I’m sitting in a chair in the middle of . . . nothing. The girl is sitting facing me. She has eyes and teeth, now. Not that it matters.
She says to me, in a voice appropriate for a girl of her age (maybe nine), “You didn’t flinch.”
I shrug. “I’m tired from digging up people. And after fighting dragons and seeing my sister get killed, I’m kind of running out of ways to be shocked. Besides, I have a good idea what you are.”
“And that is?”
“Mrokitar, She Who Walks Among Worlds, which is what you’ve been doing. But I don’t understand the game you’re playing,” I add.
“Game?” Her bewilderment appears genuine.
“Appearing as the highwayman. A strange way to give me a sword. Appearing now as a girl in a crystal coffin to enter our ranks unsuspected.”
“But that is how it must be done,” she replies, as if it were obvious.
Her puzzlement increases. “What do you mean?”
“Why? What reason do you have for this roundabout way to deal with me?”
“Reality is. It does not require reasons to justify its structure.” She delivers this as if it is obvious.
“But you have to decide what to do and why,” I reply.
She stares at me. She shakes her head. “You don’t understand me, do you?”
“I guess not,” I reply. “You’re a god.” And then I foolishly add, “You don’t understand me, do you?”
Do not challenge gods. DO NOT CHALLENGE GODS. By implying that the god’s power has limits, I am challenging the god. That is not my intention, but my intention is irrelevant. Only what the god thinks is relevant.
Looking very determined, the god says, “We will both understand each other.”
A god says you will understand her, you will understand her. Immediately, a slew of ideas pour into my brain. I see whole new ways of understanding the world around me. More and more come in, until I have the mind of a god.
Which is only natural. I am a god. I am Mrokitar. I was, am, and will be Mrokitar.
I notice I have a human body that I didn’t create. Yes, him, Tollon of Velgard. His nature is simple, easy to understand. He lacks the capabilities to be a god, so he cannot understand what a god is. Nevertheless, he has his uses, his place in reality. Return him to it. See he is in the condition he must be to be part of that reality.
And in the sphere of reality from which Tollon was taken, Honorable Alesca Alencar wakes up from a brief nap when she’s struck by Tollon’s flailing arms. To her dismay, he looks as if he is having an epileptic fit in his chair. But Alesca has been a school instructor for many years. She has dealt with all manner of ill students. She’s only struck about a half-dozen times more by Tollon as she shifts his body onto the floor, cushions his head so his jerks don’t give him a concussion, and jams his jaws apart so he cannot bite his tongue. Only then does she call for help.