Linarra woke to a cold, slate gray day with drizzling rain and fog. Veshier had leaned her against a low, stone wall and slept beside her, his back against the wall too. Sometime in the night, she’d leaned against him too and now, she froze still.

Instead of thinking of the previous evening, she thought of the bond and the rumors surrounding it. It was an old tradition. The first to have a Guardian was Ishahn herself, though he had never been named. In the stone tablets written by the Prophet, her Guardian’s name had been scratched out, defaced. High Priestess Liriel said that it was to show the subservient nature of the Guardian. He was to lose himself and his identity in protecting the vessel of the Mother, his Priestess.

Not all Guardians were male, though they usually were. And it was said that every Priestess took their Guardian as a lover. Without exception. It was why all the other Initiates had been so jealous. Veshier was handsome. She looked at him while he slept, at his long, straight nose and strong jaw. Linarra wondered what color his eyes were under the thin strip of linen that covered them. It wasn’t that she fancied him, it was just nicer to think about than the dying girl. She couldn’t imagine them being lovers and didn’t want to. It embarrassed her. Maybe because she felt so plain and homely.

Perhaps he could feel her staring or could sense her being awake because he began to stir. It felt wrong and invasive to stare at him so she looked away and scooted a respectable distance.

“It’s morning. Still early,” she said, wincing. Her body was so sore that every movement and breath hurt.

He grunted, shifting, hurting too, she could feel it in the bond. She didn’t know she could feel more than just emotions, but physical sensations too. It seemed unfair somehow. Strange. Linarra wasn’t sure why it was all set up this way. It made her think of Veshier’s brother. When his Priestess died, it must have been what truly killed him, more than his own hand. She couldn’t even imagine the pain he experienced.

“To the south,” he muttered, “A small village perhaps. It looks less ominous than that camp. We will stop there.”

“All right.” She didn’t voice her misgivings or doubts. What if they refused to feed and house them? The people in the camp didn’t seem particularly happy to see them.

Through the haze of early morning fog, she could see the ominous black shape of Mt. Hyn in the distance. Storm clouds obscured the peak and it looked so far away, even though she knew it wasn’t. This was supposed to have been a celebration for her. All she wanted to do was turn around and go back to the Temple. It wasn’t home. It had never felt that way, but it was as good as it was going to get. She’d spend the rest of her life there. She wasn’t welcome anywhere else.

“You can walk?” Veshier asked, already rising, dusting off his wet clothes.

Linarra didn’t answer. Instead, she struggled to her feet, ignoring his proffered hand. The inevitability of intimacy with him made her recoil away from his every touch, no matter how innocent he’d intended them. She wanted to have a say, a choice. She didn’t think he was keen on it either.

He frowned down at her and started for the Path again with her trailing after him. Every step was agony, her feet sore, her legs aching. She’d never been in so much pain in her life. Linarra powered through it, trying to focus on anything else. The landscape was stark even though it shouldn’t have been. Verdant feels lay barren and brown, strewn with dead grass and mud. Even the trees were still bare and the air had a foul, lifeless smell.

She kept her head down as she walked and managed to keep pace with Veshier for the first hour, but then her steps slowed and dragged, and she could barely manage to continue. Thirst and exhaustion broke her down until she could only stand in one spot, watching Veshier as he kept going. She wanted him to just leave her there. She didn’t want to make the rest of the pilgrimage or be a Priestess. She’d never wanted to. Moment after moment cascaded past her control. Always forced to do things.

Once more, she sat on the Path, fingers sinking into the mud as though it would give her answers or peace. It offered neither. Linarra thought of Ishahn, who had been her age when she’d walked herself to seal the Usurper in the Mountain forever. Why couldn’t she be that brave?

Though Linarra questioned many things about her faith, she never questioned the story of the Prophet. It just felt true. Ishahn had led her people, humans, out of slavery and then faced their former overseer, the Usurper, twisted Aspect of the Mother.

“You should have said something,” Veshier barked, startling her. She hadn’t even heard him approach.

“I can’t do it, Veshier,” she told him, on the verge of tears. “I don’t even want to. You can leave me here.”

Her words seemed like little rocks thrown at him. He flinched, his face twisting in anger and disapproval and shock. “Why are you saying such things?”

“I don’t know why the High Priestess chose me to be an Initiate in the first place. I don’t have any talents. I’m not particularly clever. I’m not beautiful like she is. I don’t get it. It’s not even something I wanted.”

He scoffed and she could feel his disgust. “You question her wisdom? She speaks -for- the Mother.”

Linarra wasn’t so sure about that, but didn’t say anything. She glared up at him.

Without another word, he picked her. She struggled, swatting at him, kicking her legs, but she was already exhausted and didn’t have much fight left in her. She wished she were heavier, stronger and had to fight the urge not to slug him in the jaw.
His pale face reddened and a vein stood out on his forehead. Fury crackled along the bond and fed the flames of her own temper.

“So you’re just going to make me go?” she asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” he snapped.

“Why? Just go back to the Temple and tell them I died. Or I ran away. They’ll give you a better Initiate! You hate me anyway! You don’t think I deserve this. Well, I don’t! You’re right. I don’t even want it! And I don’t like you very much either!”

His grip tightened and began to hurt a little. “Shut up,” he snarled.

“You shut up!” Linarra thrashed, bucking her body so hard that he dropped her.

She fell hard, rolling in the muck, crying out in surprise and pain even though it’s what she wanted. He advanced on her as she tried to crawl away, but he snagged her by the cloak and then by the shoulder, his grip firm no matter how hard she struggled.

They tussled until he fisted his hand in the front of her robes and yanked her close to him. He was in her face, his breath puffing over her cheek. He gave her a little shake. “Stop acting like an idiot child,” he hissed. “What else is there for you, hmm? Where would you go?”

“I don’t know! At least then I’d have a choice.” She pushed at his chest, but he was unmovable.

“You’re my punishment,” he murmured. “For my brother’s failings. For my failings.”

It stung, but was probably true. She looked up at him, eyes filling with tears, no longer struggling, hands on his chest. For a moment, she felt the bond squeeze around her uncomfortably. She wanted to kiss him. In slow horror, she watched the anger drain from his face as his hands moved to her shoulders, his touch far gentler than she liked.

Her heart thundered painfully in her chest, her blood rushing in her ears. Linarra didn’t know what she wanted. The bond felt like some parasitic thing inside her, driving her thoughts, like a terrible drug that stripped away her agency. It was being trapped in a dream while screaming that she wanted to wake up.

Desire sang between them, humming and buzzing. “No,” she whispered, voice wavering.

Her one whispered word was like cold water over his face, and he scowled, getting to his feet and offering her his hand. She took it this time.

“I’ll carry you if you can’t walk. We’re close now. The village is up ahead.”

She took in a deep breath. “I can walk.”

#

The village wasn’t a village at all. Linarra, fueled entirely by fear and apprehension, snuck ahead and had Veshier stay back so she could look before they lumbered into another horrible situation.

It had been a small community of half a dozen houses and a few communal buildings, but it wasn’t that now. A large bonfire raged in the center square fed by dismantled houses, market stalls, and broken furniture. At first, she didn’t see any people at all, but there, in the flickering, lapping flames that rose at least twenty feet into the sky, were men in long dark robes. They stood still. So still, she’d mistook them for shadows in the growing dark. The men began to chant softly in a strange tongue. Strange, but not wholly unfamiliar. The longer Linarra listened, brow furrowed as she crouched in the tall, dead weeds, the more it sounded like something she’d heard before.

The demon, she thought, that had possessed the girl. She’d understood it. It was the same tongue and the words suddenly made sense to her. The men sang soft exaltations to the Usurper. They offered him their loyalty and love and devotion. They whispered promises of death and ruin in his name. And though Linarra didn’t see any dead bodies of the villagers, she knew they were there, in the fire. Sacrifices.

Very carefully, she backed away, half crawling over the cold, wet ground, limbs trembling, mouth dry. She was glad she’d had the foresight to make Veshier hang way back, hidden in a copse of dead, twisted trees.
He stood straighter when she arrived back at their little make shift camp. “Well? Have they food and water? Lodging for the night?”
Even before she answered, the bond broadcasted her disappointment and weariness, her fear. His expression fell, brow low over the linen strip over his eyes.

“There were men there. I think they killed all the villagers. They were praying to...the Usurper,” she whispered, even though they were far enough way as to not be heard even if they shouted.

Veshier’s lips thinned. “The Brotherhood,” he said. “They crawl out from their rocks when times are difficult, preying on the weak.”

It had never occurred to Linarra that someone would willingly worship the Usurper. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What’s the purpose of worshipping him? What would they get out of it? He hates humanity.”

Veshier made a half disgusted, half amused noise. “They sell their soul in exchange for power.”

Her brow rose, surprised. “But he’s sealed in the Mountain. What use would he have of their souls?”

Veshier shrugged, shouldering his pack and hers. “Who can say? Perhaps he devours them. Torments them. I don’t know.”

“Forever,” she added. “Seems like a terrible deal.” She paused, watching him prepare to leave. “What are we going to do now?” The thought of more walking made her want to cry. She’d only had a handful of dirty water from a roadside puddle. Her stomach cramped, her tongue shriveled in her mouth from thirst.

“Continue to the Mountain. There’s a temple there. I can’t imagine anything’s happened to it.” The way he said it meant there was no room for other suggestions or arguments. He started walking, clearly intent on giving the Brotherhood a wide berth.

“But I think we should go back,” she told him, already struggling to keep pace. She didn’t know how he did it. How he kept going and going like a terrible automaton.

He remained silent and didn’t stop.

“Shouldn’t we tell them, tell the High Priestess what’s happened?”

He snorted. “What makes you think she doesn’t know?”

Frowning, holding the stitch that was already knotting itself in her side, Linarra couldn’t believe the Priestess would be that callous. “Surely not. She wouldn’t have sent us.”

“No?” he wondered lightly. “You said it yourself. I’ve said it. You don’t deserve nor are you ready to be a Priestess. You don’t even want it. And me? A disadvantaged Guardian carrying his family’s shame. Perhaps she wants to be rid of us.”
The weight of what he said was like cold ice in her veins. The horror and truth of it crawled along her skin making her feel light-headed. “She means for us to...” she trailed off, unable to believe it.

“Die?” Veshier finished for her. “Yes. I think that’s exactly what she wants. For us to be gone. So, I hate to think what would happen if we return without completing the pilgrimage. This is our only chance to redeem ourselves.” He sounded so resolute, but she could feel the doubt and paranoia in the bond.

“You’re hurting,” he said suddenly, finally stopping.
Linarra bent, hands on her thighs, trying to catch her breath. She couldn’t seem to. “I’m trying,” she said, pained.

“I know,” he conceded. “Let me carry you.”

She shook her head, swallowing, throat sticky and dry. “I’d rather not.”

“Linarra,” he chided.

“The bond grows stronger every passing hour,” she said, “And I don’t...I’d rather it not. We don’t like each other. It’s not fair to you. Or to me.”

She didn’t need to see his face to see his disappointment and disapproval. She could -feel- it. “We’re both unsuitable for this,” he said, defensive suddenly. “But we have a chance, don’t we? The Mother rewards those who suffer.”

“Fine,” she said dully. “Because I can’t go another step. And if it were up to me? We’d just run away.”

He laughed, genuinely amused as he hefted her slight weight into his arms. “Where? The world’s a ruin.”

Allowing herself the luxury of resting her cheek against his chest, head just under his chin, she sighed. “Maybe not the whole thing. Maybe we could get on a ship and cross the oceans.”

“The seas are poison and the distant shores are stone and fire,” he reminded her, trudging through the darkness, carrying her like a child.

“Have you ever seen them? Who knows. Maybe those are just stories. Lies. Tricks to keep us here.” Already she felt her eyes grow heavy.

She’d only slept a handful of hours in the past two days.

Veshier chuckled. “Maybe, but then why has anyone who sailed away never returned, hmm?”

Stifling a yawn, she tried not to think of how warm he was, how strong his arms were. She liked the way his voice sounded in his chest before it came out of his mouth. She liked his laugh. “Because they don’t want to. Everything is so great on those distant shores that they just stay forever.”

At last, she let her eyes close, let him hold her and carry her. She let herself dream of distant shores with strange trees bearing large fruit, everything drenched in sunset colors and the salt smell of the sea.

She woke several times. Veshier had to stop and rest and in the pitch darkness, Linarra wasn’t sure where they were. He told her it was an old, abandoned barn. The hay was rancid smelling, but soft enough, if a little bit damp. She couldn’t complain and fell back asleep right away.