Chapter 16 #2
The Strega looked at him, and Pan had the distinct feeling that he had somehow missed the point. He didn’t even know what the point looked like to begin searching for it, but he wasn’t about to admit to not understanding.
“This city did not have a temple to you. You are asking them to change their prayers,” Feryn said
“Yes, because I’m the one who is actually doing something. And we all agree that magic returning would be a good thing. So can you not order them to pray to me?”
Noah was frowning now, not laughing, which was not an improvement. “I think what the Strega is saying is that prayers won’t bring magic back.”
Pan glanced at her, and she nodded. “Then what will?”
“Actions. So yes, we will have a Samhain celebration. We will create a memorial. And I will not force you to reveal what you are. But you should think on it.”
He had, and the answer was no.
Feryn took a drink and set his glass down. “Will the party bring magic back?”
“No, but I believe that hope will,” she said.
“Hope? Hope is prayer’s pathetic cousin. It has no strength and no desire,” Pan snapped. They needed more than hope.
“It is a start,” the Strega said.
“A start?” It was the end. “And when I tell everybody that I am the god Pan and I cannot grant their prayers, they will lose all hope again.”
“I don’t think that is what will happen,” the Strega gave him the kind of smile one might give a small child who didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.
He opened his mouth to argue, but it was Noah who got in first. “At the moment, people are praying and getting no answer. They may believe the gods are dead or useless…telling them the truth might help.”
Great, now Noah and the Strega had ganged up against him. “Feryn? I suppose you feel the same way?”
“I think it is an idea worth considering. If the gods are absent for too long, then faith will be shaken and much harder to restore. However, if they see you are working to the best of your abilities…” He shrugged.
Pan was only working because Feryn refused to step into the role of Lord.
They all wanted him to tell the truth and admit that he had no connection to magic. He didn’t know where to start with how wrong that was.
“I will arrange the party, though I am not sure that having it here is the best idea. Noah?” Feryn glanced at him.
“I am one hundred percent sure that a party held elsewhere will need council approval, and that’s a low priority. Phrasing it as a memorial for the dead and missing will get faster approval, as will a letter or something stating the importance of Samhain. The council may recommend a venue.”
“And a location for the memorial?” The Strega asked.
“I will put Nan onto it. She has friends and knows how this all works better than I do. If you need help writing a letter, I can do that.”
The Strega smiled. “I know your alphabet; Nate taught us. He is a very good teacher. And he had plenty of materials prepared…they have all been lost though.”
“My uncle is the principal of the school Nate worked at, I’m sure I can ask him to give Nate some supplies,” Noah said.
They all stopped talking about him and magic and moved on to mundane matters. Pan sat there, not sure what to do. Was there anything for him to do?
“I have one more matter I would like to raise,” Feryn said. “The tavern has running water, so I would like the palace to be connected. Who do I need to speak to about that?”
Noah frowned. “Start with Nan.”
“And what am I supposed to do while Feryn plans the party, and Noah seeks approval?” Pan asked, wanting the conversation turned to more important matters, such as the missing magic and his lack of worshippers.
Perhaps telling everyone he was Silas Wilde was not his best idea, and while some people knew the name was connected to Pan, most thought it was the name of a temple attendant—a story which he had spread.
The Strega studied him for far too long. Was she reading his fate lines? “You need to continue as you are. This path is important even though I can’t see where it ends.”
“It should end with magic.”
“And if that’s where it ends, then it needs to start here with hope and help.”
“Maybe I should just sit at this table and invite people to come and talk to me so I can offer my wisdom.” He crossed his arms.
“Maybe you should. That way, people know where to come if they have an issue,” the Strega said.
“Yes, all come and see the powerless Pan.” He flicked his fingers in the air, wishing he could flick magic around and create something for people to gasp at. “I was not being serious.”
“You are conflating magic and power,” Feryn said. “And they are not the same.”
“They are to me.”
“And yet you have found a dragon, helped the centaurs, and found a Strega,” Noah counted off the list of accomplishments on his fingers.
“Helped your people learn English, given the drak a home, fed the werewolves, and connected your people to humans who will help them rebuild their houses, all with only the tiniest taste of magic. These are not the acts of a powerless god.”
“They are the act of a god who cares about his people,” the Strega finished.
Except he hadn’t done any of that because he cared; he did it because he wanted worshippers and magic. Oh, he was already taking many steps along the path that eventually led to magic.
And it was an important path according to the Strega.
He didn’t understand how what he was doing in this tiny town, in Wales, could become important.
But maybe he didn’t need to understand, as it would all become clear in another dozen or ninety-nine steps.
It wasn’t as though he could use magic to flit off somewhere else.
He was stuck here the same as everyone else.
But he wasn’t the same as them.
His memories ran deeper than even an elf’s.
He knew things without remembering how he’d learned them. It pissed him off that magic was out of reach and he couldn’t find the answers he needed, or accomplish things more simply, but with Noah as his human advisor, he was making steps that other Tarikians couldn’t.
“I know a stonemason who can create the memorial. And I can assist with the required human approvals,” Pan said. “And what about you, Strega? How long will you stay in Beita?”
“I don’t know. I guess I will wait to be called, the same as always.”
Pan pulled his phone out of his pocket. “This is how calls are now made. I can command it with my voice. We should get you one—get all the Strega a phone.” He turned to Noah. “How can we do that?”
Connecting all the Strega would be a good thing. And perhaps they would be able to find more gods, and if more of them were working together, they might be able to get magic back sooner.
Noah’s eyebrows knitted together. “That is a very big plan. And phones are not free, nor are the calls. Also, how do we find other Strega?”
“Let us put that to the side and concentrate on the memorial. We cannot run too far ahead, lest we accidentally run off a cliff in our enthusiasm or attempt to do too much and end up doing nothing,” the Strega said. “I feel that the small achievements are worth more.”
She would say that, but then Strega didn’t deal in magic and miracles. They dealt in poisons and potions and shadowy fate lines.