In my world, for me to do what I do, I need to believe that God doesn't exist. If there indeed is a heaven and a hell, why work so hard in our physical world? Why should there be justice if bad people will go to hell anyway? Why be anything but good and go to heaven?
As I was sitting at the end of a long table made of dark and heavy wood, under a high ceiling of concrete arches, with tapestries hanging from the sides, all lit from chandeliers and braziers set about the room, I looked at who was across from me, at the one who introduced himself as the God of Wits. A white spectre so pale I could see through him, like he barely existed, wearing a blue suit that looked just like the one I was wearing.
The words came pouring out of his shapeless mouth. I believed none of it, of course. Instead, I thought I had been drugged and I was retracing my steps. How did I even get here? Or was I dreaming? This felt very real however. A fever dream maybe? Caused by food poisoning? Seems likely.
"You're not listening, are you?" he interrupted my thoughts.
"Not a word, to be honest," I rose from my seat, "but it was a pleasure nonetheless, very eerie room you have here. I like the gothic aesthetic," I turned around and began walking to the door - it was as big as the long table, dark and heavy as well. And it had no handle. I put all of my weight into it to push it open. The door barely creaked.
"You're mistaken, my lord," came his voice from behind.
My lord? I turned back and he was right in front of me. He looked taller, his suit a few shades darker and the spectre wearing it was no longer as see-through. I immediately recognised this for intimidation. But why intimidate me? I quickly looked around. The wood, the tapestries, the lights, the ceiling. He was trying to impress me and he had failed. That's why. He's desperate!
"OK, fine," I said.
He blinked at me "You'll do it?"
"But on one condition," I added.
"You accept to become my paladin and spread my faith across this new world I'm sending you to?" he went on, enthusiastic.
"On one condition."
"Name it and I shall make it true, word of the God of Wits."
"I want a power."
"A po-wer ?" he said it like he had never heard of the word.
"I heard not a word of what you said, except the part where you called yourself a God." I pressed on before he had time to talk "well, if you're such a God, so immense is your power, right? I want you to bless me with a power of yours. You do that and I'll consider serving you. A fair deal, no?"
"Uh, I guess"
"You guess?" I raised my tone a little, "I need you to agree!"
"What kind of power do you want?"
I smiled. "What do I get to choose?" He truly is desperate!
"Being the God of Wits, I can bless you with immense power of persuasion-"
"Nah, this won't do," I interrupted him, "I'm already very persuasive as is. I want more!"
"I may be a God but with no worshippers, my powers are limited. And that is why I need you to-"
None of this is real, I thought before interrupting him for the second time.
"I want the power to make my words resonate into the soul of whoever hears them," at the point we're at, I could stretch him and wring out whatever I wanted of him for me, "I want to make them my slaves with just my words. Can you do that?"
Just saying these words aroused in me a lust for control.
There was a pause. He was thinking. I was getting ready to just storm out if the answer was anything but a firm yes and I think he sensed that.
"I can do it... eventually"
"Eventually!? Are you a God or not?"
"I can do it but only as more people pray me for that is how I will get more powerful and so will this power."
So that's it - he wants power. Does that mean he's weak now? Summoning me must have weakened him further. Maybe.
"Well, you have to invest power to get power, don't you?"
"Hmm," he grunted, brooding over my proposition and then went on, "I shall grant you what you asked but allow me to also warn you," a gust of wind took away all the lights of the room. The God of Wits looked paler, even more see-through than before and the giant doors began to fade away, "doing so weakens me terribly however and it weakens the very power I am granting you itself, so be swift in your mission. Find worshippers and convert them to me, you shall be recompensed greatly."
"With more power?" I asked tentatively but there was no answer.
Slowly, the soft sunlight of early afternoon flooded the room. The tapestries were gone and in their place were ancient walls cracking with age and the long table had rotted away.
I looked at him and softly declared "If you did as I asked, I shall do as you asked, God of Wits."
"Manusha!" he said with pride as he began to fade away, "my worshippers call me Manusha".
"Manusha? Pleased to meet you."
---
I walked into the sunlight, stepping over the grassland of a hilltop. A little stream coursed downhill, swelling as the land got flatter before joining others and kept going all the way to the horizon. Right where that stream swelled, sparsely distanced wood and mortar houses had been built and were animated by the movement of children and animals in the distance. I found a footpath next to the stream and followed along. I passed by children playing and from the corner of my eye, I saw them stop to gawk at me. They looked European and I could actually understand what they were saying.
As I walked up the path, the houses seemed to congregate into a little hamlet around a crossroad. At that point, I was still wearing my blue suit and I began to wonder how will the people here react to my brown skin.
The stream ran by a house that had clothes on a clothesline in its tiny grassy backyard. Seeing nobody around, I stepped over a knee-high wall of piled-on stones and looked for clothes that would fit me. Amidst white drapes flowing in the wind, I found a long robe with white and grey stripes with notches at the waist for a belt. It looked small but I figured I could maybe slice it from top to bottom and use it as a coat to conceal my clothes until I find something better.
There was a table against the outside wall of the house, next to where the inhabitants stacked their logs. I figured that was where they would butcher any meat they bring. I walked towards it looking for a knife and when I pushed aside one of the drapes hanging in the wind, there stood a feminine figure. Her blonde-brown hair hung in one big loose braid over one shoulder, shock, fear but also some anger were carved in how she held her eyebrows up but her eyes fixed on me, her mouth was slightly open and deep and panicked breaths came in and out between her lips. She was tiny and adorable. Like a harmless kitten, almost.
Clutched hard in delicate fingers, she held a knife against her chest - the same one I was looking for, I imagined.
I stepped back and repeated to myself I'm not scared, none of this is real!
Is it?