Konrad made his way home, and Spirit took her place beside him, his hand automatically resting on her back as it had done since before he could remember.

His mother fussed over him as soon as he entered the house. Hera was a small woman with short, straight blond hair that fell to her shoulders, and like everyone in Talen Vale, her face bore the weary scars of a life of hard outdoor work. The life had broken his father, but his mother had endured with a force of will like an iron bar.

"Wet your hair, and stand up straight," she said.

Konrad gave her a blank stare.

"Don’t give me that poison eye; you know what I mean. Just because your leg don’t work is no reason to slouch."

"Ma—"

"Otto should have worn this cloak when he went up," she said, ignoring him and pulling out a tattered homespun woolen cloak. "It’s warmer this year than when he went, but if you’re chosen by the Father, they take you straight away."

She reached over to pull the cloak around his shoulders, and he held her hands and found that they were shaking.

"Ma stop. I’m not going anywhere; you don’t have to worry."

Hera’s expression grew hard, and she held his face in her hands. "If they don’t want you, then spit in their eye. You've more of your brother in you than you know Konrad. Don’t you ever think that you’re anything less."

A distant bell tolled three times, and Hera embraced Konrad tightly, then hurried him out of the tiny house.

The temple of the faiths was on top of the Long Hill, the tallest summit near Fallow Vale, and Konrad took the steps slowly with his crutch on his shoulder and his other hand resting on Spirit. Hundreds of other boys and girls from all over the valleys walked with him, each carrying a torch or lamp that created a procession of dancing lights snaking its way to the summit. As midnight came, he had already fallen to the back of the line, and after another hour, the first of them passed him as they came back down.

The youngest wore glum expressions, but the older ones knew what a waste of time the journey was and trudged back toward the village, glad that they would be too old for the next choosing.

He heard Clayton Reed before he saw him and dove off the road into a ditch as he passed.

"I saw the eyes of the Brother move, but that priest wouldn’t listen. You wait till I tell my father about this."

Clayton’s features were twisted and angry in the flickering torchlight, and Konrad held Spirit back as she tensed and tried to lunge out at him.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The path soon ended, and Konrad left Spirit outside and stepped into the shrine. The round chamber smelled like damp earth, and a fire burning in the center cast flickering shadows over the statues that were lined up along the back wall. They were arranged from tallest to smallest, the most powerful to the weakest of the gods of Parthanea.

A priest leaned against the wall. "Come on, boy, don’t drag your feet; I haven’t got all day," he said, trying to stifle a yawn.

He caught sight of Konrad’s crutch and his leg dragging a thin line in the dust, and he gave him an awkward smile.

"Sorry. Just get on with it then, quick as you can."

Konrad trudged up to the first statue and peered into the lifeless eyes of the Mother. Even though the possibility of him becoming her champion was remote, he still felt the same thrill he had each time he had come here.

"Mother, will I be your champion?" he said, in a clear voice.

The lifeless eyes held their cold, stony gaze, and the thrill was snuffed out. The Mother saw what everyone else did, and she didn’t want him.

The face of the second statue depicted the stern expression of the Father. This was how Otto must have felt all those years ago, facing the Father, watching his eyes come alive, and choose him to be his champion.

"Father, will I be your champion?"

The Father stared blindly ahead, and the priest looked out of the doorway of the shrine at the twinkling stars. Smoke drifted up from far down below in Talen Vale. The festivities would have begun and promised food, drink, and company for the evening.

The priest made a hurrying gesture with his hands. "I think you can just address the others together, boy, in a nice and clear voice, please."

Konrad looked uncertainly at the twenty or so remaining statues arranged around the wall. The Brother, the Sister, Uncles and Aunties of the gods. Each figurine progressively got smaller and was made of cheaper material, with the last handful being little more than straw figures. Konrad doubted that the priest even knew all of their names.

"Uhh, gods, will I be your champion?"

The resounding silence in the chamber was the answer he expected.

The priest stood motionless at the back of the chamber with his arms crossed and a stern expression on his face of the kind that only priests can achieve.

"Did I do okay?" Konrad asked.

The priest didn’t move, and there was something wrong with his fixed expression; he was staring directly at Konrad but seemed to be looking right through him.

Konrad waved a hand. "Hello?"

Something was wrong. Konrad gave a sharp whistle, and Spirit entered the shrine, approaching the priest and sniffing the air cautiously. Then her ears pricked up, and she swung her head around slowly, a low growl escaping her throat and her large white teeth barred.

"Don’t look at me like that; I didn’t do anything."

Ignoring him, she began to move forward, her body tense and her keen eyes searching the wall of statues.

"Easy Spirit, there’s nothing there."

With a growl, Spirit darted past him and began attacking the straw figurines at the end of the line. Seizing each one and shaking it in her jaws, snapping the straw and wood and scattering them across the shrine.

"Spirit, what are you doing!"

Konrad struggled over and seized the puppet-like figure in her jaws. It came away with a tearing sound, and Konrad stumbled backwards, smashing his head against the wall. He tasted blood in his mouth and saw Spirit jumping up and down, trying to smash the figures into the dry earth of the floor.

He still held half of the puppet in his hand and tried to fix his gaze on it; the small fabric hood the figure had worn had slipped off, and the face below was devoid of any features.

"A small god," Konrad said thickly before falling into darkness.