A person went to an ancient temple that looked almost as if it were in ruins. They begged of the god that was still willing to answer, please make me immortal, please let me heal others at a mere touch, and please, help me so that my heart never goes cold toward the plight of others. -- Anon Guest
Ask a lonely god for a favour, and they will pay in abundance. There's always a price for such a thing. Some demand lifelong devotion. Some demand a restoration of their last temple. Gods thrive on worship, and their power depends on the faithful.
Even one devotee is better than none.
Immortality has its costs, too. For the great healer Salvation, it initially came in blisters and boils. Devilborn and holy ground don't mix well, and the forlorn god did not initially like Her last resort.
Xermis the Blood-drinker was used to the demonic kind as sacrifices, willing or not. All the better to purify the world. Salvation spent an hour convincing Her that if he died, he wouldn't be able to worship, heal, or bring any others to the temple. Having an yellow-ochre devilborn preaching patience and benevolence was not Her favourite activity.
"You are alone," he said, in a final offer. "So am I. I seek to bring better days for many while I live. We could help each other. Isn't that what gods and healers are for?"
The old goddess fumed, and calculated the likelihood of another visitor. She hadn't had anyone set foot inside Her temple for centuries.
"Fine," She said, "You will not pierce nor cut off nor cap your horns. They will remain pristine and intact for all of your days. Unadorned. You will bleed as I decree when you use the power I loan you. You will praise my name as part of your blessings."
"It will be awkward entering houses, after a pace of time." His horns were already tall and spiraled, spreading away from each other in a V from the middle of his brow. "I already bump lintels."
"It pleases me to know that you will grovel, in full time."
"If I must grovel, then I will enter your house like a snake, and beg egress of you when they no longer permit me to fit."
"And if I do not like what you are doing, I will burn your skin."
"So long as I can continue to heal whom I choose to heal, I will bear it." He looked the goddess in the eye. "I am used to pain."
So he went forth with the blood-drop that was Her symbol, and Her blessing. He went forth with boils on the soles of his feet for treading on Her holy ground.
Salvation did not discriminate. He saw to the poor. The invalids. He blessed everyone in Xermis' name. No matter their species. Xermis, a thorough-going xenophobe created by Humans, plagued Salvation at every turn.
He bled from his mouth, his wrists, and his neck. All in a kind of mockery of the old sacrifices. And, when he was done, all he asked was for a place to rest and a meal. If the healed one was feeling particularly grateful, they could pilgrimage to the temple and put their hands to its service.
His horns continued to grow at their normal pace. Year after year, they got longer, and the points became further apart. He had duck and weave to enter some homes. He had to sleep in stables. He had to ask that the family bring the patient out to where he could touch them.
Year after year, he returned to the temple. Ducking and weaving. Bowing low. And finally, on his belly. Tilting his head so that he could enter her sacred space.
Xermis had mellowed a lot. It was the worshipers who came to mend Her temple, and make idols for and of Her. It was the praise for Her kindness and generosity. It was the prayers for Her mercy. They all shaped Her.
They made Her into a much kinder and more accepting goddess.
When She appeared for Salvation, this time, She was clothed in gossamer and light. The blood on Her lips was a rich lipstick and a floral tattoo running vines down from the corners of her mouth.
"Why do you crawl, my champion?"
"It once amused you to have me do so. You told me not to alter my horns, and they remain pristine in devotion to you. You bade me bleed in order to heal, and so I bear your stigmata in echo of ancient sacrifices to you. I can no longer stand in your house, for fear of harming its roof. Ergo, I crawl."
"I... barely remember such," She confessed. "Rise. Your horns will no longer be a bother."
He rose in full faith that Her words were true, and the immortal Salvation had his second miracle. His horns were solid, and present, but they could also pass through inconvenient surfaces, thus allowing him egress. In between their spiraled V, a shining pennant hung, depicting the goddess and her symbol. Letting all know that he was blessed.
"Thank you," he said, "for your mercy."
"You will still bleed, since that is your reputation. But it shall be less, and it shall no longer tax you. You have done so much for me. I am grateful."
"You have done so much for me," he returned. "I have the time to see to everyone I can reach."
He would do so for many more days. Many more years. Many more centuries. Until his horns heralded his presence for a day before his arrival, and it occurred to the goddess to stop them growing.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / s4rt4]
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