Archiwum
- Index
- 08 Ernest Hemingway Mieć i nie mieć
- Burroughs, Edgar Rice Mars 08 Swords of Mars
- Laurie King Mary Russel 08 Locked Rooms
- Brenden Laila Hannah 08 Znak Ognia
- Gordon Dickson Childe 08 The Chantry Guild
- 2009.08 Dig Deep Debugging with Strace
- Jacqueline Lichtenberg [Sime_Gen_08]_ _RenSime
- Fred Saberhagen The Book of the Gods 04 God of the Golden Fleece
- Jack L. Chalker Watchers at the Well 03 Gods at the Well of Souls
- Jack L. Chalker Dancing Gods 3 Vengance of the Dance
- zanotowane.pl
- doc.pisz.pl
- pdf.pisz.pl
- marcelq.xlx.pl
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elephant's trunk a little over a foot long.
Bad day?
"It was a bad day when I got woke up at a totally ridiculous hour, thank you
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very much. It has gone downhill ever since. Why don't you just dig into my
head?"
I would prefer that you told it. I get more subtext examining the subjective
side.
This from a guy who insisted I had to maintain my emotional distance when I
reported to him. We might as well be married. You can't win with him.
This is not good.
"Hey, I hardly got started."
I read you. These are not friendly gods. These are old-style gods, all wrath
and thou shalt not.
"You know them?"
Dean brought in a tray with teapot, honey, cup, spoon. What? Usually he just
handed me a mug ready to go. Was he kissing up?
Only by reputation. They have been marginal pantheons since the beginning,
deities of ancient nomadic immigrants. Both religions were too cold and hard
to win many converts. They are much alike.
"Oh, your head!" Dean said. He was looking straight down at the top of my
conk. "No wonder you're in a black mood. Don't move. I'll clean that up." He
bustled out.
Apparently your skull is as thick as I have claimed.
"Huh?"
Your head wound is worse than you realized.
"What did I say? The good news just piles up." I reflected on what he had
sent. "I got a question."
Yes? I felt a mental smirk.
"Back when we dealt with that crazy Loghyr you told me Loghyr never found
proof of the existence of any gods and claimed logic suggests they can't
exist. I believe you said 'They are not necessary to explain anything. Nature
does not provide that which is not needed.' "
That is correct. There is no concrete proof that any of the deities
worshipped in this city exist as independent entities, outside the
imaginations of those with the will to believe.
"Who tried to toss me through that coach door, then? You telling me they were
scamming?"
That is a possibility deserving of examination. But to your question. For the
sake of argument, your interlocuters were indeed Daiged, Rhogiro, and Ringo.
Magodor gave you your answer in her remarks.
Oh boy. Here came my favorite part of our relationship, the part where he
tries to expand my horizons by forcing me to expand my intellect.
Dean came back with our first aid stuff. I keep a good home medicine cabinet.
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For a while I had a girlfriend who was a doctor. She fixed me up because I
seem to get dinged up every time I turn around.
"I'm a little woozy here, Chuckles. How's about you just hand it to me this
time?"
All the span is gone out of you, Garrett. The very nature of their situation
should shriek the answer. If they fall off the Street of the Gods, if they are
forced to leave the Dream Quarter, if they lose their last True Believer, they
cease to exist.
"Ouch!" Dean was dabbing at my head with a hot, wet rag. "You mean I wouldn't
have this dent in my head if somebody didn't believe in the ugly boys?"
Essentially.
Dean asked, "Who sewed this up for you, Mr. Garrett?"
"Sewed what?" And to His Nibs, "But they exist on their own. Nobody dreamed
what was happening to me."
Dean told me, "You have three . . . six . . . nine stitches here. You must
have bled pretty bad."
"No wonder I'm so weak. I thought it was a concussion."
"Might be that, too."
They need only be imagined and believed in fervently enough, on the right
level. They assume an existence of their own, within the attributes assigned
them.
"Careful!" I snapped at Dean. "That's tender. They must have given me
something to make it not hurt. Ouch! Damnit! . . . "
"Don't be such a pansy."
"You aren't digging for gold. Old Bones, your theory is absurd."
Gods are absurd, Garrett. And it is a hypothesis, not a theory. A theory is
supported by experimental proof.
"I'm just looking to see if there's any infection," Dean grumbled, doing his
hurt thing.
I ignored him, told the Dead Man, "There you go splitting hairs."
"Theory" is a much-abused word, particularly by those in the divinity trades.
Be careful, Dean. If those stitches break, his brain may leak out. Have you
formed any plans, Garrett? To deal with your situation?
My situation. "I take it I need to worry in a big way." When the Dead Man
sets aside his own self-centered interests, I know he is troubled deeply. It
was obvious that he had no problem believing that I could have fallen afoul of
real gods and not just sleight-of-hand con folk somehow setting me up.
I answered his question. "I don't have a clue. That's why I came home. Are
you going to pay your rent?" Though he insists he is a full partner, the most
work he does is aimed at getting out of doing anything constructive.
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"Right now I don't see any choice but to play along."
Indeed. Wriggling out of this will require intense self-discipline and long
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