Emmet’s veins throbbed in step with the pulsing of the candles beside him. His breaths laboured and reflexes dulled as if the air around him had thickened to honey. As one, he and the others in the chapel, twisted their necks in a dazed stupor. The edges of his vision were flecked with black, his mind drawing back as the world stretched out around him. Something passed through the room, trailing ephemeral hands across his numb skin. Emmet’s body moved slowly in its wake, neck pliant and sluggish as his head followed the presence.

Lucien cut through the molasses, his body crumpling without warning or grace. Evelyn took a few tottering steps before drunkenly glancing at the ground, her eyes following Lucien’s tremors without clear comprehension.

The world seemed to pulse, in time with some unseen metronome. Each swing taking a little longer, each breath a little shallower, each beat a little fainter. Lucien lay stuck out of time, his motions too fast and too irregular to seem possible. Finally, as each second seemed to stretch, blood started to flow out of his ears. Each pulse in time with Emmet’s heart, drawing Lucien slowly into the metronome’s rhythm.

Distantly, Emmet’s mind knew he should act. His foggy brain towered over his body, and his legs seems to stretch to infinity. In front of him, Evelyn slowly dropped to her knees, hands numbly clutching at Lucien’s head, trying to cushion it from hitting the ground. Blood spread over her hands as she fumbled, leaving read streaks through Lucien’s hair.

Emmet stayed standing still, the clergy around him forming a grim audience to the spectacle. He couldn’t turn to look, but he felt their enraptured gaze, eyes trained on Lucien’s body even as blood grows sluggish in their veins. With eyes wide and panicked, Evelyn cast around for help. Her hands pressed tight against Lucien’s ears; her fingers stained with a sticky red against his pale face.

From across the room, her eyes locked with Emmet’s, fear writ plainly across her face as she sat alone with Lucien. Her mouth moved and a synapse fired somewhere in Emmet’s brain. The candles pulsed again and his body swayed under the crushing weight pinning him in place. Lucien’s arm dropped to the ground and Emmet’s leg struck out.

In the next instant, he stumbled to his knees and clasped his hands against Evelyn’s, cupping Lucien’s head between them. A prayer fell from numbed lips and power flooded through his veins. Emmet’s cry of pain was drowned out by the buzzing drone emanating from his hands as he channelled The Mother’s miracle. He bit his lip and held his hands still as the three of them were enveloped in golden light. Through slitted eyes, he saw spots of colour quickly returning to Lucien’s face, the blood coagulating and flaking off.

The crescendo of light flickered off without warning. A single moment passed where Emmet’s heart seemed to stop completely, before whatever presence had descended, retreated, and he fell back into the timestream. Lucien shuddered and he slumped, limbs twisted underneath him. Emmet panicked, the miracle of the Goddess that had roared so fiercely only moments before, slipped away from his outstretched fingers. He grappled with the divine light, desperate to drag it back to Lucien’s body, but he couldn’t. He reached out further, burying his hands into Lucien’s side, when a hand grabbed his and tore them away.

“Emmet, it’s okay, I think we made it through,” Evelyn shouted, her words only then registered in his mind. His ears popped and the sounds of the world flooded back in now that he was no longer trapped in the throbbing beat of his own body. Beneath him, Lucien’s pulse beat naturally, his breath soft, but constant. He was okay.

“Wh-what just happened?” He asked, glancing around. He stayed kneeling – he needed a little more time after experiencing whatever had just descended. Evelyn absently wiped her hands on her trousers, her face pale and voice a little shaky.

“Haven’t the faintest – this kind of thing is more up yours and Lucien’s alley,” she extended a shaky arm and held Lucien’s wrist, checking his pulse in the wrong spot. “Is he going to be okay? It wasn’t a stroke, was it?” That was probably intended to be a joke. She didn’t believe it, but on some level probably almost hoped it was something so benign. Emmet hoped so too, but he still felt the paralysing weight of the presence pressing down on him.

“We should’ve known better than to bring him to a church,” he met her halfway and she managed a small smile.

“That’s what I told him just a bit ago.” Emmet smiled and centred himself, reaching back and drawing on The Mothers healing again – best to be safe than sorry. An ephemeral buzzing ran up his arms, but the miracle followed smoothly, golden tendrils teasing along a darkening bruise around Lucien’s eye. When did that happen?

“What the fuck is going on here?” The door burst open and three Imperial knights stepped into the church. The leader took one look at Lucien and directed the others to draw their swords. Ducking his head, Emmet shuffled closer to Evelyn, pulling away from the eery magnetism of bare steel. The lead guard marched over to the spectating clergy, pushing through until he found the head priest.

Their conversation was a mess of sharp whispers, followed by incensed huffing as two chains of command locked horns. One phrase fluttered out of the growing debate they continued to pull rank against one another. Divine revelation. The Mother’s word. Emmet looked down at Lucien, blood still crusted around his nose. They’ve got to be joking.

“The Mother has descended and the archbishop must be informed, sergeant,” the head priest blustered at the knight. “This is church business.” The knight lay a hand on the hilt of his sword, the surrounding clergy bristled behind him.

“Church business is Empire business, priest,” he said with equally poorly veiled aggression.

A sword clinked against the floor next to Emmet’s knee, the tip made soft scratching noises on the tiles as it shifted in the guard’s lazy grip. Emmet held his breath, not daring to move even as the guard barely bothered to glance in his direction, instead staring amusedly at the conversation going on before him. Out of the corner of his eye, Emmet watched Evelyn try to subtly poke Lucien, hoping to wake him up.

“Which one had the vision?” The knight asked. Lucien was quickly pointed out, the priests brushing aside the unimportant detail of who experienced The Mother’s word and instead continued arguing over who would be the ones to bring him to the capital.

Once again, Emmet felt a dire need to remove himself from a church. The disregard of Lucien’s plight, the bickering over authority, the casual violence that the imperials threatened – it was all too much. He glanced over at Evelyn and found her watching the argument intently, no doubt looking for some opportunity to flip the situation around.

The hateful guard above him barely paid him the slightest attention, all the while ready to dole out violence at the slightest word from on high. The guard shifted slightly and Emmet flinched, only for his muscles to achingly relax as the guard absently rearranged his tabard. Emmet cast his eyes away from the guard’s glinting blade and noticed a set of silver candlesticks barely a hands-breadth from where he kneeled.

“Enough!” The knight shouted, drawing his sword and dispersing the gathered clergy. “By my authority under Her Majesty, The Empress Caithurt, I will take him to the capital.” He gestured broadly at his guards and they snapped to attention. “Grab him,” he said, dismissing any further comment and any care for what would happen to those who got in the way.

Emmet didn’t even try to move away as the guards turned their attention to him, neither did Evelyn. Their swords scratched once more against the tiles as they rose to hover heavily over his head. Before the inevitable fall, Emmet’s arm darted out, grabbed the candlestick, and threw it at Eveyln.

A scant moment passed as the Evelyn stared down the rapidly approaching ornament. Her eyes flicked uncomprehendingly towards Emmet as she brought her right hand up to protect her face. The moment hung in the air – just long enough for Emmet to feel guilty – before Evelyn’s left hand shot out and caught the candlestick in a white-knuckle grip.

Evelyn nearly knocks her teeth out as her arm struck out and buried the candlestick in her guard’s knee. Her body seemed to fold itself in half and her foot made its way magnetically into the guard’s throat. The guard gurgled around her shoe and staggered back. Evelyn – legs in the air – pushed off Lucien’s chest and flipped herself dizzily onto her feet.

She swayed unsteadily, one arm wheeled about trying to balance herself, the other deftly moved the candlestick into the path of the sword curving towards her neck. A violent clash rung out as she caught the blade and it sunk an inch into the distressingly pure-silver candlestick. With a violent twist of her wrist, the sword clashed to the ground. With an equally violent kick, the guard followed suit.

Evelyn’s arm dropped to her side and she tensed up, clarity and pain trickling back into her expression. The first guard scrambled to his feet and Evelyn spun around to face him, but she stumbled as her leg gave out and pain visibly shot up her spine. The guard saw her pained face and sweaty brow, and used the opportunity to get to his feet and ready his sword.

Emmet had never really learned proper medicine at the church – one hardly needed to when nothing short of particularly insistent death could put a patient beyond the hand of The Mother. But he could intuit that a human body did not fold itself in half without some physical strain. Evelyn’s ability to fight was incredible, but unfortunately, it didn’t confer the physical condition necessary to pull those moves off.

Emmet sprang up, grasped at the sparks of divine light around him, and pushed Her Light into Evelyn. The healing magic flowed through her body and she sagged in relief, then her spine bent backwards as a sword sailed over her chest. She whipped back in return, straightening, then pouncing out with sickeningly violent motions. Emmet scrambled to keep up, whisps of light trailing off Evelyn’s body. The candlestick parried another thrust, then her elbow somehow found its way into the guard’s jaw.

Emmet managed to chase her and reconnect the healing spell, just in time to sew up her torn muscles. Evelyn sighed in relief again, and her arm used the opportunity to deflect the incoming blade from the second guard. Another exquisitely embossed chunk chipped off the candlestick as the guard pressed his attack. He thrust forward and Emmet was nearly knocked out as Evelyn surged backwards into a cartwheel – shocking the guards and herself as she bit back a startled cry.

Emmet had a second to watch in disbelief as Evelyn landed gracefully and bashed an opportunistic priest over the head, before the guard cut his losses and swung at him. By the grace of The Mother, and a fair bit of luck, he managed to lurch out of the way. He scrambled to his feet and channelled his healing spell again. Soothing – and blinding – light flashed out of his palms and the guard reared back as he was blinded and healed in the same disorientating instant. Emmet took the opportunity to retreat back to Evelyn, who was standing menacingly over Lucien’s still comatose body.

“Christ, I can’t do this forever,” Evelyn gasped even as Emmet’s magic worked through her torn muscles. Emmet felt more shocked that they were doing this at all.

“What do we do then?” Emmet asked, his head spinning as he glanced between Evelyn, the approaching guards and Lucien. If he were awake then they’d probably be out of here by now. The church would probably be on fire though, so maybe it was better this way.

“You don’t suppose they’ll just arrest us at this stage?” Evelyn asked glibly. The guards smiled cruelly as they drew closer and Evelyn glared back.

Emmet felt a feeling of helplessness bubble up from within. He shouldn’t use The Mother’s gifts for violence – he didn’t want to. But in that moment, he wanted nothing more than the ability to get them out of here safely. As Evelyn bravely stared down the drawn swords with a shaky arm, Emmet grabbed Lucien’s shirt and tugged him up. Lucien’s body flopped around limply, but Emmet managed to sit him up, then shuffle him awkwardly onto his back.

“I’ve got Lucien,” Emmet huffed, red faced and stumbling as Lucien hung boneless over him. He centred himself, then reached out and pushed healing magic into Evelyn. “We just need to get to the door, can you do it?” Evelyn flicked her eyes quickly to Emmet and managed a pale grin.

Without a word, she ran at the guards. Her gait was imperfect, unsteady, and under her own direction. Emmet kept pace as best he could, trying to keep the strand of healing magic steady, and latched onto Evelyn. Suddenly pivoting hard on her right foot, Evelyn bent out of the way of a sword thrust and pushed all her momentum into a heavy swing into the guard’s helmet. Emmet, following right behind her, dodged out of the sword’s way and managed to keep his footing as Lucien pitched forward.

The guard went sprawling once again, an impression of The Mother’s crest dented into his helmet. Evelyn’s foot whipped out and kicked the other guard’s hand away as he closed in, her arms windmilling for balance. Her hand let go of the candlestick as she flung her arms around – and somehow it managed to arc into the guard’s face. Not yet done, her spine bent backwards and she came up with the guard’s sword clutched in her hands. She stared down at it, hair mussed up and eyes disorientated.

“Holy shit, I’ve got a sword,” she breathed, energy filling her body.

A streak of silver hurtled towards her and a clash of steel rang out. Evelyn twisted her wrist and pushed her assailant back – the guard captain backed away, sword at the ready. Filled with a crackling excitement, Evelyn jumped forward, her sword flowing around her. Emmet followed as sparks flew between the two, his teeth set on edge against the metallic screech.

The knight tried for another swing, but Evelyn parried the blow aside, a grin on her face. She followed it up with a swipe of her own, nicking his tabard and forcing him back. He immediately drew back, seemingly content to poke his sword out at a distance.

Emmet heaved Lucien higher up on his shoulders and slunk behind Evelyn as she kept her sword pointing at the knight. Emmet and Evelyn sidled towards the door, thrusting the sword dangerously with every other step. Emmet backed into the door, and with one last warning swing, the two bolted.

Emmet readjusted Lucien as he ran and Evelyn followed behind, laughing – her hands still fastened around the sword hilt. They’re given a wide berth by the people on the streets, eyes flashing between the Evelyn and the sword, settling anywhere else but the blade.

Emmet hurried on away from the church. Why were The Mother’s servants always so quick to violence, and why did The Mother have to descend like She did? He ran on and tried to quash the thought that he wished that She hadn’t.

O – O – O – O – O

I transition from a state of immense agony to mild discomfort. Something hard is digging into my head, but otherwise life’s pretty good. Something cold drips onto my face but I choose to ignore it, instead settling in to enjoy the peace and quiet.

“I saw that Lucien, wake up,” a voice jostles me out of my reverie and a finger digs into my cheek.

“I’m up,” I say, jerking upright and blinking blearily at Evelyn. “What happened?”

“You collapsed and we fought off some imperials. How many fingers am I holding up?” She raises two and a thumb, but I hate to be pedantic.

“Seven.”

“He sounds better,” says Emmet as he walks over. “You did have us a bit worried at the beginning, you know.” He flutters some healing magic my way and it bounces off, pooling on the ground – I guess that means that I’m all better.

Evelyn gives me a hand up and stagger to my feet. Taking a step, I nearly impale myself on a low hanging stalactite and note that I’ve been dragged into one of those limestone chutes. I peer through the gloom and give the others a once over. They don’t look injured, which is relative with Emmet around, but their clothes aren’t damaged either. They both look pretty worn out either way – and Evelyn’s managed to find a sword, which is mildly concerning.

“So, what actually happened?” I ask, taking a seat on a rock.

“Well, you collapsed when you entered the church,” Emmet starts and I nod. “Then there was this awful pressure over everything and you started to get really bad,” he pauses and eyes me weirdly. “The priests kept talking about The Mother descending, that she was talking to you.” He drops off and waits for me to say something.

Whatever that thing was, it didn’t name itself – it didn’t have to. Something squirreled away in my mind knew that it was The Mother, and you tend to trust those feelings with things like this. I hesitate, then nod in confirmation. Emmet rocks back a little dramatically and his face pinches.

“Well, that’s something,” he says quietly. He takes a breath and puts it all to the side. “After your vision,” he stumbles over the words, “three imperials burst in and they argued with the clergy. In the end Evelyn fought them off and I carried you out.”

I glance over to Evelyn with a raised eyebrow. She nods back, proving that they’ve absolutely no flair for storytelling. I turn back to Emmet.

“What, so you fought off three imperials just like that?”

“Oh no, Evelyn did incredibly!” he exclaims, realising how dismissive he account sounded. “She fought them off with a candlestick, then duelled the captain until we could get away. It was very heroic.”

Evelyn puts on a show of preening, but the bright red blush around her neck ruins the act. Emmet carries on a bit more, Evelyn interjecting every so often as they recount their adventure. It all sounds very exciting – I’m glad to have missed it. They peter out after a while and I pipe up.

“Thanks for getting me out of there. And getting me through the vision too, I guess,” I say, staring at their noses. Emmet smiles gracefully as if he hadn’t been waiting for some recognition, and Evelyn just punches me in the shoulder.

“We weren’t just going to leave you lying in a church – we’d never hear the end of it.” She laughs and I rub my shoulder. “But anyway, we need to talk about your episode.” She makes air quotes around the word and I sigh.

“I was in a forest clearing and there was a little girl messing with a centipede and a snake.” I strategically leave out everything that happened before I opened father’s door. I’m pretty sure all of that was on my end and I’m not willing to risk being psychoanalysed when I’m standing in a damp cave. Evelyn cocks her head and Emmet hums thoughtfully as I describe the clearing, but if they have any thoughts, they keep it to themselves. “The kid said that she was hungry, I gave her a golden apple, then we climbed through a tunnel beneath a tree.”

“So, wait, what does the apple symbolize?” Evelyn asks with a scrunched brow.

“Who cares,” I say, still not sure if that part was in psychoanalysis territory. “Anyway, eventually I appeared in a room filled with barrels and stuff. Then The Mother crawled out of the kid’s mouth and told me that the fate of the world rested on finding this girl.” The others stare blankly at me, oh yeah. “There was also a girl in the corner of the room.” Evelyn starts trying to iron out the details. Emmet looks vaguely horrified – probably caught himself on his goddess crawling out something’s mouth.

“Wh-what did She look like?” Emmet manages. A thousand overlapping mouths screaming soft words.

“Big, white, glowing – all very divine.” That doesn’t seem to make him feel better and he wanders off to have an existential crisis.

“So, a god told you that the fate of the world hung on finding this girl?” Evelyn asks, counting things off on her fingers.

“Implied it. She said something about stopping darkness and maybe somebody is trying to kill her,” I correct her. I wasn’t in a great condition to memorise divine portents at the time. We hash out the details for a bit, I have to really wrack my brain for anything relevant. In the end, we settle on the room – wooden planks – the fact that I think it was on a boat, and not much else. Useless bloody god.

“Do you think that girl is like me? From Earth?” Evelyn asks. I consider it, it’s a good point.

“I don’t see why not,” I hedge. “Just as likely as not, considering recent events.” Evelyn just nods and goes silent, emotions whirling about behind her eyes.

“Does that mean that we’re actually going to have to go find her?” I ask, resigned. I’d usually refuse based on the principle of the thing, but I can see the writing on the wall. Evelyn grins and knocks my shoulder again like a bloody ape.

“We’re actually going to follow the vision?” Surprisingly, the question comes from Emmet. He looks shocked, which is fair – it’s hardly my style. But he doesn’t look especially happy, which is weird – since this is definitely his.

“Yep, we’re on a mission from god,” says Evelyn with a stupid grin, then she starts giggling to herself. I let the small minds entertain themselves and pick up my satchel – thank gods that the money jar is still in here. It’s at this point that Evelyn finally deigns to engage her critical faculties and ask a decent question.

“How do we know where to go?” she asks and truth be told, I hadn’t actually given it much thought.

“Does your god tend to give useful advice, Emmet?” I ask. Emmet’s eyebrow furrows, but he doesn’t seem to rise to the bait.

“I like to think so,” he says without much energy. Maybe he’s not used to having that freak of a god in his presence. If they felt anything like it’d been in the dream, I could imagine how it’d take the wind out of your sails.

“So, she must have given us enough to go on, right?” Evelyn says, showing a bizarre trust in eldritch monstrosities that I’m not prepared to match. And what do we have to go on? The girl’s on a boat? Who knows anything about boats?

“All we know is that she’s on a boat,” says Evelyn, as usual two steps behind me. “Maybe we can ask someone who knows a lot about boats? We are in a port city, after all.” Her words trigger a neuron floating aimlessly in my skull and I remember meeting an idiot who might be able to help us out. And maybe make my morning not so much of a waste of time.

“I’ve punched someone recently who knows about boats.”

I wiggle my fingers and the bars melt out of the way. I poke my head out of the sewer grate and clamber out onto the wharf when there’s no sign of anyone who cares. A few fishermen give me the side-eye, but it’s hopefully just because Emmet slips and splashes around, scaring the fish away.

We try to casually sneak over to the Salty Moustache on account of being wanted by not only the secret police, but the regular police now too. The ugly pub seems to have made it out okay after this morning’s bar fight – they’re probably used to it with their clientele.

Evelyn takes the lead, just in case anyone recognises me, and pushes the door open. The inside still smells like spilt alcohol and burnt hair, but they’ve already replaced all the previously wrecked chairs and tables with new ones. They’re good at what they do, I’ll give them that.

It was a bit of a gamble, betting on that old man sticking around here. It instantly pays off though, when he’s literally sitting in the same seat that he had been a few hours ago. I motion towards him and the three of us pile in to his table.

“Sup,” I say, showcasing my unique talent for conversation. The old man blinks up at us and smirks.

“Back for more, magic boy?” He slurs through blackened teeth and a bruised jaw – suck it. “Need another taste of my fearsome powers?” Evelyn is grinning without even knowing the joke, but I ignore both of them and forge on.

“We’re looking for a ship and all we’ve got to go on is the inside of one of its rooms,” I tell him. “Is that possible to do?” The drunken idiot leans back and eyes his empty bottle meaningfully. I had emotionally prepared for the eventuality of needing to bribe him, but it’s still hard to part from the three knights it takes to buy another mug of ale. Instead of gulping it down like I would’ve expected, he takes a little sip – he’s obviously well versed with making his coin last.

“Well kid, that depends on what we’re working with. I’m not good at much these days, but I can still tell my mizzen from my mast, if you know what I mean.” I don’t actually, but it sounds promising.

“Okay, so the room is kind of cramped, and it’s made out of thin wooden planks.”

“What colour are the planks?” He asks.

“Er, reddish-brown?” I say, trying to remember. The old man makes a humming sound and distractedly fiddles with an empty bottle.

“What’s in the room?”

“Barrels and stuff,” I say. He goes silent for a moment, then slaps the table, cackling.

“There’s only one ship around here that’s pretentious enough to use mahogany in their bloody storerooms, kid,” he manages between coughs. “The Porcine Mango – it’s a river boat that goes up the Lisenhoff Canal.” I vaguely recognise the name – the canal, not the stupid boat. It runs south, right into Imperial heartland. Unfortunately, I’m unable to hide the fact that I have no idea what he’s talking about and a slimy grin plasters his face. “You’re all clever kids – I’m sure you can work it out on your own from here.” I roll my eyes and hand over another few coins, he smoothly shoves them up his sleeve or something.

“Where is it and how do we get there?” I ask, pulling out a map that I’d nicked from the restaurant. He leans forward and presses a greasy finger down on the next town over from Kismet.

“Lucky for you, the next trip up the river should set out tomorrow, so you can meet it when in harbours for the night in Ivyne.” He traces out the road that we should take and I hand him a few more coins so that he might consider telling anyone who asks that we went in the opposite direction.

Once again, we’re trudging down a dusty country road, under an unrelenting sun. Kismet slowly shrinks into the distance and all I feel is that I’m thankful that we didn’t have to make this week’s payment on the house.

“Hey Emmet,” Evelyn breaks the silence. “Are you doing alright?” Emmet glances up as he’s broken from his revere. He’s been a little more dour than usual, you’d think that he’d be more excited about our holy mission. He looks about ready to brush it off, before pausing.

“Well,” he starts. “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but I feel like recently we’ve been kind of swept up in things – and people keep getting hurt because of it.” He fidgets around, trying to find the words. “I know that I shouldn’t be saying this kind of thing when it’s The Mother Herself giving us direction, but it reminds me of when Reynard tricked me into attacking the cult.” He looks fairly miserable.

“Hey, listen, Emmet,” I say and he looks up. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re doing this because, odds are, it has something to do with the cult and Evelyn’s whole situation. And the boat’s in the direction we were aiming for anyway.”

“Aren’t you angry about how everything just happens to us?” He asks.

“Obviously. But just take it one step at a time, keep your head down, and make choices when you can,” I say, not quite liking how this is edging into sanctimonious territory. “Just figure out what you want to do and just try to work towards it.”

I snap my fingers and a candle flame flickers into life. I’ve been trying to follow that advice, myself – learning magic was the entire point of leaving home after all. Emmet has the courtesy to mull over my bullshit.

“It’s not that easy,” he mutters and I nod vaguely.

“Just be like Evelyn. She completely dropped wanting to get home now that saving the world is on the table.”

“Shut up Lulu,” Evelyn knocks me in the shoulder with a grin. “You’ve got to admit it’s a little exciting, right?” She turns to Emmet and lays a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll just have to make decisions that we’re all happy with, okay?” Emmet smiles and nods.

“Thanks guys,” he says, still looking troubled, but more optimistic than before.

Emmet drifts into a more thoughtful silence and Evelyn walks on, still awkwardly holding onto her sword. It’s a good question really, what do I want out of this? I’d spent the past two weeks idling around, not making any progress in learning new magic – in making something of myself.

In the end, I’ll just focus on getting Evelyn back home, it’s best thing that I can aim for right now. I’ll let the other two figure out what they’ll do, but I’ll be damned if I’m forced to do the mother’s bidding. We keep on walking towards Ivyne, dancing to someone’s tune. Emmet’s kind of right, it does make me angry that everything I do seems to be in someone else’s interests. I’m sure the vision all this crap about ‘the coming dark’ is the business of the Empire, the cult and the goddess – and I’ll be fucked if I benefit any of them.