Theurgy: Forsaken Oaths (Book Two)

Chapter 8 Who was I

"Sister."

I looked up, and for a moment, I thought I saw a young handsome-looking man, blond hair and bright blue eyes. But when I blinked even once, he was replaced with a much less impressive man, perhaps four years my junior, walking towards me. Like all from our kingdom, he carried his sword wherever he went. But there was something unfit about how he brought it, like he didn't care for the blade at all. He was never suited to be a warrior. Our mother died in childbirth, which is often a good sign that the resulting child shall be a great fighter. But her brother was no fighter. Cursed with a frail body, yet blessed with a sturdy mind. He would have been cast out of the kingdom if it were not for this. They do not protect the weak, and the weak must fend for themselves or be swallowed by the tides of nature. But she kept him. Not for any reason more than his mind, strategies, and wit. He could make cities bend by drawing that sword or drawing blood. He could make kings bow with his tongue and what he knows. Last she remembers, she sent him to assure the rumors about what had been occurring in heaven.

"Tell me what you have learned, brother," she leaned forward in her seat.

Guards propped up spears, forcing him to stop where he stood. He glanced at them, but what shook him must have already had its effects. For some reason, she couldn't blame him.

"The . . . it is true. The mages have peered beyond the veils and saw with their own eyes the catastrophe that surrounds us out there. The gods have begun their war."

"So I see," she said, leaning back a bit. "Must this be a surprise to us? Gods have waged war, and we were made in their image after all. And our patron, who fully supports our conquest of our neighbor no doubt revels in this grand event."

"Things are far more grave than that, sister," he stepped forward, holding up the parchments. "The few mages who made it back warns of grave danger. This war may not stay in heaven for long. And if it does, we stand to have our entire world turned to sunder. This war may very well speak of doom fo humanity."

His words sunk into me like the great fangs of wolves. "What have you from our brothers to the far north or east?"

"Nothing," he said. "They may very well attempt to shield themselves from what may come. The mages from all over are trying everything. But there is no hope in stepping whatever caused this war in the first place. Some even speak of weapons falling to earth, mortal beings who slay the gods. This is the end times."

It was hard for one to wrap your brain around the end times, and for what seemed like a long time, those words stunned me a little. Have our patrons led us astray? Do they intend to allow this to be the end of their Empire? "If this truly is the end. Then allow the lat days of Sparta be in service to our patrons, our protectors."

My brother's eyes widened further if that was at all possible. She seemed to have stunned him for a change. "Are you certain, sister?"

"We will die by the hands of our creators," she decided. "It is a death worthy of us, is it not?"

"But. . . what do you mean to do?"

"The mages," she said. "We shall take their god-killing weapons and use them ourselves. Ares shall grant us strength for our endeavors. as we use the hands of mortals to shatter the divine. If the sea to be bled dried, and our land turned asunder, it shall be in the glorious flurry of battle as we fall away into-"

Darkness. That was the last thing I remember: darkness and blood.

Massia shot awake, breath filing her as she nearly sprang to her feet from beneath layers of fur and cloth. She was in a tent now, and the senses all seemed numb as she regained feeling in her body. For a moment, she contemplated if what she had experienced was some lucid dream. But she knew better. She has had lucid dreams before. This seemed far more real, tangible. Like she smelled the smells and heard the same rumble of doom crash upon a life she never lived. Or had she. She felt a migraine sore within her as she sat back down to cope with her frantic thoughts. Ares. Sparta. The end of times. All of that was real. She never heard stories or any history of such events, but she knew. I knew because she was there.

"What was that, Vermilliaa?" she asked, but alas, no response came from the recesses of her mind. She knew that Vermilliaa was awake; she could feel the slight chill of thoughts separate from her bubbling beneath her subconscious, not fully expressed ideas yet. "Those were your memories, of your life before you died. Will this keep happening?

"After a minute of silence, she finally "heard" the drifting voice of the woman that inhabited her mind. "I don't know. The process has never been interrupted like this before. You are the first host I am aware of to halt the effort. Our minds will continue to merge, as we share memories, till we both no longer exist."

"You mean I won't be me?" Massia asked. "What does that mean? What will happen then?"

"Something new?" Even she sounded unsure of her own words for once. "I'm not all that keen on this kind of matter, Massia, forgive me. But I am a warrior spirit, between the veils of death and the living. And as I fade into oblivion, All that I am will become a part of you. And you shall cease to be as well. That is all I know."