The air was still in the tainted domain of Sacrifice. The pair of footsteps were silent on the crimson-dyed sand as Ben and Ainsle trudged toward the dune's summit —where the Martyr was bound in suffering. The young man and his mentor walked in silence, both mulling over what they had spoken about prior, yet remained vigilant in the event the ‘parasite,’ as Ainsle had called it, decided to attempt another attack. Ben was left with tumultuous thoughts regarding the confrontation with the entity that had initially assumed Ann’s form before attacking them.
After the intoxicating rush of combat eased its way out of his body, he was left feeling slightly… hollow. Unsatisfied. The creature had displayed incredible strength and speed, yet it obviously wasn’t martially inclined. Ainsle had said it was the manifestation of a Priestess’ mind, which Ben accepted, as he thought it unlikely for the Speakers to engage in rigorous melee combat training. His brief conversations with his Keeper had led him to the theory that the sect specialized in mind control or magic relating to manipulation, and he supposed their strength would lie in getting others to do the actual fighting for them.
Or maybe they’re powerful enough to completely mind-fuck anyone who doesn’t fit into their schemes.
There was also the existence of the sub-sect known as the Hands of the Speakers, who specialized in Assassination and subterfuge. Ben wondered if he and his party would have to slaughter their way through the temple to reach the Speakers. He felt the familiar nagging frustration of gaps in his knowledge begin to cause his temples to throb, and he put it out of his mind for the time being as Ainsle elbowed him lightly. Lost in thought, Ben shook his head as he found they stood before the suffering Avatar.
The Berserker stopped and placed her hands on her hips, her grin absent as she shook her head. “Poor thing. If I’d bloody known about this…” she trailed off and glanced at her Avatar of Vengeance, who stood a fair distance away at the bottom of the dune.
Ben beheld the entity, and the juxtaposing image of it from a vision in Ainsle’s domain, unbound and free, flashed in front of his eyes and reignited the anger in his core. The nude female, inhumanly tall —only a couple of feet shorter than the red giant— wept silently. Its ebony skin glistened with sweat and blood. Hands, shoulders, thighs, and feet were impaled with angry black spikes into an obsidian shard; its head was bowed with long black braids obscuring its face.
Ben walked closer and reached out his hand toward one of the spikes before feeling nauseous pressure enveloping him. He pushed through the discomfort, only to face an intangible resistance he couldn’t overcome. He grit his teeth and tried to force his way past the invisible barrier to no avail.
After a moment, he felt the Berserker’s hand on his shoulder. “It's no use, Benny boy. Usually, the buggers are reluctant to let another Wielder touch them, and I’m thinking whatever the fuck they did to her can’t be fixed from the inside.” She gestured with an open palm to the crimson desertscape around them. “We gotta go to the source.”
Ben relented and took a few steps away from the entity until he reached a distance where the pressure was bearable. He nodded in acknowledgment and tilted his head as a thought struck him. “If we couldn’t do anything about the… thing, what was the plan in coming here?”
Ainsle grunted and sat down on the blood-stained sand, her white spear dispersed as she reclined backward on her elbows. She grinned, yet the gesture felt hollow, lacking the usual certainty he had expected.
Maybe she’s just shaken after seeing the Martyr like this. Ben told himself, unable or unwilling to believe that his mentor had misjudged the creature that had escaped true defeat.
“Look,” she said after a beat, her brows furrowed, and the pretense of confidence evaporated into a scowl. “I never seen this shit before. Well, I heard stories… and I had an idea.”
A moment of silence passed, and Ben cleared his throat to speak before being interrupted by a raised hand.
“Little Kieran can probably explain it better than me, shit…”
“Does it have to do with magic?” Ben asked.
“Yeah. Remember that time I told you about that runaway College girl we picked up?” she paused, and Ben nodded. “The reason —well, the main reason anyways— why we grabbed her in the first place was ‘cause one of the lads had a bad case of mind control.”
“Uh. Was he doing the mind-controlling? Or…” Ben interjected.
“Of course he wasn’t doing any mind-controlling, for fucks sakes…” she said, tone incredulous, to which Ben held up appeasing hands to calm the woman. She continued after a slow exhalation. “The bugger was brainwashed by a mark we hit up a while back. Good haul, if I do say so my-bloody-self. Lots of shiny enchanted loot in that tower. By the way,” she regarded Ben with a severe look. “Take it from Ol’ Ain; Be sure to pass on a tip-off if the Fence mentions remote towers, hermits, or Godsdamned magic treasure. That’s a sure way to get your bollocks seared off by a three-hundred-and-forty-two-year-old Wizard.”
“That’s oddly specific…” Ben added.
She cleared her throat and continued. “Anyways, the old bugger fought back. Hard. Summoned some demons, too. But eventually, he gave up after we smeared the walls with his pets and made a run for it. Before he left, though, he cast a spell at Willy, but good Ol’ Reggie jumped in and took the blast to the face.”
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“Poor Reggie, I guess?”
“Nah, Reggie was fine. Or at least that’s what we thought until later that night… the bastard tried to slit Bertie’s throat!”
“Bertram? I take it Reggie didn’t make it?” Ben asked before frowning at the thought of their casual conversation in the domain of a suffering Avatar. He shook his head, assuring himself that they could not do much until they woke.
Ainsle appeared to interpret the shake of his head as incredulity at Reggie’s —whoever that was, Ben thought— actions. “I know, right!?” She exclaimed with a genuine grin. “But no-bloody-way good Ol’ Reggie would do something so untoward. Been with the band since the beginning he was. Anyway, long story short, Bertie wrestled him down, and we decided that he was under a charm or something. So, yeah. I shit you not; we found the runaway Caster the very next day!”
“…Really?” Ben asked with eyes drawn in suspicion.
“I swear on Iorilai’s bountiful tits!” Ainsle folded her arms, and Ben decided he’d not question the truth of her words. “Back to the point, the girl said he was hexed, and she’d need to take a strong man to bed with her.” Her grin grew impossibly wide as she continued animatedly. “Now, I know what you’re thinking: ‘But, your dreadful majesty, how would a good, sweaty, shagging save poor Reggie from eternal enthralment?’” Ainsle’s impression of Ben elicited a chuckle from the young man. “The thing is, she needed a fighter to go with her to Reggie’s dreams.”
“Ah… I see.”
“Yeah,” was all the old woman in a young body said.
After silence, Ben asked: “So, was Reggie okay after that?”
“Nope. He was well and truly fucked from the moment the old bastard hit him with the spell.”
“I see.”
“Pat told me he fought some monster in the ‘dream world,’ but the girl couldn’t control her mana well good enough. The spell failed, and Reggie’s head blew up,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Poor Reggie,” Ben said, trying to muster the most solemn tone possible.
“Ah, it’s all right. At least he went in his sleep...” Ainsle trailed off, eyes unfocused in recollection.
The pair sat in silence for a few minutes before the twin suns in the sky suddenly grew brighter, signaling the time to wake up and leave the domain.
“Before we go,” Ainsle began. “Let’s hold off on telling Sunshine about this little trip for now. And before you start —the reason is ‘cause we don’t know how much those fuckers can hear through her ears. You can tell her everything after we deal with the Speakers.”
“I… Okay. That makes sense,” Ben said, unable to deny the Berserker’s logic.
She grinned and closed her eyes. “See you on the other side, lover boy.”
Ben turned to face the Avatar of Domination, who sat at the foot of the dune next to the red giant and willed his thoughts to the entity.
Thanks for bringing me here.
The beast didn’t respond, and he decided his telepathy needed more work.
Ben awoke to the smell of lavender and mint. The Keeper’s body was trembling in front of him. He sat upright and patted her arm to comfort the short woman. Ainsle groaned and ambled to her feet.
“I need a drink,” she said in her husky voice before shuffling over to the table next to the hearth.
June and Kieran were nowhere to be seen, and Issa’s droning snores were the only sounds besides the crackling of the fireplace in the living area of the Necromancer’s home. Ann whimpered, and Ben decided to wake her with a light shake if only to end whatever nightmare she was experiencing. She sniffed and stilled before shimmying closer to him. She turned her head to look at him with pink-puffy eyelids.
“My heart, you’re back,” she said, tone soft and warm, as if she hadn’t been whimpering only moments prior.
Ben gulped and didn’t move. Her rear was pressed against him, and he felt he should offer whatever comfort he could. “Uh. Annie, you looked like you were having a bad dream. Is everything okay?” he asked, and the guilt of his omission caused his stomach to knot.
“Yes. The dreams… It's been so long since I’ve had them. But, now that you’re here, I’m much better.”
Those dreams. The one she told me about back in the clearing outside MoonVale.
She sniffed and wiped the remnants of tears from her eyes before sitting up and taking his hands in hers. “Earlier, I felt pain and anger through our bond. I tried to reach out to you, and when I did, I felt your presence grow more substantial.”
Ben recalled the failed experiment with his new concept —the loss of a subject and his rage toward the woman who killed Scally. Before his fury could overwhelm him, he remembered the soothing Aura of his Keeper calming him down. “Yeah, thanks for that. I… I’m learning to control these new powers.”
The pair relocated to the table before the hearth and shared a mug of wine with the Berserker as Ben recounted the day's events to Ann. He spoke of the talks about the Council of Blades, the engagement with the ruffians, and his halberd’s recovery. He retrieved her small leather backpack from the pile of luggage against the empty wall, which she accepted with a coy smile. Ben omitted the ‘shopping’ he and Kieran had done, as he planned to give his companions —Ann, Ainsle, and Kieran— their gifts come morning.
After an hour or so, Ainsle spoke up.
“Well, we best get a proper night’s sleep if we gonna make the trek to the mountains tomorrow,” she said with a grin and a wink before promptly leaving the befuddled Ann and grimacing Ben at the table while she reclined on a bedroll next to Issa.
Ann turned to Ben, brows furrowed in consternation. “My heart, the mountains in the north?” she asked.
Ben winced and silently cursed Ainsle for leaving him to break the news to his Keeper. “Yeah… I thought we’d make a pilgrimage to the temple of Illephrre. You know, seeing as we’re the God’s Champions and all.”
The Keeper considered him intently for a few heartbeats before nodding to herself. “As you wish, my Champion, though I believe the most prudent course of action would be to head south to the Capital.”
“Why the Capital?” Ben asked, surprised at the woman for suggesting a trip that could end in another potential confrontation with Councilor Vasylius.
She tilted her head, and her gaze seemed to grow distant as if she were looking through him toward something in the distance. “The threads of fate tug at my being, and the path southward is clear. Your anathema is amassing power, both personal and political. If left unchecked, he may claim two of the three roles he so desires,” she said, her usually soft voice uncharacteristically firm —almost warning.
“Annie,” Ben touched her shoulder, and the woman jolted subtly as she regarded him with slanted brows. “What was that? Is that your foresight that you spoke of before?”
“I can only interpret what the threads say when they deem to reveal themselves to me. I see a fork. Two paths. Which is the correct one, I cannot say. My vision is clouded when I follow the strands north.”
Ben remained silent. He considered his Keeper’s words.
Two choices. Go north and free Ann from her tormentors —or go south and deal with Eric, the convergence, and the prophecy.
The dimming light of the hearth told Ben that they had sat in silence for what felt like ten minutes. He cleared his throat and grinned at his Keeper.
“Okay. I know what to do.”