“Why?” spoke the cowled figure, face hidden beneath a soiled veil, her voice creaked like the bowing of old floorboards. She stood under the great arch in front of a massive pair of smooth black doors, about fifteen paces away from the party, yet the question carried through the landing as if she stood beside them. “Why come back? After all that was lost to see you free?”
Ann stiffened under Ben’s shoulder, and he glanced down to see the blonde woman bite her lip and furrow her brows. She appeared to have been gathering her resolve before she replied a moment later.
“Sister Ethel-” she began.
“Don’t.” The old woman interrupted.
Ben watched as Ann swallowed and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Ethel,” she tried again. “I found him. The Herald of our Lord’s coming.”
Ethel remained silent for a few heartbeats as the party watched on with apprehension. She remained eerily motionless. “The raven or the rat,” she said after a beat. “Could it be that the blind is leading the blind? For I don’t count either of them among your number. Or could it be…” she trailed off. “Come. It’s not safe out here.” Without another word, the woman turned and walked through the gap in the large door to the dark temple.
“Miss Blackwood,” said Kieran. “Do we trust this woman?”
Ann nodded and tilted her chin up to meet Ben’s gaze. “She risked a great deal for me in the past. I trust her.”
Ben glanced toward Ainsle, whose gaze was transfixed on the desecrated effigy of the God of conflict. June’s drooping eyelids told him she was exhausted from her powerful display only moments prior. He opened his mouth to speak as a loud, dull crash was heard and felt from the path behind them.
The Apprentice Necromancer appeared worried as his brows raised and his deep black eyes widened. His usually rich, lustrous bronze skin had gone pallid, jarringly so, and Ben felt a pang of worry grip his stomach.
“Let’s go. I don’t like our chances against those things out here,” he said to his companions, releasing his Keeper under his arm.
Ainsle nodded, not meeting his gaze, and solemnly limped ahead toward the giant black doors, and the party hurriedly followed into the temple of Illephrre.
They entered to find a great, cavernous narthex, dimly lit by flickering flames of sconces on walls and pillars. A dark, high vaulted ceiling carved out of the same black-grey stone loomed overhead, and the echoes of their boots rang out in the empty space. The floor was dusty and scattered with rubble and debris from what appeared to be a collapsed wall to their right. Ben spotted several alcoves along the left side of the narthex, some of which had stairs leading to what he assumed to be the spiring towers he’d seen reach up into the cloudy sky outside. Opposite the entrance, a pair of doors, a smaller mirror of the ones they had entered through, stood closed—sealed. The entrance to the nave was barred by furniture, several chains woven through its wrought iron handles, and two hefty wooden drawbars.
June let out a low whistle. “I guess there are no scripture readings today?” she quipped, fatigue coloring her tone.
The rumble of the massive doors closing caused Ben to snap his attention to the entrance. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the cowled woman bucking and bending as she wound a large wooden handle attached to an assortment of gears that he assumed to be the mechanism used to open and close the massive entryway. After a few moments of huffing and exertion, the woman threw back her cowl to reveal a dirty, wrinkled face framed by wispy white locks of hair. She wiped her brow with her soiled sleeves and approached the party.
“This way,” she croaked and beckoned the group to follow.
Ben glanced at Ann, who nodded silently, before being led through a small archway furthest from the entrance. The tired group walked down a long, dark corridor that ended in a wide-open room that appeared to be a medbay of sorts. A large stained window depicted a great stylized battle against black, formless creatures pouring out of a rift in the sky; warriors and magic users fought against impossible odds, yet they fought nonetheless.
The serene, blue, and violet tones cast by light through the stained glass lent an ethereal atmosphere to the sickbay. June flopped face down on one of several empty cots that lined the room walls before letting out a long, slow sigh. Ainsle sat gingerly beside the young Caster, gaze absently staring at the glass mural, her uninjured hand slowly stroking the Evoker’s pure white locks of hair.
“Rest here. I’ll return with food and water,” said Ethel before promptly disappearing down the corridor from where they had come.
Kieran chose a cot next to June and Ainsle, and Ben pulled two chairs from the single empty table in the middle of the room and gestured for Ann to sit before he joined her.
"That was too close," exhaled the Apprentice Necromancer as he rubbed the stump of his missing forearm.
Ben winced. "You gonna be all right?" he asked as he glanced at the injured limb.
"I'll be fine. My… heritage will allow me to grow this back, though I am reluctant to use it." Kieran said, his brows furrowed in thought.
"The same way you regrew your finger after that spell back at the temple of Iorilai?"
The bronze-skinned man averted his gaze. "Yes," he said simply, the hint clear that he didn't wish to elaborate.
"Any idea what those things were?" Ben shifted his attention to his Keeper as he wiped blood from a shallow cut on his brow. He remembered she hadn't offered her thoughts earlier when she'd returned with Kieran and his thrall.
Ann appeared distracted before she blinked at the address. "I'm afraid I do not know. Sister Ethel might be able to shed some light on the state of the congregation."
Ben regarded the blonde woman for a beat. "I take it the remodeling in the main entrance is new to you?"
"Yes. The destruction.” She paused. “Something must've happened. I had hoped to visit the inner sanctum with you. So that you may meet the matriarch of Speakers, but…"
Ben clenched his jaw yet tried to hide any outward displays of his feelings toward the clergy. He glanced at Ainsle, who pointedly ignored their conversation, content to absently stroke the exhausted Caster's hair. He hoped he hadn't offended the woman by his actions earlier; she was quite prideful, after all.
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He turned his attention back to his Keeper and caught the same distant gaze in her eyes. "Ann, you okay? Do you feel anything different being here?"
“No, I- yes. I don’t know,” she stuttered. “My senses were muted by the Speakers when I was taken to the sanctum. When I… fled, I thought the working had gradually worn off, as I could sense presences and auras a few days after.” She turned to face him. “Yet, when we neared the temple this morning, it was as if I became blind again. My vision became more and more muddied the closer we came. Even your presence is obscured to me now.”
The young man bit his lip and furrowed his brows. He closed his eyes briefly to confirm that he could still see the golden light representing her presence near him. He could also feel his other party members confirming that she suffered the effect alone. He wondered if the grip her abusers had on her could be undone now that they were so close. “Why not mention this sooner?”
“I wasn’t… I’m sorry. After seeing my sisters' pendants scattered in such a vulgar display, I… I faltered. Forgive me.”
Ben glanced at his mentor, who huffed yet made a point of not engaging in the conversation. “No, you’re right. I should’ve realized it’d be a bit much for you.” He paused to formulate his words, eyes darting between his companions, hoping that somebody would say it out loud. What he was sure they all had been thinking. “Annie, you may have to accept the fact that they might be gone. And that those creatures…”
“I know. I know, my heart,” was all the blonde Keeper said.
The silence in the room lingered for a while. Ethel hadn’t returned, and the sun's position through the stained glass suggested it was past midday. Kieran cleared his throat.
“Ben,” he said. His tone, oddly serious, drew Ann’s attention and a glance from the old Berserker. “As a friend… I hope I can call you that?” he fixed the young man with a gaze framed by raised, questioning brows.
Ben’s brow raised in incredulity. “Of course. I’m surprised you’d even ask.”
“Good. You’re an imbecile,” he said simply.
The young man twitched at the barb. “What?”
“Your bravery is laudable, and is the root of the problem. You have one of the Empire’s most powerful Aura users, an Evoker, rare as they are,” he nodded to June, “and myself, who is —objectively— capable, as companions. As friends.” He paused to regard Ben, his black eyes seemingly searching for something. “Yet, your first thought was to hurry us to safety while you and Aunt intended to face the horde on your own?”
Ben opened and closed his mouth several times in the silence that followed. A reasonable reply was beyond reach; he exhaled, and his shoulders slumped in resignation. Kieran was right. He hadn’t even considered leaning on his friends in the battle. He had followed his instincts, and they told him to protect. To fight and defend his people from the threat… He frowned at the thought and considered how his mind framed the scenario.
“I have a problem,” he said after a moment. “My… power, the Avatar, it's changing me.”
Kieran tilted his head and hummed in thought, yet the recently withdrawn Ainsle spoke up. “We belong to him. Or that’s how he sees it,” she said before turning a tired eye to meet his gaze. “I heard what you said to the bastard. Think of it as a perk of being connected as we are.”
Ben’s cheeks flushed. “Ainsle, I-”
“Relax,” she lifted her uninjured hand from June’s hair. “It’s the way your old boy works. I’m thinking that’s why you only have strength when you call on a concept and none of the ‘all the time’ kind of power like the rest of us Wielders have. You’re rejecting your nature.”
The young man grunted, frustration pooled in his stomach. “Domination? This isn’t even me. You and Jor,” his throat tightened at the mention of the raven-haired woman’s name. “You told me that an Avatar is granted to those who embody the ideal. People who overcome suffering and great obstacles and end up the literal epitome of whatever it is,” he huffed.
Ann placed a hand on his clenched fist that had been shattered while attempting to rescue the old Berserker. “My darling, you are the one. I believe it with all my heart.”
“It’s definitely different, I agree,” Ainsle said before pursing her lips. She nodded to herself before turning to Ann. “Sweetheart, will you fix this up?” She gestured to her broken forearm. “I think lover boy’s wanking hand is fused into a fist by now.”
Ann’s eyes widened as she snapped to Ben’s broken hand. The pain was gone, and he frowned as he tried and failed to open his clenched fist.
“Ah. So, this is what happens when you’re healed without setting the bone?” he asked absently. He considered his mentor’s words and didn’t miss the fact that she had abruptly changed the subject either.
“I’m sorry, my heart,” Ann said.
“For what?” he asked in concern.
Ben saw Kieran wince in his periphery before Ann slowly placed his balled fist onto the arm of the chair and leaned over to retrieve a silver candelabra from the table behind them.
“Annie, what are you doing with-” Ben let out a panicked shout as he watched the Keeper raise the heavy metal object before slamming it hard onto his hand.
He flinched, and his vision went white for a heartbeat. The blonde woman frantically pulled and twisted his mangled digits as the young man struggled against the treatment before she paused with a frown.
“Master Jaste, if you would?” she asked the bronze-skinned Caster.
Ben watched with wide eyes as Kieran stood with a malicious grin of sharp teeth. “It would be my utmost pleasure, Miss Blackwood.”
“Wait!” the young man yelped as he watched Kieran point a finger at him.
“Bind,” he whispered, and a crimson ray shot forth from the digit to impact his chest.
Ben’s body stiffened, paralyzed by the spell. Ann met his gaze with slanted brows and mouthed indiscernible words as she repeatedly raised the candelabra and smashed his pulped hand. At some point during the ‘healing,’ Ben passed out. He awoke to the sounds of whimpering and the weight of a head shuddering on his chest.
“Pah, calm your tits, girl. Benny boy can handle a lot worse than that,” said Ainsle in a husky drawl.
“What…” Ben said, his mind was swimming. He flexed his fingers and found that his hand was completely back to normal, if a little raw and only slightly purple. “How long was I out?”
Ann sniffed as she whimpered, yet didn’t offer a reply.
“About a half a bell,” said June, voice muffled by the cot sheets —still lying face down where she had been earlier.
“Forgive me. I was lax in tending to your wounds and caused you unneeded suffering. I deserve punishment,” the Blonde Keeper said between sniffs. “Please. Punish me.” Her brows were slanted, and her soft blue eyes gazed into his pleadingly.
Ainsle let out a snort. “Well, at least we know what tickles her pickle.”
“Ann, no- what?” Ben paused and regarded the woman with eyes drawn in suspicion. “You didn’t do that on purpose, did you?”
The blonde woman gulped. “Of course not, my heart. Unless…” The latter, she muttered under her breath.
The shuffling of feet and the sound of wood rolling against the stone floor drew the party’s attention to the entrance of the medbay. Ethel had returned, pushing a cart laden with two large pitchers and an assortment of food, including several loaves of dried bread and unidentifiable strips of cured meat. She set the cart next to Ben and Ann and emptied the contents onto the empty table.
The young man watched as dirty, gnarled hands moved with deftness and efficiency. The old woman spoke as she worked. Her croaking drawl captured the attention of the motley band —even June, who reluctantly sat up on her cot— as if reciting a scripture long ago committed to memory.
“On the eve of the thousandth and third day, beneath a broken sky,
the ravenous one will come.
Lament, for he has sacrificed all.
The gnarled hand will twist and pervert the path,
and the Usurper would take his place.
Ruin has claimed the heavens through blood and patricide,
and lust for the land of men beckons her near.
Tempt not his wrath, for he is vengeance incarnate.
The Raven will guide his hand with wisdom and cunning,
while the Rat watches and listens from the shadows.
The Devil’s undying armies will rise and march in his name,
as the Dragon blackens the soil upon which his enemies walk.
Take heed, for he covets all.
Hark the coming of his Champions, three.
Hark the coming of his last Herald.
So it is written, and so it shall be.”
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