"That was well done, Skul," Gabriel said quietly as they made their way to Myron Stray's door, a smile still on his lips. He was leaning on the detective, but the Archangel's other hand rested on Fletcher's arm now as well. "He needed that money."
It was a statement, more than an explanation. Skulduggery had probably been able to tell enough just from the things in the car. The picture half-hidden by the dash, where a passenger in the front seat would have trouble seeing just how many people were in it. The state of the man's clothes. The way he'd spoken of the carnival. The pale band of skin on his finger where he'd only recently stopped wearing a wedding ring.
"I think we should go to the carnival," Gabe continued, and while there wasn't an order in his words, his tone was firm. He wanted to go to the carnival, not just as some time off, or for nostalgia, but because he knew now there was someone there whom he could help without using his powers at all. "Not now, but when we can. Better, if we can time it when they're there. I like them, and they can use some hope."
They came to the door, but Gabe paused before actually standing on the stoop, glancing at Fletcher and then back at Skulduggyer. "When this is all over, we'll go. All of us. Okay?"
~~~
This ambivalence was growing far beyond frustration. Solomon wasn't used to being uncertain, wasn't used to having to tread water. He was used to being decisive, to knowing precisely what he wanted, where he stood, and that people like this priest were as delusional as they believed him to be. Everything, but everything, contributed to one single goal. Now he no longer had that.
You could have a goal, whispered part of him, deep down, which had seen fit to notice the value on his Christian upbringing enough to see it in Necromancy as well. You're just too afraid to.
Amazing, how fear now paralysed him, where before it had galvanised him.
Solomon sat, slowly and looking around the church, trying to take things in to give himself something to stabilise himself. He still couldn't help amusement from flitting across his face at the priest's words. Nothing to be ashamed of. If only the man knew what he had planned, that most 'decent' people on the Earth would consider it pure evil.
The Necromancer turned from that idea and spoke instead.
"You say that as if I'm looking for a process," Solomon observed, his gaze trailing across the altar, the cross, and the pews. "I'm seeking answers, not a conversion." Although at this point he was reluctant to deny the latter might happen, if the answers were right. Then again, perhaps it wouldn't. Could it count as a conversion when he knew the truth, but had no faith? Solomon doubted it. Valkyrie knew the power of Necromancy, and had no faith at all. That hadn't bothered Solomon. Her powers were a tool, as all Necromancers' powers were tools, to avoid death itself.
And yet. And yet now it was Solomon without the faith. Could he still use the tools?
The Necromancer's gaze finally landed on the priest's face. Even though the whole scanning action had been entirely casual, as calm and indifferent and merely curious as Solomon could have wanted, he already knew, somehow, that Father O'Reilly knew Solomon had been avoiding the contact. The question Solomon himself was asking was why. He was here for logic. For answers. For facts. Why should he fear this so? He only needed to go where the logic went. He always had, even in his faith.
Start with those facts. The supposed facts. "He's omniscient," Solomon said. "Omnipotent. And omnipresent. Correct?" It was more a call for acknowledgement than a request for explanation. If Solomon stopped now, he might not keep going later. "How do you know that He's there at all?"
No, that wasn't quite what he wanted to ask. Solomon knew God existed. China's reaction told him that much. He didn't need to hear about a priest's hollow explanations of faith, even one who may have seen a real angel. It was no help at all to define a fact Solomon already knew.
The Necromancer frowned. What he wanted to ask was ... was ...
How do you know He's as benevolent as the Bible claims?
How do you know He'll really forgive you like the Bible says?
How do you know He won't turn around and punish you anyway?
Why do you believe it at all?
Why would He forgive someone like me for the things I've done and the things I've planned to do?
A medley ran through his one, a medley of all the questions Solomon had wanted to ask as a child, never been able to as a teen and finally never felt the need to as a man. It was the last question that leapt out and made his mind freeze, the question he had, all this time, been avoiding and could no longer. There it was, wasn't it? The reason he was so afraid. The acknowledgement that this wasn't like Necromancy. If God existed, it meant that Solomon's own actions would indeed be judged as evil, not by other mere men of lesser power, but the Almighty. That Solomon would be punished, because there were no tools Solomon could use against God. And that he couldn't avoid it. He would never be able to avoid it. Even if he went through the Passing.
The Necromancer found himself staring down at his cane, almost fascinated by the fact that his hands were, very visibly, trembling. He tried to still them and couldn't; not even pressing the cane into the floor helped stem the tide of adrenaline and nerves. His throat was dry all over again and his blood rushed in his ears, except that it sounded like an endless scream.
For some long moments, Solomon wasn't aware of the church around him at all. Just of the Scream, and the power in his cane, and his own terror at what it meant for there to be an Ultimate Power he couldn't even begin to touch the way he had touched death. Then, not exactly abruptly but with a slow-burning dizziness, the Necromancer felt separated from his body and mind and heard himself asking with a weird sort of icy calm, "How do you know He's actually omnipotent at all?"
no subject
It was a statement, more than an explanation. Skulduggery had probably been able to tell enough just from the things in the car. The picture half-hidden by the dash, where a passenger in the front seat would have trouble seeing just how many people were in it. The state of the man's clothes. The way he'd spoken of the carnival. The pale band of skin on his finger where he'd only recently stopped wearing a wedding ring.
"I think we should go to the carnival," Gabe continued, and while there wasn't an order in his words, his tone was firm. He wanted to go to the carnival, not just as some time off, or for nostalgia, but because he knew now there was someone there whom he could help without using his powers at all. "Not now, but when we can. Better, if we can time it when they're there. I like them, and they can use some hope."
They came to the door, but Gabe paused before actually standing on the stoop, glancing at Fletcher and then back at Skulduggyer. "When this is all over, we'll go. All of us. Okay?"
~~~
This ambivalence was growing far beyond frustration. Solomon wasn't used to being uncertain, wasn't used to having to tread water. He was used to being decisive, to knowing precisely what he wanted, where he stood, and that people like this priest were as delusional as they believed him to be. Everything, but everything, contributed to one single goal. Now he no longer had that.
You could have a goal, whispered part of him, deep down, which had seen fit to notice the value on his Christian upbringing enough to see it in Necromancy as well. You're just too afraid to.
Amazing, how fear now paralysed him, where before it had galvanised him.
Solomon sat, slowly and looking around the church, trying to take things in to give himself something to stabilise himself. He still couldn't help amusement from flitting across his face at the priest's words. Nothing to be ashamed of. If only the man knew what he had planned, that most 'decent' people on the Earth would consider it pure evil.
The Necromancer turned from that idea and spoke instead.
"You say that as if I'm looking for a process," Solomon observed, his gaze trailing across the altar, the cross, and the pews. "I'm seeking answers, not a conversion." Although at this point he was reluctant to deny the latter might happen, if the answers were right. Then again, perhaps it wouldn't. Could it count as a conversion when he knew the truth, but had no faith? Solomon doubted it. Valkyrie knew the power of Necromancy, and had no faith at all. That hadn't bothered Solomon. Her powers were a tool, as all Necromancers' powers were tools, to avoid death itself.
And yet. And yet now it was Solomon without the faith. Could he still use the tools?
The Necromancer's gaze finally landed on the priest's face. Even though the whole scanning action had been entirely casual, as calm and indifferent and merely curious as Solomon could have wanted, he already knew, somehow, that Father O'Reilly knew Solomon had been avoiding the contact. The question Solomon himself was asking was why. He was here for logic. For answers. For facts. Why should he fear this so? He only needed to go where the logic went. He always had, even in his faith.
Start with those facts. The supposed facts. "He's omniscient," Solomon said. "Omnipotent. And omnipresent. Correct?" It was more a call for acknowledgement than a request for explanation. If Solomon stopped now, he might not keep going later. "How do you know that He's there at all?"
No, that wasn't quite what he wanted to ask. Solomon knew God existed. China's reaction told him that much. He didn't need to hear about a priest's hollow explanations of faith, even one who may have seen a real angel. It was no help at all to define a fact Solomon already knew.
The Necromancer frowned. What he wanted to ask was ... was ...
How do you know He's as benevolent as the Bible claims?
How do you know He'll really forgive you like the Bible says?
How do you know He won't turn around and punish you anyway?
Why do you believe it at all?
Why would He forgive someone like me for the things I've done and the things I've planned to do?
A medley ran through his one, a medley of all the questions Solomon had wanted to ask as a child, never been able to as a teen and finally never felt the need to as a man. It was the last question that leapt out and made his mind freeze, the question he had, all this time, been avoiding and could no longer. There it was, wasn't it? The reason he was so afraid. The acknowledgement that this wasn't like Necromancy. If God existed, it meant that Solomon's own actions would indeed be judged as evil, not by other mere men of lesser power, but the Almighty. That Solomon would be punished, because there were no tools Solomon could use against God. And that he couldn't avoid it. He would never be able to avoid it. Even if he went through the Passing.
The Necromancer found himself staring down at his cane, almost fascinated by the fact that his hands were, very visibly, trembling. He tried to still them and couldn't; not even pressing the cane into the floor helped stem the tide of adrenaline and nerves. His throat was dry all over again and his blood rushed in his ears, except that it sounded like an endless scream.
For some long moments, Solomon wasn't aware of the church around him at all. Just of the Scream, and the power in his cane, and his own terror at what it meant for there to be an Ultimate Power he couldn't even begin to touch the way he had touched death. Then, not exactly abruptly but with a slow-burning dizziness, the Necromancer felt separated from his body and mind and heard himself asking with a weird sort of icy calm, "How do you know He's actually omnipotent at all?"
Surely there was a way. Surely ...