"Behold," Nelatha said gravely, as she held forth in her hand the small, round, flattened visage of an idol made out of mud, "a child's plaything. Pretend that you are a child, Si'Wren, and that this is the doll face you made of Habrunt. As long as Habrunt is not here, you may talk freely to this as much as you like. But when the real Habrunt comes, why talk to dumb clay? Now, unlike Habrunt, who comes and goes, if the Invisible God knows all and sees all, and is so all-knowing that nothing escapes His knowledge, why should you speak to a mere fruitless idol about getting a man, or of many babies, a house, health, and wealth? Why speak to that which sees and hears not, of avoiding meeting savage men or beasts without a strong swordsman to shield and protect you? Why ask that which is itself made of the barren earth, of gaining good crops without needless sweat, thistle, thorn, or pestilence?"
Nelatha waited, watching closely. But Si'Wren only regarded the idol in
Nelatha's palm in open perplexity.
"I… I do not know," Si'Wren stammered uncertainly. She stared at the clump of mud, which had already sagged and cracked a little in Nelatha's upturned palm. Si'Wren somehow felt the wrongness of it, although she could not say why.
"Well?" Nelatha demanded of Si'Wren. "Is there yet no understanding in your stony heart?"
But Si'Wren could only stare at her blankly.
Nelatha propped her fists on her ample hips and frowned crossly at
Si'Wren.
"Speak, foolish one."
"Forgive me, Nelatha. I do not understand this," Si'Wren pleaded, with an apologetic expression. "Why did you not pray directly to the Invisible God?…"
Si'Wren's voice trailed away.
Then understanding struck like a thunderbolt, as Si'Wren suddenly perceived the futility of all graven images in the presence of a real God, even an invisible one.