The New Gods (Part II)

He couldn’t count the number of times he had tried to build the musket. Since he had started this project, he had been plagued with problems. First the steel lost its purity, then it kept forming a crust on it which wouldn’t allow him to pour it no matter how hot it was, then if he did manage to pour it, the casting would break. Then if the bars managed to come out of the casting when he was taking them out, they’d break when he tried to bore a hole through their center, or when he tried to press the ridges onto the inside. He had built muskets before, and this should be easy for him, but on this project he was all thumbs.

He had to go further west, toward the foothills of the Dragonback Mountains, in order to find a lord that would give him money to build these new guns. Once, when he finally had the musket nearly assembled and was almost ready to test it, his workshop burnt down in the night. The lord he was working under had stopped funding him, and he had to do this out of his own pocket now. He made a deal with a local gunsmith, and he was able to use the man’s shop and tools in exchange for his services. Goram made the more intricate parts of the gun, and was able to make some improvements on their design. He continued to try and build a new type of musket, which, if he was right, would spin the musket ball and prevent it from curving in flight. He hoped to make a much more accurate musket, which would be at least as accurate as, and more difficult to avoid than an arrow shot by a bow in the hands of a skilled elven archer. But this was not to be; the design in his head seemed sound, but try as he might he couldn’t succeed in building it.

He prayed daily to Araia for guidance, but wasn’t receiving any encouragement. The message he seemed to be getting was that he was doomed to failure, but he consistently asked why that was so. He only wanted to know the truth. Why couldn’t he succeed? Why was he doomed to failure? He began to receive a new message from Araia, that if he learned of the arcane knowledge under the guidance of a skilled mage, perhaps then he would understand.

He listened to her advice, and sought out the head mage in the province. The man was very old, although he was by no means frail. Practicing the arcane arts had the effect of halting a man’s aging process, which would allow him time to better understand this form of magic. In addition to near-immortality, study of the arcane arts could allow a practitioner nearly complete control over the physical world. He could light up a room at his command, and darken it just as easily. He could concentrate on an object and cause it to float around in the air, or create a huge ball of fire that could be hurled at an enemy. He could point to an area and create a small explosion, or he could focus on an area for several minutes and create an enormous explosion. All of this was physically draining and so a mage had to build up his endurance too.

As is the case with most magi, Goram’s teacher had little time for him. He spent much of his time sequestered in his chamber, examining runes and scrolls for hints of long-forgotten magicks. Goram suggested on several occasions that magic could be applied to mundane machines in order to enhance their use, but his teacher would have nothing of it. Magic was best used in a pure state, according to him, and the supernatural should be separated as much as possible from the natural.

Goram felt that he wasn’t truly a mage at heart, but Araia seemed to be telling him that this vague question that was always at the back of his head, would be answered if he became a mage. He studied the arcane arts. This was not easy at all. He practiced, and he studied, and he practiced and studied some more, and occasionally spent time in the wilderness building his endurance, or along the border of the dark lands, using his powers to single-handedly thwart skirmishing groups.

Year after year he did this, growing more powerful each year, but still with much to learn. The life of a mage demanded much hard work and dedication. It was little wonder there were so few of them. He fought in wars, protecting the nobles and thus keeping armies from losing their command. He fought the denizens of the dark lands, and could do so without contracting the sicknesses that plagued the other human invaders. He blew the giant bats and their goblin riders out of the sky, as they flew above his lands, surveying what was happening in preparation for an attack. Wars were fought, and nearly won, and then nearly lost, but it seemed that no matter how fiercely a side fought, neither side was able to lose or hold onto any new land. Goram was determined to put this to an end, and bring light to the dark lands once and for all.


He had spent half of his life studying the arcane arts, but looked young considering his true age. He prayed to Araia daily, and her answer was always that there was more he needed to learn. But he could never shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Could the goddess of truth be lying to him? He didn’t think so, he trusted her, but yet something was constantly bothering him. Goram thought back to the first time that Araia had told him to study the arcane arts. What was he doing? He had to think for a while, it was so long ago.

That’s right, he was working on a musket. A musket that he hoped would help the Army of Light win the war against darkness and chaos once and for all. Maybe now he would be able to do it. He was sure that it was what he had to do, and he went back to the gunsmith he had worked with years before. The gunsmith had died years ago, and his son now worked there. Goram introduced himself, and the smith immediately knew who he was and offered all of his tools to be used for whatever he needed.

Again Goram began work on the gun. Again he was plagued by the thought that he was doomed to failure. And yet he did it anyway. He began working on a musket barrel, pressing ridges on the inside of the barrel in order to spin the musket ball. Again, he failed time and time again. This should be easy for him, he had built some of the most intricate machines that existed, and yet this task was so incredibly difficult for him. It was as though he were battling some clever person who was laying traps for him, and he had to sidestep each trap. One wrong move, and his project would fail.

He thought of using a brass barrel. Brass wasn’t very durable, but it would at least hold up long enough to determine if his idea would work. And brass was easy to work with, much easier than steel. Building the brass barrel was not hard, and he didn’t expect it to be. He added some extra thickness since brass isn’t strong, and built a small cannon out of it. This was only conceptual, and it didn’t have to be practical. He slid a musket ball up and down the barrel to make sure that it would fit without jamming, and assembled the gun. The gun was mounted on a stone wall, and aimed at a target 50 meters away. He loaded the gun, and made sure everything was properly placed. When he was sure that nothing was out of place, and everything was properly set up, he lit the fuse and stood back.

The cannon exploded. Brass shards flew in every direction. Goram shielded his face, but none of the shrapnel hit him with any force. He felt as though whoever was laying traps for him had just cheated. He examined the remains of the cannon. The front of the barrel was still intact, and he picked it up and looked down it. The musket ball was nowhere to be seen. The target had no indication of being hit. He looked for the musket ball and finally found it not quite halfway to the target. Something wasn’t right.

He prayed to Araia again. He begged her to let him build this weapon, as it would almost certainly help them defeat the Dark Lord. They could build an army that had the accuracy and range of the elven archers, but required far less training time. This was something he truly believed in, and he implored the goddess of truth to look favorably on his endeavors. This time when he finished his daily prayer, he sensed a new message: Wait. It was simply that. He did not know how long, just that he needed to wait.


Goram awoke. The dream he had was incredibly vivid. In it, he was walking in the mountains, and saw a wyvern circling overhead. He looked at the beast, and then looked away. He sensed someone behind him and turned his head. It was Araia, the goddess, exactly as she was portrayed in the paintings in his seminary by visionaries, standing beneath a scraggly, dead tree. She was slender and graceful, her ears pointed like those of elves, but her face more resembling that of a beautiful young human woman. She was wearing a long blue gown, with an exquisitely crafted silver tiara containing three blue gems, sitting atop her flowing white hair. She motioned him to come over to her and he did. She told him that she knew that he had a lot of questions, and he agreed. She said that as much as she wanted to answer them, she could not, and hoped he understood. He reluctantly agreed. She told him, however, that she would give him the chance to learn the answer to every question he had ever had, but that he would not be allowed to be in this world anymore if he knew. The wyvern flew down and landed next to her. Goram looked down and was surprised to see that he was holding a length of rope and a long blue streamer, like the one the local lord tied to his winged mounts to identify them as friendly, and not a threat to people or livestock. She told him that if he mounted the wyvern, he would have all of his questions answered, and if not he could go on living as he had been. Just as he was about to decide, he had a vision of a colossal black tower standing in the middle of a frozen wasteland. He heard Araia’s voice slowly fading, telling him that he had three days to decide, and then he awoke.

Goram knew of the tower in his dream. It was far north, past the Freshwater Seas, and near the North Bay. It was huge and black, and stretched up into the sky as far as the eye could see. Nobody knew why it was there. It had no entrance, and no visible purpose. Rumors abounded about what it was. Everyone who had seen it told of how black it was. It was as black as night, even during the day, and its color prompted much speculation on its evil nature. Some said it was the source of all evil in the world. Some said that a terrible evil was lurking there, sleeping. He hadn’t seen it himself, but thinking about it made him uneasy.

Three days after the dream, Goram was walking in the mountains, carrying a rope, a blue streamer, a good deal of money, and a pack full of traveling supplies. He saw no wyvern, but he walked on anyway. He followed his gut feeling, trusting Araia to guide him. As he walked, he began to feel as though someone was watching him. He turned around. There was the tree, exactly as in his dream, but Araia was not there. He looked up. A wyvern was circling overhead. The wyvern gradually came lower, and landed between him and the tree. Wyverns were intelligent, he knew, and he found that he could communicate with this one using his psionic abilities. But the wyvern only knew as much as he did, which wasn’t much. All the wyvern knew was that he had an obligation to carry a man far to the north.


It was a sunny day and the sky was clear, and Goram was glad to have that extra amount of warmth. His blankets had proven adequate during the night, but only that, and he was feeling very cold. The wyvern didn’t seem to be bothered by the cold, but it was hard to tell. His species preferred to remain mysterious, and would rather not have anyone know their limits of physical endurance.

At first Goram was slightly disoriented. There was little variation in the terrain, and no real indication of which way they had come from or which way they needed to go. But the sun was to the southeast, and they were headed north so… he faced north. Immediately he noticed a gray line on the horizon, pointing straight up and eventually blending in with the sky, but never really ending. His heart beat faster and he felt a cold chill run down his spine. It was the black tower.

He mounted the wyvern, who took off with a running start as he had become accustomed to doing. Goram was nervous and frightened at the thoughts of what could be awaiting him. The wyvern seemed pleased at the thought of not having to carry around this weight on his back anymore. Higher above the ground, the tower was more clearly visible, although it still only appeared to be a dark line, just slightly longer. Goram wondered if today was the day that he was to die, but tried to keep this thought out of his head. He was alone, but he had his magic, and he had the wyvern on his side. Surely if it was a trap, they would have sent him on a horse that spooked easily, or some other less fierce animal. He didn’t really think it was a trap, but sitting on the wyvern’s back with nothing else to do, he couldn’t help but worry.

He trusted in Araia, and his prayers were met with answers, though the answers were vague. He knew that he would understand everything when he reached the tower, but he had no idea of what would be revealed to him there. He couldn’t build the gun, but why not? He was certain the gods weren’t letting him, but why? If he did build the gun, and it worked, many elven archers would be made obsolete. Many elves prayed to Araia for guidance, perhaps she was helping them? But surely this was a small price to pay for banishing evil from the world. Perhaps the light gods were in league with the dark gods, and eliminating evil from the world would somehow upset some balance and lead to the destruction of all the gods. After thinking about it, he thought that to be the most likely scenario. The gods knew that his gun could help the Army of Light win the war against darkness. The dark gods and the light gods were bound together with some sort of pact, and if one group fell, the other would too, and the world would descend into anarchy, with no gods at all. Perhaps he would pray to Araia, and tell her these thoughts.

The tower was looming even closer. It was still impossible to see the top of it, despite the clear weather. There were three huge buttresses on the side propping the tower up, and the buttresses extended at least twice as high as they were flying. Two of them pointed away from them, but one pointed straight toward them like a colossal black finger, beckoning them closer. Beyond the tower, he could see a body of water, the North Bay if he remembered correctly. It was impossible to determine how big the tower was, as there was nothing on the ground that he could use for reference.

With the rope clasped tightly between his hands, Goram began his daily prayer to Araia. He noted with some anxiety that this could be the last time he prayed to her. He prayed as he always had, and asked about his ideas that he had earlier. Were the dark gods and the light gods dependent on each other? He finished his prayer. Immediately he knew that his speculation did have some truth to it, but he also realized that there was much more to it than that.

They were flying lower now, and he could better understand the true size of the tower. The buttresses were at least two kilometers long, and extended at least that high. They were curved, and joined into the shaft of the tower rather gracefully. The shaft was about a half-kilometer wide, and still extended up farther than he could see. The stories about the color of the tower were not exaggerations. It was deep black, blacker than anything Goram had ever seen. It was as though someone had cut a hole shaped like a tower into the very fabric of space, and left it here. The tower was spread out in front of them, and the wyvern was coming down for a landing. As they came closer, he saw that the tower did reflect some light, but just barely enough to be able to see just how far in front of you it was.

The wyvern touched down and brought Goram right up close to the tower. He stayed on the wyvern’s back for a minute, afraid of what might happen. Slowly though, he dismounted. He methodically removed the rope from the wyvern’s neck, and the streamer from his tail as though delaying the inevitable. He carefully placed his pack on the ground, opened it up, folded up the rope and the streamer, and placed them in his bag. Then he carefully put the pack on his back and walked slowly toward the tower.

“Hello?”, he said to the wall. There was no door here. Perhaps on the other side? He sighed at the thought of having to walk the five more kilometers to the other side of the buttress, just to find a door. He reached out and felt the wall. It was very cold, despite being black and being in direct sunlight. Goram was a bit surprised by this. But as soon as he touched the wall, he was shocked to hear an incorporeal voice address him by name.

“Hello Goram.” He spun around but saw no one save for the wyvern, who appeared to want to leave. “Have no fear. You are not in any harm. It is not too late to turn back. But if you do come inside, you will not be harmed in any way, and you will soon learn why you cannot ever venture out again.”

Goram was nervous, but he had not come all this way for nothing. He wanted to know the truth, and nothing was going to stop him. He would go inside. He opened his mouth to say so, but he was cut off.

“Come inside.”, said the voice, and a door somehow appeared in the wall and opened before him.


Goram peered into the doorway. It was dark, but he could see a polished floor, marred only by some detritus that had gathered around where the door had been, and had fallen inside when it opened. It was too late to turn back now. He took a deep breath and stepped in.

As soon as he stepped inside, the room he was in was bathed in light from an unknown source, and the door quickly closed behind him. The room was not very large, which made him feel somewhat more at ease, and there was nothing threatening about it. The walls to his side seemed to be made of gray stone, as was the wall behind him, but the wall in front of him was made of black glass. A very comfortable-looking chair was sitting in the middle of the room, which looked like the throne of a somewhat modest king. It was made of wood, with carvings of lions and dragons in it, and it was padded with satin cushions. As if reading his mind, the voice told him to sit down, to which he complied.

The chair was indeed comfortable and it was a welcome change from the cold ground he had grown accustomed to sleeping on. He could probably fall asleep right here, if he wasn’t so nervous. He quickly snapped back to the subject at hand. The truth. He was facing the black glass wall, and he tried to think of what might happen next. What did happen was indeed surprising. A picture of Araia appeared right in front of him and out of nowhere, inside the wall. It glowed, as though it were made of light. He was surprised at how human Araia looked. He had never really thought of her as appearing human, he had assumed she would have some unmistakable divine aura around her, something that artists had always added to her picture. She was most certainly divine, as she had answered his prayers, but she didn’t look it, and at this he was surprised.

It surprised him even more when the picture began to move, and he heard Araia’s voice.

“Goram. My faithful disciple.” There was a strong feeling of pride and happiness for him in her voice. She reminded him of his mother in this way, and this brought a tear to his eye. “I’m pleased that you made it this far. I’m sure you have many questions, and they will all be answered in time. Is there a question on your mind that you want to be answered first?”

His mind raced, and he asked the first question that popped into his head.

“Why am I unable to leave?”

The answer was something he suspected, and came as no great surprise.

“You will know too much. If people outside learn what you soon will, it will cause mass discontent among people everywhere.”

For the goddess of truth, she was awfully elusive. But she continued.

“In order to understand, you need to learn the history of the world. It is not the same as what men, or dwarves, or even elves teach. It is the story of your kind. Thirty thousand years ago, among the intelligent life of this world, there were only men. Despite what elves would tell you, they hadn’t come into existence yet. The men formed cities and villages, and learned to take control of their world. They tamed animals, and taught them to do work for them in exchange for food and protection.”

The picture of Araia changed to a picture of men, barbarians from the looks of it, that were plowing land with a team of oxen. Her disembodied voice continued, despite the fact that she was no longer in the picture on the wall.

“Men learned to make more complex tools and learned to work metal. They learned to make steel tools, and they learned how to use gunpowder, all on their own.”

The picture showed some blacksmiths working. They looked normal enough, and Goram could have even met them at some point.

“They learned to make machines that did far more work than a man ever could. These machines soon did the work that men had done in the past, and men were delegated to operating these machines. Other discoveries were made as well. Men learned how to cure some illnesses, and so fewer people died of disease.”

This made no sense. Disease was a nuisance, true, but it rarely killed people. A cleric could nearly always cure it before it did any damage. But perhaps there were no gods then, and thus no clerics. Although he did not know if it was true or not, that answer was satisfactory, and Goram continued listening.

“Since disease became less of a problem, and fewer people were dying, the number of people around the world rose drastically over the next few centuries.”

This made no sense either. It was hard to conceive children, and to do so required a strong desire for children from both parents, as well as good health. And even then, there were few families that were ever able to have more than three or four children. But again he suspected that the gods had a hand in this.

“Men made many discoveries during this time. They learned about the heavens and about what was too small to see.”

The picture changed to a man looking into a tube. Goram’s heart jumped. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the magnifying tool he had tried to build as a young man.

“Men discovered new weapons that resulted in many deaths. They built every sort of gun imaginable, and bombs that could destroy entire cities.”

The picture changed to show a man holding a gun that appeared to be made of very complex parts. Goram felt some momentary guilt for trying to build such a killing machine himself.

“Men became so numerous that it was impossible for them to all survive without their machines. Nearly every person in existence had to leave the land. Most had to work in small rooms at their machines for their entire lives.”

The picture switched to a man wearing very strange clothing, that was pushing buttons on a box. This made little sense to him.

“Men fought and killed each other for little reason. It had been like this forever, but the pointlessness of it was quickly becoming apparent. Still, men continued to fight amongst themselves. Men developed tools that they could use to modify their very essence. Most did not use them, but some rebuilt themselves the way they thought was best. They made themselves more intellectually powerful than any man before them, and used this intellect to develop tools to enhance their intellect even further. They learned how to stop aging and in doing so live indefinitely.”

“They took it upon themselves to stop men from fighting amongst themselves, and model an ideal society. They told no one outside of their group of their intentions, and nobody knew how they had changed themselves. They kept this and many other secrets hidden. Over time they gained control of all the world’s nations, and they ruled the earth for nearly a century, creating an unprecedented era of peace. But their society was discovered, and they were thrown out of power. Without their rule, the world returned to a state of chaos. Weapons again were developed using the new knowledge that had been discovered over the last century of peace, and nobody had control over them. Their society, the Society of Prometheus, left this world, and settled in another, less hospitable one.”

The picture changed to men wearing some sort of armor, and walking on a land covered with yellow dust. Behind them, beyond the horizon, was a black sky and a gigantic white and brown object that was far too large to fit in the picture.

“They formed their own society, which soon managed to eliminate nearly every problem that had plagued mankind in the past. But they did have one problem. Their society was aimless. People had no direction in their lives, and no reason to do anything that a machine could do for them. They had lost so many of the traits that made humanity so prone to irrationality, but it made for a very dreary existence.”

“Meanwhile, the men back on this world had invented horrible diseases that they used on each other. Diseases so deadly that few survived exposure. The disease spread to all corners of the planet and all forms of life. The outcasts had to do something, and returned as quickly as they could. They developed their own plague, but it was a plague that destroyed the man-made diseases.”

Goram had a hard time believing any of this was true. It all seemed so impossible. But he knew that finally he was hearing the truth he had struggled for so long to know. It was almost too much to take in.

“The diseases were curtailed, but only a small fraction of the world’s population remained. People were scattered, and dead bodies were everywhere. The Prometheans quickly built machines that would restore some order to the chaos, and transport people to centers of population where they could work with other people toward a better life. But the question remained as to what to do with the remaining people.”

“The Society of Prometheus could make them like themselves, intelligent enough to avoid infighting in the future. But they rejected this idea. They already had their own civilization, and they saw little purpose in making more of themselves, since they were struggling with their own problems.”

“They could take the people’s knowledge of war machines from them, and leave them be, but this didn’t solve the problem. It invited the same problems to happen over again, and surely there had to be a better way than merely setting technology back ten thousand years.”

“They could destroy all of humanity, and eliminate human suffering forever, but they quickly eliminated that idea. It was wrong on so many levels, and incredibly unfair.”

“They could rule over humanity and stop them from doing anything that would bring about the destruction of human life. But they knew this idea was a bad one. If they knew one thing about humanity, it was that they detested rule by outside forces.”

“Their final plan, and the one they used, was to recreate the world, such that it would appeal to as many of man’s needs and desires as possible. They needed to build a world, in which man had control of as few complex machines as he was able. They looked to man’s stories and legends to discover what type of world would best suit his needs. The world you have lived your life in is that world.”

Araia stopped talking for a moment and let that thought sink in. Goram didn’t know what to think. What did it all mean? The gods used to be men, and then made themselves into gods? It seemed that was what happened. He did not understand the full implications of this, and he had a hard time seeing how his world was connected to this world that was being described to him. Araia continued.

“The additional races of the world were created by us, from men. Every intelligent being on earth has the mind of a man, from elves to dragons. When we repaired the damage to the world after the great plague, we grouped similar-minded people together. We altered their forms over the course of generations. Less intelligent, brutal men who valued fighting prowess above all else became orcs. Intelligent men who held beauty, discipline and grace in high esteem became elves. Stupid, obnoxious, cowardly men became goblins. People who despised social interaction became dragons and wyverns. In other parts of the world, we created races similar to the local cultures and legends, and in doing so we have created a living world of your dreams and legends.”

But what of magic? Where did that fit in? Goram had not heard Araia mention magic once, and it didn’t seem that man had ever had magic, only machines. But she was quick to respond to his confusion.

“Magic is not real. It is all an illusion, but an illusion carefully fabricated to appeal to man. Men have attempted magic feats in all cultures throughout all of history, to no avail. We put the tools in place to make it possible. It is not magic that allows you to see people’s thoughts. At the base of your skull is a small machine that is indistinguishable from your bone. Every person has one of these. It is formed while you are still in your mother’s womb. It can interrupt your senses and create illusions of things that aren’t really there. It can send and receive signals. The silver streaks in men’s bones are thin strips of metal that the machine in your skull needs to send and receive these signals. We can monitor the thoughts of every person in the world. Occasionally people such as you are granted the ability to monitor some thoughts when you are near a person. The machine can also cause people to feel emotions when we deem it necessary or when you create an aura around yourself. But no man in the outside world can ever know of this. He would think it to be an enslaving device, and a barrier to his freedom.”

Goram agreed. He was himself becoming angry at the idea of people monitoring his every thought. Legend was that gods could do this anyway, but still… He was now beginning to realize the greater implications of what she was saying. Magic was a distraction to men, and served mainly to prevent them from being more destructive. But what about black magic and necromancy? Certainly they only created more destruction. And if the gods could destroy the dark lord, then why didn’t they? Araia sensed what he was thinking and replied.

“Man has always needed opponents. Without opponents, he will create them, usually from his neighbor. Despite its destructive nature, a great number of men love nothing more than going to war. Man is not peaceful by nature, and a world at peace would only cause unrest among men. It is better to have an opponent that has all of the traits that you despise, whom you cannot ever defeat and who can never defeat you. Even though many die in battle, no man ever goes to war unwilling to accept the consequences. We did have the foresight to put the war-minded races both of men and of the new races the closest to the border states, so as to give them what they desired.”

“Another thing we created that did not exist before was a great balance in the world. If a lord is cruel to his subjects, he will soon be deposed, and no amount of planning on his part could ever prevent it. After he is deposed, he may have visions of the black spires of the Dark Lord’s palace. If he is cruel enough, he will journey there and join the Dark Lord’s army. Although most men are good at heart, many are wicked and cruel, and we try to make certain that these men join the Dark Lord.”

“If a man becomes too powerful, he will lose his power. If a man cheats, he will either be caught, or he will soon be cheated himself. If a man tries to hunt an animal to extinction, the animal will soon be able to sense him coming from miles away. Land produces the same amount of crops year after year in a predictable fashion. Your bodies produce agents that render you immune to disease. Any diseases you do contract are a direct result of doing unhealthy things, and those diseases can easily be cured by a cleric.”

“We ease the sting of death as much as is possible. When a man’s body is destroyed, his mind is not. The machine connected to his skull can keep his mind functioning indefinitely. When a man is given his burial ceremony, the machine supporting his mind shuts off, and his mind is finally put to rest. If a man is not given the proper ceremony, his mind will continue functioning, and people nearby will have visions of a ghost with his appearance. The ghost will lead them to the body. Nearly all dead men can be resurrected before they are buried, however in most, the will to live is not strong enough, and their only desire is to be laid to rest.”

“We prevent men from creating machines that would bring about a world that they would not want to live in. We distract people with quests and adventures, so that they have a constant purpose in their lives. We spend our time designing and building puzzles and dungeons that intrigue men’s curiosity. We write intricate stories that tell of their origin. When men pray to us for guidance, we guide them in the direction we think would suit them best. In this way, you have provided us with a task in our lives, to watch over you and guide you.”

Goram was beginning to understand now. But something still bothered him. How many gods were there? And if the gods were only men, and magic didn’t exist, how were they able to do all this? Again Araia read his mind.

“The building you are in is not just for show. It was first used as a means to launch men to other worlds. It also houses Gaia, the most powerful mechanical mind ever created by man. This mind controls trillions of invisible machines throughout the world. Some of these machines burrow underground, creating dungeons and destroying refuse left by man before the great plague. Some of these machines are too small to see and too numerous to count, and these perform countless functions, from ensuring that crops don’t contract diseases, to assisting in the illusion of magic, to being our eyes and ears in the world and letting us see what is happening. You were nearly able to see these machines once, but we prevented you from doing so.”

“It is against our code of conduct to alter a person’s memory or reasoning functions in any way, so we could not stop you from asking questions. We tried to lead you down other paths, away from investigating the natural world, but you had an uncanny ability to sense when you were being manipulated. This ability is not common, but it does happen, and every few years we bring a person here, either for that reason, or for another reason. We will allow you to stay among us. You may live as long as you like. You may visit our cities and stay there. And you may watch over the world, as we do. All that remains is to step into the vehicle which will carry you away, to us.”

A crack appeared in the center of the picture of Araia, and then the picture disappeared. The crack spread from the floor to the ceiling, and the wall opened up. Another chair lay beyond the wall and beyond an open door, in a small, circular room. Goram walked into the room, and sat in the chair. The door closed behind him.