Father Koril nodded knowingly, then struck the tuning fork again. “The goddess Marketh does not show herself,” he said. “She gave up her physical form when she created this world for us to live in, but she still watches over us. Each of us carries a piece of her divinity in our hearts. It is the power that manifests our Skills.”

I had to struggle to keep my face from betraying my disappointment. It was the same as the religions back home. Even with literal magic, they didn’t have any proof that their goddess caused all the miracles they attributed to her. “Okay,” I said, “I’m happy for your people to have something to believe in, but I have a real problem. I’m dying. I’m told that’s something the church can help with. My Skill is some useless sleeping magic. I need a cure for the disease that’s killing me. If your goddess is so good and powerful, surely she will cure me, right?”

“The Goddess does not act directly,” Father Koril said. “She acts through each one of us. Tell me about your illness and I will do what I can for you. Marketh’s church has the best healers in the world.”

“Cancer,” I said. “Do you know that word?”

Father Koril frowned. “I… do,” he said. He sounded reluctant to admit as much. “You must understand that it is not Marketh’s plan to cure all illnesses. Sometimes she has other plans—”

I wasn’t surprised. No. Nope. Not one bit. This was expected. “You’re about to say you can’t cure cancer, aren’t you?”

Father Koril blew out a slightly annoyed breath from his nose. “You are not from here, so perhaps you do not understand how healing magic works. We imbue the body with vitality and speed up the natural healing process. There are certain diseases we have identified that do not respond to most healing: things like diabetes, arthritis… and cancer. We call these diseases ‘incurables’. Sometimes we can manage them through regular application of healing, but sometimes even the attempt makes the patient more sick.” He placed that same comforting hand on my shoulder. It was nearly the same gesture the doctor had made when delivering the news of my diagnosis. Then again, when he’d told me the tests showed I wasn’t a suitable candidate for Whipple surgery. I wanted to push the father’s hand off me and storm out of the room. But I didn’t. It wasn’t his fault. “If I tried to heal you,” he continued, “the magic would feed your cancer just the same. It would get stronger. I’m sorry.”

“Fantastic!” I said sarcastically. “That’s a brilliant plan your goddess came up with. Take me to a new world full of magic just to let me die anyway!”

“I said most magic cannot heal cancer, not none,” Father Koril said. “There is one man that can. It is just that I do not possess the Skills or Artifacts capable of treating incurables.”

“Okaaaaaaay,” I said. “What’s the catch?” I knew there had to be a catch. If there wasn’t, he wouldn’t have looked so sad when I told him I had cancer.

The rissian priest pursed his lips for a second before answering. I braced myself for more bad news. “Well, it’s not a service that is available to everyone. This man that could cure you is the current pope of the Church of Marketh. With so many demands on his time, I’m sure you can see why he can’t just heal everyone that wants it.”

“But he heals some people? Okay, I’ll bite. What would I have to do for him to agree to heal me?”

Father Koril cleared his throat. “Well, if I took you to Vinima and confirmed that you were a longstanding member of my congregation, that would usually be enough. But…”

“But you can’t do that because I’ve never heard of your church. Okay. Got it.”

“There is… one more option. For those that have not devoted their past to Marketh, you can instead offer your future. That is an option that is sometimes exercised by those in your position, but you have to make the choice for yourself.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by future. Is there some magic involved?”

Father Koril nodded, then had to strike the tuning fork again. “There is,” he confirmed. “You can take a vow of service to Marketh and become a monk. The pope has a Skill that can compel you to serve Marketh’s will for the rest of your life, but you must make the choice willingly, knowing all it will entail.”

“Wait, I’m pretty sure they have a word for what you’re describing back on Earth. We call that slavery. What you’re saying is your pope will cure my cancer, but then I’ll have to become a slave to the church? What would be the point? The whole reason I even want a cure is so I can go home and live out the rest of my life with my friends and family.”

“It would not be slavery, no. You would want to serve Marketh. The pope’s Skill would just… change your mind about what is most important to you.”

I stood up. “I think I’d rather just die. Sorry for wasting your time.” As I turned my back on the priest, I felt like an idiot. I’d let my guard down. A few stupid fireballs and some crazy monsters had convinced me for a second that impossible things were suddenly possible. It was my fault for not realizing it was too good to be true—that nothing good ever happened to me. I hated this world I found myself in, this church for trying to enslave the destitute, but most of all I hated myself for not stopping the tears that came to my eyes. Those tears were just one more proof of how weak and pathetic I was.

Father Koril stopped me from leaving with a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t turn around, just blinked rapidly to clear the tears without needing to dab at my eyes with my shirtsleeve. That would just make it obvious. I heard him strike the tuning fork again. “I am sorry I cannot help with your cancer,” he said. “But that does not mean I cannot help at all. I can help with your pain. And we have some extra clothes you may take with you. Shoes. Have you eaten?”

I blinked away a single teardrop from each eye so I could at least pretend I hadn’t gone all watery. When I finally turned around, I found that Father Koril was actually crying himself. He didn’t look embarrassed by it. He just met my gaze as a few drops leaked down over his cheeks. I didn’t think he was faking it. He was just a good person who was sad he couldn’t help the way he wanted to. “I… don’t have much of an appetite,” I said, “but I’ll definitely take some shoes.”

Father Koril dabbed at his eyes with those oversized sleeves of his. “Wait here,” he said. He walked down the center aisle of the church, footsteps seeming to get louder the closer he got to the dais instead of softer. I watched him step up on the dais, then keep going until he reached a door in the back that blended in with the wall from where I was standing.

I stood around awkwardly for a minute before deciding to sit back down in one of the long pews. The soles of my feet were glad of the break, as they were not used to bearing my weight for so long. They throbbed with the beat of my heart as I kicked them out in front of me. As did my gnawing gut pain that was letting itself be known now that I didn’t have something else to distract me for a few minutes.

I sat in the uncomfortable wooden seat until the kindly, but ultimately worthless, priest returned. He brought with him a bundle of cloth and set it on the bench next to me before striking his tuning fork again so we could talk. “I think I found something your size,” he said. He presented a ratty-looking shirt that looked to be homespun. It had holes in the elbows and was fraying at the end of the sleeves and collar. Along with that, he also offered a quality pair of leather shoes that would have made the hipsters back home jealous. Beneath these items, he also had a bedroll and blanket that felt both thick and scratchy.

“Thank you,” I said.

The priest sat down next to me again. “There is one more thing I can do for you before you go,” he said. “I can help you with your pain.”

“What pain?” I asked.

Father Koril gave me a tight smile. “Do not forget, I have a gift from Marketh as well. I can feel the pain of others. You are in incredible pain. The worst I have felt in many months.” He pointed to his stomach. “I feel an ache here. Deeply.”