Since I don't write science fiction, I'll stick to religion in fantasy. If you are writing historical or epic fantasy, part of your world building should definitely be to create its religious order or orders. Every human society has had some type of religion. Religion has effected everything from economics to science to war. It has been the driving force in many civilizations. To create a world without any sort of religion is a bit unrealistic. I never considered a religionless world when I first started on The Goddess's Choice.
For ideas about creating your own religion, study the myriad religions that have been practiced, particularly ancient religions. You'd be surprised at the things people have believed and have done to honor their gods. In The Ghost in Exile, the goddess of love is worshiped by having sex with her priestesses or acolytes.
From
The Ghost in Exile:
When The Ghost entered the temple, he was greeted by soft music and delicate perfume. Young
women and men—acolytes of Aphrodite—in sheer robes that concealed nothing,
danced in celebration of the goddess. Worshipers watched the dance until they
found an acolyte to their liking. They gave the priestess the proper donation
and disappeared with the acolyte into one of the private rooms that lined one
wall of the temple, where they worshiped the goddess in a more intimate manner.
Most religions can be borrowed from with impunity. However, drawing on Christianity is tricky because so many Americans still believe it. You can do it. You just have to be more careful so you don't offended half of your potential audience, especially if the religion in your world is corrupt.
In most religions, the good wars with the evil, so having a mixture of good and evil in your religion often works best. Remember, religion and morality don't have to have anything to do with each other, and in our world, they often don't.
Conveying a moral principle or deeply held belief is much more difficult than creating a religion. The last thing you want is to come across as preachy. You are not writing a sermon. You are writing a novel. Your first job is to tell a good story. Without the good story, people won't read your books.
I struggled with this in The Goddess's Choice. One of my most deeply held beliefs is the importance of forgiveness. If we don't forgive, it twists and mangles our lives and makes finding happiness difficult. We become too focused on the wrong done us to reach for joy. Forgiving others isn't for their good. It's for ours. Whether the other deserve forgiveness or not is irrelevant, we deserve to leave the pain behind, and we can't do that unless we forgive. If the other has done something awful to us, this can be difficult, but without forgiveness, we never have peace. I wanted to convey this message in The Goddess's Choice, but to do so without becoming preachy wasn't easy. One of my main characters, Robrek, has been treated terribly by a myriad of people. If anyone deserves revenge, he does. But to claim his full power and for his own peace, he must put his anger behind him. I rewrote and rewrote and rewrote the forgiveness scene. I think I finally managed to convey this message while telling a good story. The scene is below. In the comments, tell me if you think I've nailed it.
Robrek sat and began
eating the tart. Its sticky sweetness increased his anger. Lowering his shields,
he glared at Holy Writ[a magical gold horse]. “Am I supposed to forgive him [his
father] because he gave me a tart? Do you know how many times he ate the last
one on the plate, leaving none for me? Do you know how many times he beat my
back raw?” Robrek got up and began pacing. “He could never even call me by my
name. It was always, ‘Boy, do this.’ ‘Boy, do that.’ ‘Boy, why are you so
damned stupid?’ ‘Boy, how could I have fathered such a weak, worthless runt?’ An
apricot tart and a little food are supposed to make that all right?”
:Abusing a child is never alright. It
angereth the goddess.:
Without warning,
Robrek felt himself hit as if by a powerful wind of darkness. He was knocked to
his knees, and suddenly he was no longer himself. He was Angus Camlinstamm, and
he’d been cursed with the stupidest child ever to be born.
“How could you
be such an idiot? Don’t you know that the priest wants you dead?” he yelled at
his son. Green eyes like Donella’s [Robrek’s mother who died in childbirth] looked
up at him from underneath curly, black hair. “I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll
never forget.”
He grabbed the
boy, tore his shirt off, threw him over the dining room table, and yelled at
Boyden to hold him still.
“Please, father,
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” the boy begged.
Angus hardly
heard the boy’s cries. Instead, he saw skin the color of creamy bhat as
Donella’s had been. The boy screamed as he brought the strap down. But he needed
to learn. So he hit him again and again, bringing the strap down harder and
harder. The boy’s hair, so like his mother’s, lay across the table. Oh,
Donella, why? How could I have traded you for him? He continued to beat the boy
until his arm ached. When he stopped, the boy rolled into a ball on the floor, sobbing
and trembling.
Robrek threw
himself away from whatever Holy Writ had done to him. “I was five years old,
damn him!” Robrek yelled at the horse. “He had no right to beat me like that!”
:He
did not. Forgiveness doth not mean the other was right. Forgiveness isn’t about
the other, but thine own soul.:
Robrek jumped to his feet
and stabbed his finger toward the horse. “He should rot for what he did to me! I
will never forgive him! Never!”
:Then thou wilst become
like him.:
“I would never do
something like that to a child!”
Again the dark wind hit
him, knocking him to the ground. He was in the stable paddock. His sword was
wet with blood, and there were piles of corpses surrounding him. A man approached,
and he stabbed quickly. Behind him he heard a small noise. He turned, cutting Tegan
nearly in half. The child that had reminded him so much of himself dropped at
his feet, and he turned to kill another. He crushed the child’s hand with his
boot.
“Stop it!” he screamed,
wrenching his eyes open. “That wasn’t real!”
:It could be.: The
body of the slain boy appeared in front of him again. He closed his eyes, but
the image still burned in his memory, and again he saw his sword plunging
through Milady’s mouth. :How art thou different from thy father?:
He backed away from the
horse. “When I killed the child, I didn’t even understand what I was doing.”
:And didst thy father
understand what he wast doing to thee?:
The dark wind came again. He
heard his beloved Donella screaming from their bedroom. She’d been screaming for
nearly two days, and the baby still wouldn’t come. It was all his fault. The
herb witch had warned him about having another child. Please, Sulis, please. Let
her live. The screaming stopped, and he heard a weak cry. He ran into the
bedroom. Donella was lying with her eyes closed, her dark skin nearly as white
as a Korthlundian’s. The entire bed was covered in blood. “Do something!” he bellowed
at the herb witch, who was wrapping some small hideous thing in a blanket.
He was kneeling by a
freshly dug grave as they lowered the body of his beautiful Donella into the
cold earth. He’d had to purchase a spot of land just outside the graveyard
because the priest wouldn’t allow her to be buried on consecrated ground. Would
those gods of hers take her? He sobbed as the shovels of earth began to fall
onto her sweet body. She can’t be dead. It’s all my fault. She can’t be dead.
“No!” Robrek shouted. “It
wasn’t me that got her pregnant! He had no right to blame me for her death. He
deserves my hatred.”
:It is not about what he deserveth, but what thou deservest. Sin
provideth its own punishment. He chose to indulge his grief and his rage until
he hath choked out all that could have been good in his life. He is an empty
man when his life could have been full of the joy of his sons. Dost thou desire
such emptiness for thyself?:
“I desire nothing but revenge.” Robrek’s hand itched for a sword so
that he could strike off the horse’s head..
As always, the horse seemed to know what he was thinking. :Dost thou believe thou wilst feel any
better if thou dost?:
“Yes, I do!” Robrek ran to
the stable and grabbed a sword. As he turned around, he found himself faced
with illusions of his father, his brother, Duke Argblutal, and Father Gildas. He
rushed his father and with a single stroke struck off his head. He turned and
did the same to Boyden, Argblutal, and Gildas. As he turned back, he found his
father whole and alive. Again and again he killed the four men, and again and
again they rose. He slashed and stabbed until he dropped with exhaustion.
“What do you want from
me?” he sobbed. “Why won’t you leave me alone? I never asked you to come! I
never wanted any of this!” He gestured wildly at the three horses, and Holy
Writ nodded. At that very instant, a profound silence descended into the
clearing. He looked around frantically, but he soon realized the silence had
nothing to do with the lack of sound. The wind was still rustling through the
treetops, and the birds were singing every bit as loudly as they had a moment
ago. He could still hear the stream rolling over the rocks. Holy Writ had done
as he asked. He could still see the horses, but he couldn’t feel them any
longer. They’d gone and left this emptiness behind.
Wild Thing edged closer
and nudged him with her nose. :Wild Thing scared. What wrong?:
“Nothing’s wrong, girl. It’s
just you and me, like it always should have been.” Struggling desperately to
ignore the emptiness, Robrek rubbed the Horsetad’s nose and set about cooking
himself something to eat. Every few moments he looked over his shoulder to make
sure the horses were still there. Despite how much he fought them, if they
left, they’d take half his soul with them. But what Holy Writ demanded was
impossible. He’d have to live with half a soul.
Darkness fell as he finished
eating, and with the darkness, the emptiness became unbearable. I don’t need
them. He knew this was a lie, but he wrapped himself up in it and fell
asleep.
Dressed in clothes of
deepest black, he stood on a dais. Duke Argblutal knelt at his feet; the duke’s
supporters, servants, and guards knelt behind him. Argblutal begged for mercy. But
mercy was dead inside Robrek. He grabbed the duke by the hair and pulled him to
his feet. He used his magic to turn his hands into claws, and with a smile of
triumph, he tore deep into the duke’s chest and ripped out his still beating
heart. The duke screamed and dropped at his feet. Robrek laughed, but the
duke’s death had done nothing to assuage his grief or his rage. So he grabbed
the hair of the first of the duke’s men and tore out the man’s heart as well. Still,
he felt no relief. One by one he ripped out the hearts of every one of the
duke’s men. But it wasn’t enough. He ordered Father Gildas brought before him,
and he tied the priest to the stake and set him on fire. He reveled in the
priest’s shrieks of agony, but when the priest had been reduced to ashes, he
felt no better. He had the bonfire built higher and threw in all of those who
had testified against him and all of those who had joined the mob that would have
killed him. Their cries of pain were music to his ears. But when they had all
been quieted by death, he felt no peace. He struck out with his magic at all
that came within his reach. He used his power to cause the utmost suffering and
pain, as he had once used it to heal. Both the guilty and the innocent suffered
and died at his hands. None could stop him because he was the most powerful sorcerer
the land had ever known. But the more he killed, the more his emptiness grew.
until it became a chasm so vast that not even the deaths of every living soul
in the joined kingdoms would fill it.
He awoke, sick to the depths of his soul. I am a monster. He
tried to tell himself that it had been just a dream, but he knew Holy Writ was
right about him.
He knew what he had to do. He went to the stable and got the gold
sword. He knelt in the paddock and placed the point at his breast and closed
his eyes.
:Stop!: Three voices shouted
in unison, and the presence of the three horses returned. :This thou canst not do.:
:No hurt.: Wild Thing
wailed.
“I have to,” he said. “I won’t be like them.”
:Then forgive them, but do not destroy thyself.:
Robrek laughed savagely. “Why do you care? Because it’s not my
‘destiny’? I never wanted a destiny.” His hand slipped, and he felt a sharp
prick in his chest. Bright blood stained his shirt. What am I doing? He dropped
the sword and fell to the ground, clutching the small wound.
:Thou dost not have to
feel this pain. Release thy hatred. Forgive.:
“I can’t. They deserve to suffer for what they’ve done.”
:They are suffering. But
thou needst no longer punish thyself for what they hath done.:
The dark wind hit him. This time he was his brother. He was ten years old and a crowd of five
boys near his own age surrounded him. “I say he has demon blood, too,” one of
them said.
“I do not,” he protested.
“His mother was a demon witch,” another jeered.
“No, she wasn’t.”
A third laughed. “Just look at your little brother. Father Gildas won’t
even let him in the school.”
“I don’t care. My skin is as white as yours.” He shoved his white arm toward
them.
“White on the outside, but black underneath,” another said.
“Liar!” he shouted at the boy who voiced his deepest fear. He struck
out with all his might. He knocked the boy to the ground, but there were five
of them. They ganged up on him and beat him.
When they stopped, he dragged himself home, and a servant fussed over
him. Robbie came into the room and peered up at him. It was Robbie’s fault this
had happened. If it weren’t for him, nobody would say things like that . . . .
He sat in his room at the inn, counting his coins. What did he care if
no one in the village would talk to him? He didn’t need them. He had everything
he needed right here. These coins would fulfill his every need.
But Robrek felt the
emptiness his brother refused to acknowledge—a chasm within Boyden he attempted
to fill with greater cruelty, but doing so only widened the chasm. Not wanting
to feel Boyden’s despair, Robrek struggled to separate himself from his brother,
but Holy Writ refused to release her hold on him; instead he plunged once more
into the dark wind. He was his father again. He stood at the back of the room near the pier. With the other young men, he hooted and made
crude gestures at the new whores brought from abroad. “And the next, from the barbarous land of Mahngbhayo,” the auctioneer
called, as a small, dark-skinned girl was led into the room. He went silent as
her green eyes bored into his soul, stirring something in him he’d never felt
before—something far stronger than lust. “She doesn’t speak a word of the
language, but what does that matter with assets like this?” The man grabbed her
breast. She slapped his hand away and glared at him with defiance and pride. “A
spirited one! She may need some taming, but isn’t that half the fun?”
The girl drew herself
up as if she were a queen looking down upon her subjects. Angus wasn’t fooled—he
saw her lower lip tremble. He found her courage and dignity enchanting.
“Come on, sweety pie! Show
us what you got!” the young man beside Angus called out, and Angus threw the
other man against the wall. “Show some respect,” he hissed, though Angus had
said something similar to the last whore.
He whirled back to the
auctioneer and named a price. He glared around the room, daring someone to top
it. No one did. He handed the auctioneer every dram he’d intended to use for
new stock for his farm. He draped his own coat around the woman to hide her
near nakedness from the prying eyes of other men . . . .
He saw his sweet elfin
girl lying on their bed with his tiny son sucking at her breast. “He’s a strong
one, like his father.” Donella smiled.
His heart bursting with
love and joy, he sat beside her. He was a father, and the most perfect woman in
all of Sulis’s creation was the mother of his child. “He’s perfect,” he
whispered, and gently stroked the soft fuzz on his son’s head. He promised
himself he wouldn’t be like his own father. He’d be gentle and kind. He would
earn his son’s respect and love.
“What shall we name
him?” Donella asked as she raised the infant to her shoulder and gently patted his
back.
“What do you think of Boyden?”
he asked.
“Boyden?” She wrinkled
up her brow in the way that he’d always found alluring. “Boyden is a fine name
for a barbarian without an ounce of color in his skin.”
He leaned in closer and
kissed her deeply. “Mother of barbarians.”
She laughed, and the
baby let out a sigh of contentment. He had never imagined such happiness . . .
.
He heard the small,
weak cry coming from the other room. It wouldn’t stop. The wet nurse wouldn’t
be there for an hour. He stomped into the room to pick up the baby himself. It
was incredibly small, much smaller than his brother had been. The tears of its
hunger fell from emerald green eyes. He ran from the house, leaving the crying
infant behind . . . .
He sat on the bed at
the inn and handed over the coin. The woman dropped her dress and joined him. He
closed his eyes and took her in his arms. He tried to pretend she was Donella
as he made love to her fiercely, desperately. But it didn’t work. When he’d
shared Donella’s bed, he’d felt complete. Now, releasing his manhood into the
whore’s body, he felt emptier than ever.
When he reached home,
he found Robbie drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick instead of doing his
chores.
“Boy!” he bellowed.
The ten-year-old boy
looked at him with terror. “Please, sir, I didn’t mean . . . .”
He refused to listen to
whatever fool excuse the boy made this time. He grabbed the strap next to the
door and threw the boy over the dining room table. He beat the boy viciously,
but he got no more relief from the anguish than he’d gotten from the body of
the whore.
He stopped and ordered
the boy to his room. He couldn’t stand the sight of the curly black hair or the
rich, dark skin . . . .
He watched as his seventeen-year old son mounted his Horsetad and rode
away. He’ll be back, he told himself. He can’t survive without me . . . .
He looked at the
remnant of the scaffold on which they’d meant to burn his son. Robbie had
escaped the flames, but he’d lost both his sons this day: no kin murderer would
live under his roof. Where had he gone so wrong? He remembered when he’d
watched Boyden suck at Donella’s breast. He remembered the promises he’d made
to himself. He’d broken them all. His sons had no more respect or love for him
than he’d had for his own father. He went to the inn, intent on giving coin to
the whore, knowing that doing so would do nothing to fill the aching void
inside him.
“No! I can’t stand it any
more!” Robrek cried. “Why wasn’t I the father I promised myself I’d be? Why did
I let Donella’s death turn me against my own son?”
More visions followed. Father
Gildas’s failures in healing while the power of those he condemned grew,
fueling his fears for his reputation and influence over the people. Duke
Argblutal’s obsession with kingship, which had twisted his life so that hatred
and anger were the only emotions left to him. Unable to tolerate the pain and emptiness, the guilt and despair any
longer, Robrek tore himself loose from the visions. He sobbed for the pain
those he hated had caused themselves.
:Dost thou see? They have
paid the price for their sins. Thou canst hold to thy pain and become like
them. Or thou canst release it and be free.:
“I don’t know how,” he moaned. “Tell me what to do. I just . . . want
it to be gone.”
:Forgive. Release thy
hatred into the hands of the goddess. The Holy Mother can bear all of our griefs.:
“How?” he asked, but then he felt it—the goddess’s open arms ready to
enfold all of his pain into herself. Suddenly, he understood. Sin, and the pain
it brought, was its own
punishment. He could allow others’ sins against him to turn him into a monster,
or he could forgive them and save his own soul. It was a choice between
emptiness and joy, between sorrow and love, between destruction and
fulfillment.
In other words, it was no choice at all.
“Take it please! I don’t want it any more!” He thrust himself into the
goddess’s arms, allowing her to heal his wounds and purge the anger from his
soul. As soon as the last vestige of his anger and hatred left, his power
poured forth within him. Energy filled his body with exquisite pleasure; every
ounce of his flesh was flooded with joy. He laughed with sheer delight and was
sure he was glowing with light.
Sensations poured in from all sides. Ronan’s simple pleasure while he
sunned himself. The hawk’s fierce triumph as it took the pigeon, and the
pigeon’s terror and pain. The rabbit’s delight in the new patch of cabbage
leaves, and the mother’s despair over her wayward child. The bird’s bliss as it
sang to its mate, and the farmer’s joy as his grain pushed its way toward the
sun. It was too much, far too much. He collapsed onto the ground and covered
his head, but there was no escape. He’d go mad.
Over the whirlwind of sensation, he heard Holy Writ’s command. :Shield!:
He reached through the chaos for the knowledge of how to shield,
grasped it, and snapped his shields into place. The entire world went silent in
an instant. He rolled over and smiled at the sky. He felt spent and abused, but
also clean and pure. His head ached, but he was happier than he’d ever imagined
possible. He wanted to dance and sing. He lowered his shields slightly to allow
the horses in. He felt their pleasure and pride in his accomplishment.
:Thou hast done well. Thou art worthy of thy destiny.:
:I knew you had it in you, human child. Oh, how you will be able to
move now.:
:A good beginning.: Robrek threw back his head and laughed. He
hadn’t realized Brazen was capable of humor.
Religions help make your world as full and rich as the real world, so yes, create a religion when you build your world. Moral beliefs can be part of your story. You just have to make sure the story comes first.
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