A Clove of Fates

22. Easier If You Hate

I was beginning to realise that there were a lot of things that I did not know. But if there was one thing I was sure of, it was that there was no fucking way I had actually unlocked the dokkt stjorn. It simply wasn't possible that after twelve years of my life, it could be that easy. I could just tell it to do something, and it would do it. I could pull on one of space-time's threads and alter its fabric.

I also knew, with the exact same level of surety, that is precisely what I had done. I'd manifested.

Holy shit.

I could manifest.

I don't remember falling asleep, and even the waking up part was hazy. It was early, I was hungry, and we were almost in Sjarvad. I was almost to the shipyards and almost on the way to Fjall and almost dead. And if I wanted to, really wanted to, I could be literally anywhere else.

But did I want to?

I inwardly scoffed. Of course I wanted to, I was being ridiculous.

But...did I want to?

I looked to Jarelis to find that she was looking at me. She turned quickly.

Crap.

I smiled, pushed my thoughts in that familiar direction. It's okay to look at me, you know. I am often lusted after.

She glanced at me from the corner of her eye, but her gaze was soon brought back to some middle distance on the horizon. Her mouth twitched.

A feeling of lightness filled my chest, and then the darkness of what that sensation entailed. I liked her, I wanted her, I knew her. Worse, in that moment, the sad and hopeless realisation dawned on me: I would never be able to escape her.

"Hey, I just realized." I heard this from Fraed, who followed behind us. "Happy Birthday, Jarelis."

Jarelis blinked. "Is it my birthday?"

"The third day of Thori, right?"

I frowned. "But thats—"

"Huh. I guess it is. I got so caught up in... well, I guess I forgot."

"We have the same birthday?" I asked.

She jerked her head in my direction, held my gaze longer than she had all day. A cold feeling settled on my shoulders.

"Fraed?" She looked to him.

His shrug held a sinister air. "Coincidence?"

I snorted. "I doubt it."

I pondered a question I hadn't earlier allowed myself to ask, too worried over the business of not dying: why were we Bound in the first place?

Sure, I'd heard stories of soul Binding ceremonies. I lived in a world of gods and goddesses, it was hard to avoid. Most all of the gods were Bound to another god of the same gender to prevent them from producing full-blooded godlings, save Orlog, the god we were journeying to meet. And even still, I knew plenty of people like Fraed, with service familiars, whose fates were wound up with other worldly creatures. And while the Binding of two human (or partially human) souls was prohibited in Musteri, there were still stories and legends and figures of speech. All of them proved one thing to be true: people aren't born Bound. There is always a ceremony. So who performed it on us? And for what purpose?