“I understand that you have three seconds to get that finger out of my face or I’m going to break it off and feed it to you,” Barbara replied, calmly. “As to wooing your acolytes, you probably should do that yourself. I take it you’re discussing Ghomo?”
“I don’t have enough male subs as it is!” Dartho shouted angrily, but withdrew the offending digit. “I can’t afford to lose one to your damned God!”
“Perhaps you should have considered that before he came to me for counseling,” Barb said, feeling a righteous anger building in her. “He is a fine young man who is questioning his faith. Do you support him in his faith, Dartho? Were you on the range teaching him? Where were you Dartho? What were you doing when he needed someone to talk to? Is this about him, Dartho or about you? He spoke of giving of his essence and, in return, getting a smidgeon of power. Where is the power going, Dartho? Are those acolytes you call yours, not your god’s, I notice, about worship of your god or worship of you, Dartho?”
“I am a high priest of Qua-Lin,” Dartho screamed. “Do not begin to try to understand the mysteries of my god, Christian! It would blast your tiny mind!”
“I don’t care about your mysteries, Dartho,” Barb snapped. “But if the worshippers are losing faith, perhaps their priest should do something about that! Not come screaming at someone who gave a person a moment’s thought, a moment’s help, a moment’s comfort! Perhaps you should have considered tending to your flock, priest, instead of whatever earthly pursuits you were practicing, priest! Christian I am and Christian I shall be. MY faith is not tested here, Dartho!”
“Whoa,” Sharice said, hurrying from the longhouse. “No religious battles in the compound. I could feel both of you from inside the Philosophy House.”
“Tell her to leave my worshippers alone,” Dartho snarled.
“I can talk to whomever I want,” Barb snapped. “I do not proselytize. I do not condemn. I simply Witness. And if Witnessing is causing your worshippers to reconsider their very faith, then maybe you should consider what that means, Dartho.”
“Both of you back off,” Sharice said, raising her hands and then parting them, her eyes closed.
Barb felt herself physically pushed back, away from the priest and onto the bridge, and a feeling of peace descended over her. Not in anger but in searing determination, she reached into her core and summoned her own channel, driving out the externally imposed peace and summoning her own patience and understanding to replace it.
Sharice’s eyes snapped open at that and she opened her mouth, closing it when she saw Barb’s expression of Zen-like stillness.
“I do not permit the power of another god within my soul, Sharice,” Barbara said, calmly. “My faith derives from the Lord Jesus Christ and I shall have no other before Him. But thank you for intervening.”
“Barb, you were going to supper,” Sharice said, just as calmly. “Dartho, were you?”
“No, I was looking for her,” he spat.
“In that case, please go away from the Philosophy House and let Barbara get her dinner,” Sharice said. “You’re leaving on assignment tomorrow. Until you do, you two stay away from each other.”
“I want you to tell her to stay away from my acolytes,” Dartho insisted. “I won’t have her wooing them over to her damned slave religion.”
“If you are speaking of Ghomo,” Sharice said, “he has not only talked to Barb. He spoke to me as well, and to Guinevere. He is questioning his faith. That, alone, will probably sever his link to Qua-Lin. He has potential and will either return to Qua-Lin or find another god. You cannot force a person to believe in your god, Dartho. Nor will you try. Is that clear?”
Dartho ground his jaw for a moment and then turned his back on the two women, striding away.
“That was… unpleasant,” Barbara said, stepping off the bridge.
“It happens.” Sharice sighed. “And when it does, those of the losing faith always blame others.” She paused and frowned, smiling faintly. “I think you scared him, as well. And he reacts to that with anger.”
“I can understand being upset,” Barbara said. “So am I. But why scared?”
“You’re aware that your eyes were glowing, right?” Sharice said, carefully. “They changed color, from blue to something like black, and they appeared to glow. Not as if you were channeling an avatar; it seemed to be something entirely in you.”
“Dartho takes the power that they give, doesn’t he?” Barb asked, ignoring the comment as they both walked towards the Philosophy House. She had been told that in times of extreme anger her eyes appeared to glow; it had nearly caused Mark to be shoved through a wall once. She hadn’t realized she was that angry at the priest and said a small prayer asking forgiveness. “The power that his acolytes sacrifice to their god. He takes it and uses it for his own purposes.”
“Yes,” Sharice said, simply. “But so do we all. Your power comes not from you, but from your God, from the Holy Spirit, if you will. And that power is supplied by thousands, perhaps millions, of True Believers such as yourself. So don’t castigate Dartho for drawing upon the power given to his god by his small handful of followers. He uses that power in the service of Good.”
“I’m not sure I completely agree,” Barbara said, frowning. “The power of God is…”
“The power of belief,” Sharice said, firmly. “The power given to God by the willing sacrifice of souls, dedicated to His purposes. That is the Power of God. Trust me.”
“God created the heaven and the earth,” Barb argued.
“Why?” Sharice asked, smiling. “Or, perhaps I shouldn’t ask the question. Hold to your Belief, Barbara Everette and I shall hold to mine. Each in her own way to the work of Good, yes?”
“Okay,” Barb said, troubled. She liked and respected Sharice and her words had been so… definite. But that was Sharice’s belief, not her own. She mentally nodded to herself and put the words aside to pull out some other time and examine.
“You’re being assigned as well,” Sharice said, sighing. “I was going to go over that this evening. You’ll only be here two more days. Wednesday evening you’ll fly to Virginia to meet your FBI contact and go out on assignment.”
“I was told that a more senior person normally travels with a junior,” Barbara said, diffidently.
“Yes,” Sharice replied, smiling, as they reached the doors of the longhouse. “You’re getting along very well with Janea. Would you accept her as your initial trainer? She’s not as experienced as I would like but… Dartho for example would not be a good match.”
“Janea is acceptable,” Barb said, holding up both hands in mock surrender. “But maybe… Hjalmar?”
“He’s taking an independent assignment to New York,” Sharice said, pausing in the entry area. “Julie and James are on the same assignment as you, but taking a different investigation area. There is a necromancer at work who is visiting science fiction and gaming conventions, or so the FBI believes. You are taking a convention in Roanoke. They are going to Georgia. There are other teams as well. This necromancer has killed seven girls, at least, and sent their souls to the nether hells. Someone needs to find him and put him in his place. Preferably six feet under. His demon can have that soul for all I care.”