Darkness.
Not the kind that came with closed eyes. The kind that had weight to it, presence, like something that had existed long before light and would exist long after it. Marcus stood inside it and felt absolutely nothing beneath his feet and absolutely nothing above his head and the absence of everything was so complete it pressed against his ears.
He looked around slowly.
"Am I dead again," he muttered.
Not a question. Just a thing that needed saying out loud to see how it sounded.
Then the bell tolled.
He couldn't tell where it came from because it came from everywhere at once, a single resonant note that didn't fade the way sound was supposed to fade, just hung in the darkness like it had nowhere else to be. Then the voice followed it.
"Listen carefully, lost one."
Marcus had heard many voices in his life.
Commanders, kings, merchants, liars, dying men.
This voice was none of those things. It had no emotion behind it.
"You are among the few chosen to wield a power bestowed only upon those deemed worthy of its weight. This land has been consumed by corruption. My subjects have been scattered into fear and uncertainty. You, who have faced the sharpest edge of deceit, have been selected to walk the path that liberates them. And within that fulfillment you will find what you truly seek."
Marcus stared into the dark for a long moment.
"Me."
"Yes."
"Liberate." He let the word sit in his mouth like something with a bad taste. "Let me be clear about something. I don't want to liberate anyone. I want one man's head in my hands and the heads of everyone who stood beside him. That's the full extent of my ambitions. I'm not a saviour. I'm not a messiah. Whatever you think you saw in me, look again."
The voice didn't argue. It didn't defend itself. When it spoke again it was quieter, thinner, like something beginning to dissolve.
"Your path will take you to what you seek most."
Then it was gone.
The darkness went with it.
Light came in slowly and with it came the feeling of something soft beneath his head and the low sound of movement somewhere nearby. Marcus opened his eyes to wooden ceiling beams and the warm smell of a small enclosed space. He turned his head and immediately stopped.
He was lying in someone's lap.
He tilted his head upward. Brown linen. Two very obvious curves pressed together above him.
"Where," he said flatly, "am I."
"He's awake." Liz's voice came from somewhere behind his head and then her face appeared above him, looking down with an expression that landed somewhere between relief and mild amusement.
She helped him slowly up into a sitting position.
"Easy. You've been out for two days."
Marcus sat and took in the hut around them. Small and plain, a few clay pots stacked near the wall, some dried herbs hanging from a low beam, two sleeping mats on the floor. Through the single window the light looked like late afternoon.
"You fainted after the battle," Liz said, settling back and pulling her knees up. "I got you inside and kept you from dying in the dirt, which I thought was generous of me."
"So you took care of me."
"Yes."
"Thanks." He moved to stand and felt weakness settle across his shoulders. "I need to start moving."
"To where exactly." She didn't say it with frustration. Just practicality. "You don't know this region, you don't have gear worth mentioning, and you were unconscious until about a minute ago." She tilted her head. "Hear me out first. Then you can go wherever you want."
Marcus looked at her for a moment. She met it without shifting. He sat back down.
"I've been having visions for months," she said. "That's why I came here. To this village, this specific place. The visions showed a summoner moving through this land, cutting through things that had no business being cut through, and I believed I was meant to be his guide." She paused.
"A guide," Marcus said.
"Someone who knows the roads, the factions, the cities worth stopping in and the ones worth burning down." She shrugged. "You need information. You need gear. I can get you both faster than you'd find them alone."
Marcus was quiet for a moment. Somewhere in the back of his mind the voice from the darkness was still echoing . Your path will take you to what you seek most.
He'd decide what that meant on his own terms.
"Fine," he said. "Talk while we move."
Outside the hut the village was in full afternoon motion and the moment Marcus stepped through the door someone shouted.
"Our liberator!"
It spread fast, the way fire spread in dry places, and within seconds people were gathered along both sides of the path with the particular energy of people who needed something to believe in after a very bad two days. Marcus walked through it with a face that gave them absolutely nothing back.
A man near the stables called out from the small crowd. "If you're heading out, take the two horses as thanks. It's the least we can do."
Marcus glanced at the stables. Two horses in the pen, one black with a coat that caught the light like polished stone, one white with a pale grey mane that moved like water when she turned her head.
He walked over and put his hand on the black one's neck. The horse didn't move or flinch. Just looked at him with large steady eyes.
"Dusk," Marcus said quietly. The name of he's loyal companion from he's previous life. He swung up into the saddle in one clean motion.
Liz was already mounted on the white one, adjusting the reins with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times. She looked across at him and something like a smile crossed her face.
"Nice pick."
Marcus said nothing. He looked at the road ahead, flat and long and leading away from celebration and toward whatever came next.
"Follow my lead," Liz said, and clicked her horse forward.
Marcus jerked he's horse and followed suite.