Chapter Text
The next week, you meet the Seer again. You’ve taken the bus home from school, skipping the weekly church group. You open your door, and there she is, smiling at you from the couch.
“Good afternoon, John,” she says. “Come have a seat.”
“Oh, hi,” you reply. “You came back.”
She smiles, and lifts a can of cherry coke in the air, as if toasting. You walk over to sit on the reclining chair, and you both sit there for several long moments, her sipping a coke and occasionally flipping a coin, and you twiddling your thumbs.
“So—” you start to speak, but she interrupts.
“John, you have never had any martial training, correct? Of course that's correct. The reason I’m here today is to address this lamentable gap in your education.”
You blink. “Martial training? You mean martial arts? Fighting?”
“Yes, John, that is what I mean.”
Your eyes widen. “You mean like The Karate Kid? That’s so sweet, so you’re going to be like Mr. Miyagi to my Ralph Macchio?”
“Like that, except real.” The goddess stands up and makes a motion that you can’t quite make out, and then there is a large duffel bag in her arms. It looks like something you could get at REI.
She puts it down and unzips it, and you see a sharp-looking metal edge.
“Because you have absolutely zero previous experience, I have selected a variety of potential weapons for you to take up.” She removes a sword from the bag and lays it down on the floor, then takes out an axe. “Of course, I know what you are going to choose. But the impression of free will is important.” She takes out several knives, then a long spear, then a heavy, spiked club, laying each one next to the other. “But keep in mind: you can only choose one. Just pick a weapon up, and it will be yours.” She reaches back in for another item and—
Oh shit. That’s a gun.
You’re staring. “You uh, want me to choose? Why? How do I know which would be best for me? Maybe I should try out a few first, to see what fits?”
“No, John. That’s not how we're doing this. Consider it a test of your resolve and perseverance.” She finishes arranging the weapons, straightens up, and steps back. “Now, choose wisely.”
You stare down at the assortment of deadly armaments. She said she already knew which one you’re going to choose, so why is she doing this? But she also said last time that you sometimes did unexpected things, so…
“Okay,” you say, after thinking a moment. “So whatever I pick up will be my weapon forever?”
The Seer smiles. “Yes, that is correct.”
You look at the vicious implements spread out on the floor, and then your eyes wander over to your dad’s toolkit. He must have left it out, after hanging up the latest clown painting. You take a step towards it. When the Seer doesn’t stop you, you close the distance and, with a broad grin, pluck the hammer out from the box.
You hold it up proudly at the Seer. “Ta da! There! I followed your instructions! You were not expecting that, huh?”
The Seer’s expression is impassive. “Very well, you have chosen your weapon.” She nonchalantly kicks the deadly weapons on the floor away, clearing a space. Then, she makes that motion again, and there is a long, tapering, wooden cane in her hand. “Time to see if you can use it.”
That night, you retire to your room early, avoiding your dad's questions and nursing the bruises on your back and sides. When you sit down at your computer, you wince.
That really smarts.
Land a hit on me, the Seer had said. Land a hit! As if you ever could, when she knows what you’re thinking of doing before you do it! By the end of the hour, you were absolutely sure that the Seer was attempting to sign her name onto your skin in bruises. Being taught martial arts by an ancient goddess isn’t nearly as awesome or non-painful as you would have expected.
You have a message on Pesterchum. It’s Anna.
-- harmoniousDithering [HD] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] at 17:34 --
HD: sorry that you missed today's meeting, hope you're feeling well!
HD: and that you’re not sick or anything
HD: we signed up for the field trip today. I got a ticket! I’ll see if I can get the Sylph to autograph something for you.
HD: you like movies, right? I don’t have any movie posters, but if you bring me one at the next meeting I’ll see if she can autograph that!
HD: anyway I’ll see you next week. Take care.
You look at the messages for a long time, thinking of what to say.
-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering harmoniousDithering [HD] at 20:11 --
GT: i am sorry, but i can’t come to the youth group meetings anymore
GT: i told my dad about it and he said i can’t go at all
GT: i am grounded for life or something
You don’t feel good about this. This isn’t a joke. This is lying, to a friend, and you feel terrible.
She replies a few minutes later.
HD: oh that’s awful! I’m so sorry! Your dad is a jerk!
HD: you should call social services on him or something.
HD: I don’t know. I guess this isn’t illegal. But it’s so unfair.
HD: I can’t believe he’d do that.
GT: yes it is very dumb and lame
GT: i am not happy about it
HD: Well I’m angry about it!
GT: you don’t have to be angry
GT: he is my stupid dad
GT: i guess i will figure it out
GT: have a good time at the museum, i hope you meet lots of rad people
You sign off. You don’t like this at all, it makes you feel like you’re in the wrong. But you can’t be in the wrong if you’re doing what a goddess is telling you to do, right? Isn’t that kind of the definition of right and wrong?
You don’t know.
Bruises aching, you go to bed.
Next week, while practice-strifing in the living room, the Seer smacks your hand with her cane, and the hammer goes flying. You hear a crash, and you turn in horror to see pottery shards and Nanna’s ashes all over the mantelpiece and floor.
“Oh shit,” you say, and glance back at the goddess.
“John,” she says, and raises her cane. “Don’t turn your back on your opponent.”
“No, wait! Just wait,” you say. “Those are my Nanna’s ashes, I can’t just leave them there while we strife.”
And to your relief, she gives you a moment to get a dustpan and a broom and sweep up the ashes. Not knowing where else to put them, you get a mixing bowl from the kitchen and dump them in. “Augh,” you say. “How am I gonna explain this to my dad?”
The goddess takes a coin from nowhere and flips it. “You need to come clean and take responsibility.”
“But—”
“That is what is just, John. And if your father punishes you, that is also just.”
But it’s your fault, kind of, is what you want to say, but you don’t. You look at the bowl of ashes and pottery shards in your hands.
“John," she says again. “Learn from your mistakes. What have you learned?”
“Don’t strife inside the house?”
She smiles, and smacks her cane into her palm. “That, and protect your grip.”
“Son, I am disappointed in you.”
“I’m sorry,” you say. “It was an accident.” You do not look your dad in the face.
He sighs and adjusts his hat. “Sit and talk with me for a moment, Son.”
Oh gods, not a talk.
You sit, and your dad leans forward. “Is everything alright at school, Son?”
That’s not what you expected. “Huh? It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You haven’t been getting into fights?”
You shoot a fearful glance in his direction. It hasn’t even been a month, this can’t be the reveal that the Seer mentioned…
“No.”
“Son,” your dad puts a very patriarchal hand on your shoulder, but you’re bruised there so you try not to wince. “What happened to your hand?”
“Oh, that was an accident,” you say, looking down at the swelling across your knuckles. Your dad would not be okay with ‘a living goddess hit me with a cane’ on several different levels.
You decide to go on the offensive. “It’s none of your business anyway, Dad. I’m fine.”
“Son, I only have your best interests at heart. You know that.”
“You don’t know what my best interests are! For, for all you know, I have some sort of destiny that’s completely different from what you think I should be!”
“Don’t give me that talkback, Son,” there is an edge to your dad’s voice now. “I can see you’ve been having a hard time lately, but don’t take it out on your old man!”
“You don’t see anything! You don’t know anything!” Your voice is rising high above your regular indoor volume. Your gambit at pretending to be angry has backfired, and you actually are angry now.
Your dad shakes his head. “I know some things, Son. Like the fact that you don’t actually go to bowling club after school.”
Your mouth goes dry, and you look away. “I—I quit.”
“Do you need more extracurriculars? I think piano lessons might not be enough.”
“Augh, gods, I can’t believe this!” you exclaim, and immediately regret it.
“Language, John,” says your dad, his voice low.
“Sorry, Dad, I’m fine,” you say, trying to calm down. You remember the breathing exercises you did in the youth group, and try to emulate those without the prayer part.
“Son.” Your dad uses his patriarchal hand again. “I think more extracurricular activities would do you some good. Keep you out of trouble.” You are about to object, but he goes on.
“There are lots of good options, why don’t you look into it? Is there something you’d like to learn to do?”
“I’ll think about it,” you mumble.
“Good,” he continues. “Your chore load will also double for the next month.”
“Dad!”
He gives your shoulder a patriarchal squeeze, and you really do flinch this time. “You’ll survive, Son. What doesn’t kill you makes you a stronger man.”
You are not so sure you agree.
HD: and you won’t believe it, but this high school kid was totally flirting with me.
HD: I mean it.
HD: he was like sixteen or something
HD: so awkward.
GT: ok
HD: I dunno though, maybe I should have gone out with him?
HD: he was kind of cute
GT: ok
HD: or maybe I should have painted my face green and done the hokey pokey
GT: ok
HD: are you okay, john?
GT: huh?
GT: i am fine.
GT: if you had to learn some totally new skill, what would it be?
HD: inuit throat singing
GT: ha ha ha what?
HD: no it’s amazing.
HD: the inuit people can sing with like, their throats.
GT: what else would they sing with? their eyeballs?
HD: oh shut up
HD: i mean like, with their throat and their mouth separately. Two tones at once!
HD: isn’t that just amazing? I wish I could do that.
HD: well
HD: either that or something useful. Like computer programming.
GT: those are two very different things.
HD: so? People are allowed to have diverse interests.
GT: i guess so
“I would like to take a computer programming class,” you tell your dad. “And karate.”
The Seer of Mind cracks you over the back with her cane. You sprawl onto your belly on the ground, but manage to roll away before the second blow comes. You could swear the canes she uses are slightly harder and heavier each time. Thank goodness she never goes for your head.
The cane’s coming again, and you try to swipe with your hammer, but it’s really too short.
Her cane has a longer reach, and she can knock you four ways to Saturn before you’re close enough to even poke her with the hammer.
So she goes and knocks you four ways to Saturn, and while you’re gasping for air she flips you onto your back and points the tip of the cane at your throat.
“You’re dead again.”
“Augh,” you respond. “Can’t you use a shorter cane?”
“Your enemies will not use shorter canes just because you want them to, John.”
You sit up and push the cane away. “What enemies? I don’t have enemies!”
“John,” she says, her voice dead serious. “You have enemies you don’t even know about.”
You get to your feet. “Who, then?”
Her face is inscrutable. “You’ll know them when you see them.”
“Augh, this is so frustrating!” You are on the verge of tearing your hair out. She’s the Seer, she knows everything, so why isn’t she telling you anything? “I don’t even know what my ‘Grand Destiny’ is! You said I was going to save comedy, but all you do is strife with me!”
“John.” Her voice is incredibly condescending. “This is all an important part of your training.”
“But what am I training for?”
“You are training for your destiny, John. You will need these skills I am teaching you, in order to succeed.”
“What, ‘how to get beaten up 101’?”
She nods. “Endurance in the face of pain and damage will serve you well.”
You really want to know what you’ll be doing that requires you to be beat up so much, but then the Seer is swinging her cane at you again, and you have to pick up the hammer to block before she thwacks you in the stomach again.
“You must become hard and unyielding,” she says, and takes another swipe. “When I am through with you, John, you will be like steel.”
You have no idea what that means, but it sounds cool.
At school, in the gym’s locker room, the other boys notice your bruises. They whisper and gossip at the cane marks across your back and sides.
You’re a freak.
-- harmoniousDithering [HD] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] at 18:54 --
HD: hey! I haven’t heard from you in a while!
HD: i thought you would ask about the museum trip.
HD: because that is a thing that happened.
HD: it was pretty awesome.
HD: they didn’t have any movie posters for sale.
HD: but I did think of you.
GT: what do you mean?
HD: what do you think I mean? :)
GT: i do not know what you are talking about
HD: you can be really thick sometimes
GT: that’s what she said!
HD: that is not a proper thing to say to a lady
GT: bluh
HD: kidding!
HD: so are you still grounded?
HD: John?
-- ghostyTrickster [GT] has signed off --
It’s been a month now, and you think maybe you’re getting better. That you can maybe go 30 seconds now without getting whacked by the cane. You want to think it’s the karate lessons, but all your fellow students are like, eight, so it's not like you're a karate master yet.
The Seer has been coming more often, three times a week now at least. But at least her “lessons” are relatively short in duration.
“John,” she says, and her cane disappears into wherever the objects she carries always go. “Let’s take a break.”
You put down the hammer with a sigh of relief, then quickly shoot a look in the Seer’s direction to see if she heard you. But, of course she heard you.
She’s sitting down, and you wonder for a moment if you’re going to meditate, the way you did in Church. But instead, she takes out a chessboard.
“You know this game, John.” It’s not a question. “Play it with me.”
It’s less painful than the strife, but just as humiliating. She trounces you, then again and again. Of course she does. She can read your mind. This whole thing is an exercise in futility.
“Are you trying to teach me to give up?” you gripe, after the fifth defeat in a row. “This is not exactly great for my self-confidence.”
“You must learn to lose, before you can learn to win,” she says. “Learn when you are outclassed, and when you can turn your situation into an advantage.”
The Seer alternates your lessons between strifing and chess, and beats you every time. You play white. She plays black. After a few lessons this way, though, the playing gets… weird. The Seer seems to think that the pieces have their own personalities and motivations. She even names them.
“Watch out for the Black King, John. He is more powerful than you might think.”
“Take shelter in the castle, sure. But that rook is going to turn on you if you’re not careful.”
“This pawn is Jack. Don’t let him, or his allies, take your queen.”
The Seer changes the board up, when you play. Sometimes you play with nothing but queens and pawns, sometimes with nothing but rooks and knights. She sets up the board in specific arrangements, ahead of time, and makes you play.
“You can win,” she says. “But you must make no mistakes.”
You don’t know anything about chess. You look up strategies online. You still lose.
You can’t strategize against her, you can’t plan. So you move your pieces erratically, and lose every time.
About two months after meeting the Seer, you get a package in the mail. For you. You never get packages, unless you order something online. You don’t recognize the return address, but your name is on it. Handwritten.
It’s a long, skinny tube. Maybe it has a golf club in it or something. You wouldn’t put it past your dad, getting you a golf club even though you don’t play golf.
You open the tube, and there’s a paper roll. A poster. As you unroll it, you can see it’s some kind of abstract artsy print, with streaks of red and yellow paint over light brown. On the bottom, white text reads “Northwest Museum of Art and Culture.” You can only imagine that it’s some kind of famous painting, but you don’t recognize it.
And as you finish unrolling, you see in the upper corner, written in jade green ink:
To John,
Keep The Faith. We Are Here For You.
- Kanaya Maryam
The Sylph of Space. You have the autograph of the Sylph of Space. Her true name and everything.
There’s a letter.
Dear John,
Surprise! Sorry it’s not a movie poster, they only had art prints for sale in the museum gift shop. This piece is called “Welcome to Denmother,” and it’s by an Enfleífrit artist from the Norma Arm of the Milky Way. I have no idea what it’s supposed to represent, but I think it's a really important piece in Enfleífrit culture? Like the Mona Lisa or something. Go figure. There’s more info about the picture on the back of the poster.
And I’m sure you’ve seen the signature already! She was really nice, said “what’s your friend’s name” and signed it! There were like a BAZILLION people, I was waiting in line for hours!
Did you know the Sylph really glows? You can’t see it so clearly in the daytime, but it makes Her shadows very weird.
Anyway, I hope you get un-grounded soon. I miss you seeing you in person! Let me know, and maybe we can hang out sometime? Like, not in church, I mean.
Best wishes, and Gods bless!
-Anna
Aw, crap.
You can’t keep this. If your dad found out, he’d FREAK. And if the Seer found it? She’d freak too. You have to throw it away.
It’ll be easy, just go up to the trash can and throw it out.
Just go.
John. Go.
You don’t go. You can’t. You look at the letter again.
Everyone else in the youth group forgot about you, but Anna still cares. Even though you barely talk to her anymore. You have a friend. You can’t just throw that away.
You don’t hang up the poster, but you don’t throw it away, either. You fold it up and tuck it, with the letter, under your mattress. It’s a perfect hiding place. No one will ever find it.