“Irixil, the Wind. Patron-god of all the bad things in the world. I'll have you know nobody likes him. He's the reason the winters are shit, and it is said diseases are the product of his wrath. Can't say I know what sin you'd have to commit in order to get afflicted with a diarrhoea or some other similar horror, but that's one vicious way of punishing your faithful servants if you want my opinion.

-angry sick man”

* * *

Astrael

“...and on the sixth day, knight Egael came back to the hill where the princess was waiting, as he had promised.”

“Very good,” Horace said as he clapped his hands. “And that's the end of Egael's tale. You barely have any trouble reading now, I'm impressed.”

“Hm.”Astrael stared at the book with suspicious eyes. “Is that really what happened?” The apothecary raised a brow and scratched his dark beard. It was fairly thick, especially when compared to his buzzcut. So thick one could probably hide things. Was Horace searching for something right now? As the man scratched his beard, it felt to Astrael as if it held the mysteries of the world inside it.

“Something wrong?” he eventually asked. Ugh, yeah, look at me. I'm going mad with all your damn tales.

Though his real concern was different. “I mean, she's quite the obnoxious lady, why would he go to such lengths for her? I would have ditched her long ago if it were me...”

“She's lucky it wasn't you, then!” Horace bellowed. “Whatcha saying, you damn four year-old brat! Kids your age should be in awe of how brave and manly Egael is.”

Kids my age are dumb, that's why. And if they were really his age, they wouldn't be kids anymore, but he couldn't exactly retort such things to Horace, could he?

It had been three years since he was introduced to Horace the apothecary. In truth, he also played the roles of the village's doctor, herbalist and teacher of various subjects. He was a learned man, that was the least one could say about him. It even turned out that his wife was the midwife who had helped with Rina's birth, and probably Astrael's too. An interesting couple.

Here, in this house where every nook and cranny was home to a couple of spiders, he found some of the books he had been looking for. Geography, history, botany, theology. Though in the end, regarding his initial goals, he came back empty ended.

He had no clue as to where he was and how much time had passed. But the religious scriptures were fairly similar in content, and the laws of physics, the fauna and flora were the same so that could only mean it was the same world. There was a moment when he thought he might have been sent to some faraway celestial body, as back in his time mathematicians and astronomers claimed that the stars in the sky were in fact worlds of their own. He didn't think much of it in his previous life, but ever since he had found himself reborn in this foreign environment, he couldn't help but wonder.

Perhaps it was the case. There were so many, after all, so it wasn't far-fetched to assume that there were worlds that resembled each other. Though in the end, the scholars that suggested these theories were banished from their cities and sometimes hunted down by various religious orders. The starry sky one would observe at night was Atharemine's domain, and humankind shouldn't pry in such godly matters, they said. Offenders shall be burnt at the stake as an apology towards the patron-deity of night and shadow, they said.

The fastest way to find out if this was the world he knew would have been to stumble upon information about his past self. And so he tried to look up for his real name, and his former colleagues' names, but nothing came up.

How depressing, he concluded. There's no mention of me anywhere, how come? I was famous, wasn't I? Ugh...

Assuming he had not been sent to another world, then two possibilities remained. He either was too old to be remembered, or simply too far away from his home to be known. Back to square one.

And now here he was, learning about Horace's favourite ballads, trying to wrap his head around the local folklore and its absurdity. Despite being an apothecary and many other things, good old Horace seemed to be very fond of literature before everything else – compared to the number of poetry works, there weren't that many books about the world here, aside from encyclopedias and treatises on botanic and chemistry, so perhaps it was the reason Astrael couldn't find hints about his era?

Once he'd find a larger library, in a city for instance, no doubt he'd come across the desired information. Hopefully. Horace suggested he could order some books from Callir, since he still had friends in the city, but Astrael knew his parents would want to pay for it, as they already felt indebted for the free reading lessons, and since he wasn't even sure he'd find what he sought, it wasn't worth the expense.

Still, for now, the legend and tales of naive knight Egael and his colleagues were a good starter, despite the disgusting aftertaste. Learning the folklore would help him blend into society. Quite the shocking differences from what he knew – that'd be mostly ballads of mighty heroes sacrificing themselves for their home and beliefs. Here, idiot nobles falling in love with insufferable princesses were the norm, it seemed. Pft. Back in my time, unsightly women had the decency to commit suicide.

The popular stories, at least according to Horace, were the ones that spoke of love transcending borders and duty. Needless to say, the protagonists were often traitors that would flee their responsibilities and go courting some princess from an enemy nation. Knights were idiots that fell in love at first sight and princesses were shy, cowardly women. It all contributed to make each of these books a rather painful read for Astrael.

“You might be a smart brat, but you won't find love if you keep this boorish, ungallant side of yours,” Horace grumbled.

Preposterous. I don't see how anyone could follow Egael's footsteps and perjure himself for a cheating, indecisive wench.

“Marriage should not be taken so lightly,” Astrael retorted in an annoyed tone. “It should be valued as a tool to create durable political alliances, not a way to satisfy the lust of hot-headed idiots.”

Hearing that, the apothecary grimaced. “You... Have you been reading Euronel's Treatise on Warfare and Politics or something? Don't stick your nose in such matters, damnit. You sound like some pretentious twenty year-old strategist freshly promoted, bragging about things he doesn't even understand.”

Hah, you poor thing. I'm much older than that, in fact... Hm? I've never read this book you speak of, but it does seem interesting.

“Euronel, you say?” he asked as innocently as he could. “Err.. right, where did you put it, by the way? I wanted to check something but I couldn't find it anymore.”

Horace snorted and motioned toward a shelf that Astrael hadn't gone through yet because he believed it to be filled with these crappy romances the apothecary was fond of. Stuck between two massive anthologies of poetry, he could only see the name of the author from this angle, written in small characters.

I would never have guessed, Astrael smiled as Horace reached for the book and gave it to him. Still, it's a wonder he has so many books about so many different topics. From what I've seen, books and scrolls are still hand-written and the products of a long, meticulous work. It doesn't look like Horace is rich enough to afford such a collection though... He wouldn't live in this small village if he was.

“I'm going out for a bit. Gotta gather some plants. I don't suppose you wish to come with me, lord strategist?”

“Oh, I wouldn't want to disturb you with my boring opinions on arranged marriage, old man. I'll be fine, thanks for the book!” Horace grunted and nodded before going out. Astrael followed him, to read his newfound treasure outdoors and enjoy the afternoon sun. Shortly thereafter, they parted ways, but not without exchanging a few more jabs first.

* * *

“What are you reading?”

Astrael looked up to see his sister Rina staring at him with curious eyes. He realized how much time had passed, with the western skies now tinted in an orange glow. He exhaled deeply, letting a satisfied grin creeping up on his face.

“Well... A very interesting book,” he simply replied.

While he had been expecting only useless guidelines and abstract politics, Astrael found out that this book's contents were much more relevant than that. Not only the author was knowledgeable in diplomacy, but he had also experience on the battlefield. He spoke of what it meant to govern a city or a nation and to defend it against various threat. Trade embargoes, sieges, balance of powers within a government, and so on. Nothing Astrael wasn't aware of, but still. It made for a nice history lesson too, since Euronel used real-life examples for his claims. And he wasn't even halfway through, so he was surely bound to learn of military tactics and technologies he didn't know about, as he'd keep reading.

“Astrael, when will I be able to read like you?”

“Hmm... Not before a few years, I suppose.” Seeing Rina's frustrated expression, he smiled. Truly, he had grown fond of the girl. “I have no doubts you'll get to it eventually. Worry not.”

He closed the book and paused, gazing at the cover. “But I'm not sure this one would interest you yet, however I look at it,” he concluded.

“Why!” she squealed. “Of course it would. Mister Horace said the books you're reading are hard, but very important.”

He frowned. “...He said that, huh?” Of course he did. “Come to think of it, how did you find me? Horace told you?”

She nodded and sat next to him. Leaning over the book, she pushed her curly black hair out of her sight and attempted to decipher the cover. “Err... Eu-... Eubonei?”

“Euronel,” he corrected while arranging her hair and tucking her long silky locks behind her ears. “He was a famous royal advisor, back when Callir was ruled by a king.”

“Royal advisor... what's that?”

“A smart person who serves and advises a king. He helps ruling and defending the country. It's a very important position.”

Rina seemed lost in thought for a bit. She then turned her head and looked at Astrael with an excited face. “Will you become an advisor in Callir when you grow up?”

“I don't know,” he said. “What about you, Rina? Is there something you'd like to do?”

“Mother said I'll live in Callir when I'm older.”

It wasn't the reply he was looking for, but he could understand what she meant. Rina had been asking their parents about the mark on her hand, and while the answer seemed to enthral his sister, he, on the other hand, could only pity her in silence.

It wasn't anything he was unaware of, at this stage. From the beginning he thought it was either a slave mark, or something related to the gods – to one god, specifically. There was only one deity that could possibly have anything to do with the droplet of blood and the bramble branch.

The patron-god of the city-state of Callir, was what he was known as around here. Xito, the Blood, he cursed in his mind.

He had confirmed his suspicions even before their parents bothered to speak about the mark. What he disliked the most about the situation was how everyone else thought about it. His parents were acting proud and glad, saying how lucky Rina was. How much of a blessing it was for her to have received the mark. Because in a few years, she'd depart for Callir, and begin her studies and training in the temple of Xito.

Rina was too young to understand, so she could only see the bright side. She wasn't even told what she would be going there for. Well, no one except him could tell her. The others could only tell her what they knew, the embellished truth. She'd get access to education, yes. She'd be treated like a little princess, she'd be well fed, have nice clothes and competent teachers.

And in exchange for all that, she'd be asked to pledge her life to Xito. She would become the most famous person in the Blood church. The position had different names depending on the language. Apostle, champion, templar, paladin, or simply Servant of the gods. Fulfiller of the Duty, sometimes. But in his native tongue, she would become what they'd call a hero.

Astrael knew all that, because he had already gone through the same thing. His patron-god wasn't Xito, but that would not change that one, frustrating fact. His sister's life was already decided. She would not live for herself, she would not achieve any of the dreams she could have along the way.

The church will decide which battles she'll fight, which ideals she'll vouch for. The church will decide whom she'll kill and whom she'll protect. The church will choose the place of her death.

And she had no idea. Astrael rubbed the head of his sister, and rested his chin on top of it. “My sweet, innocent sister...” he muttered. “When the day comes, if you still want to go...”

No, it doesn't have anything to do with what she wants. She has no choice, Xito has given her his mark.

“When you go,” he continued and closed his eyes, “I'll be there for you. I'll accompany you to Callir, if you want me to.”

He felt her nodding. “Mh. I'd like that,” she said in a tone that sounded almost sad in Astrael's ears. Perhaps she wasn't as naïve as he thought. The gods weren't known to pick slow-witted people as their champions, after all. He did not say another word and simply kissed her hair.

The hero mark wasn't a slave mark, yet experience had told Astrael that the line between these circumstances was thin. In a way, heroes were indeed slaves to the gods and their churches.