The Dresden Files > DF Spoilers
What is a Saint? (Series Spoilers)
Quantus:
--- Quote from: RobReece on June 08, 2017, 06:34:47 PM ---Now here I would disagree with you, I don't think Michael ever "uses magic" or casts a spell. There are times when his prayers are more dramatic and flashy and times when he's quiet and humble, but I think it's all based on his Faith that TWG is using him as a tool and the response, whatever shape that response comes in, is coming from on high.
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--- Quote from: Mira on June 08, 2017, 06:45:38 PM ---No, he doesn't, ever... Nor would he ever call such a thing magic, as far as he is concerned he is merely an instrument of the Almighty... As, by the way, any good saint would say..
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I wouldnt disagree except for that particular quote, which has always confused me since it seems to very directly and explicitly state otherwise.
groinkick:
When he was at Bianca's ball he used holy magic to harm the Red Court vampires. He did this without the aid of his Sword.
"Iesu Domine!" (Jesus Dominates... I think)
Michael's voice rang out from beneath the vampires like a brass army bugle, and with a sudden explosion of pressure and unseen force, bodies flew back and up, away from him, flesh ripped and torn from them, hanging in raged, bloodless strips like cloth, showing gleaming, oily black flesh beneath.
"Domine!" Michael shouted, rising slewing gutted vamps off of him like a dog shakes off water
"Lava quod est sordium!" (Cleanse that which is unclean.... I think)
That's how I picture a Saint, except more powerful.
Quantus:
--- Quote from: groinkick on June 08, 2017, 07:00:14 PM ---When he was at Bianca's ball he used holy magic to harm the Red Court vampires. He did this without the aid of his Sword.
"Iesu Domine!" (Jesus Dominates... I think)
Michael's voice rang out from beneath the vampires like a brass army bugle, and with a sudden explosion of pressure and unseen force, bodies flew back and up, away from him, flesh ripped and torn from them, hanging in raged, bloodless strips like cloth, showing gleaming, oily black flesh beneath.
"Domine!" Michael shouted, rising slewing gutted vamps off of him like a dog shakes off water
"Lava quod est sordium!" (Cleanse that which is unclean.... I think)
That's how I picture a Saint, except more powerful.
--- End quote ---
See, that's how I picture a magic-user who's brand of magic is committed to the religious model (something I expect Butters to start exploring more and more, since he has both Bob and non of the same prejudice that early Michael did).
The example of how I picture a Saint comes a little later on. After all, saints are those that are suppose to have the Ear of Heaven, who can ask for things directly on our behalf.
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--- Quote --- I felt my heart clench in my chest and stop beating. I swayed on my feet, gasping. Michael got to me, Lydia slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He'd torn his cloak off, and it lay to one side, burning. He dragged my arm across his shoulder, and half carried me down the stairs.
Smoke gathered on us, thick and choking. I coughed and retched, helpless. The magic coursed through me, slower now, a trickle-not because the floodgates had closed, but because I had nothing left to pour out. I hurt. Fire spread out from my heart, my arms and legs clenching and twitching. I couldn't get a breath, couldn't think, and I knew, somewhere amidst all that pain, that I was about to die.
"Lord!" Michael coughed. "Lord, I know that Harry hasn't always done what You would have done!" He staggered forward, carrying me, and the girl. "But he's a good man! He's fought against Your foes! He deserves better than to die here, Lord! So if you could be kind enough to show me how to get us out of here, I'd really appreciate it."
And then, abruptly, the smoke parted, and sweet, untainted air hit us in the face like a bucket of ice water.
I fell to the ground. Michael dropped the girl somewhere near me and tore the cheap tuxedo open. He laid his hand over my heart and let out a short cry. After that, I don't remember much more than pain, and a series of dull, hard thumps on my chest.
And then my heart lurched and began to beat again. The red haze of agony receded.
I looked up.
The smoke had parted in a tunnel, as though someone had shoved a glass tube of clean air through it and around us. At the far end of the tunnel stood a slender, willowy figure, tall, feminine. Something like wings spread out behind the figure, though that might have been an illusion, light falling on it from many angles, so that it was all shadow and color.
"I thought He wasn't so literal," I choked.
Michael drew back from me, his soot-stained face breaking into a brief smile. "Are you complaining?"
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Mira:
--- Quote from: Quantus on June 08, 2017, 07:24:27 PM ---See, that's how I picture a magic-user who's brand of magic is committed to the religious model (something I expect Butters to start exploring more and more, since he has both Bob and non of the same prejudice that early Michael did).
The example of how I picture a Saint comes a little later on. After all, saints are those that are suppose to have the Ear of Heaven, who can ask for things directly on our behalf.
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I seem to remember that Lea took credit for the parting of the smoke and their escape... But then again she could be working with the Almighty as well..
Quantus:
--- Quote from: Mira on June 08, 2017, 08:28:02 PM ---
I seem to remember that Lea took credit for the parting of the smoke and their escape... But then again she could be working with the Almighty as well..
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Indeed she took credit for the parting smoke (fairly directly, too, for a fae) though obviously not the Lay On Hand restarting of Harry's heart after what some have argued was a Deathcurse. Whether TWG was complicit in that is a matter of theology I suppose, when talking about an agency that works via coincidence most of the time it's hard to delineate. Easy to say he might have arranged things so that Lea would be able to find them and open the tunnel in the smoke as a response to Michael's Prayer, and hard to disprove.
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--- Quote ---Too tired to argue, I let him haul me back to my feet. He picked up Lydia, and we staggered forward and out, to the figure at the tunnel's far end.
Lea. My faerie godmother.
We both drew up short. Michael fumbled for his knife, but it was gone.
Lea quirked one delicate brow at us. Her dress, still blue, unsoiled, flowed around her, and her silken mane matched the bloody fires consuming the courtyard. She looked almost good enough to drink, and she still held the black box Bianca had given her beneath one slender arm.
"Godmother," I said, startled.
"Well, fool? What are you waiting for. I took the trouble to show you a way to escape. Do it."
"You saved us?" I coughed.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Though it pains me in ways I could not explain, yes, child. How am I supposed to have you if I let this Red Court hussy kill you? Stars above, wizard, I thought you had better sense than this."
"You saved me. So you could get me."
"Not like this," Lea said, holding a silken cloth to her nose, delicately. "You're a husk, and I want the whole fruit. Go rest, child. We will speak again soon enough."
And then she withdrew and was gone.
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