“While I am next in line for the priesthood in the tribe, I do not agree with what it is causing. It is causing us to become intellectually stagnant. We have become dependent on these ‘gifts from the House Gods’ for survival. There is something going on and I do not believe it is divine,” Doug replied.
“So why do you insist on telling us this?” Max questioned.
“Because I do not think you are really the Guides. I do not think that the explanation of events for the past several hundred years is the cause of these House Gods. And I am going to find out what it is,” Doug said with an air of determination.
“Won’t you become the next priest after Philbert dies? What will happen if all of a sudden you start telling your tribe what you think about their Gods?” Mark inquired.
“Because I am only the next in line if I am still alive at the time of Philbert’s death. I think that he suspects my views, and is conspiring with my younger brother to assassinate me before he dies so that my own brother, Dave, will become the next priest and maintain control over the tribe.”
“Kind of cuts your time to find out the truth rather short doesn’t it?” asked Mark.
“Yes. This is why I need your help. We must find some evidence that the House Gods are not responsible, whether they exist or not, for what happened here. You must convince Philbert that you must take him on a mission. Planet Moon has many layers, levels that go deep into the heart of the world. There must be some sort of evidence down there,” Doug propositioned.
“What makes you think that Philbert would follow our suggestion?” asked a skeptical Mark.
“Because he really believes in the House Gods, and he believes that you really are the Guides sent by these Gods. He will not reject a suggestion coming from the guides,” Doug insisted.
“Well, perhaps we will be able to be more successful in finding artifacts for communication deeper inside this world,” said a somewhat optimistic Max. “Although I am curious as to where you got these ideas that something else caused the chaos.”
“A few years ago when I was exploring outside the village I found a box like the one in the other room, although this box spoke, and had a moving image on it. It kept repeating something about an experiment that had gone horrible wrong. That there was an accident, and an entire world had been destroyed. Then my father saw me looking at the box and quickly snatched it from my grasp. He dashed it upon the ground, shattering it. The image disappeared and the voice was gone. I asked him why he did that, and he replied that the box was an evil device used to trap the souls of the innocent. Smashing it freed the soul, and put it at rest. That box had been a product of the wicked that had somehow survived the generations and remained intact. That soul had been trapped for so long that it had been going mad. And that was all the box was, he said.