The road up to Baronston gets a lot of use in every season. It's not harvest, at least not yet, but still there are many who move along it. Three days in a wagon or six for a fast walker, turnpike guardhouses along the way, farmsteads interspersed with woods, glens, intersecting a few creeks meandering their way down to the river--it's civilized.

Parry wasn't surprised to see vegetable stands, a public pump with a trough for watering horses. Some of the wooded lands were baronial, signs posted listing fines for poaching or trespass. Others were commons. From one of those he found a stout stick for walking. It was the only thing on him that wasn't a gleaming, impossible white.

While he walked, he took one of his "coppers" of white gold and rubbed it with his thumb against a rasp from his shaper's tool set, methodically grinding it into powder, which he collected into a cloth and tied with a bootlace.

Styak had emerged and was draped over his shoulder, to no complaint.

"You're being quiet."

Parry didn't answer. The walk continued in silence.

By noon he'd reached the first toll gate. Did this turnpike even require its own guard? There were no monsters and very little banditry...but then again, perhaps the guard explains that. Or it's for the Baron to levy a tax. Or both.

It took a little explaining, why he had no coins but some gold dust. A half-lie about a father who worked a mine upriver...which either the guard did or didn't believe, but she took some dust all the same, weighing out a tiny portion. It's the sort of road where raw materials come through a lot, it wasn't impossible people paid their tolls in goods.

The ground had climbed up from the river valley steadily if gently, and by late afternoon Fishmouth was far behind him. There were campgrounds of a sort here and there, mostly around creek crossings, by a pump, not far from two adjoining farmhouses, but none of them made an impact on Parry. He kept hiking until he'd found one of the common forests, and then, surprisingly, cut in.

Half an hour of carving a path separate from even boar runs and deer trails, Parry located a suitable tree fall. He cleared some ground, ringed a few stones, set up a small camp complete with fire. There was no danger of anything stronger than a wild sow coming by, he didn't bother trying to make a smokeless blaze.

He cooked a small meal, which, though plain, had tasted heavenly. Literally: the ingredients were transformed by the light as well, somehow. Every bite tasted like comfort and safety, home and hearth.

Styak had been listless and exhausted all day, doubtless remnants of the enormous casting. The demon seemed interested in conversation and even tried a couple of times, getting nowhere. Finally they'd settled into an uncomfortable mutual silence.

The sun set. A barred owl nearby struck up its deep song. Summer frogs called, there was some kind of pond close enough their croaks filled the air. Parry sat close to the smoke of his campfire to keep away the insects. Outside of the circle of light, he was completely blind, as if his world was a bubble of crackling fire floating in the void.

"Styak, you'd better hide."

The cat blinked, surprised. "What?"

"Hide. The pack if you want, in my memories would be wiser."

"Why?" Then its claws came out and its tail puffed into a bottlebrush. With a hiss, it vanished into Parry's mind, digging down ten cells deep in his landscape of memories to cower in the darkness.

Parry was not alone. Across him, on the log of the fallen tree, a figure sat. A man, possibly middle aged, or with the slight premature gray of temples and at the edges of a neatly trimmed beard. He wore homespun, brown but fine, flawless in a way that seemed alien to anything that came off a mortal loom. The robe was secured by a belt from which dangled a brass ring and three keys: iron, silver and gold.

The boy stood, gave a short but deep, respectful bow. He touched his forefingers to his head and then his heart. He waited, and when the older figure said nothing, resumed his perch by the fire.

"Thank you for waiting until we could be alone, Lord. I don't know how I could be truthful with you in front of Sean."

The older man kept his gaze steady. "Truth couldn't have hurt the girl. You should remember that. Truth isn't as painful for the innocent as you think."

Parry could only nod. "Will she be alright?"

"You saw to her needs in a mercenary way that did you more damage than you realize. But yes. I've decided to watch over her."

"Thank you, Lord."

The fire crackled slightly. Parry took a deep breath.

"Lord, will you let me live?"

The older man frowned. "My own law forbids me from harming you now. You're consecrated, however absurdly or unethically it happened. In fact, I am here to ordain you."

"Thank you, Lord."

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The first hint of emotion climbs into the man's voice. "Keep your thanks. I would rather grind you to dust and wash you off the face of this world. I don't want you as my priest. You're shallow and cruel."

"What, cruel?" That brought Parry up hard. "I tried to help! I could have just walked on when Sean approached me, just off the riverboat. Left her to the mercies of those brigands. It would have been smarter to--"

The figure's mocking laughter cut the explanation off. "You do have a knack for justifying your actions, don't you? No wonder you're so full of thanks. All you do is use others. I suppose that's how you sleep soundly, you remember to say your thanks."

The contempt in the voice made Parry shiver and fear. Actual fear. It's no easy thing to endure the scorn of a god.

"I didn't mean..." he stopped himself this time, letting the sentence fall away.

"My law does not extend to your little friend. Bring it out, I would have a look at your "familiar.""

Parry swallowed hard.

"Styak."

"NO!"

"You must. I'm sorry. He can compel you, and if he does, it will be worse."

A small, very defensive calico kitten climbed on to Parry's shoulder, eyes fiercely focussed on the man in homespun.

The figure looked back, nonplussed. "You bear the [Mark of Exile], demon. You are one of Archlord Byaa's?"

"Was."

A soft snort of amusement. "Was, yes. Quite. You want to go back, do you, and with a sword of fire? It will take time, but it suits my purposes."

The little animal almost snarled out a retort, even an insult. Everything in its nature rebelled against this figure of divine light. Instinct demanded an attack, claws and teeth, but it wasn't possible. Instead, almost imperceptibly, Styak nodded, acknowledging.

Parry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Annihilating Styak would set him back, possibly fatally.

"There it is," the older man spat. "Don't think I missed the relief in your thoughts just now, boy. You don't give a damn about the demon, only relief you've kept your little tool. Even now, you're trying to get as much from our conversation as you can. Are you even capable of compassion?"

"I spent a lifetime in your service!" Parry barked out, surprised at his own vehemence. "Decades of poverty and self-sacrifice, fighting the forces of greed throughout Florin, all the way up to the Duke himself! I led armies against your enemies, even before you gave me my wings. After, I led your host of souls against the forces of Hell itself!"

An eyebrow arched up. "How am I just finding this out now?"

"It was a different lifetime. I was a different person. An orphan in your temple, a singer in your choir, a lay deacon, then a priest, then a..."

It's no use, not even a god can follow where I've been.

To his surprise, the older man simply nodded. "You aren't lying. I feel the ocean of memories you carry, holding up your tiny soul, a rowboat in deep tides. And I see the Creator's curse on you. None of that concerns me. Why were you in my service?"

"What?"

"Why? To help others? To find truth, learn who you are and how you fit in this world?"

"I..."

"Power. It was your route to power. Maybe you weren't corrupt as my bishops can be, or even misguided like my angels and archangels, even when you numbered among them--those are mortal errors, I acknowledge them, I love them even as they cause harm. But no, you served faithfully, no doubt, because it gave you power, and that's what matters to you."

Parry said nothing, badly as he wanted to lie. You cannot lie to a god.

"I may not know of these other lives you've led, but I can see all of this one. Tell me," the old man continued. "Did you spare a thought for Pharryl, your father?"

"What has that to do with--"

"You USED him," came the accusation, and with it a faint rumbling of the earth below. Styak yelped and cowered behind Parry's neck.

"You used him, thinking only what you could get from him. Information, spells, goods, all taken under cover of a lie, nothing given in exchange. Oh, you likely imagine you're being efficient, or that you're sparing him grief. Far better for him to trust you completely while you trust no one.

"The girl, too. A tool for you, a prop. The fear that kept her in line, obeying those thugs, you took ownership of it and kept her in line with your little farce. And when things didn't go your way, you stole MY power and murdered them."

Parry's jaw hung open.

"Simple thieves on a grift, trying to shake you for a few coins. Did they deserve death? Were you a judge in some other life, so that you are qualified to strike anyone down?"

The owl was silent, the whole forest felt impossibly silent.

"And me. You made me the instrument of your murder through the holy rite of consecration. My rite. My love, designed to protect the pious. That power I lend to my angels on trust, have you earned it? Should I take your word for it, oh former-follower from a life only he remembers?"

Smoke must be blowing in Parry's eyes, they started to tear up.

The man waved an arm dismissively. "I'm a god. I'm used to being used. My name is taken a thousand times a day in the name of horrid misdeeds and false faith. I exist on a different level, my goals are not mortal, I have the means to withstand it. But your little pet here."

He pointed to Styak.

"That's your masterpiece, hmm? A tool among tools. Squeeze it for power, when needed. Let it hurt for you, when you hurt. Let it grow with you, better to harvest its abilities when the time comes. Keep it chained to you with bonds never meant for demons. Your desecration of the [Familiar] is so odious, I'm surprised other gods haven't stepped up to chastise you."

Parry knew his next words might destroy him.

"I'm trying to save the world from an evil Creator."

There was a sense of divine will sharpened almost to an unbearable point.

"You are trying to escape the world, else you wouldn't be so happy to will it to your "familiar" when you're done with it, a hand-me-down you've outgrown. The only thing you're trying to do is "save" yourself, from frustration, repetition, this "prison" of our world as you see it. Disgusting."

Night-blindness stole the depths of the forest from him, and tears blurred what little he could see.

"What else can I do?!" he shouted, standing, accusing a god. "I'm trapped! This is hell, this is torture! I'm stuck here, forever, again and again, lifetime after lifetime, finding people I care about and losing them, over and over. Even YOU can't see it, and you're one of the world's great powers! You're as much a plaything of the Creator as I am--more, you're not even real, in this game with its system and stat lines and spell slots, you're a line item in a database!"

The man stood, brushing off his homespun.

"And here's the difference, if you have the eyes to see. I feel for you. I have compassion. I ordain you one of my priests now, and you shall gain a few more scraps of that thing you love most, power. I also have faith, that perhaps you'll learn the lessons of this world, before you crash back to yet another start. Kneel, Parry."

He blinked at the man.

"I SAID KNEEL."

A force heavier than the sky pushed Parry to his knees. The god put his hand over the boys head and spoke words that would not register in mortal ears. Changes etched on the slate that was his soul, new lines added, others moved, removed, redrawn.

"I charge you to do good. We shall see if you learn what that even means."

And Parry was alone in the woods but for the cracking of his fire, the terrified whimpers of a small demon, and the cautious song of the owl.