Cold Copper Tears

We Loghyr have never found proof of the existence of any gods. Neither have we disproved their existence, although logic militates against it. They are not necessary to explain anything. Nature does not provide that which is not needed.

Hano may not fulfill your prescription for such a being. So call him Prime Mover or just the force that set time and matter in motion.

He must be because we need him to be. And he must be what we need him to be. It is a philosophical argument difficult to grasp for we who live among obdurately hard surfaces and sharp edges that ignore our wishes, but the observer invariably affects the phenomenon. In this context, God—by whatever name—is, and is constrained to be, whatever we believe him to be.

Really? It made a crazy sense. Maybe perfect sense to somebody in the religion business.

I had forgotten the first rule: everybody lies about sex, and the client always lies about it.

When the going gets tough, the smart get going and the stupid keep heading toward trouble.

“I know you priests believe six impossible things every day before breakfast,” I said. “Some of you, anyway. I think most of you are parasites who live off the gullible, the ignorant and the desperate. I don’t think any of you who get ahead believe what you preach. You sure never practice it.”

People don’t want to be told to do right. They don’t really want to do right. They want to do whatever they want—and whine that it’s not fair, it’s not their fault, when it comes time to pay the piper.

I’m a guy who doesn’t understand intangible stakes. I know some would argue that I have a set of values I take pretty seriously, but if I can’t eat it or spend it or make it go purr in the night, I don’t know what to do with it. It’s a weakness, a blind spot. Sometimes I forget that there are guys willing to get killed over ideas.

You need understand only that they are more dangerous than anyone you have ever battled, excepting perhaps vampires defending their nest. They do not just believe, they know. Their devil god has spoken to each of them directly and has given each of them a look into a paradise where they will spend eternity. They will do anything because they know there is no penalty to compare with their coming reward. They fear nothing. They are saved and will be born again, and concrete evidence has been given them for this. They need take the word of no one but their god himself.

Mr. Garrett, you appear to be the sort who needs to be cut to believe in swords. I understand that mentality better than you think. Do you comprehend the idea of symbol? You say you accept sorcery. The very root of sorcery is manipulation of symbol in a way that affects referent. And that’s the root of religion, too.

However, proof or lack thereof are unnecessary to the mind that must believe. And that mind becomes doubly narrow and doubly dangerous when it is given what it perceives as proof. Then it can begin to create that in which it believes.

Next thing I knew I wasn’t alone. And the someone with me was very warm, very naked, and very female. And very determined. And I sure don’t have much will power.

“Know what I think? I got started on the wrong foot at the beginning. I’ve been trying to get it to make sense.”

Maya looked at me weird. “What the hell are you yapping about?”

“I’m trying to make sense of something that isn’t rational. I knew from the beginning that religion was involved. Several religions, maybe. You can try from now until the end of the world and you’re not going to make sense out of that.”

“I’ve always suffered from a weakness for female flesh.”

“Don’t we all.”

He scowled. “That wasn’t a problem when I was younger. If I visited a prostitute and she found me out, she’d laugh. Priests are their best customers. But if I were found out now I could be destroyed.”

I had a thought. That happens. So do lunar eclipses.

I took nothing at face. Everywhere I turned religion popped up, and that’s a game of masks and deceit and illusions if ever there was one.

Every revelation slashes Belief with a brutal razor. Already some who never questioned have begun to wonder if all religion isn’t just a shell game perpetrated by societies of con men who milk the gullible.

My favorite sport is female and my favorite food is beer.

The human capacity for mischief is boundless.

She wanted to be crazy. She said when you’re crazy the truth is whatever you want it to be. She wanted what she remembered not to be true.

The pill-brain microdeity whose mission is to mess with my life was on the job.

The runt seemed awfully reasonable for a supposed raving fanatic. I guess the first talent a priest develops is acting ability.

She wouldn’t have to work to charm the wardrobe off me. She had that something that goes beyond beauty, beyond style—an aura, a presence. She was the kind of woman who leaves eunuchs weeping and priests cursing their vows.

I didn’t know him. That was all right. There are a lot of people I don’t know, but I wondered if he was one of the ones I wanted to keep on not knowing.

I decided she wouldn’t show. What was in it for her? I was pretty sure she was a gal who didn’t take a deep breath without calculating her return on investment. Such a shame; all that beauty wasted.

To me wine is just so much spoiled fruit juice.

Halfway up I met an old priest. He smiled and nodded benevolently, one of those guys who are what priests are supposed to be, and as a consequence, remain at the foot of the episcopal ladder throughout their lives.

The only thing that comes easy is trouble.