---- The inn was but a fish in the ocean. She passed it by thrice, so sure each time that she was near and yet not once did it catch her attention. It was on her third twirl of the block when she heard the whinny of a mare, and knew the tone to be that of a northern breed. The sign above the door read 'inn' according to Evara, but it looked as though every sign on the street had the same word scrawled.
The ashy door creaked open. Within, half a battle raged. She readied her spear as the innkeeper waved his cleaver wildly.
"Girl!" he growled. "You're back!"
Between him and her loomed three figures. Slate robes draped long over the imposing forms of three monks. These were not the first monks she had seen. An army of them had entered Duke's crossing to meet the Baron's retinue.
"They sought to enter your room," the keeper spat. "I sought to chop their cocks off."
"Why do you seek me?" Ash asked, her spear gripped but sheathed.
The men did not attempt to menace her. They stood calmly as stone and just as quiet, but for the eldest of the bunch. "Sparrow-Knight?" he breathed. "A dangerous name. Do you even know what it is you pretend to be, child?"
Long hairs sprawled out of the darkness within his upturned nose. His scarred hands joined together as if to pray.
"I pretend at nothing, monk. Now answer: why do you seek me?" The voice of the Sparrow had taken Ash's tongue. Deeper and darker than was her nature, with a confidence only earned through battles she had not yet fought.
"We offer no harm, child. We are but messengers for now. Your presence is demanded at the conclave. It is time for the truth to free you," the eldest said, making no attempt to hide his hatred.
-- "Free me of what?"
"The truth offers many freedoms, and many more chains. The truth of your name is to be unveiled and, should the truth make a liar of you, freedom from all that is physical shall be granted unto she who makes mockery of the gods." A dark smirk took him. "We are but the raven sent to guide your path, not the hawk sent to end it. Not yet, that is."
"Then let's go," Ash said, loosing her grip on her spear.
The monks bowed before the innkeeper and shuffled out without a word more.
"Thank you," Ash whispered to the keeper.
"Be careful with them bastards," he said with a furrowed brow.
"I will. Please look after my sister till I'm back. And take this." She slipped two golden disks into his palm.
His eyes grew larger than his skull ought to have allowed, and his jaw seemed to unhinge for a moment. "She will be as my own blood," he swore.
With it, Ash left him and followed the monk's path southward.
---- All that had been, had been poor. All that was, was perfect. The day would end as it had started, in awe of the gods that so deeply wished for her enslavement. She took her steps alone, shedding the monks at the threshold of the central chapel. Though the sun had set by this time, it still beamed as brightly through the north window as it had in midday. The glass bathed her in its rainbow-stained glory.
The light shining through cast an image of the divine pantheon across the marble floors, though she could name scarce few: Taeva sat atop a direwolf, bow in hand. Hevestiel bowed before the Golden Goddess who reigned above them all. She saw the youthful goden of sailors, Sjalgreef, set sail across a ray of light, while a dark mass of blind justice was cast to the far end of the hall. Veytor, the goden of truth. His grim gaze seemed to follow her most closely as she marched along the near endless path.
"Stop there," a man called – the only man in who stood within the hall. White hair to match her own, though a gaze much more severe; commanding. He forded the gap between Ashtik and the mothers, blade unsheathed. "What's your name?" he asked quietly, his voice as deep as a flaming bellow and the tip of his rapier scratching along the marble tiles.
"Ashtik," was the best she could muster. Everything in that place unsteadied her. The way the air seemed so fresh, yet so unmoving; stagnant. The way the council of mothers leered at her in disdain from behind their great table. The way this white-hair seemed to both obsess over every inch and detail of her body, and yet hate her fully for being within his gaze.
"Be you a dove, shielded in hawks feathers? Or be you the hawk, feigning wings of peace?" one of the distant mothers called.
"I- I don't know what that means... Mother," she replied. What she had meant to say was, "Why can't any of you people just speak normally?"
"Do you fear us, child?" Another, gentler mother asked.
"Of course she does, Yenan!" sneered a familiar voice. It was she who acted as muse to every flame of the world. She who could sing songs to the soon calming winds. She who would teach the sun to crown, and the moon to light the night. She stormed across the hall and came upon the white-haired man. A whispered word brought his blade to its sheath and allowed her to bare her own weapon. A pure and perfect smile that spanned from star to star. The whole galaxy could have resided between her rosy, freckled cheeks.
"Hello, Ashtik," she said in tones of honey and music. Had a songbird chirped at that moment, it might have taken a vow of silence as penance for lessening the beauty of the sound.
"I- Hello... Ashtik-" Ash stammered and stuttered and everything inelegant when placed before this divinity.
"Bid each noise be still. Bid peace to the torrent within, that the flood may settle, and the woman might be known," the ray of light giggled as easily as though the words were thoughtless. Ash had no thought as to what she had said, nor could she as much as comprehend a word of it, but a calm encompassed her. It surrounded her and filled her. It was the greatest bed, with even greater company. It was feathers and tickles. It was love and passion. A word brought calm, but a gaze brought something much more. Amethyst locked to pure, elated, gold. "While you stand here, Ashtik, you may leave the weight of the world behind."
The Golden woman took Ash's hand into her own and dragged her forward, towards the mothers. She made the journey a happy one, each step was a step taken with purpose and pride. Each noise rippled and shifted the air into the correct place. No longer was she the burden or the blunderer.
---- Better creatures encircled her. The closest connections to divinity surrounded and judged her. They saw, from their high table, her every scab and insecurity. They could see it all writ bare across her face.
The time she tore her shirt before the smith's son. All the time she had tried to show off in front of her father and earned a fresh scar as a result. Every depraved and cruel thought. Every perversion and hidden desire. They saw it all.
Or, they must have... That must have been the reason they made her feel so small, and themselves seem so large.
The Golden Champion left Ashtik alone at the eye of the table, bare as a babe before this judging council.
"Hast thou a claim to the divine?" a mother of lilac asked.
"What?" Ash begged.
"Art thou marked and marred by sparrows and blackened dreams?" asked the impatient mother of brightest hue.
-- "I- I don't know what you're talking about."
-- "You shall have it spoken plain; a Champion of Black is your stolen claim. A warrior of legend, made in a day; prove your might, keep your better at bay!"
"They mean me," the white-hair coughed. Ash spun to look at him, but instead met his fist. It tumbled her in an instant. A seething pain, a fresh bruise on her cheek. She could feel the droplet of blood make its way across her vined tattoo. "I'm your better, try and keep me at bay."
No time was given. The little blade struck out before the first drop of blood could wet the ground. Ashtik barely managed to fall away. She cracked against the marble and rolled away from his follow up strike. His boot came crashing down next. It didn't matter that she caught it; it still landed with enough force to crack a rib. It tore the stagnant air from her lungs, but it wasn't enough.
He rounded again, meeting his fist to her jaw as she tried to rise. Then again, his knee crashed into her thigh and buckled her leg.
All she could do was flail out a strike in his general direction, but he seemed to react before she had even begun to move. He put himself in the perfect position to grab her wrist, twist it, and throw her into the mother's table.
"Admit the falsehood or deny the lie; change your destiny or be ready to die," A silver mother called.
"I- didn't... lie," Ash spat through bloody teeth.
-- "You fooled our bishop of steel; lied and forced her to kneel. Your act of legend, no more than a vicious crime; your blackened heart has no place amongst the sublime."
Ash dragged down a burning breath and hopped from the table. "Shut up," she growled.
Three steps parted the white-haired man and woman. Ash stormed towards him, fist screaming. She swung with heated malice. She tore the dirk from her boot and aimed it to land deep within his thigh, or his throat, or his eye... or anywhere she could get it as the man danced between her thrusts and slashes. She tore through the air, where she wished to tear through him. She battered and beat the tracks between them. Then it was done, and her victim stood before her.
"You done?" He towered over her with an absent smirk. No blood poured, no bruises pooled. She had yet to land a single blow.
It did nothing to deter her. She rounded and slashed a dozen more times, then a dozen again, and again. At each slash, he stepped away. At each stab, he pushed her away. He always seemed to be in the exact right spot to counterattack. It didn't take long before she realised he wasn't fighting, but toying with her.
She slashed again, and again, and again, but each time he dodged and weaved and pushed her away. For each slash missed, she grew in wrath. It fuelled her. Made her faster, stronger. She would miss one strike, but throw six more in the instant after, and she would miss all of them.
"Ooh, that one was close," the cunt gibed through his painfully unbroken teeth. "but I have other things to do today." He stepped past her lunge and wrapped his fingers around her throat. He lifted her overhead and threw her as far as he could.
Ash crashed against a standing candle stick. The landing didn't seem to hurt at all. The adrenaline must have saved her the agony.
He made slow and mocking steps towards her as he drew his rapier back from its pure white scabbard. "It's been a pleasure," he mocked.
She took his slow walk to make a plan. The candlestick was tall, as tall as her spear. She snapped the legs and left only the shaft, standing with it raised as a staff behind her back.
"It won't do you any good." He coiled back to attack. She managed to dash the blade aside with the pole before thrusting it into the ground and using it as leverage to vault backwards. She kept her distance from the man and occasionally made swipes at him - though all attempts were made meaningless.
"Enough," he sighed, ripping the makeshift spear from her hands and diving towards her, sword tip pointed true.
The blade tore at her armour upon its first strike, but then he struck the tiny nick in the armour again, and again, and again. He managed to dig a hole directly through to her bare chest and he made his final strike as Ashtik screamed out at him.