Page 3 of Fate

Night falls fully over Athos, darkness engulfing the farm terrace, all vestiges of light swallowed. The Speaker left a while ago, after I convinced them I would be fine getting down the hillside. After all, I spent most of my twenty-odd years up in the hillside. A shiver takes hold again, my body shaking uncontrollably.

Something grabs my attention up toward the opposite hillside that encircles the farm. It takes a moment of squinting in the dark, but then I see it; a swirling, encroaching bank of fog. Fog in Athos is not uncommon, but it never comes during harvest season.

Not wanting a second run in with a goddess, I rise from my pensive perch, brushing away the dust from my tunic. It’s already late and Porto will undoubtedly take his frustrations out on me tomorrow. With reckless speed, I race down the hillside toward the field, my slender body shifting between the rocks, muscle memory of every outcropping etched into my bones.

Reaching the field, I break into an all-out sprint; outrunning my worries, for the moment. The fog settles downward cooling the air, filling my lungs with renewed vigor. Within little time, the race against my thoughts ends at the edge of the field and Porto’s residence, my “home”. A fleeting victory.

Puffs of air form through my exhales, heated breath mixing with the preternatural fog. The wooden patio creaks slightly under my steps as I make for the door. Porto is one of the wealthiest people in Athos, yet hauling carved stone up to the farm terrace is an expensive proposition and since he insisted on living next to his property, wood is the only viable option.

Unlacing my sandals and wrapping the leathers around my hands, I ease through the door and down the main hallway to my small room at the back of the house. It’s big enough for me to lay out and store what meager possessions I have, but not much more. Porto may have taken me in as an adopted son, but he treats me as more of a burden.

A low grumble from my stomach steals the silence of the home. The olive bread was a wonderful yet paltry meal. It’s too late to cook anything since Porto would hear and that’s the last thing I want. Maybe I can convince him to let me cook a celebration meal tomorrow for the harvest.

Collapsing onto the makeshift bed, weariness finally catches up. Blissfully, sweet darkness covers my vision, the promise of a temporary respite.

***

Moonlight, as beautiful as the sun, caresses my face. Blinking, my eyes open only to see that I am standing on water, slow ripples pulsing from my feet out into the far edges of sight. A gloriously full moon dominates the sky as I struggle to comprehend what I am seeing. Before I can begin to grasp this new reality, a presence stirs behind me and I turn with trepidation.

Femininity radiates from every facet of the woman before me. She stands several inches taller than I, long black hair curled and falling around her shoulders, just long enough to cover her bare chest. Delicately thin silver jewelry weaves its way around her arms and toned stomach, disappearing beneath a shimmering elegant skirt of deep blue, a silver circlet with a full moon adorning her head.

Despite her infinite beauty, it’s her power that hitches breath in my throat. The silver glow from her eyes, the authority coursing through her body. The expectation that all bow before her. This is the goddess I saw. A small, confident smile appears on her face as though knowing my thoughts.

“Skion.” Her voice washes over me, her tenor light and musical, sending a different kind of shiver through my body. She steps forward, ripples from her feet meeting mine. I swallow, looking up at her, our closeness causing my heart to beat faster.

“I am Lunos.” The moon shines brighter, echoing the light in her eyes. “Do you know of me?”

I nod, swallowing to find my voice. “Goddess of the upper pantheon, Lunos. The moonlight goddess, the enchantress, the weaver of magic.”

A slight curve appears at either end of Lunos's mouth, pleased at my knowledge. This is one of the more mysterious, yet powerful members of the upper pantheon of gods. She reaches out a silver entwined hand and brushes the side of my face sending another shiver down my spine.

“I wish we had more time, but know that I will protect you. I will guide you. I will help you become who you are meant to be.” She pauses slightly at the end, her words full of portent. “You are my chosen one.” Slowly, she trails her hand down my cheek, my eyes fluttering in surprise at the smoothness of her skin. Her index finger traces along the front of my throat before slowly wrapping her hand around my neck, glowing eyes never wavering from mine. Lunos softly squeezes, warmth flooding my body, my cheeks turning a shade of crimson.

Silvery tendrils—threads—of power lift off her arm, weaving an intricate dance around my head, an elegant pattern emerging, encircling, and enticing. A small flash of power, and the silver threads tighten, etching themselves into my throat. Heat rips the breath from my body, yet the pain leaves almost as quickly as it came. Withdrawing her hand and stepping back, Lunos nods in satisfaction.

As I reach a hand up to feel my throat, Lunos stretches one arm out to her side and a solid white staff emerges from the depths of the water. Delicate carvings swirl along the length, surging upward into a layered, latticed cube at the top. Her hand curls lovingly around the staff, just as it had my throat. She looks at me, silver eyes unreadable.

“As I said, we have little time. Your journey is just beginning Skion. Follow your heart, follow the spear, and come find me. I need your power for the war.” Lunos raises her staff high only to slam it down against the surface of the water, shooting me out of the moonlight into the dark abyss.

CHAPTER THREE

I LURCH FORWARD, breathing labored like a blacksmith’s bellows, body drenched in sweat. The room comes into focus, moonlight from the tiny wooden window illuminating the small space I call mine.

Hand trembling with uncertainty, I explore my throat, testing if the dream was more than that. Fingertips cautiously, fearfully brush my skin. My breath catches in my throat. I explore more, tracing the delicate pattern etched into me. My skin is slick from sweat, but no sign of trauma or a fresh wound. Whatever Lunos did to me, it seems at least that I don’t have to recover from it.

Chosen. That word echoes in my mind again as I calm my breathing. Chosen by Lunos. My hand remains on my throat, cheeks warming in memory. What could a being such as her want with me?

The odor of smoke itches at my nose and all thoughts of my encounter flee to the back of my mind. Rushing, I lace my sandals and throw on my tunic. For once I’m not caught up on emotions as I do. Running out of my room, the smell is still weak, likely meaning the fire is outside. The door to Porto's room slams open as he stumbles out, struggling to throw on his own clothes.

I run to the front door and throw it wide open. Shock thunders through my body as I look out over the fields. Flames, ravenous and full of finality, tear through the bundles of wheat, smoke billowing upward into the night. Porto shoves past me and immediately collapses, his future burning away before his eyes. There’s not enough time to get help; the fire is too far into the field.

Stepping past a crushed Porto, I take in the whole scene. Fire is spreading across the field toward the home which meant it had likely started on the opposite side. Odd.

The opposite side of the field from Porto's home is the rocky hillside; nothing should have caught aflame over there, especially in the cool of the night. Fear screams in my head, urging action.

I run along the pathway leading away from the fields and to the housing terrace, ignoring all exhaustion. Sliding to a halt, primal terror bites deep into my bones. Athos is engulfed in fire and ash. Every terrace spews flames outward and upward, a macabre dance of light and smoke.

Hurrying down the path, the clamor of screaming voices and roar of the fires increase with every rushed step. I may not care about Athos that much, but for better or worse, it’s my home and no one, not even Porto, deserves to die in a fire.