A deep resonating rumble of thunder punctured the silence in the neatly ordered second-floor room of Red Maiden’s Trinkets and Baubles, and the opaque window trembled at the booming sound of the distant roar. The cozy fire had begun to burn low, and Ben felt as if he’d had enough of talking about Deities that wracked at his being at the mere mention of Their names. He felt an indiscernible itch to hit something. To move and use his atrophied muscles. Ben glanced at the elongated chest that held his new, deadly halberd before turning to Ainsle.
“Hey, Ainsle,” he drew the old woman out of her uncharacteristically melancholic contemplation. “I believe we had a date?”
The Berserker’s gaze met his, and her lips settled into a terrifying grin. “A dance in the rain?” She closed her eye and stretched, arms above her head, palms to the ceiling, and fingers interlaced. “You sure know how to make a girl weak in the knees.”
Ben faced Ann and nodded. “Thanks, Annie. I don’t exactly feel great, but at least I know a bit more, and I won’t fall over when someone mutters a prayer.”
The Keeper considered the young man with a frown and glanced toward the opaque window pelted by the torrential rain. She shook her head in disapproval.
“My darling,-“
Oh? Why does this tone sound so familiar?
“-Surely you don’t intend to train in this weather? Besides, you haven’t even broken your fast yet,” she said, and Ben had the image of a mother scolding her child brush his thoughts.
Ah. There it is.
“Well, I-” Ben began.
“Also,” the blonde-haired woman interrupted, “we are committed to visiting Master Durrene at the temple today. It wouldn’t do to introduce yourself all sweaty and tired, now would it?”
“But-” the young man attempted, yet it was Ainsle who interrupted him.
“Pah, the boy will be fine,” the old woman said in a low rasp before addressing Ben. “Sunshine is right, though. We should grab a bite to eat. Luckily, Ol’ Ain knows a little place on the way to the gate.”
The Keeper’s lips pursed at the old woman’s words, yet she relented with a tilt of her head. She stood and gathered the cold, empty mugs from the table.
“I’ll be at the baths if you require me. I expect we’ll meet here at noon before we go?” Ann asked.
“Noon. Got it,” Ben replied sheepishly. He hadn’t even considered the itinerary for the day.
The Keeper seemed satisfied at the answer as she dipped her head. “Oh, one more thing.” She set the dirty mugs on the table and retrieved a bundle of lined and leather clothing and a clean, tan gambeson from behind a bookcase near the far wall.
“What’s that?” Ben asked, eyes wide at the garments in her arms.
Ainsle spoke up. “Ol’ Bertie had that lying around. The bugger’s gotten soft in his old age.”
The young man took the offered clothing from the Keeper and left to change behind the same bookcase. He put on a pair of thick black linen trousers and a clean white shirt of the same material before inspecting the gambeson. Ainsle had downplayed the age and condition of the padded armor as, to Ben’s eyes, it looked new or near enough so that he couldn’t tell the difference.
I should get away and browse the markets alone to buy Ainsle a gift. And Ann’s dress too.
He slipped on the thick gambeson and found the sleeves the perfect length, if a bit loose. Ben thought that he should grow into it over time. He tightened the three belts on his chest before swinging his arms and twisting his hips. He determined that it did not hinder his mobility at all, and he smiled; a feeling of excitement began to well up within him. A husky chuckle accompanied by footsteps on hollow floorboards brought him out of his musing.
“So, Benny-boy’s a battle junkie after all,” Ainsle teased as she walked past him to her curtained bedroom. “Getting a hard-on before the foreplay has even started.”
Ben’s smile contorted into a grimace at his mentor’s remark.
She really has a way with words, doesn’t she?
He stood on light feet, cracking his neck from side to side and stretching down to touch each foot. Ben heard the ruffle of fabric from behind the nearby curtain and a clinking of heavy steel. He paused his stretching and recalled the memory of lying on the ground while looking up at a blurry, distorted figure in pure white plate armor. The previous night, he had briefly spotted what he suspected to be Ainsle’s new armor on a mannequin behind her bedroom curtains.
“Ainsle?” Ben called out, and the woman hummed questioningly in reply. “If you were to have fought Eric, how do you think it would’ve gone?”
The old woman didn’t respond immediately as she parted the flowing fabric partition with one arm and beckoned Ben inside. The young man complied and entered the sleeping area. The bed was made impeccably, and a bedside table held her waterskin and a fist-sized leather pouch. He inspected the woman who wore a light black gambeson under pure white plate mail with matching greaves and gauntlets. She turned her back to him and indicated with a thumb towards loose straps on the upper back section of the armor.
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“Be a sweetheart and strap a girl up,” Ainsle said in the most chilling attempt at coyness Ben had thought possible.
“Sure,” he coughed before fastening the belts on the armor. His hand brushed the surface of the plate, and he found it to be deceptively rough. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that the armor was not, in fact, made of steel but rather some sort of cured hide.
“She’s pretty, ain’t she?” the old woman said. “Skin of a basilisk. Enchanted too.”
“It’s… beautiful,” was all Ben could say as he admired the seamless joints that spoke of unhindered movement and the complex, rough surface that would repel any blow. “Where did you get it?”
“Ah, Bertie held on to it for me, for what… twenty years?” she asked no one in particular. “You asked me a question,” she cleared her throat. “I don’t know, to be honest. Jor said he was a Caster, but with that fucking ridiculously massive bone he swings around, who knows?”
Ben considered the old woman for a heartbeat and rolled his eyes at the innuendo and the irony of her calling the Councilor's weapon ridiculously large. He glanced at the fireplace, where Ainsle’s equally ridiculous weapon of a thick shaft and a head of angry, angular steel leaned silently against the stone wall.
“Yours is pretty big, too. Just saying,” Ben muttered.
“What’s that?” she asked, seemingly pretending not to have heard his comment.
He pulled at a particularly stubborn belt, and the memory of his first night in Betram’s shop surfaced in the young man’s mind.
“Oh, yeah. How did you get the name Red Maiden?” he asked as he fastened the last strap that connected a pauldron to the chest piece.
The short, old woman turned to look up at him. “It was because of this beauty right here,” she said as she thumped a gauntleted fist on the curved breastplate.
Ben’s brows furrowed.
“I’m pretty sure I’m not color-blind, and unless my memory is failing me again… This isn’t the color red.”
“Not right now, it isn’t,” Ainsle grinned, and Ben felt his mouth mimic hers. “Let’s go,” she said, leading the young man to retrieve their weapons.
Ainsle had given him a stitched leather harness, similar to the one she had strapped diagonally across her chest, with a tight clasp resting on the upper back that could be reached and tightened or loosened by a hand over her shoulder. She lifted her massive great mace and demonstrated how to use the harness to hold the weapon on his back. Ben held his beautiful black halberd in his hands, and he felt the call of the dance resonate deep within his bones. After several unsuccessful attempts and Ainsle’s mocking chuckles, he gave up on looking good and decided to walk with the weapon. After tidying up the table, Ann left the store with a goodbye and confirmation that they should meet there at noon.
The pair left Red Maiden’s Trinkets and Baubles and walked through the deserted streets of Honeydew. He looked up at the expanding Tear in the east and felt the same draw toward it when first seeing it the day prior.
Ben's gambeson didn’t take long to become heavy, saturated by the unceasing rain, yet he didn’t let it deter him from a long overdue spar. The previous two visits to his domain had seen the young man practicing his forms alone. The beast didn’t materialize an opponent for him to spar with, and Ben thought that perhaps he needed the time for introspection and the catharsis of the dance.
Jor’s betrayal weighed heavily on his mind. Yet, it was overshadowed by the fact that he could finally hear the names of the Gods, due in large part -he suspected- to his Avatar’s help. He wondered if the gradual change had anything to do with his origins. He resolved to try and glean as much information from the scholar as possible.
Eltuwa…
He recalled that the fragment of Dee had spoken his actual name during their first meeting, and a thought struck the young man.
L2156?
Ben was torn from his musing by the Berserker, who nudged him with an elbow. He turned and looked down to regard the short, old woman’s dripping wet form.
“Let’s grab something to go,” she said as she indicated with a tilt to a nondescript building of pale pink stone in the market street. An awning of faded purple fabric sheltered a small area in front of a windowed countertop.
The young man nodded and followed Ainsle to the store. The pair were greeted by a dark-skinned boy of what Ben assumed to be around thirteen summers old. The boy stared uncomfortably long at the young man, and Ben thought he looked familiar. A smooching sound from Ainsle drew the little shopkeeper’s attention back to her.
“Two silver sticks, sweety,” Ainsle said as she tossed a small black coin with indecipherable white markings on the counter.
The boy nodded silently and scooped up the coin before disappearing behind a curtain deeper within the shop. A pleasant smell of cooked fish wafted from the open window, and Ben felt his stomach rumble with hunger.
“Benny-boy, you’re in for a treat!” Ainsle said, soaking wet grin wide.
“Is it some kind of fish?”
“Yeah, it’s cheap as shit, but it’s pretty damn good. You’ll see.”
Ben smiled, and his gaze waltzed over the empty market street. Upon their arrival in Honeydew, the main road had bustled with activity, yet no living soul was in sight. He could only guess whether it was due to the poor weather or the massive Scar in the sky. He glanced at the main gate and saw several guards sitting on benches under the shelter of the large archway.
Hurried footsteps drew his attention back to the opened window, and he saw that the boy had returned with two long skewers of seared, marinaded fish cubes on a wooden stick. The aroma was heavenly. Ainsle accepted the silver sticks and winked at the boy, who smiled bashfully before retreating behind the curtain again.
The Berserker offered Ben a skewer, which he accepted gratefully. The young man thought the silver sticks turned out to be delicious, and the pair ate as they strolled in the rain toward the gate.
The guards seemed to pay Ainsle and Ben no mind as they left the city and walked for about twenty minutes to an open field before Ainsle gestured that they should stop. She indicated with a pointed finger to an area about five paces from where they stood, which Ben walked to and turned to face the old woman.
“I reckon this is far enough. Wouldn’t want the poor cunts to shit themselves,” Ainsle said as she unclasped the huge mace from her back.
Ben rolled his shoulders and flourished his weapon.
“Why would they shit themselves?” he asked.
“I think it’s time for you to learn how to face a real Wielder, not some prissy boy from the Capital.”
The young man’s brows furrowed as the heavy rain seemed to grow heavier. His breath quickened, and he felt a disturbing pressure on his chest. It called out to something within him.
“You’ll use Rage, here?” he asked with slanted brows.
The Berserker clicked her tongue. “Rage is a concept of my Avatar…”
The pressure on his being began to feel almost smothering.
“…Remember when Ol’ Ain told you that some can call on their Avatars directly?” she asked with a terrifying grin.
Ben recalled his brief experience wielding his entity’s full power. He shivered and nodded in affirmation.
The short, old woman’s eye shone a deep, ominous red. A pair of long, upswept obsidian horns erupted from her forehead. The sky seemed to darken, and the world went silent. She let out a chilling cackle and roared:
“Mine is the Avatar of VENGEANCE!”