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.
***
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.