"I. Could. Not. Stay. Silent. Can you hear me now?" the an Kamian hissed through her teeth. "It really got to me, really struck a nerve. I couldn't look at all these miserable beings... and there you have it. Veindor's affairs were none of my feline business, but I messed with them anyway. And before I knew it, I'd fallen madly in love with him!"

Irson hesitated for a second, sniffing, deciding what next to add to this stew he'd cooked up.

"Miserable... Well, you know, Talia, murderers and rapists can also look helpless and miserable when stuffed in a prison cell. Should we take pity on them? What about the fellows from 'Uncaged'[1] ?"

"What a comparison! You're making a connection between killers and those who want to exchange their body of flesh for a body of stone?!" Talia was indignant. "My wards haven't violated anyone's rights or done anything out of sync with the fundamental laws of the Infinite. They haven't, but the Merciful's followers do it all the time! And it's positively nefarious. I... it was like seeing an ugly crack in the wall of our marvelous, sensible, harmonious universe."

"And you got scared."

"You can't even imagine! And these foil-covered scumbags are trying to prove it's not a crack. No! In their esteemed opinion, it's an absolutely necessary vent. But I know architecture better than that, praise Alasais!" Talia shook her finger at the half-lit room. "The Infinite's pool of laws is about as big as a mouse's puddle of pee, and when someone breaks one of them, you'd have to be blind not to notice!"

Irson didn't say anything. He had chosen the right catalyst: the reaction had been set in motion, and now he could relax and observe the steam rise and the sparks begin to fly. Talia was getting more and more fired up, and life was returning to her body with every uttered word. Slowly, drop by drop, but the process was already underway and couldn't be stopped.

"And even if I were a complete idiot, I still have Alaean instincts, you know? I can sense trouble. And I sense that the slightest little push will send everything crashing down. So I start thrashing about, yelling like a crazy person and nipping at the heels of sleeping homeowners! But they just get mad and kick me back!"

"Why? Because you're a fool? Because of your evil nature? They can't believe that you – a brainless an Kamian – could be smarter than Veindor?" Irson added fuel to the fire.

Talia was quiet for about a minute, wrinkling her brow, tapping her tail on the rug. Irson looked on with pleasure as her cheeks took on color.

"Because they don't understand that Veindor's work is always rushed. He's got countless worlds still sitting there untouched. Just think, Irson. How many creatures are doomed to eternal suffering in all kinds of afterlife torture chambers only because the gods there did not like their actions! Some seemed too cruel, some too merciful... That's all it takes! And how many are languishing aimlessly in blessed meadows, radiant skies and fertile swamps!"

"'Languishing?'"

"Well, yeah," Talia nodded.

She looked around as if confused about why she was laying on the floor and sat up, bracing herself on Enaor's shoulder.

"All this fiddle-faddle about better worlds only scratches you behind the ear until you find a decent spatial mage. Once you visit one of them, you'll find its inhabitants less than blessed. More like bored to tears! I don't disagree that some of them are happy, like some doofus with a sweet tooth who'd been given an everlasting gumdrop."

Irson scowled.

"All right, all right, enough of the rotten, cynical abyss-dweller in me!" the Alae waved her hands. "They're just happy. Happy bathing in the rivers of light or in lakes of slime secreted by their beloved deity, partaking of eternal grace and singing its praises. Knowing nothing of sorrow or fear. But it's not enough for most creatures to simply consume something, even if this something is the height of pleasure. They want to act: create, destroy, learn, and so on. They need movement, change, many need struggles and even strife, and not this eternal cloying... languishing. There's no other way to put it! Their fate isn't much better than those who've been locked away in some stupid diamond."

Irson listened patiently, although after spending many long years at god-hating Lindorg, he could easily give a lecture on the horrors of the afterlife.

"But why am I saying all this? Because Veindor has his work cut out for him," Talia went on. "And all these jobs are of paramount importance. He doesn't have time to get caught up in all the little details, get sentimental with all those who... oppose having bodies." With her chin she indicated the illusory fox, who had come back into the room.

"And what's different now? Why do you think it's suddenly time for him to get sentimental?" Irson asked.

"Because those same tremors are looming. A crack didn't used to be dangerous, but now – look out! It'll unravel any minute now, and... and I really don't want to be crushed by the roof!" the an Kamian shrieked, smacking her palm on the floor.

Talia looked completely perky, but Irson was on a roll and didn't want to stop there.

"Super. We've come to the conclusion that you consider what you and Inon are doing to be necessary and important. In that case, I don't really understand why at the start of our friendly talk you averted your eyes and mumbled something about an Kamians acting up out of boredom?" he asked insinuatingly.

Talia looked crestfallen.

"Come on, Talia, I don't want to sit here all day, extracting every word from you with pliers."

"It's one thing to yell about danger and pester the masters. It's another thing entirely to try to seal up the cracks in the home by yourself. That's too bold, even for me," she confessed at last. "Inon's right: I can't have such a Path. I won't be able to patch up that crack, but I will make it wider with all my digging. I'm not cut out for this. You could hardly call my lifestyle ascetic. By any stretch of the imagination. I'm vulgar, crackbrained... curious to the point of obsession. I can't sit long in one place, and my ideas even scare me sometimes. I'm an ambitious, inveterate upstart. And the worst part is, I like myself that way!" She looked up at Irson bashfully. "I always thought there was a positive side to all that, but maybe I'm wrong. My diva's personality, no matter how you spin it, just doesn't jive with serving Veindor. Maybe I've played out my role and... now it's time for me to go?"

"Does that thought scare you?"

"Probably. That's why I 'mumble about bored an Kamians.' I'm afraid, Irson. Afraid to admit just how important all this is to me. Cause if I admit it and adhere to this Path with all my heart, and then it'll turn out I'm just not cut out for it... or..." she frowned.

"Or?" Irson urged her.

"Or if I'm just thought of that way! This fear, it... snares me like a net, paralyzing me – as if I've been forced into a tight sack. I don't like it. I can't breathe. It stifles me. It... it's stopping me from growing."

"Stopping you from growing," Irson repeated significantly. "Is it stopping you from growing into the creature you want to be?"

"It's like I'm becoming some sort of mangled freak with twisted bones... and crooked thoughts. And I don't know how to get out."

"It seems to me you've already taken the most important step towards freedom."

"Which was?"

"You grabbed your fear by the tail, dragged it out of the underbrush of gawkers, gigglers and naysayers, and looked right in its ugly mug. The same thing happened to me not long ago. You might laugh, but it was during my conversation with that same Veindor hater. It was as if I'd taken a whiff of a smelling salts! Everything in my head turned upside down! But anyway..."

"So... what do I do now?"

"Figure out where your fear's really coming from – your own feeling that you're not a good match for this kind of work, that you're not mature enough, or... if there's another source. External."

Talia nodded pensively.

"Another source..." Irson mouthed. He didn't need to guess what it was.

"Irson... since we've dug into all this nonsense anyway... Tell me, do I look ridiculous when I pose as if I'm one of them? Somber like the plague, ears twisted like a pretzel, and the like?" Talia blurted out – hotly, without a hint of guile.

"No, not at all. I've only seen you at it once. But I didn't think you were posing at that moment. You were being yourself. And if I may say so, you were more yourself then than you are now. You... you were literally radiant: remember, even your old windbag Inon had a moment of clarity! And I was simply awed."

Something inside Irson whispered firmly: wrap it up. Enough. But Talia looked at him with such a pained expression, eyes so full of strife and gratitude that he couldn't help but add:

"And that Inon of yours... I don't know what kind of twisted morals you need to have to insist on the opposite, to try and take away from you what's most certainly yours! Veindor's in a bad way if that's what his best priests are like. He ought to be flogged... I don't know why you even put up with it!"

Talia just shook her head.

"Thanks Irson. Really, thanks. I'm going to go lie down..."

Wobbling, she climbed onto the sofa and fell fast asleep. Irson plopped into an armchair. But before he could take a load off, he heard voices coming from the next room, whereupon Enaor floated into the living room (Irson hadn't even noticed the Eale's tactful departure), followed by Inon.

"What's this tramp doing here?" the priest asked Irson, who only shrugged.

"This tramp lives here," Enaor announced, rubbing his cheek on the furniture pointedly. "Bad news, huh?"

"Exceedingly."

Turning his impossibly expressionless face from Enaor, Inon walked further into the room and came to a stop at the head of the sofa. He watched the sleeping Talia for a long time, and when he finally raised his head, Irson saw to his astonishment that the priest's eyes were moist. The Merciful's adept looked as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps I was wrong about him? I just can't understand people... thought the Tanae, touched.

"Did you learn anything?" he quietly inquired.

"What?"

"Anything. Who did this, where the attack came from? You were gone a long time; we thought you were trying to figure this out."

"Figure it out? No. I was praying."

"Oh! Of course. But now that she's better..."

"Better?" Inon stared at Irson incredulously. "No, my friend, I don't think so. She's not fine, and I'm not fine. I knew this would happen sooner or later. Veindor was testing us! He wasn't in a hurry to punish his erring children; he gave us a chance to come to our senses. But in our pride we mistook this indulgence for favor."

The priest's loud voice woke Talia.

"Quit your sniveling, Inon. Veindor didn't do this," she wrinkled her brow, propping herself up on her elbow.

"What?"

It was difficult to tell what exactly had surprised Inon – Talia's words, or the fact that she was able to speak at all.

"You heard me. It was one of you, the priests," the an Kamian grumbled, letting her legs down from the sofa.

"Why do you say that?" Inon asked sharply, even indignantly.

"When it happened, I heard a voice. A female voice. That nasty thing was surprised, upset that I was resisting her affliction. 'She can't fight it herself! It's him who's protecting her! If she's already accomplished that much herself, what can we expect in the future?' That's what I was able to make out."

"Talia, the lightning that struck you came from Veindor's statue, and no one in all of Enhiarg would dare pretend that their own actions were those of the Merciful! That's... that's more than treachery... but the ultimate blasphemy. If you really did hear those words, then the priestess was fulfilling her Nae's will. You're going to have to accept that. And to think long and hard about a lot of things," Inon said edifyingly and almost smiled, relieved and triumphant.

Of course, now everything fell into place, thought Irson. No more tormenting and doubting oneself. No more guessing who's right – Talia or the wise, dignified old priests. The temptress has been cast into the dust. And that's where she belongs. Powerless to subvert any more minds!

Talia easily read the same on Inon's face. Pursing her lips, she slowly stood up straight and quietly asked:

"Who is it then, that protects me? Who's 'he'?"

"Me," the priest answered.

"Oh, I should have guessed! You're befuddled. The unfortunate victim of my cunning. Only I must've missed something – the part where you helped rid me of this?" Talia poked the crust on her side, then ripped it off with in one swift motion and handed it to Enaor. "Here. A coaster for your beer."

The Eale tucked the souvenir into his pocket and put his arm around the trembling Talia's waist, supporting her tenderly at the elbow.

"Talia, you can't think that 'he' means Veindor, do you?" Inon narrowed his eyes.

"I do think so. I mean, I don't think that Veindor had helped me fight this affliction, but I'm sure that's exactly what that wretch had thought!"

The priest looked at Talia and shook his head, like a husband would react to a wife having an "episode": with compassion, indulgence, and just a hint of disgust. That was the last straw for the an Kamian.

"You know, Inon, I've had it with you. I've had it up to here. You can just go to the dogs with your rejecting me. I'll be the first to say that dealing with me is no picnic, but I'll never forget how easily you turned your back on our plan," she uttered, looking at the floor. "And this means... this means our paths must part."

"Talia, as your friend and old confidant, I feel that I must say what no one else will. I've always gone easy on you and indulged your faults, perhaps because I'm no stranger to many of them myself, so that by defending you I was defending myself. But now that Veindor has revealed to me the true nature of our actions, it is my duty to instruct you, that you might come to your senses!" said the priest in a genuinely warm, fatherly tone, taking a step towards the Alae, but she recoiled, pressing her shoulder blades into Enaor's chest. "It's a bitter duty, but it would be supremely cowardly of me to neglect it."

"Inon, Inon! I don't even want to argue with you. Not one little bit." replied Talia without raising her eyes. "Not even when I was gutted by Tagareans did I feel so empty... Indulged my faults... And I was such a good girl, running with your liare pride as one would indulge a sick kitten. I'm done. That's enough for me." She rubbed her wounded side. "I just want to know one thing – how exactly are you planning on atoning for our terrible mutual sin? Are you going to bang your forehead against Veindor's paws or actually do the deeds the Merciful needs done, in particular, help take care of these blasphemers after all?"

"I never said I wouldn't..." the priest mumbled, clearly regretting his emotional outburst, but it was too late to take it back.

"It's a deal," Talia spat. "I'm going to sleep for a couple more hours, and then I'll go dig around some burrs and cry. That's right! By the way, what's the story on my bodies?" she asked the fox.

"They've decomposed. Dissolved into mush. I don't envy whoever has to clean it up," the fox tweaked his nose.

"Terrific! Adding material losses to emotional ones," the an Kamian threw up her arms. "Great, and it's raining, too! Perfect day! There should be more days like this!"

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[1] Uncaged – a group of Mercurion's dragons that considers no crime worthy of such a harsh punishment as taking away someone's freedom. Following this principle, the Uncaged periodically arrange massive prison breaks all over Enhiarg.