"I wouldn't have planned to," Solomon admitted. "It's the same reason Meritorious didn't outlaw the worship of the Faceless Ones, or destroy all their churches. Sanctuaries tried the same to the Temples in the past. It didn't work."
The problem was that the magical community had nothing like the halfway houses to which Saffron had been sent. Sorcerers considered things like addictions to be beneath them. Even those who were addicted to perfectly mundane substances still carried with them that belief in their own immortality.
"I was thinking more along the lines of a health issue," he said at last. "The problem is that most Sanctuaries don't have conventional health clinics the way you do. We just don't have enough of a population. Places like America might, but the healers in Ireland who aren't affiliated with either the Sanctuary or the Temple aren't much more than amateurs. Capable of handling small issues, but not much else. And that isn't even taking into account the lack of addiction awareness present in our society."
Solomon had never thought about it before, but that was always going to be a problem, he realised. The Council of Elders ruled, but not in the same way as a democratic government. They were chosen by the oldest and most influential clan members and made decisions for the nation at large, for the sake of the divide between magical and mortal, but in the end individual sorcerers were generally expected to handle their own affairs. The Sanctuary intervened only when those actions contravened their secrecy or national borders.
"We don't have a lot of infrastructure at all, actually," he murmured, staring unknowingly past Paddy's head and at the wall. The sound of the dirt-bike's engine purring was a distant noise outside. "We're too used to clans taking care of their own affairs. The Sanctuary doesn't interfere unless an actions puts the nation or the magical community at risk. We have no internal health infrastructure to rely on to monitor an addiction like this."
He blinked, his gaze tracking slowly nearer to Paddy's face. "I don't know." That was all he could say that was even remotely definitive. "Maybe some could be convinced to help, if they thought it would bring the Temples down. They might not need to know the Temples' motives. Some probably would. Most ..." He stopped. He was wrong. "Most wouldn't see the difference."
He couldn't help the bitterness in his tone, then. "Ireland's Sanctuary is old. Some of the newer ones are far more brutal. They pretend they aren't, but they are--to compensate for being younger, and not in a Cradle of Magic. They would treat ex-Necromancers like criminals."
Solomon remembered back when Ireland's Council had reluctantly allied with the Necromancers to fight Mevolent. There had always been tension; it had been an alliance born of necessity. But he also remembered Morwenna Crow. He remembered the day she left, remembered because he was one of the few people she told that she was leaving. He remembered why she left--because of Vile.
All over the world, Necromancers were generally disdained. The ordinary man feared death enough to fear those who controlled it. There were one or two Temples more like Sanctuaries than not--India sprang to mind; Necromancers and worshippers of Kali were nearly one and the same. There was a very great Necromantic presence there. There was an equally great opposition, comprised of those Kali worshippers who believe Necromancy was a corruption of everything for which she stood.
They weren't wrong. Would they be enough to counter the Temple's influence?
He couldn't tell. Morwenna Crow was an anomaly--a Necromancer unaffiliated with the Temple. Rogues weren't common. They were usually assassinated before long. He knew that for sure, because he had often been the one to track them down and send an assassin after them.
"Taking down Ireland's Temple may be relatively easy," he said quietly. "Taking down the whole cult? I don't know. It may prove to be impossible without an all-out war."
no subject
The problem was that the magical community had nothing like the halfway houses to which Saffron had been sent. Sorcerers considered things like addictions to be beneath them. Even those who were addicted to perfectly mundane substances still carried with them that belief in their own immortality.
"I was thinking more along the lines of a health issue," he said at last. "The problem is that most Sanctuaries don't have conventional health clinics the way you do. We just don't have enough of a population. Places like America might, but the healers in Ireland who aren't affiliated with either the Sanctuary or the Temple aren't much more than amateurs. Capable of handling small issues, but not much else. And that isn't even taking into account the lack of addiction awareness present in our society."
Solomon had never thought about it before, but that was always going to be a problem, he realised. The Council of Elders ruled, but not in the same way as a democratic government. They were chosen by the oldest and most influential clan members and made decisions for the nation at large, for the sake of the divide between magical and mortal, but in the end individual sorcerers were generally expected to handle their own affairs. The Sanctuary intervened only when those actions contravened their secrecy or national borders.
"We don't have a lot of infrastructure at all, actually," he murmured, staring unknowingly past Paddy's head and at the wall. The sound of the dirt-bike's engine purring was a distant noise outside. "We're too used to clans taking care of their own affairs. The Sanctuary doesn't interfere unless an actions puts the nation or the magical community at risk. We have no internal health infrastructure to rely on to monitor an addiction like this."
He blinked, his gaze tracking slowly nearer to Paddy's face. "I don't know." That was all he could say that was even remotely definitive. "Maybe some could be convinced to help, if they thought it would bring the Temples down. They might not need to know the Temples' motives. Some probably would. Most ..." He stopped. He was wrong. "Most wouldn't see the difference."
He couldn't help the bitterness in his tone, then. "Ireland's Sanctuary is old. Some of the newer ones are far more brutal. They pretend they aren't, but they are--to compensate for being younger, and not in a Cradle of Magic. They would treat ex-Necromancers like criminals."
Solomon remembered back when Ireland's Council had reluctantly allied with the Necromancers to fight Mevolent. There had always been tension; it had been an alliance born of necessity. But he also remembered Morwenna Crow. He remembered the day she left, remembered because he was one of the few people she told that she was leaving. He remembered why she left--because of Vile.
All over the world, Necromancers were generally disdained. The ordinary man feared death enough to fear those who controlled it. There were one or two Temples more like Sanctuaries than not--India sprang to mind; Necromancers and worshippers of Kali were nearly one and the same. There was a very great Necromantic presence there. There was an equally great opposition, comprised of those Kali worshippers who believe Necromancy was a corruption of everything for which she stood.
They weren't wrong. Would they be enough to counter the Temple's influence?
He couldn't tell. Morwenna Crow was an anomaly--a Necromancer unaffiliated with the Temple. Rogues weren't common. They were usually assassinated before long. He knew that for sure, because he had often been the one to track them down and send an assassin after them.
"Taking down Ireland's Temple may be relatively easy," he said quietly. "Taking down the whole cult? I don't know. It may prove to be impossible without an all-out war."