It was not going to be a good night, was it?

The door slammed shut behind the Chosen, throwing the hallway within into darkness. I struggled against it still, against him. Over and over I threw myself at the invisible bonds that held me back, but it was as useless as trying to talk to the guard had been. No matter how hard I fought, the binding overruled it effortlessly. My body, his body, strolled casually through the house towards where I knew Darren’s room was.

His house wasn’t particularly big – our village didn’t have big houses – but he was Chosen by the god, and it showed. For years his family had been showered with the best that our village and country had to offer, gifts delivered by Rellan’s followers and clerics. Warm rugs covered the cold stone under my feet. Paintings sent from monasteries and temples hung from the walls. I’d always thought the full effect was garish, even if I’d kept it to myself. Darren hadn’t asked for any of it, it just…showed up. Now, trapped in a body not my own and more aware than ever of his arrogance, of his selfishness, well. The frustration at the gaudy display laid out before me seethed just beneath my skin.

Passing a particularly ugly work, depicting some vaguely angelic figure rising above a fielded hamlet that looked kind of like our village if you squinted, I raised my hand to take the frame. To my surprise, my arm responded. Adrenaline raced through my body as I reveled in the sensation of being able to move again, quickly followed by a surge of newly empowered rage. Did it wear off? Did Darren mess it up?

But as I seized the painting, intending to tear the tacky artwork from the wall, my hand stopped. My heart sank as the bonds snapped back into place. Instead of ripping the frame down roughly, like I really wanted to, my fingertips brushed almost tenderly down the fanciful carvings. Destroying ‘my’ family’s artwork was apparently not allowed. I tried to swear, my anger bubbling over again, and was allowed a brief, muttered curse before the binding put an end to what would otherwise have been a long and colorful phrase.

“Darren? Are you awake?” At the low sound of my swearing, someone seemed to stir ahead. I glanced up, my body cooperating, and noticed for the first time that the little room at the end of the hallway was dimly lit. A shadow moved there as I watched, reaching out to take a candle and bring both of us into the light.

The tiny, guttering flame revealed a woman, all fine bones and sharp edges. A mane of thick, sandy brown hair hung to her shoulders, pulled back to show off her high, arched cheekbones. Once, her hair had been clear and soft. Now, streaks of grey shot through it, sending silver rivers down from the roots to mingle with the brown.

Penna. Darren’s mother. I’d spent many an afternoon here with our little group, the village kids who’d clung to his fame and newfound wealth. Penna had been a constant figure through it all. She wasn’t a bad sort. She’d dealt with her son’s ascendance with bemused, surprised grace, completely taken aback by the gift their god had dropped into the lap of a humble peasant woman. His father was a soldier, but had vanished from their family picture long ago – a casualty of a border skirmish years prior. She’d done the job both parents should have been doing, alone. She kept the two of them together and safe, until the Order had formally recognized him as Chosen and all of her struggles were eased.

My heart sank as she walked out. I should have expected to find her here. It was her house, after all, and her son was leaving in the morning - probably to his death. I should have known that the night was not yet over. But this was not an encounter I wanted to have. It wasn’t supposed to be my responsibility, damn it.

The sight of her brought a new emotion to join the fear and anger running rampant in my mind - hope. Despite appearances to the contrary, I was not Darren. I was not her son. The guards placed outside didn’t know Darren, his mannerisms, the way he moved. The archbishop didn’t know him. The binding might be able to fool them by putting his face on mine, and putting my feet in the right place at the right time. But it couldn’t make me him. She’d be able to see it. She was a mother. There’s no way she wouldn’t recognize her son, or that her son had been replaced with an imposter.

But as she came at me down the hallway, unshed tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips, my body once again took the initiative all on its own. It took the candle from her, gently setting the guttering lamp down on a trinket-laden end table. And then the Chosen embraced his mother, wrapping her in a bear-hug. I felt her arms wrap around my back, holding me tight. She pressed her face into my shoulder and pulled me closer. I could feel the hot dampness spreading there.

When she pulled back, releasing me, she dried her eyes hastily on her sleeve. The smile she gave me was broad and honest, and her eyes were bright and happy despite the redness.

“Oh, Darren. My baby,” she whispered, holding a hand to my face. “I knew this day would come. Ever since…” She sniffed. “Ever since the priests told me you were the One.” Tears began sliding down her cheeks again. She ignored them, still staring into my eyes. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to go. Stay here. You can stay.”

Her eyes searched mine desperately. I pounded on the walls inside, my yells lost to silent stillness. I’m not him. You can see that. Surely you can see that.

The Chosen lifted a hand to his cheek, cupping her hand under his as he smiled back at her. “Oh, you know that I would if I could, mother. But I’m needed. You knew that I would be, eventually.”

I faltered, falling still in my mind at last as I watched the scene unfold in front of me. It moved on like clockwork, completely unconcerned by my lack of participation.

Penna sniffled again, nodding. She didn’t move her hand away. “I know. I know. But, can’t a mother hope?” Her smile wavered and she blinked, redoubling her efforts.

He nodded slowly. “You know I’d never leave you here alone,” he said. I watched the two of them wordlessly, a ghostly observer between them. “Not if there was another option. And it won’t be forever. I’ll come back, I promise.” He withdrew my hand, stroking her hair. It was a practiced motion, and I recoiled from the familiarity of it. This binding. It wasn’t just some nonsensical magical command. It was good. Very good. Somehow, Darren had managed to tie in his own habits, his own identity. His mental image of what the Chosen was.

I should have known Darren wouldn’t do anything halfway. He was nothing if not exceptional. But seeing the proof of it dangled right in front of my eyes sent a fresh wave of anger through my mind. And despite my best efforts, despair was beginning to settle in little by little.

“But you’re not alone until then, mother. Remember, all right?” the Chosen said quietly, smiling. Penna wiped her eyes again and nodded wordlessly, but he continued without hesitating. “You’re never alone. The Order will make sure that you’re taken care of. So will the villagers. And I’ve spoken to Jas.”

I stared. Of course. Of course he’d play it like this. This way let him keep everything, and sacrifice nothing.

“He’ll make sure that you’re safe, and he said he’d help you out whenever you needed it. He wouldn’t let a friend down, he said.”

I swore, the words vanishing into the binding.

Penna nodded, her breathing smoothing into a more regular pattern as she mastered her tears.

When I broke this binding, I was going to kill him. I was going to kill him dead.

“I’m sorry, sweeting,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “You’ve got your big day tomorrow, and you’re up taking care of your silly mother. Don’t mind this old woman. I managed just fine for years. I’ll manage just fine on my own.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t let her smile falter. Penna opened her eyes again, jerking her chin towards a closed door in the hallway. Darren’s room. I noted it blandly, still disassociated from the conversation. I wasn’t needed here. I wasn’t wanted here. I was just an unwelcome, invisible intruder on what was supposed to be a mother’s final goodbye to her son.

But even as I watched, she settled back on her heels, drawing in great breaths of air. Her shoulders relaxed, the trembling fading. “Get yourself to bed. It’s late. You need your rest.” Penna’s demeanor was worlds apart from moments before, a sharp edge to her words and motions. Her eyes were still red. Her voice was still rough. But she was pulling herself together.

The Chosen tweaked her cheek as he released her, drawing a laugh. “Right. See you in the morning, then,” he said, grinning at her reaction.

“Wouldn’t miss it. Sleep well, Darren.” His name was like a prayer on her lips. With one last long look, she scooped her candle up and vanished into a room beside his.

I was alone again. As though a weight had been lifted, I could feel control returning. I breathed in deeply, welcoming the feeling of being almost myself again. Once. And then again. The rage still burned under the surface, simmering just out of sight. It would be there for a long time, I knew. Right up until the moment I broke this binding and punched Darren in his pathetic, whining teeth.

Yes, I was still angry. But that wasn’t going to help me right then. I needed to move past it until I could actually act on it. I knew that, even if I didn’t want to accept it. Gritting my teeth, alone in the quiet hallway, I slipped into his room.

It was just as I remembered it, of course. I’d been here so many times. For each of the trinkets tucked away on a shelf, tossed carelessly onto a table, I remembered the story that went with it. There, leaning on the wall, was the fishing rod he’d prized so dearly. It had taken so long for the two of us to make them - he’d insisted on doing it by hand, rather than saving up to buy them off the merchants. We’d caught enough fish with them over the summers to feed the village for a year, it seemed.

On the floor, pushed back into a corner, lay one of the textbooks from our temple’s little classroom. I knew if I flipped it open, I’d find all manner of profane drawings in the front cover. Enough to make the priest go white with offended shock. I chuckled at the memory of him gleefully scrawling it in, grinning horribly all the while. Darren was never studious. He’d never had to be. So while we all worked, he’d dawdled.

And there, sitting on his little wooden desk, was the knife I had given him last year for his birthday. I took it in hand, feeling the weight of it. It was a nice piece, nicer than our village usually saw. Good steel, attached to a beautifully carved horn grip. I’d saved for months to be able to afford it. He’d been so happy.

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I’d thought he was happy, anyway.

Now, standing in his skin and in his room, I wondered. How much of all of those years had been simple habit and convenience for him? Had we really meant so little to him, all along? I had been relaxing, slipping back into happy memories and forgetting where I was and what I had become, but just like that it all came rushing back. The anger burned just as bright as ever. I swore under my breath, slamming the knife blade down into the wooden desktop.

I hadn’t been expecting it to connect. Not after the binding had stopped me from destroying his art out in the hallway. And so I could only stare, wordless, as the knife shivered in place, stabbed into the wood.

What was different? My mind raced. Was it the fact that this was his desk? Was it the fact that his mother had been watching, and I was alone now? Could the binding even tell something like that?

I really didn’t know anything at all about the mess I was in, did I?

The thought was sobering. Tomorrow, I was going to have to ride to war. If the events of the last hour had been any indication, I had absolutely no chance of winning the fight against this spell. Darren was gifted, he was Chosen, and he’d applied himself totally and completely to damning me to his fate. I was in trouble. And yet here I was, pawing through his possessions, hugging his mother goodbye, and attacking his furniture. I was wasting the little bit of time I had to learn exactly how doomed I was.

No more. No more wasted time. Damn Darren. Damn him, and damn his fate he’d shucked off like an unwanted coat. If he wanted me to go to the damned mountain, then apparently I was going. If he wanted me to be a hero, then apparently I was going to be the hero in this little story he’d written. But to hell with the notion that I was going to roll over and die on command for him.

No, I’d win. I’d be the hero. I’d fulfill whatever his gods-cursed binding wanted from me, and I’d come back. And then I’d kill him. See how he liked it.

I rose. My body was still listening to me. That was good. I walked in a circle, testing the reaction from my limbs cautiously. The binding lay dormant, silently waiting. I gritted my teeth. I could almost see it, still wrapped around my throat and waiting for me to try anything. But for the time being, it lay quiet.

I was thirsty. I needed water. And air. I made for the door. To my surprise, the binding still held its peace. The night air was a cold slap to the face as I slipped out the back door. If the guards in the front heard me, they didn’t say anything. Why should they? If the Chosen couldn’t sleep, it was his own business.

The well wasn’t far. And the lanterns were bright, on the houses where they still burned, anyhow. They cast a flickering light on my path as I crossed the village square. The splashing of the bucket was too loud in the still, dead air as I pulled up water. And then I drank. And I thought.

The binding let me come here. It didn’t balk at me leaving the house. It was content to give me free rein.

As long as I stayed within the narrative that was laid on me?

The village boundary was only feet away. Just a few steps, and I’d be in the middle of deep fields. A brisk walk further, and I’d be in the forests. Gone, with none the wiser. They’d never track me down, not with me having a head start. I could follow the little river just east of here. I could be free.

I wasn’t surprised, as I tried to step towards the first crop-rows, when the binding leapt to life. It held me fast and hard, keeping me from so much as twitching towards freedom. I pushed against it, cautiously at first but then with all my strength. It didn’t budge. It did, however, tighten whatever grip it had on me, searing like a brand the harder I pushed. With a yelp I gave up and stopped trying. The pain vanished in an instant, leaving only the faint acrid smell of stale magic in the air.

I spent the next hour walking around the village outskirts, testing my limits. What I found was disheartening. The binding was smart. Smarter than I had expected. It wasn’t fooled by tricks, it wasn’t fooled by promises. It saw through all my games, my just one more steps and my telling myself that I’d definitely come back if I could just walk down to the river. It was having none of it. And it wouldn’t let me so much as squeak at anyone’s house. Quiet and out of sight was the order of the night.

That was it, then. I was stuck.

The weariness swept over me in a wave. I was tired. Emotionally, yes, but physically as well. I couldn’t keep this up.

It almost killed me to walk back to his house. I knew that if I went to sleep, I’d wake up in the morning and have to ride. I would be well and truly in the middle of it. But I knew that burning myself out by fighting a hopeless battle against the binding would just mean I would be burned out when I had to ride in the morning.

So I did it. I went back ‘home’, to his room in his house. I curled up in his bed, smelling like him, with strange noises and sights all around me. I lay awake, and wondered if he was doing the same. Was he even feeling guilty?

I told myself he was probably sleeping like a baby. Being angry at him made me feel a little better.

I tried to ignore the soft sounds of muffled crying drifting through the walls from the room next to me. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t push the sound away, and anger burned hot on its heels. You may survive this, Darren. You can steal my future and escape your fate. But she’s still going to lose her son. She’ll never know her tears are a lie.

I put one of his fancy, gaudy pillows over my head, trying to block out the sound.

You have a lot to answer for.

----------------------------------------

It was a surprise when I opened my eyes and saw the morning light filtering in. Somehow I’d managed to fall asleep, despite the thoughts racing through my head. I could hear the noise outside rising. The village was waking up, coming out of their slumber to assemble for a show the likes of which they’d never seen before.

The binding was rising, too. I could feel it wrapping itself around me, pushing me to move. It was time. I slid out of bed, refusing to let it take control for me. I could dress myself. I didn’t need it to dictate everything about my life.

If a hero was what it wanted, I’d give it a hero. A living one. A victorious one.

Penna was crying again as I emerged from my room, although she tried not to let me see. She just gave me a hug, and nodded towards the door. Reluctantly, with the binding nipping at my heels, I pushed my way out into the sunlight.

Once my eyes had stopped complaining about the sudden sunlight, I paused, really taking in the sight I saw. It seems the whole village had turned out. And most of the people living outside the village. And some of the people living in the villages nearby. The square was packed to bursting, and all of them were staring at me.

At the center of it all were the guards standing watch. They perked up at the sight of me emerging. Behind them, the archbishop roused himself from whatever half-slumber he’d fallen into. His armor was fresh-polished again, his robes crisp and so bright they hurt my eyes. It looked ridiculous on him. A cadre of priests waited beside him in freshly pressed raiments. Had to look their best for the Chosen, I told myself sourly. Some were already mounted, sitting uncomfortably on their horses. One held two sets of reins. He smiled at me from across the field, and I knew that one of them was mine. The bottom fell out of my stomach. I’m not ready. Gods, I thought I was ready but I’m not.

I turned away from the little group waiting for me, unwilling to confront the reality of leaving just yet. My friends were bursting forth from the crowd, racing to say last goodbyes to their dear Chosen friend.

I could feel the binding perking up, pushing me again, ready to step in, so I plastered a smile onto my face. Had to stay ahead of it. Darren was always smiling. Always so damned confident. If that’s what it wanted from me, then I could be a smug, pompous ass too.

They stopped in a tight cluster around me, a shield between me and the rest of the world. I looked between them, still smiling that horrible smile, seeing only him.

My own face, grinning back at me, only with him behind the reins. He looked so normal, completely comfortable in someone else’s skin. He stood there wordlessly, a few steps behind the others.

The two of them threw their arms around me, whispering goodbyes in my ear. Paulson came first, clasping wrists with me. We’d been together since we could walk, and he was one of those true constants in my life. The thought of going on without him was just wrong. My goodbyes to him were genuine, even if his were a bit on the frigid side. Paulson had never fully approved of Darren. I’d respected that honesty in him, but never really appreciated it. More than ever, I realized how accurate his judgments had been - if only I’d have listened.

In the next instant, as I pulled myself free from Paulson, I found myself enveloped by a warm hug. I caught a flash of black hair as she jumped, and then she clung to me before I could steady myself. Sal. Nothing at all had changed in her since that evening at the river. She was still every bit as earnest as she once was, still full of energy. Full of life.

I’d been trying to, ah, deepen our friendship for the better part of the last year. Her brightness enthralled me, intrigued me in a way I’d never pieced together when we were children. I realized that those dreams were over, dead and gone. One more thing he’d taken from me. Before I realized it, her breathless goodbyes to a dear friend were over and gone, and she skipped back to where he waited.

At the sight of him laying a comforting hand on her shoulder, my blood froze. He knew. I had told Darren all about my interests, of course. He was my friend. The binding inched closer, keeping me still and slathering a pleasant, heroic smile on my face while the rest of me wanted to leap across the distance and throttle the imposter where he stood. As he looked at me, his smile widened ever so slightly. As though he knew exactly what was going on in my head. He probably did.

The sound of footsteps clicking across the cobblestone of the village square rang loudly in my ears above the wall of white noise and rage that was building. He was coming. Walking towards me like a cat with a fat mouse in its teeth, all poorly hidden glee and spite. How did they not see it? The thought had barely risen in my mind before I could feel the chains wrapping around my throat, hushing the words in my mind before I could so much as draw breath. The binding had me fast. Not taking any chances, then.

Jas reached out, taking the Chosen’s hand. They clasped arms, pulling each other into a tight hug.

“I really am sorry,” he whispered in my ear. I could hear it in his voice, though. He was smiling. He was happy to see that his plan had worked, that he had gotten out of this one scot-free. “I do appreciate what you’re doing for me. I won’t forget it - or you. I promise.”

“Burn in hell,” I hissed, through the fake smile that was stuck on my face. The binding left me that much. Apparently as long as I looked the part and no one else heard me, I was allowed to speak my mind a little. “This isn’t over.”

“Good. Optimism is important,” he said, chuckling back at me. And then we stepped apart. He winked at me, like we’d shared a secret. The onlookers sighed, distraught at seeing such fast friends separated. I grinned, my face a death mask.

“Don’t worry,” I said, staring at our motley little group My eyes were locked on 'Jas', though. He wasn’t even pretending to look away. All eyes were on me, anyway, so he didn’t have to. The smirk on his face told me the whole story. “I’ll be coming back. It’s not over.” The binding latched onto my words, keeping them bright and cheerful. I kept my eyes on him, staring straight through him. I saw his smile falter, as the intensity of my message finally sunk home.

And that was it. There was no grand ceremony, no festival, no speeches or well-wishing. Not for a little backwater village like this. No, they’d save all of that for the places that mattered, the grand capital city that loomed ahead. We just climbed onto our mounts. The Chosen knew how to ride, it seemed. The binding pulled me up onto the horse effortlessly, sitting me comfortably above the crowd.

This might be the last time I saw this village. The thought stuck with me, as I glanced between faces that I’d spent my entire life looking at and the homes I’d grown up in. The unfairness of it all welled up in me, but I squashed it down resolutely. Of course this wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. But crying about it wasn’t going to do me any good. Not that the Chosen would let me cry even if I wanted to, of course.

The archbishop mounted with a heave and a harrumph, clearly unused to any actual exertion. He grinned at me from his horse, sidling up to me.

“Well, are you about ready, son? Time to go face your destiny.” The priests alongside him nodded solemnly. The guards shuffled about, hot in their armor. The villagers all strained for a closer look.

I ignored them. I ignored all of them. I just set my jaw, and stared right at the archbishop, and nodded. He kicked his horse, and we were off. One by one, we filed off down the little road leaving my hometown.

I could feel his eyes on my back, the whole while. I knew if I turned, he’d be staring at me with my face, with my green eyes, with his arms around my friends. Around Sal.

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of having his binding ride me out of town. This would be on my own terms. I’d win, and I’d come back for my revenge. I promised it, to the friends who I left behind, who didn’t even know they were being deceived. To the priests, who were being fooled by the man they thought was their savior. And to myself. Because to hell with it. I wanted my revenge. I deserved that much.

I stared straight ahead. The archbishop chattered alongside me as the priests said their prayers. I ignored them all, and watched the road vanish under my horse’s hooves as my village faded into distant silence behind me.