Atissa didn’t know how much time had passed. Had she been unconscious?

I might have been, she thought. Focusing was hard. Her thoughts seemed to drift off constantly. How long had she been lying here, doing this?

Trying to mobilize all her will, she concentrated on her body. It felt like she wasn’t in control over it. Like her mind was swimming in her body, only loosely connected, randomly receiving something from her senses.

Over time – she didn’t know how long – the feeling became weaker. She noticed because she started to feel pain. Most of it came from her arms which seemed to be bound together behind her back.

She was lying on her side, her cheek pressed against a wooden floor. Was that the lake she smelled?

She tried to focus on moving her arms and legs to change her position. It didn’t work. She couldn’t rally enough control over her body. I wish it was more uncomfortable.

Wasn’t that a strange thought? She stopped herself in time before her mind followed up on the question. It would take too much time to will herself back.

More discomfort. How could she get it? She tried to think of things that had made her uncomfortable recently.

A stray memory of training with Mark and Jenos appeared in her mind. Mark always told her to tug on her chin. That was important. Mark had listed many reasons why. He liked to be thorough.

But which reason was important now? Why had she remembered that particular moment?

Atissa clenched her jaw, trying to focus harder. And then she remembered.

She relaxed her jaw and opened her teeth just enough to suck in the inside of her cheek. Then she bit down. Hard.

Sharp pain flooded her senses. And with the pain came clarity.

Atissa could feel her cheek. The pressure of the floor against her face, her arm twisted under her, and the taste of blood in her mouth.

She slowly relaxed her bite. Fresh and different pain radiated from her mouth when the teeth pulled out of the wounds they had just forced into the soft flesh.

She tried to ignore it as best as she could. Lifting her head, she focused on her surroundings and her eyes met Hermistos’.

He was watching her with curiosity. Sitting upright, he was leaning against something, his hands bound in front of him.

While she thought about what to ask first, the drowsy feeling began to return. The pain had pushed it down, but it was already creeping back. She could feel it slowly flooding her mind again.

Without giving herself time to think – to hesitate - Atissa bit into her other cheek. Deeper and harder than the first time. It hurt a lot. She held on anyway, letting the pain push back the drowsiness. All the way back.

“Mh!”

It was a short scream, forcing blood and spittle through closed lips. She breathed hard, closing her eyes. Her mouth pulsed with pain, and she leaned into it. Tears ran down her face, adding to the wetness of the blood.

That’s good, she thought. I did good.

That was what Mark would have said. And uncle Tatros. She was sure of it.

Feeling the tiny drops of salty water running down her cheeks meant she had regained consciousness. Her senses.

“What by the underworld, are you doing?”

Opening her eyes Atissa saw Hermistos frowning down at her. His head tilted, and he seemed almost concerned.

Her first attempt to speak failed. All she produced was a bubbling mumble. She had to spit out more blood to clear her mouth.

Hermistos groaned. “That is disgusting. The great sage would be nauseated.”

That was probably true. Mark hated dirty and disorderly things. Atissa was sometimes surprised about the extent of it. It made her wonder what the place he came from was like. Not now, she chided herself.

“’here ‘re we?” she mumbled.

“Where are we?” Hermistos said. “We are on a ship.”

“’hat?”

“Ah, for father’s sake,” Hermistos said, rolling his eyes. “We are on a trading vessel in the harbor. The old hag had us brought here. She did not confide in me, but I assume we will be off sailing south to one of the harbor cities controlled by Saggab soon.”

Atissa’s hands were tied together. So were her feet. Still weakened by whatever mistress Bel’Sara had thrown at her, she had a hard time even turning her body.

After several failed attempts to get on her knees, she finally decided to use her head. Planting it against the wooden floor and pushing was uncomfortable but it worked. She shuffled around on her knees until she faced Hermistos again.

“I would hand you something to clean your face but…,” He lazily lifted his bound hands.

Atissa blew some hair out of her eyes. Her bandana had gotten loose at some point. Then she looked around for the first time.

It was dark. The only light came from gaps between the planks above them and there weren’t that many of them. In the sparse light, Atissa couldn’t make out much. There were some crates, large jars, and amphoras. All were secured with rope.

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“There is a hatch,” Hermistos said, pointing with his head. “It is the only way up.”

“We aren’t moving?” Atissa asked. She’d recently spent a lot of time on the water, but a ship might feel different from their small boat.

“No,” Hermistos said. “There was some commotion when they brought us on board. Mistress Bel’Sara wanted to cast off right away, but the proprietor is still waiting for some goods.” He shrugged. “It cannot be long now.”

Atissa's thoughts raced. Was there a chance that Mark would notice that they were missing? The council was supposed to go on for most of the day.

She shook her head. She couldn’t always rely on him to help her. This time she had to find her own way out.

“They bound your hands in front of you,” she said, realizing the fact only now. Her mind still wasn’t working properly.

“They did not expect much from me,” Hermistos said, lifting his arms. Below, Atissa could see that his torso had been bound tied to the wooden pillar he leaned against. The rope had been wrapped around half a dozen times but it neither prohibited the movements of his arms nor his legs.

Hermistos saw her frown. “Look closer.” He lifted his arms a bit more.

Different types of talismans had been bound to the rope. Shape, color, and materials differed wildly. There was a finger-long rectangle carved from bone, several wooden shapes, and a green stone. They showed different types of symbols, none of which Atissa recognized.

“That is a binding,” Hermistos said. “Several in fact. In my current state, I cannot do anything against it.” Atissa could hear the irritation in his voice.

“Can’t you rip them off?”

His eyes narrowed. “As I said, I am bound. It goes beyond what you can see. I am actually surprised the old hag did not try to gag me.” His resentment was evident.

“I could try to rip them off with my teeth,” Atissa said.

Hermistos looked at her sideways. “Maybe, but you will likely trigger a curse. And the sage would know. This is a very intricate magic.”

Frustration and despair welled up in Atissa. There had to be something she could do. She looked around again.

Her mouth hurt. The pain was distracting her when she wasn’t moving.

While her eyes wandered over the cargo, they fell on the amphoras stored to the side. It is worth a try, she thought. She had to do something.

At first, she tried to rob forwards on her knees. The rope around her legs kept her from making wide movements and her progress was slow and awkward. After almost falling over a couple of times she finally gave up. She let herself fall to the side and rolled below the standing clay vessels.

In the dark, they looked thick and solid.

Atissa circled around on her butt until her feet faced one of the vessels. She pulled in her legs and kicked out with all her strength.

The clay didn’t budge. Instead, Atissa was pushed away. She scooted back and tried again but achieved the same result. After the third failed attempt to break the amphora, she switched to short kicks, hoping to slowly build up damage.

After a couple of minutes, she had to take a break. By then her feet had joined the list of hurting body parts.

“This is not working very well,” Hermistos said dryly.

Atissa cranked her neck to meet his eyes. “Do you have a better idea?”

“None whatsoever.”

Atissa kicked the vessel another dozen times before giving up, exhausted. Ignoring the discomfort in her arms, she let herself fall back, staring at the ceiling.

“I wish I had already made a choice,” she whispered to herself.

“Hm?”

“I said”, Atissa said, in a low voice, “I wish, I’d already chosen a god. A patron.”

“I am fascinated by Mark’s idea of choosing a god to serve based on convenience,” Hermistos said.

Atissa rolled herself back on her side to take the pressure off her arms. “Do you think it’s wrong?”

“No,” Hermistos said, smiling. “People choose gods to pray to based on their needs all the time. I have just never heard of a hero doing it. It goes against how fate is facilitated. It’s beautiful.”

Atissa didn’t share her friend’s enthusiasm. This was her life after all. She’d always wished to leave the Half-Moon Valley. But not like this. Not with uncle Tatros still there and in danger.

“Mark wanted me to make the best choice,” she said. “But right now I guess any god would do.”

“Any god would do!” Hermistos barely suppressed his laughter. “I am sure any god would be charmed by that mentality.”

Atissa felt herself getting angry. About to be taken far away from everybody she wanted to help, she didn’t have patience for Hermistos' strange sense of humor. “I would take it seriously, you know,” she snapped.

Hermistos laughter stopped. “What do you mean?” he asked, studying her from across the room.

“I mean, I would serve him,” Atissa said. “Or her. I know if a god supports you, you must uphold his…values and such. I would take that seriously.”

Hermistos nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, you would. You are a very earnest person. Thankfully, you ran into Mark and me.” Then his expression changed.

Atissa could see that he’d had a thought, he was now contemplating. “What?”

“How about…I become your patron?” Hermistos asked slowly, his eyebrows raised in expectation.

Atissa stared at him with an open mouth. “You?”

“Yes. I.”

“You’re a god?”

Hermistos shrugged. “Kind of. Most of the time.”

“Which one?” She asked, not at all convinced.

“Can’t say,” Hermistos said. “Believe me, we would be in more trouble than we already are. The whole city would be.”

“…I don’t believe you. I’m sorry.”

“You cannot call somebody a liar and then just apologize,” Hermistos said.

Atissa just looked at him. What was he up to? She remembered fleeing from the Assanaten archers. She’d always wanted to ask Hermistos what he’d done back then. But he’d never brought it up, and she didn’t want to pry. She’d assumed that Hermistos was some kind of magus himself.

“How about this”, Hermistos said, “I swear that I am a god, and you pledge yourself to me. If nothing happens, you haven't lost anything.” He looked at her expectantly.

Atissa’s eyes narrowed. “But what if this is a trick…”

“Are you afraid I am a demon?” he asked. “This is getting insulting now.”

Atissa considered her moping friend. Hermistos was a strange character and she knew almost nothing about him. But the same is true for Mark, she thought. She hadn’t known them for long, but she’d seen both of them risk their lives for others. For her. Hermistos had fallen unconscious for days after he’d protected them from the arrows. “Ok.”

“Hm?”

“Ok,” she said. “I trust you.”

Hermistos stared at her. There was an expression of confusion on his face. As if he’d trouble understanding what she’d said. “I thought you think I am a liar?”

“Yes, but I still trust you,” Atissa said. “What do we need to do?”

He hesitated. “Ah…I am not sure.”

“Is this your first time?” she said.

“Well…yes.” Hermistos seemed to be embarrassed but tried to hide it.

“Have you ever seen others do it?”

“No,” he said. “Well, from afar. I was younger at the time and didn’t really care.”

“Why did you suggest it if you don’t know how to do it properly?” Atissa asked. She felt time running out. The ship might cast off at any moment.

“Hey, I don’t see you having any better offers right now,” Hermistos snapped. “We can figure this out.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

Atissa sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m afraid. How about you just ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

“Atissa, would you like to be my champion,” Atissa said. “Or something like that.”

Hermistos' left eyebrow rose. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It seems to lack…flair. In the legends, when a god gives his help to a hero, the moment is always more…legendary.”

“We can’t ask mistress Bel’Sara how to do it properly, can we? Let’s just try it.” Atissa was losing her patience. She hated to feel helpless. During the endless days of learning and waiting, a lot of frustration had built up. Being tied up, about to be taken far away from her friends and uncle Tatros, was pushing her over the edge. She wanted to scream out her frustration and pain.

“Ok. I…”, he mumbled something under his breath, “the god of…,” more mumbling, “offer you, Atissa…of the Half-Moon Valley, my patronage. Go forth and spread my glory.” He looked at her expectantly.

How am I supposed to do that if I don’t know your real name? Atissa thought.

“…ok…I accept?”

Hermistos looked a bit disappointed by her answer, but he nodded.

They waited.

Atissa didn’t feel any difference. “Did you do it already?”