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All that mattered was the story. The myths that made gods, brought them to life in their shrines. Stories bind hope and love to make it faith.
why humans chose, again and again, gods who abused their love, and demanded their pain. Were gods and humans just as bad as each other?
‘Gods balance our access to power. They belong to everyone, not just the wealthy. Like our lands belong to everyone, not just the king.’
‘Faith does not fill the lungs, the belly or the sky,’ Kissen said. ‘Faith doesn’t bring fruit from the boughs, or put water in the sea, or flame in the fire.’
‘I’ve never met a person who believes in nothing at all.’ ‘I believe in myself.’
‘People like me don’t change the world,’ said Kissen. ‘We just survive it.’
‘He had my heart and lost it,’ said Elo calmly. ‘My head is not on offer.’
‘Why does it always come to this?’ she said. ‘That power changes, and knowledge burns?’
In fire you will be lost, said Telle. In ink, you live forever.
Knowledge can bring pain in place of ignorance, terror in place of hope. Whatever place your strength has come from, it is still yours. You choose what to do with it.
Nothing was more frightening than a smart woman with a vendetta and a plan.
