CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.

I wracked my brain, trying to figure out what this ‘old lady’ was talking about. Where the hell did I pick up a debt? And to whom? She cackled again, setting my nerves on edge.

“Oho, just look at that little mind of yours go! Don’t worry dear, I’m not here to collect— the craft doesn’t work that way. If you owed me something, you’d know. Nay, old Goodmother is here to perform a little service for the nice young man who fixed the world.”

She took a deep breath in, and when she exhaled a plume of violet smoke burst out of her mouth. It swept to the edge of the room before circling around, coiling around us like a… Like a giant snake. Oh shit.

“Such a clever boy.” Goodmother smirked at me. "This will keep our conversation private… for now. Can't have that nosy little inquisitor butting in now, can we?"

Inquisitor? Great, I’m sure that has good implications for me.

“Thank you for your offer ‘mam, but I’ve already worked out a deal for what I did.” I said, keeping my voice even and vainly hoping she would leave.

“Tch, aye.” Goodmother snorted. “And made a right mess of things that did. You have any idea how much power you threw away? ‘Course ye don’t. Even after all this, you’re still setting my scales just shivering with potential… what I wouldn’t give to have been awake before.”

The old woman shuddered creepily, rolling her head around in a way that made me distinctly uncomfortable.

“I’m… sorry?” I replied hesitantly.

“Oh don’t be, you outworlders never know the rules when you get here. How could ye? Have to die first, after all. The gods know they’re taking your kind for a ride when they bring you here, which is half the reason their ‘champions’ get such special treatment— have to balance things out or they’re just leaving the door open for, shall we say, ‘interference’.”

Goodmother’s speech patterns were very strange. Her accent kept shifting as she spoke, wandering between a quasi-irish lilt and a haughty, aristocratic air. Even the sound wasn’t consistent, one second being an old woman’s raspy tones and the next sounding much younger. It made listening to her surprisingly difficult, and I winced as I felt a headache coming on.

“‘Tis the nature of the craft; balance and imbalance, deals and bargains, oaths and debts. From such things is power made, and you— my clever little outworlder— have made yourself a most… delectable conflux of fate. Why, even old Goodmother here owes you some!”

The next thing I knew, she was hovering centimeters in front of my face, forehead almost touching mine and she spoke with a deep hiss that sent spikes of adrenaline through my system.

“And I take my debts very seriously. Understand?”

I nodded mutely. The last time I’d felt anything like the sheer presence of this otherwise unassuming old woman had been the freaking Void Leviathan, and I couldn’t get the slightest read on her movements. While the feeling of helplessness grated on me, there was a lack of direct antagonism that kept me from losing my calm. I got the distinct sense that so long as I didn’t mess things up and piss her off somehow, I’d be fine. Which led to my final conclusion:

I am so screwed.

Dismissing my own pessimism, I tried to think things through. Goodmother kept talking about her ‘craft’, oaths/debts and so on, which made me think she was into some kind of ‘faustian bargain’ kind of thing. That plus her generally creepy mannerisms and old woman of the woods motif, all led me to the inevitable conclusion that she was some kind of witch. A giant snake-witch. Wonderful.

Damn it, where’s Leigh when I need background lore??

Regardless, I decided to abandon the hope that she would leave. The witch seemed to think she owed me and likely wouldn’t be going anywhere until she felt the debt was settled for the sake of her ‘craft’, so my best bet was probably to just accept something small and smile. If I was lucky, maybe she would just knit me a sweater or something.

Although, anything she made would probably be cursed…

"Don't worry so much, boy. Keep that up and your hair'll be turning greyer than mine!" Goodmother snickered as she sat back down. "Now, I arranged that little meet-up you had with the Fallen as something of a demonstration. Proof of power, as it were. Our spidery friend seemed to have some plans for that lost little waif that I was more than happy to interrupt— if I read the threads correctly she'd begun spinning a Nemesis line around the poor girl, and we can't have that, can we? Anyway, I’ve been watching things ever so closely since you were so kind to wake me up, and I wanted to level things between us. Or at least get the ball rolling, you know?”

I ignored the possible plot to create a 'Nemesis' or whatever for now— honestly, I expected it given the circumstances. More importantly, the thought of my movements being visible to someone— anyone, really— rankled, so I found myself objecting.

“I thought I was invisible to that kind of observation.”

“Oh my poor dear, just saying that proves how little you truly understand about Fate.” She snapped her fingers and suddenly we were in a massive, dark chamber. Floating above us was an enormous spiderweb— tangled and convoluted, with strings leading off in all directions.

“Fate has been many things over the eons. A river, a tree… a web. It’s all symbolism for the interconnected nature of reality as interpreted by whichever divine arses are currently sat on the thrones of the Godpeak. The flow of time pushes on these connections, moving the universe forwards. It's why changing Fate is so difficult."

With one hand she reached out and snagged an illusory thread, tugging on it but only moving it slightly before the rest of the structure resisted.

"The greater the change, the more you're pulling against. Some events are so drastic, so integral to the path of destiny, that to change them is to push against the metaphysical weight of the entire universe. To pit yourself against the forward inertia of time itself— an impossible feat, even for the gods. That is where our little spider comes in, and why I call her a talentless hack.

She didn’t have the gift to dance with the wider Fate of the myriad worlds; just an obsession with ‘perfecting’ her own. Tried to write herself a tidy little story where everyone else is a bit player and she gets everything she wants in the end. To do this, she used Fategrafting— stealing cut threads from other worlds and grafting them to her own. You see, where changing old threads from inside is nigh-impossible, adding new threads is much easier. Just slot them in and watch the ripples go! Wasn’t even original enough to come up with the idea herself, but still managed to convince all the others to follow along with her ‘destiny’.

Unluckily for her— and everyone really— the Achorai took issue with certain elements of her vision. I think you know that part of the story, dear. Their Doom created an inescapable vortex of Fate at the heart of this world. In an instant, all of us were trapped here; chained to a bottomless hole in the universe and cursed to be slowly dragged in. Ruined the wench’s plans for sure, but can’t say anyone else was too happy either.”

“All seemed lost, and the greatest of us chose to sleep.” She said, melodramatically. “To buy time until either the world ended or our divine coward-in-chief got off her spindly arse and plugged the hole— though she’d likely have been killed in the process. And wouldn’t that just be a pickle? The goddess of Fate, slain and devoured in the world’s heart.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Goodmother teleported over again, whispering in my ear.

“Honestly, I didn’t care much for our chances either way. Then along came you…”

She walked her fingers over my shoulder, but I could swear an actual spider was crawling on me instead of her hand.

“And now everything is changed.”

The eerie old woman was suddenly back in her own chair, and my own creaked ominously under my white-knuckled grip.

“Enough of that dusty old history! Old tradition says three gifts will set us square, and three gifts I have prepared if you’ll accept them.” She said, for all appearances now a kindly old grandmother.

Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded and forced a polite smile back on my face.

“Wonderful! First, it seems a shipment of rare parts for elemental cores arrived here last week by mistake. A little clerical error from a manufacturer in Terland; you’ll find them in warehouse thirteen, all paid for and ready for installation.”

My jaw nearly hit the floor.

“How—”

“Ah ah, two more to go dearie.” She shushed me. “Second—”

With a flourish, she pulled a tiny little glass vial from her shawl. Inside it was a small dark mass that writhed agitatedly, squirming against the glass with sinuous motions that reminded me of— Dezzahn. Instantly my entire focus was on the little vial in her hand. Darkness crept in along the edges of my vision and for the first time in weeks I lost control of my body, partially transforming as hooked tentacles lashed out violently at the air.

“Where did you get that.” I demanded, my voice a guttural growl.

Goodmother gave me a knowing smirk, the kindly facade fading to reveal a cold, reptilian gaze beneath.

“Oaths have power, boy. You should consider very carefully before breaking one with the mother of all witchcraft.”

An enormous presence ballooned out from her, smothering my rising fury like a heavy blanket and helping me regain control— though my eyes never left the vial as she handed it over to me.

“It’s a piece of his essence— you could think of it as the equivalent of a soul to his kind. Take it to your friend the Archmage, he’ll know what to do.”

I clutched the vial, my fingers straining under the pressure to keep from smashing it as my body revolted against every motion of the sickening piece of my enemy. My shoulders heaved and I struggled to keep my breath steady. Tunnel vision reduced the world to the tiny portion of everything that I hated, so much that I almost didn’t notice when Goodmother teleported beside me again, whispering one last time in my ear.

“Last gift dear, make of this what you will… they’re alive.”

The words took a moment to penetrate my fugue, but the moment they did I shot to my feet. Whirling around, I tried to grab the old woman… but she was gone. The room was empty, back to being an ordinary old meeting room in a temple. The only evidence Goodmother was ever here was the vial I still held to my chest in an iron grip.

My furious roar shook dust from the ceiling, my little remaining rationality the only thing that kept me from instantly ripping the room apart to search for the damned witch. But just as quickly as the fury came, it vanished, leaving me to try and stuff this emotional roller coaster of a day into a mental box so I could somehow try to keep functioning.

I transformed back to fully human, depressingly noting the new tears in the seams of my shirt and pants as I sank back into the chair. The coat would cover up the worst of it, and if anyone asked I would just have to play dumb. Maybe blame it on the [Blight] or something.

Footsteps pounded outside the meeting room and a trio of guards burst in with guns ready, followed up closely by Father Aeden with one fist sheathed in golden light.

“What was that??” He demanded as he swept the room.

“What?” I answered numbly, too off-balance to think of anything good to say.

“That noise, it sounded like a beast got past the cordon…” The priest trailed off, looking suspiciously at me.

I shrugged, belatedly pocketing the vial to keep it out of sight. My ability to care was significantly drained at this point, and I would count it a win if I could just get out of this conversation without completely losing it.

"Nobody here but me." I muttered.

The priest and the guards stood awkwardly for a moment before he waved them out of the room. Once the door was closed he rounded on me with a frown.

"I understand your impatience, but that was unnecessary. This temple is being used as a shelter, and the people are already frightened enough. I would’ve thought an Eldborn to be more honorable than that."

"I wasn't—" breaking off my objection, I sighed. Telling him about the witch would probably lead to a whole bunch of questions that I didn't care to answer, and he’d clearly already guessed I wasn’t human. "Nevermind. I'm sorry for scaring people. Can I go now? The rest of the crew will be wondering where I am."

"In a moment, Contender." Aeden took a seat across from me— ironically the same one Goodmother had been using minutes earlier. "While I appreciate the timely nature of your arrival and the assistance you've provided, it is my duty to inquire why a Contender in the Great Game finds themselves here. What business do you have in White Ford?"

I grimaced, but considering everything, there was only one good answer.

"We're here to pick up a delivery from warehouse thirteen. Should be parts for an elemental core, all bought and paid for."

His eyebrows went up in surprise.

"Truly? I'd heard that a large shipment arrived, but I was told it was some sort of mistake. We're a simple frontier town after all— little need for parts to military-grade elemental cores. All inquiries into the matter have been oddly silent as well… a curious feat of logistics. Does White Ford merit such attention from the Eldborn?"

This guy probably thinks I’m with ‘the Enclave’. Whatever, I can’t… I can’t do this right now. I need some time to think.

“Is there anything else you need?” I asked, ignoring his question.

The priest looked at me with frustration clear in his eyes, but let go with a sigh.

"You seem familiar with our attackers, I believe you called them the [Blight]? I have little to offer you by way of gratitude, but if there's anything you can share, I would be in your debt."

Careful, apparently 'debts' are more important than you think dude.

Shaking off the errant thought, I didn't see the harm in telling him the same basic roundup I gave to Teadran yesterday. It went well, until he started asking pointed questions.

"How can you know all of this?" He demanded.

"I can't say." I answered simply.

I could tell my non-answers were increasingly frustrating to who I assumed to be the Inquisitor that Goodmother referred to earlier. But at this point, the sheer enormity of what I had just learned from the witch and the scalding mental weight of the vial in my pocket had me practically shaking in my seat. The guy wanted answers for why his people had been attacked, which I understood. Unfortunately, it didn't mean I could give him what he wanted. My effectively saving the town and being an outsider (out of his authority) gave me enough leverage that he couldn't push on me either.

"Very well." Aeden eventually relented. "My last question is in regards to Miss Lyr'Rael— you are acquainted with her as well?"

"You could say that…" I hedged.

"Another most curious coincidence." He muttered. "What are your intentions for her?"

"My what now?" I blurted, off guard.

"The witch's geas brought her here to find you, and with your prior acquaintance I assumed you were familiar with her… status."

I could feel a headache coming on, but in the vain hope that I was wrong I gestured for him to continue. The priest sighed and stood, marching slowly along the outer wall of the room.

“The shelter of this temple can house my congregation for weeks. We have food stores and pipes from the river to sustain us, and our… casualties have reduced the drain on our supplies. However, our resources are not indefinite, and I fear this attack will not be the end.”

I shook my head with a grimace.

“No, it won’t. An even bigger horde attacked our caravan just two days ago; they’re not gonna stop.”

“Indeed.” The old man agreed. “And thus, I have sent an alert to my superiors. The bishop will be sending a force, along with a contingent from Terland proper.”

Aeden gave me a meaningful look after that, but I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to read from it. After a moment, he clarified.

“She is Forsworn. If she is still here when the bishop’s men arrive, they will likely react unkindly. I can spare no one to escort her to whatever dubious safety can be found, but I am loath to just abandon her after her truly heroic defense of my people."

The meaningful look returned to his face, and I groaned in realization.

"You want me to take her with us."

"Exactly. In return, you have my word that not only will there be no interference with your 'acquisition' of the goods in warehouse thirteen, but I will personally ensure that the details reported about your involvement here will be almost as frustratingly vague as you are."

I sighed heavily, sinking back into the chair as this day just continued to overwhelm me.

What the hell, guess I've already got a few thousand refugees following me around. What's one more? Grafton will love this.