The Fount didn’t respond. But she could feel It thinking, churning over Itself.
When Raihan died, he left behind neatly bound stacks of manuscripts detailing what had happened the day she made her deal, everything that transpired afterward, the true nature of the Fount and of divinity. At first, Lore didn’t want to do anything with them, wanted to continue her quiet existence where she was nothing but a rumor, the stories of her all true but not widely shared. She knew how religions worked and wanted no part in making one.
It was Malcolm who changed her mind.
He didn’t come as frequently as Alie—he and Michal settled in Caldien, and the journey was hard as he got older—but he came sometimes, Michal in tow, and once brought their children with them, who gamboled around the Fount like It were a plaything. Lore let them. The Fount bubbled contentedly, as if It enjoyed their presence.
One day, Malcolm came up the mountain alone.
“He died in his sleep,” he murmured, settling beside her on the lip of the Fount, wincing as he did. His hair was still croppedshort, snowy now, and his kind eyes were surrounded with wrinkles. “Our children were with him. It was painless. I don’t think I’m far behind.” He cracked his neck. “Hopefully not, anyway. Who knew I’d be the one to live so gods-damned long? I’m fucking tired.”
He stayed with her longer, that time, the two of them enjoying the other’s company mostly in silence. It was a special grief, to have lost the people you shared a life with, and they both were intimately familiar with it.
Before Malcolm left, he went into the ruins of the cathedral and came out with his hands full of Raihan’s manuscripts. Lore was already shaking her head when he placed them on the broken tiles of the courtyard with an air of finality.
“I understand,” Malcolm said, not giving her a moment to voice her displeasure. “But they deserve the truth, Lore. What was the point of having him write everything down if you aren’t going to share them?”
What indeed?the Fount asked.
She sat on Its lip, watching the waters within churn and gyre, the glowing threads tangle. “I don’t want to be worshipped, Malcolm.”
It’s nice, sometimes, the Fount offered.But We do not blame you.
“I’m not saying you have to be.” Malcolm came to sit next to her, moving slow. “But didn’t you do all this so that anything known about the Fount would be purely truth?”
“There can never be pure truth so long as humans are the ones interpreting it,” she said.
He sighed. She could tell he wanted to call that out, her use ofhumansas if she wasn’t among their number. But she wasn’t, and they both knew that. A hundred years, nearly, and she was exactly the same.
People are better, Raihan had said.The world is better.
“The fact is,” Malcolm said finally, “that a religion is going to spring up around this. It’s inevitable. People look for things to believe in.” He held up Raihan’s books. “You can’t control what they end up thinking about you. Hells, I feel like the time is coming when you won’t really be able to keep them away from your island. But you can give them the truth. You can try to trust them.” He paused. “Lore, isn’t the whole point trying to make the world something you can trust?”
It felt strange to hear her name. She hadn’t thought of herself by it since her mothers died. She wasn’t really Lore anymore, she just… was.
The Fount bubbled, thinking.
She hunched forward, arms crossed on her bent knees. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes,” she whispered. “I’m so fallible, Malcolm. It would be so easy.”
“You won’t,” he said.
You won’t, the Fount agreed.
“You were never one for belief, Lore. But if you have to believe in something, let it be yourself.”
He took the books with him.
100–200 AFA
In the next century, people started coming to the island. She could have stopped them. She didn’t.
They mostly left her alone. They never even approached the top of the mountain. They knew she was here, and clearly they believed in what she was, in the story Raihan had meticulously written down. But if they worshipped her, they kept it quiet and left her out of it. For that, Lore was grateful.
You could go to them, the Fount said.If you are lonely.
“How can I be lonely with You yammering in my head all the time?”
It splashed at her.
