These Old Bones

17-2

Within less than a second, he found himself above the Temple Valley, walking between the ravines, hovering above the Temple to Elea Kha, the Eternal Mother, travelling through the stone and granite of the mountains. He felt as if he were everywhere and nowhere. Outside the valley, he saw lines of soldiers facing an opening to a pass.

"Soon, the evil will break through to My House. They must be stopped." Again, everything moved within the blink of an eye, returning to his body, and the girl and Tiera. "She must stop them. She must be prepared for her duty. Though her magic is not of my doing, she must embrace it. You have failed in your duty to prepare her."

"How can I fail a duty I never knew I had?" He looked down at his body, once again, and realised what the smile on his face meant. He was at peace, in death. "If it's all the same, I think I'll just call it a day. I've lived too long. The Pony Rider, Tiera, she'll protect the girl and get her to your Temple. I'd just like to finally rest. Thanks all the same."

"If you do not protect the child, she will die. My temple will fall and darkness will spread across the land." The voice, unemotional to this point, rose in anger.

"Everybody dies, eventually. And darkness is always spreading across the land, not least when you lot have your little spats." He knew quite well who he spoke to, but he held no reverence in his words. No piety. "So, this darkness could be stopped? Then, a little later, another darkness must be stopped, and another, until you and the other Patrons have your own wars and cause another Upheaval that we little creatures have to struggle to survive through! No. I'm done. Let me die."

"You! You bluff well, Brorzjav Indūrzj. You remind Me of one of your ancestors." Now the voice seemed far more pleasant. Swirling around him. "The child needs you and you need her. Train her well and she will serve Me"

"What if she doesn't want to?" He tried tugging his beard braid, but felt nothing there.

"She must!" The voice rose above him and spread outwards, rising in volume, irritated. "She will!"

"She says she doesn't want to, and if I've learnt anything about the lass, it's that if she doesn't want to do something, she won't do it." For the first time since falling back onto the shingle beach, Brorzjav felt something. A powerful, hot wind erupted around him. Almost painful. "There's no point getting angry! It's your own fault!"

"My fault!" There came a sinister rumble to the tone of the voice, and Brorzjav felt pressure crushing his ethereal body.

"Aye. First your Priestesses drag her away from her home, telling her she's special, but not telling her anything about her powers. Then she learns that one of those powers isn't a gift from you, but magic. She's been lied to from the moment your Priestesses found her." He pointed an immaterial finger in a general direction. "That magical power has made her ill and killed people. She's scared and feels used and I've not helped none. She doesn't want it and, frankly, I don't blame her."

Silence fell upon him, but the swirling, heated wind, and the pressure upon him, dissipated. He waited for the Patron to speak.

"Perhaps my adherents could have handled her better." The voice sounded mollified and Brorzjav felt it strange that a near god-like being could allow a mortal to speak to them this way. "My followers need her help. And she needs yours. Will you persuade her? Train her? Bring her to My House?"

"I can't promise she'll listen, but, aye, I'll try." Brorzjav missed the comfort of Notch at his belt, even though it would be less than useless against a Patron.

"Then return to life, Brorzjav Indūrzj, and carry my blessing." The voice seemed to back away as it spoke, leaving him standing in the air. "I shall watch you, descendant of Kings. You and your son."