Destiny Unbonded

Chapter 4

All men are called to live in submission to the will of the Gods.

- The Canon

[Cyril]

The shards of my shattered heart shredded what little faith I had left. Once a vibrant community, my village, my home, now laid cold, still, and as deathly silent as a quenched fire. Only the Gods would do this.

What purpose?

Not yet had the sun reached its zenith when, having crested a hill, I had looked back one more time to my former home. In the distance, I saw bright flashes of light, rising smoke, and I could just make out frantic motions of panic. I returned as quickly as I could, leaving most of my supplies behind with Dash, who would not move quickly for any reason.

What took lifetimes to build laid in ruins, true monuments to the Gods. They left few houses intact, most crumbled to silent heaps of stone and wood. Stilled bodies littered the ground - men, women, children, entire families.

These people never stood a chance.

I dropped to my knees beside the magistrate's lifeless form, his chest pierced by an arrow of the purest glass, a weapon of the Gods. With two fingers, I closed his empty eyes. He had shown me mercy.

A twinge of guilt swept through me and my chest tightened. Had I caused this? My neighbors had rejected me, but the anger I had felt now seemed selfish. No matter the slight, they deserved none of this.

"Father! Kit!" I yelled to the silence. Leaping to my feet, I breathlessly sprinted to the town's edge where our home stood. Or once stood. It had not been spared. With block, wood, and thatch collapsed inward, it was reduced to mere rubble. I dug in a fury, grasping at fleeting wisps of hope. Removal of a thatch bundle revealed the man who raised me, face down with a glass arrow embedded in his back, executed like the rest.

Lifting my Father's lifeless body into my arms, I wailed to the cosmos. Let the Gods feel the grief they wrought! 'Grief stands as witness to the bonds of love', my father had once said. True words, but they did little to ease the pain.

My trembling hand reached for the transparent arrow, the instrument of his death. Tiny tendrils of black swirled from my palm, and when I grasped the shaft, the arrow came apart, crumbling into countless grains of sand and flowing through my fingers to the ground.

Is this the Chaos?

Movement caught my eye, and I crouched. A being of mist and light drifted outside of the low shop wall. It stopped near the body of a child, then resolved into human form, that of a woman with long thick hair. She kneeled and bent her head down, reaching out with a slender hand to gently stroke a lifeless cheek.

Moirai! Seething, I gritted my teeth, boiling rage threatening to explode like a sealed pot over a fire. I drew my black obsidian blade and crept behind her. It vibrated in my hand, feeding off the rage.

She yelped as I yanked back on her long hair and pressed the blade to her outstretched neck. The skin sizzled where the edge touched and she cried out in pain.

"What do you want, Moirai?" I spat the words. "Another thread to snip? Another life to cut short?"

The woman's moist eyes gazed back into mine, but they held no malice, only a deep sadness. "So you are the one. The one without destiny. The Gods feared you more than I thought."

"And well they should!" I pressed the blade harder against her throat, drawing a crimson drop. She cried out again, her face grimacing. Part of me wanted to begin revenge, here and now, but her mournful cry touched a deep part of my heart. Father had taught me of mercy and demonstrated it by his life. I pulled my blade back and let go of her hair, my gut twisting with internal conflicts.

"You might as well kill me, for the Gods surely will. No longer can I serve them." On knees, she bowed her head in resignation.

Turning my back to her and sweeping an arm to the ruined village, I said, "What purpose this? Why?"

"They sent me to find you. But not for this. Nemesis came, the assassin of the Gods. This is her work." A single sob shook her. "She laughed at me as the blood spilled."

"Go, Moirai!" Still facing away, I waved a hand to dismiss her. "Go back to your masters and tell them that, one day, I shall have my revenge."

"What will you do now?" she asked.

I turned to her. "Search for my sister's body so I may bury her with Father." Spoken low, the words held the same resignation as my heart.

The Moirai's eyes misted in vapor and she held her breath. "Wait!" she gasped. "One still lives. I sense her thread beneath the rubble."

I swung my eyes to the ruins of my home. Could this be true? "Where? Show me!"

She changed to mist and light, gliding back and forth over the rubble like a ghost. Stopping at one spot, she reformed into a woman, balanced on the fallen blocks, and pointed downward. "There! She is afraid."

Springing into action, I tossed rock and timber aside, digging even as my muscles screamed in agony. If I could find Kit, she would be more than a saved sister, but also hope that the Gods had not full rein on destiny. The Canon taught us that hope was a deceptive evil, one that prevented acceptance of the inevitable. But for me, hope became a defiant beacon.

Grunting, I pried free the last rock from atop the cellar. Father dug it long ago to store food and hide valuables. He must have hid my sister there to protect her. Stirred dust stung my eyes and coated my throat as I lifted the timber cover and tossed it aside.

"Kit! Are you there?" I yelled, although knowing she would not hear me.

Two wet eyes peered up from the dark. I jumped down and kneeled before my little sister. Kit clung to me, trembling as I took her into my arms. Within a beam of light, I signed to her. "<I have you. Safe now.>"

"<Father?>" she signed back, raising her eyebrows in desperate wish.

Shaking my head slowly, I dipped my eyes. Silent tears sprang from her eyes and she nuzzled against my shoulder.

Standing upright, my head just reached the level of the floor above. The Moirai helped Kit from the pit as I held her up.

Brushing dust from Kit's clothing and curly hair, the Moirai said, "Are you injured, girl?" Kit's lack of response caused the woman to furrow her brow in apparent confusion.

"She cannot hear nor speak." I explained while rising from the cellar and brushing dust from my shirt. "My name is Cyril, and this is my sister Kit. What is your name, Moirai?"

"Ophelia."

I signed to Kit. "<This is Ophelia. She helped me find you.>"

Kit signed to the woman with a nod. I interpreted. "Kit says thank you."

Ophelia smiled in return, a smile so pleasant, so human. She seemed genuinely pleased that we had found Kit alive and well. The soft youthful features of her face almost appeared innocent, despite her association with the Gods. And those big amber eyes, the color of ripe wheat, held no sign of malice. Perhaps she had no part in this atrocity, used by the Gods for their purposes like everyone else. Her eyes flickered, holding my gaze for a moment, then dipped back down.

"Where will you go, Ophelia?" I asked.

"I cannot return to the Moirai and my family would be endangered if I went home." She shook her head. "I have no place to go."

"Then join me in my quest."

Her eyes widened. "What do you seek?"

"Truth."