Chapter 7: I am Not

“You’re in denial,” said the Hero. His words cut between Aria and the Cleric, reminding her of what the Party believed as a whole. 

She took a deep breath, lips parting as she prepared to argue with yet another fool. 

The Hero shook his head before she could say a word. “Whether you believe it or not does not change the truth.” He stepped closer, bending down to make eye contact with Aria. “The only thing that changes is how much longer those tainted by the miasma have to suffer. Every demon and every person harmed by them will only increase the more you hesitate.” He stood. “We’ve lost three days. Three days worth of souls.” A sigh escaped his lips as he looked up at the Stars. “I…” He glanced down at Aria, “I started this quest because I promised to save as many as I could.”

Aria stared at him, eyes slowlying narrowing. Tainted by the miasma? He sounds like he feels sorry for the demons. 

“Help me, Saintess.”

“I’m not the Saintess,” she snapped, standing with a wobble. “I can’t hear her voice!” 

The Cleric rose, reaching to steady her. 

She jerked away. “I’ve said from the start I’m not the Saintess. I left the temple to stop this nonsense!”

A snort interrupted her. All eyes focused on the Mage who stood to the side, snake coiling and uncoiling from his arm. “You stole from the Goddess. You took the Saintess’ flute.” He shrugged. “Why take it if you aren’t the Saintess?”

Why did I take it? Aria thought. She ground her teeth together.

She had no memory of it. She had packed her belongings the night before her escape. When she opened them again the following night the flute was there, nested in between her spare tunic and rations. 

Terror had run through her veins; with the flute gone the temple would immediately notice her absence as everyone would have been summoned to aid in the search. She had sat, rocking back and forth as she chewed a strip of dried meat, and gone over the events of the previous day. 

The Hero’s Party’s send off celebration had filled the temple; acolytes, priests, and clerics had run around making sure the blessing ceremony would go perfectly. Civilians had started gathering to witness the historic moment. If anyone had taken the flute with so many people passing its display room someone would have started an uproar. It would have had to be taken after the ceremony started. 

But I was already running away by then. Aria had started sneaking out the moment she knew everyone else was preoccupied. Her belongings had been on her meaning no one could have stolen the flute and snuck it into her pack. 

It meant acknowledging that there was a gap in her memory. Either someone had met her and given her the flute or she had been the one to steal it. She had no memory of either.

It had to be me, was the logical conclusion Aria had come to. There was no way to make people forget select memories. People forgetting their own actions… she had seen cases of it in the elderly at the temple. It was usually a precursor to forgetting much much more than just a single moment of their lives. 

Unwilling to dwell further on the matter Aria had accepted that she had stolen the flute and left it at that. Her focus was running away. Seeking medical attention for a failing memory would come later. 

Now was later. 

Aria had nothing to say. They won’t believe me anyway. So she repeated the one truth she believed. 

“I’m not the Saintess.”

The Mage shook his head while the Cleric wiped the few remaining tears from his face. 

The Hero glanced at the Stars before stepping away from Aria. “You’re not the Saintess.” He closed his eyes and nodded. “Or course, the Saintess would never abandon the souls the Goddess spends so long cleansing.” He turned his back to her, speaking over his shoulder. “You’ve wasted three days almost getting yourself killed. Three days people died from demonic attacks.” He stopped, arms resting behind his back as he looked up at the Stars. “The Saintess would never have abandoned them to die.”

The Warrior’s voice was very low when he spoke. “You don’t have any right to say that.”

The Hero laughed. “As the Goddess’ chosen, it’s the Saintess’ duty to protect. She ran away. She’s no Saintess.” 

“No.” The Warrior’s cut through the Hero’s. “Saintess or not, those deaths are not on her.” He stepped towards the Hero, hand on the blade at his side. “The demons kill people. Death is on those who fail to fight and protect them. It’s on me, the Warrior. On you, the Hero.” He glanced at Aria, “It’s not on a girl who can’t even fight a goblin.”

“On me?” The Hero snorted, turning back to face the group. “I’m not running away from what needs to be done. I’ve fought in every battle we’ve faced and protected the Cleric each time.” He gestured at Aria as he continued. “She ran away. On your watch.” A glare accompanied the accusation. “She was your responsibility.”

Responsibility? I’m the Warrior’s responsibility? The words bounce around in Aria’s mind. She knew he had helped her more than anyone else in the Hero’s party. She hadn’t realized she was his burden.

Aria’s eyes flicked up to the Stars out of habit. She hesitated though. The accusations weighing her down. What good will praying do?

It wasn’t that she had stopped believing. No.

I’m tired.

Tired of losing loved ones.

Tired of asking to be believed.

To be listened to. 

To be given a response. 

If I’m the Saintess, shouldn’t the Goddess answer my prayers? 

Aria knew that’s not how faith worked. She had heard it all before.

“Be grateful you survived.” 

“Be happy you have a warm meal.” 

“Be content that you serve the Goddess.”

Aria was not content. 

She was exhausted. Because of the Goddess. 

She stood accused of lying once again. 

Of being a burden. 

And she had nothing to say. Nothing to prove she wasn’t the Saintess. Nothing to prove she hadn’t taken the flute she had started to claim as her own. She had nothing. 

Nothing just like ten years before. 

Because it didn’t matter if she had known the Cleric for ten years. He was the one who had dragged her to the Demonic Peninsula.

It didn’t matter if the Warrior and Mage always kept her alive. They were keeping her there. 

And the Hero was the worst of them. He didn’t care about anything that didn’t suit his needs. For a Saintess. For entertainment.

She was a failure.

“I’m not the Saintess.” The words slipped out like the tears beginning to slide down her cheeks. 

The Hero snapped, “So you’ve sa–” The words broke off once he caught sight of her glistening face. 

“Aria—,” the Cleric began, reaching for her.

She pushed him away, voice breaking slightly as she spoke. “I can’t save them.” 

Aria stood before the Party, fists clenched at her sides as she glared at the lot of them. “The Saintess protects people. She uses the flute to save them. She serves the Goddess.” A sobbed tried to rip through her, but she shoved it down behind the rage bubbling up inside her. “She hears the Goddess. I… I’ve never heard her!” Never.

Aria had never had a prayer answered. 

Not when she prayed for her family and village. 

Not when the temple opened its doors during the epidemic. 

Not when she had asked to never be found. 

If I’m the Saintess shouldn’t I at least hear an answer to my prayers? All those times I asked for a sign? For guidance? 

I. Am. Not. The Saintess.

The Saintess would have protected the village. She would have found a cure during the epidemic. She would have protected the Hero’s Party on their quest. 

She would have been kind, compassionate, and brave. That’s what the Saintess had been six hundred years before. 

I’m none of those.

Tears dripped down her face, carving tracks in the dust coating her skin. “I’m not the Saintess.” Her words were resolute; a truth she deemed insurmountable. 

“You can still sing.” 

She wiped at her eyes and glared. 

“The Hero isn’t wrong,” commented the Cleric. “The High Priest thinks you have more divine power than he does.”  He paused, “Than I do.”

Aria recalled all the souls she had seen over the years. Of the darkness they emanated. Or the pure light they emitted as they flew up into the clouds. She thought of how she knew from a glance how much cleansing a soul would need at the hands of the Goddess before being reborn. How playing a few notes on the flute had awakened the slumbering demon. If she wasn’t the Saintess then she would have to be the Cleric and eventually the High Priestess. 

Aria lied. “I don’t.”