“I thought you knew nothing about stuff outside your church?”

“The church knows a great deal about the Brokers. They are sinners, every one of them, and every mark they make on their bodies takes them further from the grace of Marketh. You do not realize what you are saying, Vince. The Brokers can only offer you temporary Skills you ought not possess, but the weight on your soul will carry with you into the afterlife.”

“Well, us humans have an afterlife of our own,” I said, “and it says nothing about getting a mark on your skin to give you magic powers. I’m sure our god would be fine with it.”

“If your goddess is really fine with it, that must only be because none of her children have yet to be Branded. Were that we were so lucky in Earris. Branding is a profane act, young Vince. It perverts Marketh’s will. She has a plan for all her children. That is why she grants them Skills. She gave me a Skill to sense the pain in others. In Marketh’s name, I use it to do all the good I can. Tell me. What good would be done in Marketh’s name were some criminal to gain a Brand of my Skill so he could use it to torture victims more effectively?”

“Well, obviously none…” I said, feeling like I was falling into an epistemological trap I was ill-equipped to handle. I knew how priests operated and felt this was far from the first time Father Koril had made this argument.

“Precisely! It is not our place to interpret the will of Marketh. Her plan for each of us involves the Skill we were directly granted by her: not ones we might buy from a Broker. Every Brand takes you further from her plan for you. It weighs your soul so you cannot climb Heaven’s Bridge to become one with Marketh when you die. That is truly a fate one should never strive for.”

I tried to get him back on track to what I actually wanted to learn about. “But is there no other option for my illness, father? No other option for me if I want to see my family again? It sounds like I don’t have a choice but to visit these Brokers. Maybe that is Marketh’s plan for me.”

Something like real annoyance passed over Father Koril’s face, his brow tightening. “That would never be her plan.” He took a breath and let it out. “I can see that you are determined.” He struck the tuning fork again.

“I am,” I confirmed.

“Then I would advise you to visit a Skill scholar. Some of their teachings are heretical, but not all of them. If they cannot help you, then I would suggest you return to the church and volunteer to become a monk. At least then you can save your life.”

“These Skill scholars,” I pressed, “where can I find them?”

“There are many,” Father Koril explained. “All the major universities in the FSR have at least one on staff. It has become a popular area of study since the Brokers rose to prominence.”

“Sorry… FSR?” I asked, enunciating each letter. “I’m not from around here, remember?”

“Of course. Apologies. It is another country. The Falon-Sten-Raith Republic. They are a chain of large islands far to the East. The Porters would be the fastest way to get there, though offering you passage is beyond the means I can offer to the destitute.”

“That’s fine. I can find my own way to get there. Is there any university you would suggest the most?”

Before answering, Father Koril was forced to strike his tuning fork once more, as its hum had faded. “Greenfalon,” he answered. “They focus primarily on ways to bring out the hidden power of existing Skills. If you must seek a Skill scholar, stay away from Oxenraith University. They recently had their church research funding revoked. They have been dabbling in ways to subvert the intended ability of existing Skills. Combining them in ways Marketh never intended.”

That the church didn’t like them only cemented in me a determination to visit this “Oxenraith” place. “That’s very useful. Thank you, Father. I will look up this ‘Greenfalon’ later and see what they—What does that mean?” I pointed to the topmost tine of the three-pointed starburst medallion hanging from Father Koril’s neck. It had lit up with a soft golden light for a reason that escaped me.

Father Koril looked down at it in surprise, then his entire demeanor changed: he knitted his brow, his nostrils flared, and his upper lip curled back. I knew anger when I saw it, just not what had caused it. “You!” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You are a liar! You lie in the presence of Marketh! Be gone from this holy place of worship!”

“Wa—I don’t understand. What did I do?”

“You are a deceiver! We shall not permit him who comes before his goddess with malice in his heart to…” His shouting overpowered the humming of the tuning fork, such that I couldn’t understand the rest of his words. I thought for sure with how angry he was that he’d throw me back out on the street as I was. I still had his Pain Taker, so I tried to hand it back while he continued yelling. He produced a small case for it and stored it away. Then—to my surprise—forced the bundle of clothes he’d brought me into my hands before throwing me out of the church.

Another paladin met me at the front doors. He and the priest exchanged some words, then the paladin grabbed me by the arm and threw me out the front gate surrounding the churchyard. I tried to ask a few people for help, but nobody could understand me. I walked to the bridge, not sure where else to go. It was where Ferrith had said he’d meet back up with me, though I saw no sign of him. I found an out-of-the-way spot and laid out the bedroll I’d been given, then put on the new clothes. At least with them on, I would blend in a little better.

While pulling my old, filthy undershirt off, I noticed my forearm was bleeding slightly where the paladin had grabbed me with his gauntleted hand. Only once I noticed the blood did I realize my body had given me a pain signal. It had just been too far beneath my notice. The cut felt like I’d scratched the surface of my skin faintly with a dull fingernail. “That’s going to take some time to get used to,” I said to myself. So… the trip hadn’t been a total waste. I got some clothes, I had a lead on where to go next, and gained the ability to ignore pain. I supposed that was worth getting tossed out in the street in the middle of what had been a friendly conversation.

I waited another half hour, alone with my thoughts, before I decided to just curl up under my blanket and at least pretend to sleep. It didn’t look like Ferrith was going to come for me. I was getting thirsty. At some point, I’d have to figure out where I was going to go and what I was going to do. As I laid there in a ratty bedroll watching the alien foot traffic of impossibly tall people walk by, my subconscious finally figured out what happened at the church.

Ferrith had expressly warned me not to lie. My comment about Greenfalon had been a lie. I hadn’t been planning to look them up, I’d been planning to look up Oxenraith. That medallion I’d just assumed was for decoration must have been the magical means church members had of detecting lies. Stupid. So incredibly stupid. That priest had really wanted to help, and I’d ruined it by violating some central tenet of his religion.

I turned my head away from the foot traffic so nobody would see the beads of frustration forming in the corner of my eyes. I was so sick feeling pathetic… but I missed home.