Book 8 Chapter 12

“You’re getting better,” Arta said with a light chuckle. “You almost hit me that time.”

“This is so unfair,” Elise said, her tone filled with whining. “I could hit you if you fought like a normal person!”

“What, if I wasn’t the Champion?” Arta asked. “Or maybe the fact I have a decade or two more experience than you? I’m older? Have--”

“Okay, fiiiiine,” Elise said before readying her sword again and then charging forward, swinging at him.

Joan felt a small moment of annoyance. Why was she seeing this? She didn’t need to know about Elise’s training. How was this--

“Just watch,” the fate said.

It wasn’t like she had much choice. Elise kept swinging and Arta parried his attacks away with ease. She was passable, at best. Maybe good for her age, not that Joan was any good at judging that. She wasn’t even coming close to hitting him, though. She’d have decades before she--

Then Arta faltered, went entirely still for a moment. Elise seemed to notice, striking in that moment and landing a blow across the side of his shoulder. Even if he wasn’t wearing padding like she was, Joan doubted it really hurt. The power he wielded was likely better than most armor.

Except his smile disappeared in a snarl and suddenly he stepped forward, bringing his training sword around to hit Elise’s side.

He was going to kill Elise.

Joan felt just a moment of worry when she watched that sword go at her. Even if it was dulled, at that speed and force the padding would be torn to pieces and the girl wouldn’t stand a chance. She--

There was a resounding clang in the room when the sword struck the Shield of the Chosen. How he had managed to get there so quickly, or how he had known there was danger, she couldn’t guess. But a moment later Arta pulled back with a look of pure contempt. Only to freeze and stare at Elise.

The girl had dropped her sword, staring at him with fear. Slowly the snarl on his face washed away and he reached a hand out towards her, only to pull it away. He then turned and ran.

Joan understood why the Chosen looked so concerned, though. The Hungry One was winning. She could see the pull on the Champion’s threads. For a moment they had won, corrupted Arta. Twisted everything that they meant.

“It was impossible for Elise to survive that,” the fate said. “If not for the Chosen. But that event was the final point before the choice was made.”

Joan felt another wave of anxiety flowing through her. Here it came.

------

“You can’t be serious,” Penthe said.

“I’m losing control,” Arta said. “You said it yourself. It was going to happen eventually, wasn’t it?”

“Even if you always have--”

“It gets quicker every time, doesn’t it?” Arta asked.

Penthe didn’t answer, but the silence spoke volume.

“How long until I can’t fight anymore?” Arta asked. “How long until I lose, entirely? What happens then?”

“We’ll find a way,” Penthe said.

“How?” Arta asked.

“There has to be some way to do this,” Penthe said. “We didn’t just--”

“The Hungry One is dead,” Arta said. “There’s just me now. If I’m gone, then it’s over.”

“What about its progeny?” Penthe asked. “Even if the Nameless One has turned out to be… less… destructive than some, others might not be so inclined. We need--”

“What if I end up siding with one of them?” Arta asked. “It sometimes takes all we have to stop them. Do you think the Chosen will be able to stop both of us if it comes to that?”

“That won’t happen,” Penthe said. “I won’t let it.”

“Neither will I,” Arta said. “There needs to be a new Champion.”

“Why her?” Penthe asked.

“Because I trust her,” Arta said. “Like it or not, she’s responsible for what happened with the Nameless One.”

“That’s debatable,” Penthe said.

“She’s got talent,” Arta said.

“She has a good teacher,” Penthe said. “That’s hardly talent.”

“She’ll do what’s right,” Arta said. “Even if it means standing in front of all of us.”

“She’s arrogant, cocky, proud,” Penthe said.

“And I’m not?” Arta asked with a cocked eye.

“You have reason to be,” Penthe said.

“So will she,” Arta said. “Listen, I’d love to say I’ll do it, like it or not. But we both know I can’t. Even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

Penthe gave another soft sigh. “She can’t. She’s only mortal.”

“We all are,” Arta said. “You, me, the Chosen. We’re gifted. But in the end, our souls are just that. Mortal.”

“I know that!” Penthe yelled, her fists clenching. “Do you think I don’t know that? What do you think will happen to you if you don’t have that power anymore? You’re already falling! Without that power, your soul will be torn apart! You’ll be little more than that thing’s puppet! You’ll--”

“If I don’t do it, I’ll eventually have the same thing happen,” Arta said. “Then I’ll be responsible for destroying this world. Please. You know this is true. You know what awaits me if I don’t. Besides, if I don’t have this power anymore, maybe I’ll never be reborn.”

“So, what, you’ll just cease to be?” Penthe asked.

“It’d be nice,” Arta said. “I’ll be honest, I can still feel that thing inside me. All the time. It would be nice to not have to always fight. To just be able to rest.”

“Arta,” Penthe said, shaking her head. “You can’t. Please. Don’t make us do this. It--”

“It’ll be okay,” Arta said. “She’ll be good. With you guiding her, I know she won’t fail.”

“Don’t ask us to abandon you,” Penthe said, tears starting to form in her eyes. “Don’t ask me to abandon you. You’re not… you’re…”

“I’m not asking you to abandon me,” Arta said. He gently reached out and gripped her shoulders before leaning forward and placing a small kiss on her forehead. “I’m asking you to fulfill my final wish while I can still make it. Please, little sister?”

Penthe glared up at him, the tears dripping down her face. “Don’t call me that…”

“Don’t tell me no,” Arta said. “Not on this. I’ll beg if I have to.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Penthe only glared more before giving a soft sigh. “Fine. Are you sure about this? It’ll kill you.”

“Eh, I’ve died before,” Arta said.

“Yeah, but you don’t remember any of those,” Penthe said.

“But you do,” Arta said.

“I only remember your victories,” Penthe said. “If I could remember your defeats, I’d have gone mad long ago.”

“You’ve always been a bit mad,” Arta said with a chuckle before the smile faded from his lips. “You will look after her, won’t you?”

“I will,” Penthe said. “I’ll figure this out. Just hold on a little longer. How…”

“Much time do I have?” Arta asked. “I don’t know. A few more months, likely? It’s getting worse. It’s…” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers, slouching slightly. For the first time Joan could see just how exhausted he was. “I’m just… so… tired… all the time. Every single time with it. The moment I slip up, just a little, it’s there. Calling to me. Demanding I do as it says. I’m just so, so, so tired of fighting all the time.”

“I know,” Penthe said softly. “Just hold on a little longer. I’ll… find a way. Then, well…”

“Yes?” Arta asked.

“We’ll find a way to save you,” Penthe said. “Somehow. I don’t care how long it takes. We didn’t fight this war just so you could die.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one who was going to save everyone?” Arta asked.

“I’m not going to save everyone,” Penthe said. “Just you.”

“One last thing?” Arta asked.

“What?” Penthe asked.

“Call me big brother, just this once,” Arta said in a teasing tone.

“What is it with you and that?” Penthe asked. “Every single life. After all of these lives together, how is that one of the few things that you’re consistent about?”

“Lucky, I guess?” Arta said with a shrug.

“Fine,” Penthe said. “Just this once. I’ll, somehow, figure out how to save you. Even if I have to kill you and bring you back a thousand times. Little brother.”

“HEY!” Arta said, glaring at her. “I said big brother!”

“I’m older than you,” Penthe said with a smirk.

“I was born first!” Arta said.

“Ah, but unlike you I have all those lifetimes,” Penthe said. “That makes me far older.”

“You may have memories but you don’t have experience,” Arta said.

Penthe paused for a moment before giving a soft sigh. “Those are the same thing, Arta.”

“And the fact you think that is why you’re still the little sister,” Arta said before taking her hand. “Come on, let’s go tell the Chosen.”

“You haven’t yet?” Penthe asked.

“Of course not,” Arta said. “That’s what I have you for. For some reason they don’t seem to trust my judgment half the time.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Penthe said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Elise is going to be heart broken when she figures out what you’re planning. She’s already lost one family.”

“She’ll be fine,” Arta said. “It’ll hurt, but she’s a lot stronger than she thinks. I mean, how many boons has she already earned from the Nameless One? Not many mortals can say that. But, ummm, one last thing?” He stopped for a moment, not looking at her.

“What?” Penthe asked, her tone slightly nervous.

“Don’t tell any of them about me,” Arta said.

“What?” Penthe asked.

“Until you have a solution,” Arta said. “Don’t tell them. Once they’re reborn, all of their memories go with them. If Elise takes over, she’s going to need the Chosen helping her every step of the way. But if they’re constantly second guessing her, they won’t be able to give her the support she’ll need. If she’s constantly undermining herself, trying to find some way to save me or… the threats you’ll all face don’t allow a lot of second guessing. She’ll need what confidence she can get.”

“Arta,” Penthe said softly. “None of them will want to forget you. They won’t agree with—”

“Then don’t tell them,” Arta said. “You’re the guide. You’re the only one who can do this. They’ll trust you. Please, for me. One last request.”

“There’s a lot of last requests these days,” Penthe said. “Fine. Until I have a solution, I won’t.”

“Thank you,” Arta said.

------

“Do you want to see the argument?” the fate asked. “It’s not really pivotal, but it is quite impressive. Lots of destroyed furniture. And a few walls.”

Joan shuddered and definitely didn’t want to. She could imagine how that argument had gone. It had explained so much, though. She finally understood. It was all chance, all random. All because a fate had decided to save her--

“Give you a chance to survive,” the fate said. “A small one. I had expected it to be so inconsequential. Trust me, nobody was quite as surprised to see the results as I was.”

Joan gave a soft sigh and sat down, trying to suppress a wave of melancholy. She then paused and glanced down at herself. She was back, it seemed.

“Does that answer your questions?” the fate asked.

“I think so,” Joan said. “It just feels so…”

“Yes?”

“Simple,” Joan said. “I was saved on a whim? That’s it? Then I just died a bunch of times? I figured it was more important than that.”

“Just because it was a whim doesn’t mean it was unimportant,” the fate said.

“I just, I don’t know,” Joan said with a shrug. “I guess a part of me hoped it was some grand master plan. That you had everything figured out and you’d, somehow, eventually let me know what I had to do.”

“If things worked like that then there wouldn’t be any use for you existing, now would there?” the fate asked. “If everything was already known and guaranteed, why would there need to even be mortals?”

“I don’t know,” Joan said with a shrug. “I guess I just… I thought you’d all have things more figured out than me. You’d know better than I did.”

“Oh Joan,” the fate said with a soft sigh. “That’s hardly a difficult task. I do not believe you know what you will do in five minutes, let alone in your future. But that’s part of what makes your thread so interesting. The impact it has on others is unpredictable.”

“Do you at least know if I’ll do any of this?” Joan asked.

“I merely know you will die,” the fate said. “That what you are trying, planning, is impossible.”

“Yet, somehow, there’s still a chance?” Joan asked.

“A chance you will try to achieve, yet,” the fate said. “But even if I said there wasn’t, would you allow that to stop you?”

“No,” Joan said with a soft groan. “What if I promise to never cut my thread again?”

“Oh, that won’t happen again,” the fate said with a light chuckle. “If you damage the tapestry like that once more you won’t need to worry about your future. You won’t have one.”

Joan felt a small chill go down her back. There was something about that threat that made her feel incredibly uneasy. “I’m sure there’s a thousand other questions I’ll think to ask you once I can’t, but there’s one I really want to ask you now. It’s kind of silly, though.”

“Yes? Go ahead?” the fate said.

“Do I always get my parents killed?” Joan asked.

“I’m sorry?” the fate asked.

“My parents,” Joan asked. “I got them killed back then, when I was Elise. If… Arta gave up his power for me, then he died then. When I was the Hero, my father died and my mother was… all but dead. Then as me, well… you know.”

“I’m afraid you’re not making much sense,” the fate said.

“I mean, they died when the hag took me I imagine, right? Because I chose to be an orphan?” Joan asked.

“Oh! No,” the fate said. “The hag only ensured you were separated from them.”

Joan blinked a few times as she considered those words. So she didn’t kill her parents, that was-- Wait a moment. “Wait, so they didn’t die then? How did they die?”

There was silence then.

“Well?” Joan asked. “How did they die?”

“Our time is at an end,” the fate said. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“I can’t leave now!” Joan yelled. “How did they die?” Her eyes went wide. “Are my parents alive?”

“Joan,” the fate said, any mirth or amusement now gone from her tone. “Stop.”

“But—”

“I cannot answer those questions,” the fate said.

“But I need to--”

“There will be a time for you to find the answers to those questions,” the fate said. “But they cannot come until after you’ve faced your current challenges.”

“But… but…” Joan said, struggling with the borderline tidal wave of emotions washing over her. “If they’re… if they’re alive… if I didn’t…”

“Consider seeking those answers another reason to stay alive,” the fate said. “But for now, goodbye.”

“But—”

Joan never received an answer, however. Instead, she found herself once more sitting in front of the fire, besides the Chosen.

A moment later she let out a scream of frustration. WHY! COULD! NOTHING! EVER! GIVE! HER! A! STRAIGHT! ANSWER?!