There was little visible religion in the village, which Hannah had expected. She still found it somewhat sad.
One of the key questions on her mind, going into the demiplane, before they even knew for certain that it was a demiplane, had been how the gods fit in with it all. ‘Living’ demiplane or not, it was a place where people lived, and the gods were important to people. Lin had been taken, which meant that there would be at least one cleric, but she’d had to wonder what that would be like, whether a ‘new society’ and a ‘fresh start’ would necessarily transplant some godly understanding or the structures of the church. What she suspected was that she’d find some half-baked reimplementation of the church with all the quirks of the founding clerics multiplying out.
Certainly if she had been tasked with making a new Church of Garos, she would have her own thoughts on what it should look like. It would be more complicated with a second cleric of Garos adding their opinion, and probably more complicated with each additional cleric, but she had some immediate thoughts on the matter. The obvious solution would be to just have two churches, separated from each other and engaging in their own sermons and dialogs, but of course that would open them up to competition with each other, and it had long ago been decided that clerics competing wasn’t for the good of anyone.
There was a single church in the demiplane’s village, and Hannah gravitated towards it, drawn like a moth to the flame. She wanted to speak with Lin, who she had at least some history with, but more than that, she wanted to see what they had done with the place. If possible, she would talk theology with whomever was there, though she was worried about outing herself as a cleric, not that it would be the end of the world. Ria had given no specific instructions, other than for everyone but Verity to avoid the palace. If they were found by Cate, the day would be reset, so it was best not to be found out.
The building was small, so small that Hannah doubted that it could hold even a hundred people. It was of no particularly religious design, no hand of Xuphin, Garos, or even Qymmos in its construction. Hannah wondered whether that was deliberate, and decided that it probably was. There were thick wooden timbers and sizable stones, and it wasn’t as though it was shoddy construction, just without any of the pomp and circumstance that usually came with religious buildings. Pucklechurch had an exceptionally large temple for historical reasons, but even if it hadn’t had a building that large, it would have had decorations for each of the gods, signifiers of faith and piety. There would be statues or paintings or something for either honoring the gods, or more practically, meditation on godly topics. Instead, there were the six basic symbols, all at the front, three on either side of the place where a cleric would stand to give a sermon.
There were three people in the temple, separated by some distance from each other among the pews, praying in silence. This was common in Pucklechurch as well, though they had chairs that were brought down when it wasn’t a temple day so that people could sit and pray by themselves. A handful of people made prayer in the temple a part of their daily routine. The biggest difference with these people was that most of them were younger, no gray hairs among them.
Behind the pulpit there were two open passageways, and Hannah walked down one of them, looking for rooms. She was feeling uncertain of herself, but the layout was familiar enough, and she was a cleric. She’d seen the inside of dozens of churches in her time, they were all largely the same.
Again she noted the lack of adornment on the walls, the lack of paintings or murals that she would normally expect.
There were rooms off the passageways, with open doors, a classic of clerical design, meant to show that anyone was welcome to come in and have a discussion. In practice, it worked best when the rooms were filled with clerics, since someone wandering from vestibule to vestibule trying to find someone, anyone to talk to felt horrible. Some places put out placards to say whether the clerics were in, which saved everyone some hassle, and Hannah wondered why that hadn’t been done here. In Pucklechurch, they had schedules put up so that people would know.
Hannah passed by an open doorway and looked in, only to find herself staring into the eyes of a dark-skinned man who seemed to have been in the midst of putting books up on his shelves. There were a number of large wooden crates scattered around, and a heavy desk with a few chairs haphazardly scattered around it.
“Ah, ah, sorry, just in the middle of sorting things out, but do come in, have a seat, tell me your woes.” He smiled at her and put the last book in place, not seeming to care where it went. He wiped his hands on his chasubles, which were an earthy brown, though they had none of the marking that she would have expected of them. He was a cleric, but of which god wasn’t clear, which was unusual.
“If you’ve got the time?” asked Hannah. She placed her hand on a seat.
“Of course, of course,” he replied, sitting behind the desk and gesturing to the chair. “Forgive the office, I’m a recent arrival, but the words we speak should be unaffected by the state of things, I should think. ‘There is a purity to words and ideas that transcends the material realm.’” He was on the younger side, but there was something pleasant and avuncular about him. Many clerics were, due to their profession, personable people, and had gotten into the business because they liked talking to others, in fact. That wasn’t to impugn their devotion, of course, it was just a certain class of people she’d met within the Church. “Xilco,” he said, placing a hand on his chest, as the desk between them was too large to permit him to lean across and shake her hand.
“Hannah,” she replied.
“And what troubles you today?” he asked. “If anything does. If you’d like some pleasant conversation on my — our?” Hannah nodded, assuming he meant the village. “On our new home,” he said with some satisfaction. “Let me know.”
“Hrm,” said Hannah. “I suppose I’m just missin’ the gods, as it were. They don’t seem to have much presence here. No sigils on any of the doors, no constructions that are obviously in praise to one of the gods, tall spires of Xuphin, symmetrical frontages for Garos … I s’pose the identical houses, for Bixzotl, but they’re too different for that.”
“We’re still getting settled, all of us,” said Xilco. “I doubt this chapel is going to be long for it, and from my conversations with the others who’ll be down in the village, it seems we might be best off with six temples, one for each of us, perhaps with a central space for temple days.”
“Used for other things, when there’s no sermon,” nodded Hannah.
“A possibility, yes,” he replied.
“But why’s it not been done before this?” asked Hannah.
Xilco shrugged. “That’s not a question that I know the answer to. I see Kesbin’s work in the construction of this place, and its decorations, and I’ve heard that the cleric of Kesbin who lived here took his leave some years ago. So it’s down to whether there’s someone to put in the work to build a new place that aligns better with their understanding of the world.”
“And there are plans to do that, are there?” asked Hannah.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Xilco. “There are a few people with a passion for building, but religion here — that’s how you’d like to use this time? To talk about religion and its presence?”
“It’s been on my mind,” said Hannah. “I’ve always taken comfort and strength from the gods.”
“Ah,” said Xilco. “Well, if you’ve noticed that religion is a little lacking in the demiplane, then you’re not alone in that.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “All the clerics here were selected by Cate, naturally, and I think the number who have been in good standing with their respective churches is quite low.”
“And what does that mean, ‘good standin’’?” asked Hannah. She knew perfectly well what it meant, not being in particularly good standing with the Church of Garos herself. Mostly, she wanted him to talk about Cate. She’d decided, when she set off, to see how long it would take any particular person to mention their benefactor, and for Xilco it had been relatively early on.
“Oh, clerics who have left the church for whatever reason,” said Xilco. “Some because they were always more interested in some subfield that didn’t strictly require the church, others because they wanted to go into a strictly business arrangement, and some who clashed with the mechanisms of the church itself. We actually have, so far as I understand it, more clerics than you might expect for this number of people.”
“But they’re not so interested in bein’ clerics?” asked Hannah.
“I think, having cast off the shackles of the church, most people aren’t so keen to start a new church,” said Xilco with a sigh. “And slotting right back into the circumstances you’ve left just doesn’t have all that much appeal. I think she did better with other professions than with the clerics.”
“Other professions bein’ … what?” asked Hannah.
“Oh, architects, artists, explorers, sailors, chefs, people whose problems are crushing debt, overbearing family, that sort of thing.” He shrugged. “I suppose that for clerics, their problems are so often tied up with their profession that it’s difficult for them to be untwined.”
“And you? You never said to me which god you were a cleric of,” said Hannah.
“My own personal joke, I’m afraid,” said Xilco. He had a twinkle in his eyes. “You’ve been taking stock of me?”
“Based on the joke, I’d say Qymmos then,” said Hannah. “Which is more or less what I’d thought.” She looked around the room. “A messy, haphazard room isn’t what one thinks of when they think Qymmos, ay?”
“Ah, but you came to me while I was in the process of putting things in their place, didn’t you?” asked Xilco with a smile.
“And I suppose that you’ve seen I’m a cleric of Garos?” asked Hannah. There wasn’t that much that a cleric of Qymmos could get from a person just from an extended period of looking at them, but he wouldn’t have had to press hard to get her census-designate profession, nor would he have had to look at her long to see the symmetry of her face.
“I have,” nodded Xilco. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, though I can’t tell whether you wanted to feel me out as a parishioner, or whether you really do have things you want to say or be heard on.”
“A bit of both,” said Hannah. “Religion seems not to color life here too much, which is worrisome, ay?”
“From what I’ve heard in talking to other people, Cate sold this place — not that I mean any disrespect by saying she sold it — but she tried to give them this vision of a new place, a colony on distant shores, with a bit of hardship but a lot to love, a chance to start over. I think if you say that people will be able to start over, you immediately run into some problems, because what does starting over look like? The obvious thing is that there’s no money, very explicitly no money, but then what does property look like? What are the laws? Who enforces the laws? And no one wants to build things back exactly how they were, but where does that leave religion?”
“There’d be no need to do temple days,” said Hannah. “Which is … a way that you could do things.”
“As far as I know, this is it, these are all the people that we’ll ever have,” said Xilco. “At least, until the population gets to the business of making more. But if this place is meant to be fully sequestered from Inter, then we don’t have enough people for colleges, universities, or seminaries. It’s all apprenticeship from here on in, along with learning from books. It’s a darker side to reinvention.”
“You think … in a nefarious way?” asked Hannah.
“Oh, no, not at all,” said Xilco. “I mean — sorry, I enjoy talking but I sometimes put my foot in it — I mean that if you have someone with grand ambitions to create a new society without the problems of the old, you have to wonder about how it’s all going to shake out, and where theory meets practice, it seems as though that’s where the battles are waiting to be fought.”
“Battles like whether there will be one building or six?” asked Hannah.
“Just so,” said Xilco. “But Cate has been cagey on a number of things, especially on what the law looks like here. I know I’m not the only one that sees it, but it does seem like most are willing to go along without any proper law because so far, none has been needed. I spoke with someone who’s been here for six years, the longest of anyone I’ve gotten a hard number from, and she said that it’s more or less worked because everyone’s needs are taken care of. No need for jealousy, no need for theft.”
“People don’t always need a reason,” said Hannah. “And if she intends to keep this up for a hundred years, and if the population grows, there’s no way to guarantee that the current excess can last.”
Xilco nodded along. “Entads break, buildings need maintenance, and importantly, rulers die. Cate hasn’t directly declared herself a ruler, but that is, in fact, what she is. Speaking for myself, I’m setting up a ministry of sorts here in the village. It’s something that I’ve always wanted for myself and a place where I think I can do some real good, whether my ultimate resting place is this building or another, but then I think about the need to take on an apprentice, if we really are meant to live out our lives here.”
“You never said how she drew you in,” said Hannah. “But was it that? The promise of a place to make your own rules?”
“No,” said Xilco with a smile. “All she had to say was ‘living demiplane’.”
“Ah,” said Hannah. “No disagreements with the church then?”
“Well, plenty of those, but of course there are, because there always are.” Xilco looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “The church is a collection of people, so sometimes you’ll find yourself far away from its central mass, and sometimes you’ll clash with one specific person.” He looked back down. “But for me, no, it was the thrill of the unknown more than anything else. I also had few attachments, which helped, and a position relatively low within the temple I’d been placed into, behind two others, which meant that I wouldn’t be missed so much.”
“I had plenty of disagreements with the Church of Garos,” said Hannah. “More, I’d say, than expected. I got shunted to the middle of nowhere for it, on the command of just one person, it seemed to me, and I tried to make it work there, though it didn’t.”
“And now that you’re here?” asked Xilco. “Anxiety and tension?”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Yes,” said Hannah, though it wasn’t for the reason that he was thinking. “But I must confess the idea of makin’ my own church, one where I can be open and honest about my interpretation, where I can do sermons to those that would listen, all that holds a great appeal. Though I think I’m off for the Wildlands first, to see them, and I’d appreciate you not mention’ that I was here, lookin’ to set up shop. I presume there’s some other cleric of Garos?”
“Not here,” said Xilco. “There are at least two at the palace, but none in the village, at least that I know, but I’ve moved down here only recently and perhaps temporarily.” He looked at the crates. “It’s a time of change.”
Hannah looked up at his shelves, which were half-filled with books. “You took all this with you?”
“No,” said Xilco. “Most of these are copies from Cate’s extensive library, in the palace. We have wortiers for the copying, they’re a brother and sister pair that serve as very devoted librarians. If you have any interest in books, I’d recommend a visit, it’s a marvelous place and a brilliant collection.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Hannah.
“Did you want to talk about the things left behind?” asked Xilco. “It’s one of the reasons I wish we had a cleric of Kesbin, but as I said, he went off on his own some years ago, and I don’t believe there’s a replacement.”
Kesbin was the God of Nothing, but also sometimes the God of Loss, and Hannah could see how that would be necessary in this circumstance. Most of the people were leaving something they hated, or that was causing them hardship, but they were also probably leaving things that they liked. Certainly if Hannah had come here legitimately, there might be some thrill in the newness, in starting her own church, unfettered by anyone elses’ opinion except those who came to her. But there was something unseemly about the leaving, she thought. She had family back in Cairbre, and to leave without saying goodbye to them, or just to vanish with only a letter, wasn’t something she’d ever have done. And of course there was also Marsh, who’d have been reason enough on his own.
It was that sense of duty that likely screened out a lot of people. Cate had made a community with only those people who didn’t care about duty or were incredibly bereft of social connections.
“I left people behind once already,” said Hannah. “I went to the seminary young, very young. I had it in mind that I would write letters every day, but of course that never works out.”
“I had a similar experience,” said Xilco. “I think that might be why there are more clerics here than you’d expect. We leave our home for the seminary, then leave the seminary for whatever place needs us. It’s two uprootings. But just because it’s been done once, or even twice, doesn’t mean that there’s not some pain that comes with it. The deal we all took was imperfect.”
Hannah didn’t like talking about this too much, because she was, of course, lying. She could imagine how a person would feel, and Xilco was right to make the connection to her previous moves, but she was going home, probably in the next few days.
“You said you came here because you were curious,” said Hannah. “It was a part of the calling of Qymmos.” She leaned forward slightly, conspiratorial. “Have you found anything of interest?”
“Ah,” said Xilco. He seemed a bit perturbed by the change in subject, but then his natural need to share took over. “Well, in point of fact … the Wildlands seem, to most, to be a distinct thing, don’t they? There’s a border between the region we’re in now, and some other region. Yet there’s some evidence of overlap between them. The weather is a big one — you’ve noticed that we have actual winds?”
“I have, ay,” said Hannah. “I’d thought it might be as I’ve heard it’s done in other demiplanes, with some kind of magical support.”
“Not so,” said Xilco, smiling. “In fact, you can see the wind pass through the border. I was out just yesterday. Clouds drift in from the Wildlands. And in fact, there are several creeks and rivers which have both origin and terminus within the Wildlands, meaning that water flows from it and to it.”
“What does that mean?” asked Hannah, eyes narrowed.
“I can’t say for certain, it’s only an observation,” said Xilco. “But it’s fascinating that the rivers are fed by a region that, by most accounts, should be either in a state of constant flux, or non-existent. And it’s equally fascinating that we’re somehow protected from the things that lurk in the Wildlands. I’ve asked Cate, but if there’s one thing that she doesn’t want to speak about too much, it’s the exact mechanics of how the living demiplane actually works, and in what sense it’s ‘living’. And there are stabilizers, which are apparently something she’s been keeping in her back pocket, which I really want to get a good look at, though apparently she’s treating them as a scarce resource, possibly because she wants to control when and where they’re used. Or because there’s some material cost we’re not aware of?”
“She was cagey on the outside and continues that here,” said Hannah. “It worries me.”
“Yes,” nodded Xilco. “But I take her to be well-intentioned. One of the reasons I’m here is to catalog what comes out of the Wildlands, and I have to say that it’s a dream come true. Not like the dungeons, with their illogical creatures, but full ecosystems, coherent beasts that fit in with specific surroundings.” He’d brushed off the worries with ease, like it was an old habit.
“And there’s nothing that you’ve gleaned from her?” asked Hannah. “In the way that you’ve gleaned things from me?”
Xilco coughed into his hand. “That’s nothing that a cleric should speak of. Though … I will say that there’s some sign that not everything is as she says, with regards to who she is. We don’t have a census here, but I’m burning to know what the census might have said about her back in Inter.”
“Age? Name? Occupation?” asked Hannah. “Or somethin’ else?”
Xilco waved a hand. “I wouldn’t want to feed idle gossip.” He sat back. “Here in the village, we’ll see her only rarely. I wouldn’t worry about her, or her designs. For all that she’s clearly the one in charge, she doesn’t press that power too often, and I’m sure you’ve seen that she keeps her hands off. Besides, she’s brought in a number of powerful people, and I don’t think that we would collectively stand for too much chicanery.”
Hannah nodded, but the nod was a lie. Ria had related much of the fight. Cate was powerful, they had known that, but that power extended to combat in a way that they hadn’t anticipated. If Xilco thought that together they could overpower Cate, he was wrong, or right only because Ria would be leading the charge.
“Thank you, that’s put my mind at ease, at least on a few things,” said Hannah. She stood from the chair. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll be back here, or that I’ll be takin’ up clerical duties, but it does appeal to me.”
“It was nice to meet you,” said Xilco. “We’ll have to talk theology at some point, but I need my books in place, and ideally I’d come prepared. Too many conversations are sunk by not knowing enough when you go into them.”
They said goodbye, and Hannah walked back through the halls, feeling somewhat troubled.
She pondered, for a moment, whether Cate might ever have approached her. They had scoured through the book of conversations, but hadn’t found anything suspect, though it wasn’t always out, and not always in a place to capture every conversation.
Six months ago, she thought she might have taken the deal, if she’d been able to write a letter to her family. She might not have gone through sight unseen, but if she’d been promised her own church, built to her own design, preaching whatever she wanted, free to write her own books … that appealed mightily. Verity had already met an acclaimed architect who could construct buildings using a bevy of entads, which meant that all the funding concerns that beset the usual considerations wouldn’t have to apply. Hannah found her head filled with thoughts of what her own personal church would look like, which were coming on unbidden.
They couldn’t stay, obviously, and she wouldn’t want to stay if it meant being a plaything for Cate. Of course, she didn’t know for certain that Cate was up to no good, but there were obvious cracks showing which no one wanted to dig too deep into.
She missed Marsh, and hoped that he was okay.
Hannah found herself walking through the village, looking at all the houses, which had taken on a character of their own. The place was old, though perhaps not quite so steeped in age as parts of Inter, which had continuous habitation for thousands of years. Hannah saw Mizuki briefly, but they only gave each other a look and went on their individual ways. Alfric would be in the Wildlands, Isra would be in the woods, and Verity would be at the palace. They had their roles to play and places to be, and for the time being, would pretend that they didn’t know each other.
Hannah ended up going into one of the ‘shops’, not the large building with consumable goods in it, but something that presented itself as a clothing store with mannequins in the window showing off fashions. This, she thought, must be a place that someone owned, because it had its own unique style to it. She had to imagine that even with entads creating everything a person could want, there still needed to be someone putting in the work, making minor repairs, setting things out, restocking, and even if that only needed to be done once every few days, it did need to be done.
“Can I help you?” asked a young girl, slender and small. She was younger than Hannah, a teenager with auburn hair, wearing an outfit that was pretty clearly put on to attempt to make her look older. Hannah thought she was possibly as young as fourteen, which was quite young to have been taken to the demiplane.
“I’ve never been here before,” said Hannah. “I was hopin’ that I could get some new clothes.”
“Oh I love your accent,” said the girl, eyes bright. She had a slight lilt to her voice, northern if Hannah had to guess. “And your symmetry, it’s very nice.”
“Thank you,” said Hannah. She looked down at her tan shirt and brown pants. “Somethin’ like this, maybe? You, ah, work here?”
“I do,” said the girl, not elaborating. “And hmm,” she looked Hannah over. “Do you want exactly that, or the essence of that?”
“The essence, I s’pose,” said Hannah. “Practical. Nothin’ that calls attention to itself.”
“Can you give me a moment to think?” asked the girl.
“Of course,” nodded Hannah. “Take your time. But you seem young to be workin’, unless it’s apprenticeship, and I hadn’t thought that people needed to work.”
“Oh, there’s no money,” said the girl, who was still giving Hannah an appraising look. She reached forward and put a hand around Hannah’s upper arm, squeezing it for a moment. “But people do need to work. They go crazy otherwise. There are only so many hikes you can take, so many books you can read. A good hour or two of labor a day breaks things up, gives us purpose.”
“There’s the closet in the palace, if people need clothes,” said Hannah.
“Oh yes the closet, which has its own ideas,” said the girl, rolling her eyes. “The closet can’t offer opinions, advice, can’t make tweaks based on feedback, and at least in my opinion, doesn’t have that good an eye for conveying essential truths.”
“Those bein’?” asked Hannah.
“Clothes should convey the essence of who a person is,” said the girl. “And who that person is can change from time to time, which means you should really have as many outfits as you have truths, and as you need for the conditions.” Her eyes were still on Hannah, narrowed slightly. “You’re strong, confident, independent, practical, you want something that displays that, so people can know when they see you what you are, and importantly, so you can see that in yourself.”
“How old are you, if you don’t mind my askin’?” asked Hannah.
“Don’t worry about it,” said the girl with a wave of her hand. “Older than you’d think though.”
“I hadn’t thought that Cate took them young, usually,” said Hannah.
“I’m old enough that’s not a concern,” said the girl. “Tell me, what do you like for fabrics?”
“I don’t know fabrics well enough to say,” said Hannah. “Somethin’ breathable, sturdy?”
“I know just the thing,” said the girl. “Stay here, I’ll be back in a moment.”
Hannah stayed where she was. There were various designs up, and one wall was filled with quite detailed drawings in pen and watercolor, all of them across the wall, jumbled rather than in a grid, sometimes with the figures dancing, other times with them apart. Whoever had drawn them, possibly the ‘girl’, had taken care to show a variety of body types and skin colors, which was the kind of thing that some people, especially in central Inter, missed. As well, a few of the dancing couples were women with other women and men with other men, another of those things that people sometimes missed. Hannah was appreciative of that. But there, on closer inspection, she saw that there were feili and dwodo as well. That she was quite unused to.
“Move,” said the girl, who had just come back into the room carrying bits of cloth. For a moment, Hannah thought she was being given a command, but the girl was looking at the figures on the wall, hand held out toward them, and the drawings all began moving at once, many of them dancing together, exchanging partners, but some of them showing off their clothes in other ways, giving little twirls.
“It was a gift from Cate,” said the girl with a small laugh. “Absolutely wonderful, even after all these years.”
“You’ve been here for some time?” asked Hannah.
“Long enough,” the girl replied. “Now then, I think I have what I need, are these acceptable to you?”
Hannah touched the fabrics, which was largely perfunctory given that she knew almost nothing about textiles. She nodded anyhow.
“And of course I’d prefer to style your hair, find you some makeup, and all that other stuff,” said the girl. “All that can be done fairly easily though. I have enough entad support that I only need to do the things that I like to do. You will need to come back tomorrow though. First, can I have you try on an accessory? A bangle that I think would go well with the outfit.”
“I s’pose,” said Hannah. She hadn’t gathered much from this place, and the girl hadn’t had much to say about Cate.
The girl held out a bangle that looked absolutely hideous to Hannah, a polished brown metal with inset rubies, and decidedly not her style. She took it anyway, feeling much more hesitant about the outfit this girl was supposedly going to whip together.
Hannah looked. She thought this was all probably dangerous, but didn’t know what to say. The bangle was blood-warm against her skin.
Hannah hadn’t known that at all. There’d been nothing to suggest that Cate wasn’t human. The list of things that Cate could reasonably be was very short, and if she wasn’t feili, that left only dwodo, bastlefolk … or something else entirely. If Cate was some long-lived species, incredibly secretive by nature, then it was possible for her to be almost anything.
“Tomorrow,” said Hannah, feeling hollow.
It had been clear for some time that they were in over their heads, but just how far over their heads hadn’t been obvious until now.