NOVEL NEXT B2 Chapter 69
Elaxada's free hand clenched around the club's haft. "My people were determined to wither away with a whimper, surrendering to extinction's inevitability. I would not have it. We would take all this world threw at us, then beg it for more, beg it to unleash its worst, and in the end, we would stand victorious, tempered and unbreakable."
His gaze flayed Angar's soul, unblinking, seeking the slightest crack of weakness. "The Holy Spirit filled me with God's radiance, lighting my path. If men couldn't find their chests and fight back against this world, seeing no way to stave off the inevitability of extinction, then they were useless to us who would, who did."
His lips curled into a savage grin, rotten and broken teeth bared like a predator's. "I lit a fire under all as I traveled, my club purging the weak and cowardly, the unbelievers. I battled all who stood in my way. Those that remained took strength from my unyielding faith, unbowed by this world, ready to carve out a future for us."
His tone softened then. "I provided what comfort I could to our glorious women, who suffered so much for our survival, dying in droves so that we might live. I would not tolerate having them sacrifice themselves in vain. Their blood demanded victory, not a slow march toward oblivion. Us men, those of us worthy of the label, would match their glory."
A gale howled in Angar's ears, the peaks fading at the edges. The vision warped abruptly, the mountains dissolving into a maelstrom of psychic fury.
Worlds blazed into existence around them, planets splitting under rivers of molten slag as mighty demons tore into Crusaders.
Massive armadas battled in the void across a burning galaxy, shields flaring against bombardments.
Soldiers fought on a million battlefields, their armor caked in the gore of Heretic and Hellspawn.
A tide of blood bathed the galaxy, drowning its stars in a crimson tribute, a red nebula swirling like the wounds of creation.
The vastness contracted, yanking Angar back to the crags.
Elaxada's hand squeezed with bone-cracking force, his fanatical eyes drilling into Angar's soul. "Like me, you have been called by God to do great things," he intoned in his gravelly voice. "Like me, your enemies shall be plenty. But your friends? Allies? They'll come at you sideways, chipping away at your resolve like an army of hammers."
His grip tightened further, a warning in the pressure. "They'll name you fanatic, brand you evil, insane, a monster, claiming you interpret the Lord's intent wrong, twisting scriptures to your desires. They'll say you lost your mind. They'll say they only want you to stop because they love you so much."
He shook Angar slightly, emphasizing each word. "You must ignore them. As that book you read stated – waste no time arguing what a good man is. Be one. That gut intuition telling you what to do, that's God speaking to you. Listen only to our Heavenly Father, not the feckless pleas of cowards."
He stepped back, club planted like a standard of defiance. "The weak and uncertain are never remembered, never sung about in legend. Their names are never spoken, never mind spoken in awe and reverence. They fade into nothing, wanting the same for you.
"But," Elaxada continued, "you must always honor oaths sworn before God. They're chained to your soul. It's not easy, nor is the right path always clear."
As he began fading into nothing, Elaxada said, "See what happens when oaths are obscured within the mists of doubt, when pulled between two worlds, two irreconcilable duties, as it was for those you loved most."
A dizzying whirl seized Angar, his form stretching like taffy. Angar's essence twisted in a psychic maelstrom, the vision contorting his very being as the landscape reshaped once more, and him along with it.
No longer his own flesh, he dissolved into another's, his mother's, her form becoming his own, burdened by the toddler clutched against her hip.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
That child his self, named Ved back then, squirming with innocent vigor, his tiny hands grasping at her hide tunic amid the stifling heat inside a main gallery of the city of Mecia.
Still awed by his experience with Elaxada the Mighty, he found adjusting to this strange new reality even more difficult, focusing nearly impossible.
He tried to move, to command his mother's limbs as his own, but he was caged, an observer imprisoned within her skin, and her thoughts flooded his mind like harsh vapors seeping through a breached chasm.
He knew her mind. He knew her age to be sixteen, almost seventeen Imperial Standard Years.
She saw Mecians as uncouth savages. Since they captured her as a child, traveling in Ghelix with her noble parents, distant cousins of the Kondunean emperor, she'd prayed to the spirits daily. She prayed Kondune would invade, crush the Mecian savages, and steal her back to civilization.
Then she married. She then prayed for the opposite, that Kondune's legions stayed far away.
Love surged through her, and the him inside her, for the child in her arms, an intense and unyielding love, overwhelming, far too powerful. He wondered how she functioned while so crushed by this emotion.
And this same overpowering love was also felt for the man standing before her, his father Bara, whose broad shoulders sagged under the weight of duty and despair.
But beneath his mother's love churned a storm of rage, fear, and chaos, her entire world crumbling like a cliff in a landslide.
Laka's raw and trembling voice broke the tense silence, as she shifted the toddler's weight, her free hand reaching out instinctively toward Bara. "No," she hissed, voice low, trying to keep their words private. "I had a child, your own son, Bara! I'm your wife!"
Her eyes, wide with desperation, locked onto his, pleading. "Don't do this. Please. I love you so much. I can't live without you."
Bara's face twisted, his eyes shadowed with a pain that mirrored his wife's pain. He stepped closer, his arms out to embrace, but Laka stepped back. "I'm not doing it, Laka. You know I love you and Ved with all my heart."
His voice was pleading, carrying the weight of responsibility. Bara exhaled slowly. "You're barren, Laka, if..."
She cut him off, her voice rising in frustration, clutching the toddler tighter until he whimpered softly against her shoulder. "I'm not! I bore you a son. I'm holding proof in my arms." She lifted her child slightly. "Look at little Ved. See how healthy he is. I'm not barren."
Bara's shoulders slumped further. "You haven't quickened since his birth. It'll be two years soon."
Laka's rage flared then, her body tensing as Angar felt the heat of it blossom in her chest. "Maybe it's your seed," she snapped, though Angar knew it wasn't the case. King Baraga, as Bara would become, had sired more children in the years to follow.
His father let out another deep and wary sigh. "Perhaps, but by the Great Lord, Laka, think! You'll have to take another husband if you don't go. I can't see you with another man. I won't. I don't have to remarry like you would."
He reached out then, gently brushing her face. "Just go train as a witch with Chamas Firestarter. She's up near Thwerk. When you're one yourself, I'll travel from hold to hold with you, as your escort. We'll still be a family. It'll be like we're still married."
Laka pulled back, her arms tightening around Ved, her heart pounding in Angar's shared chest. "It's two years away from you, Bara. Witches can't travel with children. I won't leave Ved behind!" Tears welled in her eyes, blurring his vision. "I can't live without my son, and I can't live without my husband. You two are my whole world."
"You don't have to leave him," replied Bara softly. "You can bring him. It's not well known since witches never have children, but they can tow their own around with them."
He paused, searching her face, his thumb tracing a gentle line along her jaw. "By the Great Lord, you're wiser than this, Laka. You're the wisest person I know. Think. You think I want this? You think I can live without you? How hard did I fight to win your hand in marriage? I've loved you since I first laid eyes on you."
Laka leaned into his touch. "And I you, Bara. So much. You know that." A small smile cracked her lips. "I just played hard to get, to ensure you loved me as I loved you."
She sighed. "Give me an oath, promise things will be exactly as you say, that we'll live as a family when I'm a witch, and I'll go."
Bara smiled as he took a knee. "Of course. Nothing could keep me from you and Ved. I swear, before the Great Lord, things will be as I said."
Angar nearly retched as sick desires filled his mother's heart. Her lips, which he shared with her, went to kiss her husband's.
Terror seized Angar's mind, his essence clawing frantically to escape his mother's body.
With great relief, the scene warped just in time. The world spun, years blurring in a haze of regret, thrusting Angar back into his mother's form at eighteen Imperial Standard Years, almost nineteen, now a new witch trudging the Ulimuns' shadowed flanks toward Mount Shirdis with young Ved in tow, flanked by armed escorts.
He knew the story from here on well, as he had lived most of it, but the maelstrom dragged him through regardless, Laka's anguish raw and unrelenting.
Rumors of Bara's betrayal ate at her heart and soul like acid. She hoped beyond hope they were false. Her husband would never betray her.
But Bara, now King Baraga, had. He'd broken his oath to her, and Laka's world shattered. But he had to, for faith and duty's sake.