“Etheldreda?” asked Ben. He shifted on the bench to face his Keeper, the question echoing in the large communal quarters once occupied by Acolytes of Illephrre. Or a cattle pen for strays waiting to be consumed by the Betrayer Goddess, Nachannu, he thought. Ann met his gaze; her posture spoke of hesitance as her shoulder turned away from him ever so slightly. He turned his attention to the gnarled old woman who stood eerily motionless before him. “What is this supposed to mean? Am I supposed to believe whatever you say?”
“Your belief in my admission is not required,” the First Keeper croaked. “What matters is that you heed my words. Much has been lost due to your negligence.” She paused for a moment. A thoughtful tilt of her head and a pursing of wrinkled lips later, she spoke: “But it can be salvaged. You can still realign-”
Ben frowned, and heat began to flush his cheeks. “Hold on,” he interrupted. “If you’re going to go on about how I can be a better ‘Candidate’ for your prophecy, you can save your breath.” He exhaled slowly as he tried to rein in his aggressive impulses before glaring at the old woman. “My friend is dead thanks to this shit. The only reason we’re here is to try and break Ann out of this, this… whatever grip these people have on her.”
The blonde-haired woman let out a muffled gasp, and Ben winced. He had intended to talk to her about their true purpose of traveling to the temple, yet the opportunity hadn’t presented itself. That’s a lie, he told himself. Ann sat with wide eyes, hands clasped over her mouth. She lowered her palms to speak but raised them abruptly as he turned to her again.
“Annie, look. This might not be the best time to talk about it,” Ben clenched his jaw in frustration, knowing full well that he was the orchestrator of his mess.
“It was inevitable, girl,” interjected Ethel. “The Speaker has twisted your mind and memories to make you the instrument that you are.”
“No, that’s not-” Ann said, her voice trembling, before the old woman interrupted.
“Nonsense. Lies, half-truths, and indoctrination. Perhaps I made a mistake with you. The Lord knows I’ve made many mistakes.” Ethel sighed and faced Ben with a grimace, her milky-white eyes staring into his. “But you, unfortunately, have been chosen by Him, whether we like it or not.”
“Say your piece then,” Ben said quietly. His eyes didn’t leave Ethel’s sightless gaze as he reached over to hold Ann’s hand. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. All this talk about fate and prophecy, and still, I have no clue about what’s going on.”
The gnarled old woman’s lips twitched into what Ben thought was a smirk. “So many similarities to her, and so many threads fraying as they are wont to do.”
“Sister Ethel,” Ann spoke up. Her voice strained as her brows furrowed in what appeared to be confusion. “I can’t… I feel lost. Is it true?”
Ethel’s expression softened at the words. “Yes, girl. They’ve changed you. Broken you. And the boy thinks that slaughtering his way to the Speaker will somehow undo the damage you’ve suffered.” She paused and raised a hand to stem a question from the young man. “He’s partly correct. The Speaker has to be dealt with, however,” she looked toward Ben once more. “Your blade will have no effect on her. She is, after all, a Champion of Nachannu. Wielder of the Avatar of Ruin.”
A subtle hum began to grow in his chest. Significantly more muted than the tremors he had felt in the past when hearing the Betrayer Goddess’ name mentioned. He frowned and placed a hand on the source of the vibration, closing his eyes for a heartbeat to try and focus on the feeling. Nothing. He opened his eyes and nodded to himself.
“How do I kill her?” he said simply.
The old woman’s mouth curled into a dangerous grin. “Good.” Ethel turned on her heel and motioned for the pair to follow. “Come,” she said. “I do not have much time, and this is not the place to speak of what you ask.”
Ben turned to his Keeper and met her eyes, brows raised questioningly. Ann hesitated for a moment —her shoulders raised, trembling— before she dipped her head and stood. The pair followed the old woman out of the common area, through the winding passageways, and back to the narthex. Ethel wordlessly led them through the same archway she had used to take Ben to the dusty, derelict living quarters. The hallway was dark. So much so that Ben could barely make out the silhouette of the old woman in front of him, and, much to his surprise, Ann had bumped into him several times during the walk.
“Sorry,” the blonde woman said. “This passageway was one of a few forbidden to Acolytes… When I became a Priestess and eventually a Keeper, I was kept in the inner sanctum, so my curiosity of places such as these went unsated.”
“You really spent ten years locked in a room?” he asked, voice raised.
Ann was silent for a moment before she cleared her throat, her hand on his shoulder. “Well, no. My chambers and the Speaker’s chancel.”
Ben gritted his teeth and nodded, unaware of whether or not his Keeper noticed the gesture. They continued silently and descended the dusty stairway to the restricted living quarters.
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Upon their arrival, Ben instinctively glanced up toward the ceiling at the glowing runes before averting his gaze immediately, unwilling to make the same mistake again.
Ethel gestured for Ann and Ben to sit on the moth-eaten bed as she pulled an old wooden chair, its legs screeching against the stone, to sit before them.
“First,” the blind woman said as she held a finger. “Know that what I tell you will irrevocably unravel the threads of fate that lead to the salvation of this land,” she said in a low, creaking voice. Ethel paused and closed her eyes. “I cannot see them anymore, as this one has the gift now, but I know we have strayed far from the pre-ordained route. You will need to… improvise. Carve a new path for yourself.” She opened her eyes and fixed Ben with a stare. Her face was impassive as she lifted a second finger. “Second, there will be a price for this knowledge. One that I believe you may be reluctant to accept —as she was— yet it is what I offer.”
Ben considered the old woman’s words and weighed the possible outcomes of the exchange. He frowned as he recalled his meeting with the fragment of Deidre and tilted his head, eyes drawn. “You know,” he began as he laced his fingers together on his lap. “I spoke with the First Herald, well, a piece of her soul, and she didn’t mention you at all. How do I know that you are who you say you are?”
The question seemed to hit a nerve as Ben watched the usually composed old Priestess shudder slightly at his words.
Ethel hesitated for a beat. Her lips pursed, and her sightless eyes became unfocused. “She wouldn’t have. It was the first of my two Sacrifices that pushed her away from me.” Her gaze met Ben’s. “If you want proof, I have nothing to give. Either take my word as is or continue to flail about, impotently, in the dark.”
Ben grunted. “Fine. What is the price?”
“In three summers from now, there will be a conflict that will determine the fate of Aetheria. Swear that you will fight. That you will stand against Nachannu’s Champions. For only the Champion of Domination can sway the tide.”
Ben’s frown vanished, and he stared at the old woman, face devoid of emotion. “I figured-”
“Until that time,” she continued, unbothered by his interruption. “Spend your days as you wish. Pursue strength, or don’t. Seek out the Champions of the Betrayer Goddess, or ignore their existence until the day of reckoning. The choice is yours, but I require the Oath that you will fight when the time comes.”
Silence. Ben turned to his Keeper, who sat quietly beside him, face contorted into a scowl, eyes closed as if grappling with her own revelations. He breathed in deeply and thought of his companions. He needed to free Ann from the clutches of the Speakers, and Ethel promised the solution to do exactly that. Ainsle, Kieran, and even June —their smiles, their tears, and the growing connection they shared. Are they worth the cost?
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll fight,” —for them, the latter he swore silently to himself.
A subtle ringing in his ears drowned out the distant thunder and rattling stained-glass window in the dilapidated chamber. He felt an icy finger trace an indecipherable symbol on his back, real or imagined; he could not tell as he shivered.
“An Oath sworn,” croaked Ethel. “Now, receive your boon.”
The familiar abstract shift within his being calmed him. Ben felt his shoulders relax involuntarily. The uncanny serenity he experienced screamed at his logical mind, yet he found himself giving in to the feeling.
“The First Herald was one of the first Spell Casters to walk the land. Her magic was born of a keen mind and an alternative approach to the problem that was the Tears in the Weave. She learned to harness its power methodically —almost artistically. She wrote upon creation the first structured matrices and the world remembered. It remembers to this day. Before her time, magic was a wild thing, untamed. She was the first true Master of magic.”
Ben nodded before stopping himself. The depiction of Dee as a Caster was strange, as he had thought the woman to be more martially inclined. “When I met her, she didn’t use magic,” he said thoughtfully.
Ethel sniffed and appeared to be annoyed by the interruption. “That’s because you met her in your domain. I know because we trained there together as well. The weave cannot be accessed within one’s self, for to do so would be destructive for the fragment of divinity that it is comprised of.” She fixed Ben with a glare. “Quiet now,” she admonished before continuing. “As was ordained, the Herald faced many conflicts with her Keeper at her side, some of which were nearly insurmountable with arcane ability alone. An encounter with a Champion of the Betrayer saw her nearly lose everything. Her life, the lives of all who walk the land.”
Ann opened her eyes and took Ben’s hand in her own.
The old woman shifted in her seat. “It was then that she discovered her second concept and began training alongside another Wielder of the Lord’s fragments. Her second companion, the Champion of Vengeance.”
Ben’s throat tightened. The similarities in the retelling of the First Herald’s encounters and his own were uncanny —though different enough that he was left with more questions than answers. “What is it? The concept,” he asked.
“One that aids in learning, in dominion over others by gaining insight and control of oneself —body and mind. One that you will need to face the Champion of Ruin, for the battle that awaits you cannot be fought in the way you have until now.” Ethel leaned closer. “It will be a contest of will.”
“Tell me the name,” Ben tried, yet the words came out in a whisper.
Ethel leaned even closer, yet the young man didn’t move. She reached into her white robes and revealed an old, tattered journal of some sort. “Take this. It was her first Journal…” she trailed off to a pause. “I will leave now, but not before I satisfy my side of the bargain. The third and final Sacrifice.”
Her forehead touched his, and Ben’s vision burst into a blinding white light.
He stood in the clearing in the forest once more; the jagged obsidian fingers reached toward an indigo sky of two suns —one red and one blue. The young form of Ethel stood before him, with neatly braided brown hair and piercing brown eyes.
“I see the beginnings of understanding within you. The concept is there, but you have yet to grasp it. To claim its power as your own,” said the First Keeper.
“Then teach me.”
“I don’t have to. A little nudge will suffice.” Etheldreda walked toward Ben and placed her hands on his temple. She pulled his head down toward her and lightly kissed his forehead.
Ben blinked, and the woman was gone. In her absence, a warm memory, foreign yet not so much so, bloomed within the back of his mind. Understanding filled his being, and the contentment of being whole was like the comforting embrace of an old friend.
“I see,” he said aloud. The Champion of Domination closed his eyes and spoke the word without sound:
“Mastery,”