Hastum
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34. All power comes at a price
🕑 Added 2025-08-30 09:23:23 +0000 UTCI told Astrid we would meet in the morning. As for Q’Shar, he went to get some shut-eye since it was almost sunrise, while I knew I couldn’t just sleep with a riddle like that hanging over me.
For now, I wanted to get the full story of her dream and everything that led her here, from the woman herself. And while I was at it, break the news to her.
I took two mugs and some ale from the chief and went toward the barn where the people were being held for the night. I showed the guards a carved bone token I had received from the chief as a form of permission, and I was let inside.
As I opened the door, some parts of a hushed conversation met my ears, abruptly cut off by my entrance.
The barn smelled of damp straw and the musk of livestock, probably used to hold cattle before it started housing its new human occupants. I could see some moonlight coming through the uneven boards in the roof, casting the interior in half-darkness.
The people were not tied up, but that’s also where any comfort afforded to them ended. Some were sitting on overturned buckets, and others were trying to get some sleep using their own jackets and old straw as bedding.
All those who were still awake turned their eyes to me, some with hostility, others with fear. I looked around the barn, finally finding my target lying on some straw, her eyes still open, glued to mine.
I smiled and turned to her. “Ophelia, if I'm not mistaken. I would like to talk with you, so if you would follow me.”
She turned her head around as if checking for any other Ophelia to take her place, but not finding any, she slowly started to get up.
“Why do you want to talk to her?” asked an older woman sitting on one of the buckets.
I turned to her, shifting my gaze from my target. “We have some things to discuss. I can assure you she will be returned in the same condition she was borrowed in.” I could see the woman relax a little after my words.
“L-look, if she is your target, then you can take her and let us go. We will not report this to anyone. Please?” said a guy sitting on one of the buckets, he pleaded.
I recognized him as the one who had tried to run earlier, an easy guess from the massive black eye he had. “No can do. I'm not with the people from the village, so I don't have a say in the matter. I'm just here to break the news.”
“Wait, if you are not one of them, then let us go. There are only two guards. We can take them. We can all escape together. Please, we can help each other,” said someone in an excited whisper as all eyes turned to me. Even Ophelia froze mid-step.
I chuckled at his words. “I think you misunderstand something. I said I'm not from the village. I never said I was on your side.” I could see the people visibly deflate at my declaration. “And a word of advice. You can't take the guys by the entrance. They might not kill Ophelia here, but you are fair game, so I’d sit tight if I were you.”
The woman followed me as I led her out of the barn and back to the now-empty house, where we had previously discussed the new deal.
I pointed at a seat across from me and poured two cups of ale. She looked at the one I passed to her with suspicion.
“It’s not poison, it’s just ale. I think you could use a drink,” I said, pushing the cup toward her.
She hesitantly took it with both hands, as if warming them on a hot mug of tea, and smelled the liquid. I’m not sure what she expected, but she seemed surprised by the smell, finally taking a swig.
It was good alcohol. Brewing it was a tradition in the village, after all.
I took a gulp from my cup and started the discussion. “So, I heard you had a dream and some strange sensations coming here. I would like to hear about them.”
“What?” she asked. “You want to hear about my dreams? Like the old lady before?”
“Yes, exactly like her, with all the details, please,” I confirmed.
“But I thought you would tell me why we’re being held here. Are we going to be killed or tortured? Are they going to let us out? And you want to know about my fucking dreams?” she said, raising her voice in disbelief. “What do my dreams have to do with anything?”
“Quite a lot,” I said, leaning back in the chair. “But fine, let’s make a deal. You tell me about the dream you had and all other weird occurrences, and answer all my questions truthfully, and in turn, I will explain to you the situation and answer your questions. Deal?”
She hesitated briefly, then nodded.
After that, she described to me the dream she had and all the other strange sensations, visions, and occurrences that led her here.
Some of the things were obvious. The vertigo from the barrier opening to her as she stepped through it, the feeling of meeting someone's eyes from the altar, her god watching her. But what interested me most was the dream. Judging by the grandiose nature of the vision, the woman in it was almost definitely a god or a powerful sacred being.
But the “thing with hollow eyes” was the part that caught my attention the most.
“The hollow eyes. Did they feel like mine?” I asked, matching her gaze as she flinched a bit.
“Yes, I think something like that, but less… um…” She stopped, searching for a description.
“Less unnerving, I imagine,” I finished for her. “Yes, the exact sensation is hard to replicate even inside a vision.” I leaned forward. “I want you to look into my eyes and tell me what the difference was. I know it's not pleasant, but I need you to focus on the sensations.”
After a bit of hesitation, she locked her eyes with mine. I could see her growing more and more uncomfortable until she finally broke eye contact. “It’s really hard to put into words.”
“Take your time.”
“It’s like in the dream, it was just a sensation of fear, an unnerving feeling. But now it’s like… like a sense of wrongness too, like I’m looking at optical illusions, like the infinite staircase, where I know it’s not possible but I can’t say what’s wrong.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it,” I commented.
The sensation was caused by the unknowable aspect of the Abyss. If whoever sent her the dream couldn’t reproduce that in the vision, assuming the creature in it represented me, then that confirmed the god was not associated in any way with the Void.
Dreams like that were usually symbolic, with every action carrying meaning. In this dream, I killed a family member of hers and stood in their place as the woman, a god, judging by the strange depiction, pushed her toward me.
My guess would be they wanted her to follow me, but for how long and for what reason were beyond me.
Was it only a warning for her to listen to me about the ritual so that she doesn’t hesitate when the time comes, or was it more than that? Hopefully, I would find out tomorrow when I do some investigation into the gods and the messenger.
What was clear, though, was that she was a mage. Judging by her story about throwing a chair at her mother, quite a talented one. She was traditionally considered a bit too old for training, but with everyone starting from at most two circles above her, she could catch up with others, maybe even surpass them, if she had the drive. However, it all depended on the strength of one’s will, a determination to fight and win.
If she survived what was coming, then she might have what it takes.
It took a while to organize my thoughts. Finally, I looked at her and gave her a slight nod, signaling that it was time for my part of the deal.
“What happened in the forest is that a god chose you to be their priest. This means you will be granted some type of power and most likely an ability to wield magic intentionally, beyond bursts of it in anger or fear.” She furrowed her brow and tilted her head a bit, opening her mouth as if to speak, but no words came. I continued, “but as it is with power, it has a price, and you will have to pay that price.”
I looked at her, curious. Would she be more interested in the part about wielding magic or the price?
“Wielding magic?” I smiled a bit. “Like in movies? Like fireballs and such?”
“Yes, more or less. Mastering spellcraft is much more complicated than it’s shown in movies and games, but the outcome is similar. Fireballs, levitation, and much more.”
“So I’m a Wizard?” she asked, skepticism seeping into her voice.
“No, I’m a Wizard. You would probably be classified as a Cleric or a Warlock, depending on the nature of the contract and the creature granting you gifts. If I had to guess based on your vision, I would say you’ll be a Sacred Warlock, although I can’t say for sure without knowing the god.”
“Sacred Warlock?” she repeated, absentmindedly gazing at the table, processing the information. Finally, she looked back at me. “So you want to say magic is real?”
“I thought that would be the easy part to believe. Didn’t you use it on the chair that flew at your mother?” I asked, curious.
“W-well, yes, but that could have been a hallucination due to stress, a dream so vivid I remember it like a memory. Or maybe a strange gust of wind caused by press—”
I willed a small flame into the palm of my hand, then extended my consciousness into her mind and, getting past her defenses, spoke into her head directly. “Are you convinced now?”
She jumped, looking around for anyone who might have spoken those words. After not finding anyone, she sat back down slowly. I waited, giving her time to organize her thoughts.
“Okay, let’s say I believe you for now. With all the strange things, I think I have no choice but to believe you. So what happens now? And when can I wield the magic?” she asked, a hint of hope in her voice.
“Casting magic requires both practice and knowledge, even for a Cleric or Warlock. They still need time to learn to use their gifts. And first, they need to make the contract and pay whatever agreed-upon price,” I reminded her of the reality of things.
She froze for a second, remembering there was a cost she needed to pay. “And what is the price? I-is it my soul?” she stammered, the last words spoken with wide eyes.
“No, but close. Someone else’s soul.” I paused, giving her a moment to register what I was suggesting, before continuing. “Here’s how the ritual works. The god, or in this instance, the gods, sends their messenger with the gifts and blessings for the chosen priests. As you know, you were chosen as one of the Clerics for the ceremony. In return, to pay for the gifts, each chosen has to bring a sacrifice, a soul to be given to the god.”
She froze, processing my words, probably trying to find an interpretation that didn’t mean murder. But unable to deny the implication, she finally whispered, “You mean I will have to kill someone?”
“Yes.”
