it was more than enough.
I looked down at my plate to see that the food was almost all gone, but there were still plenty of leftovers on the table. Easily enough for a decent meal later.
“Are we saving the leftovers for tomorrow?” I asked.
“Mais non, I do not believe they will last until tomorrow.” Joan replied, her smile just a bit unsettling.
“What do you mean?” My confusion was completely genuine. “You’re planning to have it for supper?”
“No, you will be eating it for dinner.”
“Dinner? But what was this?”
“Lunch.”
“Are you kidding, I’m stuffed! I probably won’t be eating supper!”
“Oh, do not worry. You will be working it off and gaining an appetite soon. Je suis sûr.”
Why was it that those words filled me with near existential fear?