The Lion
The road is hard and flat and endless and my feet weigh heavy, each tread spiking pain up my leg, reminding me of the weight of my armour and the ten-foot halberd strapped to my back, but heaviest of all is the small silver coin in my breast pocket bumping against my chest thump thump with the rhythm of my steps.
I am so tired, exhaustion has seeped into my bones and fatigue hangs like weights from my ankles, wrists, and shoulders. Were any bandits to ambush me, I do not know if I would have the energy and force to swing my halberd – I might die. But even that, perhaps, would be a relief from this life of not really living anymore. And then, maybe I could see him again.
Many moons past, I made a mistake, a foolishness that cannot be made whole by any apology, prayer, or donation. No, it had to be a sacrifice. Destiny is my god and she took what was owed.
My bare and blistered foot hits an unexpected puddle and I slip, falling face first to the hard, dusty path. Loose soil slides beneath my fingers as they curl to fists. I am so tired. I would not be able to meet his eyes if he stood before me now.
I sit up and pull the coin from my pocket and stare at it, loathing and hope turn in my chest as the coin turns over my knuckles. After a minute of debating, I take a moment to pray and ask, “My Lady, might I be permitted a break?” The coin flips off my thumb, tumbling beneath the clouds gathering to grey the sky.
I catch the coin without looking and open my hand, fingers like parting flower petals, to see the closed book. Instead of resentment or despair, I feel only hollowness as I return the silver coin to my pocket, slowly bring myself to standing, and begin again down the path. The rain starts and I hear the drops falling ping ping against my plate armour.
Before, the path I walked was my own and, no matter my actions, I knew it was her will at work. You cannot outrun Destiny, but you could have the illusion of choice – that your decisions had importance, no matter it all being predetermined. No matter.
Five minutes later, I am allowed to ask the coin again, but I hold out, bitterness now fueling my steps. It is not often that I get angry anymore. Today, I am enraged.
I know the sin is mine and I must serve my punishment. I know my anger only brings me further from repentance. I know there is a purpose to this suffering. But I am tired, so so tired. I have not stopped walking for two days. I am out of rations, out of water. My feet leave bloody footprints on the now-muddy path, rain blending with soil to make every step slick and treacherous.
I make it another twenty minutes before I give in and remove the coin from my pocket. I am not worried about the rain slipping it from my fingers. If I am meant to lose the coin, I will lose it. Whether that will bring death or freedom or a new coin is for Destiny to decide.
I repeat my prayer, body despairing but a corner of my heart still hopeful. That is the hardest part – with every flip is the possibility of relief, respite, mercy. With every flip is the hope that it will have been enough. With every flip is the chance I may finally be free of the coin.
I ask, “My Lady, might I be permitted a break?” and toss the coin.
The rain is falling quite heavily now, but I catch the coin with practiced ease and slowly open my hand, dreading the image on its face. When I see the blindfolded woman, my legs give out and I fall to the ground a second time, this time willingly.
I know I might sit here till I starve, if the coin never permits me to stand again and leave, but that is not something I worry about. If it is meant to happen, then that shall be how I die. If I am meant to walk until I collapse from exhaustion and lie on the ground till my heart stops and the vultures land to pick at my bones, so be it. I do not fear death or insignificance. I gave up my pride long ago.
Rain drenches my mane of hair and the clothes separating armour from skin. I am freezing but I barely notice it as I lie back in the mud and take a minute to breathe. A drop of rain hits my nose and I crinkle it, irritated for a moment, before returning my thoughts to how relieved my bleeding feet and aching legs are.
It was raining that day too, out on the battlefield. I was soaked in blood, Alexsi’s body held tightly in my arms. He took my hand and said, “This is right. It is my time.” But as the life left his eyes my heart roared, “No! This is unjust.” And, in that moment, I took the name Oathbreaker and cried out in prayer to a demon lord.
Alexsi did return to life. He breathed in my arms long enough to look at me with fear and pain and sorrow before being hit in the chest by a stray arrow and dying again. Destiny cannot be changed.
I was exiled from my order and spent many days and nights in prayer, asking for forgiveness. One night, I woke on the cold stone where I had fallen asleep on my knees to see a silver coin sitting on the shrine.
Deep in my heart, I have lost faith in Destiny. I do not trust where she might bring me. I do not trust that she isn't tormenting me for her own pleasures. I do not believe that her decisions are always the finest.
I open my mouth and taste the rain. For now, at least, I am alive.
1,029 words - April 2021