Free And Blue Skies From Pain by Stina Leicht

God’s war is much the same as supporting evil. If God saw fit to cast them out of Heaven, then the answer is obvious. Regrettable, perhaps, but obvious.”
    Father Murray accepted the cup and focused on adding sugar to his tea to buy a short pause. “That is one theory,” he said, taking a sip and feeling the warm liquid make its way to his stomach. He felt better already. “However, the Fey don’t regard themselves as angels. Nor do they mention having been cast from Heaven, let alone that they might have ever seen it. Surely if—”
    “If the Fey are designated a new category of lesser Fallen, then a gradual policy change is possible without the drastic consequences of an open admission of wrong-doing. This has been posed by members of the council as the solution to the dilemma the Church now faces.”
    “Is it a solution we seek? Or the truth?”
    Bishop Avery’s cup let out a hard clink as it hit the saucer resting on his desk. “This is a very delicate matter, Joseph. All the options must be carefully considered. A case-by-case plea for mercy can be posited for judgments upon the Fey. The peace agreement could have a chance of going forward. Also, if it is found that the children of the Fey can accept God’s grace, their status can be altered. They can be counted human should they convert and remain active members of the Church.”
    “With due respect, Your Grace, what does that mean?”
    “It means we must remember our priorities. Saving lives and souls, the welfare of nations as well as the Holy Mother Church are all far more important than a debate over semantics.”
    Am I actually hearing this? Father Murray thought. From Bishop Avery of all people? “Semantics? You honestly believe I retired from my position over semantics?”
    Bishop Avery took another sip of tea. His expression was carefully controlled. That alone was a signal to Father Murray that Bishop Avery didn’t actually approve of the proposal any more than he did. “No, I don’t believe you retired over semantics,” Bishop Avery said. “You are—were one of the best Guardians we’ve ever had. It would be foolish to dismiss your theory outright.” He looked up from his tea. “There is something I wish to divulge. Alone and in this room. May I count upon your discretion?”
    “Of course.”
    “I grew up in a small village in County Down. My father kept sheep in the Mourne Mountains, you know. Like many boys, I spent more than one rough night alone with the flock in the hills as a lad. I’ve seen things. As we all have. But I’m almost certain I met a púca one night. I’d heard things earlier in the night and was frightened. A tall, dark man appeared out of the gloom. It was a relief. Friendly, he was. Joined me at my fire. I shared what little food I had. We swapped stories for hours. Then he left, and I never saw him again. Until yesterday evening, that is. At the Giant’s Ring.”
    “You recognized him? Who was it?”
    Bishop Avery sipped his tea. “Bran. I’m certain of it.”
    “Then why let others force us to abandon the spirit of what we’re doing before we’ve even begun? Why put Liam Kelly through any of this, if the decision is already made?”
    “Don’t worry. Nothing has been formalized. As you say, we have no solid information—only fiction and myth, which makes this study vital. We must take advantage of the opportunities we have. However, I don’t wish you to be disappointed should the ultimate outcome not be exactly what you hoped.”
    “Your Grace, I’m not the one you should be concerned about disappointing. It’s the Fey. We don’t want the Fianna for an enemy.”
    “I’ve no intention of making them so,” Bishop Avery said, taking a sip of tea. He changed his tone as if he were starting an unrelated conversation. “I’ve held a leadership role within the Order for some time. Some might say… too long.”
    Father Murray froze, his cup halfway to his lips. He felt a chill. “Are you