Page 2 of Fate

I fish a copper out, my tiny pouch shrinking even more, and slide it gently along the counter. “I'll take a half loaf of olive bread if you have it.” Menna picks up the copper and saunters over to a section of the counter where the special breads sat. Normally, one copper would get a full loaf of bread but olives are harder to come by in Athos and well worth the price; at least that’s what my stomach thinks.

Menna returns with a full loaf and smiles as she hands it to me, with a wink and a finger to her lips. The loaf is still warm from the oven and smells incredible.

“Are you busy later? I’d like to see you again. And—” Menna blushes and looks away before continuing, “I want to talk about the other night. I don’t like how things went and I want to figure it out.” Oh. That’s not what I expected. Heat rises up my neck, but whether in shame or a searing hope of understanding, I don’t know.

“Maybe tomorrow?” Menna’s face begins to fall, urging me on. “I have to see the Speaker today and I don’t know how long that will take. I’d…like to talk about things too.” It’s hard to meet her hopeful eyes. There’s truth in the fear, truth in the unknown.

“Tomorrow then.” Eyes bright, she turns and walks back to the oven to tend her final loaves of the day. Quickly, I slip out a second copper and lay it quietly on the countertop before heading to the door. History or not, kindness is something I’ve always struggled to accept.

***

Munching on my delicious treasure, I move swiftly to the center of the terrace where the Speaker's house is. They are one of the few who live on the business terrace, but according to them, it allows for a cleaner separation with the rest of the populace. Speakers are among but apart, urban hermits at the core of every village’s spirituality.

Supposedly, towns and cities don’t have dedicated Speakers but temples of the gods welcome all traveling Speakers. They are the voices of the dual pantheons to the rural folk. A bastion of knowledge, both physical and godly; knowledge I desperately need.

Rounding the corner of the blacksmith, I see the Speaker's house. A circular stone building surrounded by finely kept shrubs, one of the Speaker's hobbies. Sure enough, there they are, carefully cutting a hedge. The Speaker has seen around forty or so winters, but their age doesn’t show. A tight bun of black hair striped with grey keeps the hair from their face as they work, a loose and flowy robe cooling from the heat. I rip off half of the remaining bread and raise it in offering. With a slow nod, they accept the bread and grab it.

“Well, to what do I owe this generosity to?” They turn to open the door and lead me inside. “Especially from a non-believer such as yourself.” I wince as I follow, my eyes adjusting to the limited light inside, taking the offered seat on the cushioned floor. It’s a well-known fact that I do not believe in the gods. When you're scratching a living off of a mountainside wrestling with who you are, it's hard to believe in higher powers. At least, it used to be. As if sensing my thoughts, the Speaker sits across from me and nibbles at the olive bread, a few crumbs falling to the floor.

“Tell me what brings you here and, tell me what you saw.” My mouth creases; Speaker indeed.

I share my experience of seeing the woman in the fields, the power she possessed, the way she looked at me, and every detail I can remember. In between bites of bread, the Speaker asks questions. Was she holding anything, did she speak at all, what color were her eyes, and so on.

Silence settles upon us as my tale comes to an end along with their questions. In the low and fading light, the Speaker’s face twists painfully. The look you give a lame oxen needing to be killed.

“Skion, you have been chosen.”

CHAPTER TWO

CHOSEN. THAT WORD seeps into every corner of the Speaker’s home, portents as heavy as the silence that followed. Without warning, the Speaker stands and gestures to follow them. A soft hand grabs a gnarled walking staff on the way out, a symbol of their office.

Dusk fully encompasses the village; a few torches and braziers being lit by the night watch along the path. Soft firelight radiates from homes as the Speaker leads me up the path. Our soft and steady footfalls provide a monotonous backdrop for the thoughts swirling in my mind.

Chosen. Chosen for what? For whom? I’m no one special; just some orphan in the middle of nowhere. A nobody. Though, would it be bad to be chosen? Perhaps my fate has something else in store than becoming a wilting flower in a forgotten land.

I barely notice the Speaker stopping, breathing evenly despite the ascent. I step to the side, dust kicking up, glinting in the final rays of light as we crest the top of the valley. Reality blinking back into existence, I realize that we’ve made it back to the farm terrace.

“Take me to where you saw her Skion.”

I exhale a stale breath I did not realize I was holding. Taking the lead, we make our way through the now empty fields, bales of wheat bound and ready to be carried down to the other terraces. I lead the Speaker to my rock and the site of my divine visit. We perch comfortably on the rock, and quietly wait.

Twilight fades, the night falling around us like a soothing blanket. The Speaker lifts their staff, whispering a string of unintelligible words; flowing freely, chimes in the dark. A faint, warm glow radiates from the gnarled head casting enough light for us to see each other clearly in the growing dark. I gasp audibly; it’s one thing to hear about a Speaker’s abilities, but it is quite different seeing them in person.

“I wanted to have this conversation here, without possible interruption.” I swallow the lump in my throat, the shock of seeing their power pushed to the side as I focus on the Speaker’s words. They gesture toward the fields with their staff, the glow shifting and dancing across the hillside.

“This is Athos. I know Porto is trying to change things, but Athos has always been a simple place.” I nod, waiting to see where this is headed. “I also know, you have never been satisfied with your life here. Especially after learning about your parent’s deaths.” I nod again; it’s no secret in the village that I want something more than toiling away for scraps in a backwater village, for the man who took me in. The Speaker shifts, looking directly into my eyes.

“The gods of the pantheons don’t appear randomly; regardless of which pantheon they belong to. You were chosen by that goddess.” They raise a hand, quelling my immediate question. “I do not know why or whom. But why would a goddess visit Athos? Why reveal themselves to only one person?” The Speaker shakes their head, wry half-smile on their face, dimly lit in the warm glow of their staff.

“What do I do?” The Speaker shrugs at my question, fear threading across their face once again.

“Gods are fickle, flawed, and extremely powerful.” The Speaker pauses, casting a sidelong glance at me before continuing. “There are a few goddesses that you could have seen. I’ll need some time to perform a few divinations before I know for sure.” Lines crease around their lips. There is more to it than uncertainty.

“…but?” They might be our Speaker, but I need clarity. I need as much as I can get. With a mild shake of their head the Speaker exhales.

“It could be a minor deity, but generally they don’t have enough power to manifest in such a physical way.” The Speaker puts a hand on my shoulder and gently squeezes. “It is likely you were visited by one of the upper pantheon. They are the most powerful. You must take care Skion.” An icy finger touches my spine, and shivers roll through my body.

***