The Promise of Eleos
What is my blood worth to me? You can take it if you must... Part two of four in the Jogen Series.
Welcome back for part two of the Jogen series! If you missed the first story, you can click here to go back and read it.
The Year of Man’s Dominion
***
The shuttle shuddered as it broke Jogen’s atmosphere, jostling Eleos’ head against his harness. Opportunity fluttered in his chest like a bird trapped behind a pane of glass, synching with the irregular pitter-patter of his heart.
It was a strange feeling, hope. Humanity had so little of it left those days, running instead on the waning fumes of a dying society. This expedition was Eleos’ last chance at securing peace for his people. It was a gamble; a risk to salvage something from the wreckage humanity was heading towards. The weight of it all rested on Eleos’ shoulders, and Death loomed further above like an executioner’s axe poised to fall. Eleos was no stranger to its shadow. His whole life had been a dance along the tightrope over the grave.
Perhaps Eleos was a fool for thinking mankind could know peace this side of eternity. Surely his brother thought so. Peace was a Virtue humanity had yet to fully taste. Only the sour stench of blood and atomics lied in his people’s wake.
Peace is a paradox. Those who chase it are apt not to find it, while those who wait for it tend to see it was available to them all along. Dio had given up the chase long ago, opting instead for control through power, whilst Eleos was still running after it. Were his brother to have his way, they’d simply raze the planet and move in after the smoke settled.
“Planets can be rebuilt,” Dio had said. “Humanity cannot.”
“If that were true, then we wouldn’t be in this situation,” Eleos had responded.
Eleos’ optimism was the leash that held his brother in check. He believed there was a way to deal with Jogen and her people that didn’t involve mass genocide. All he had to do was prove it.
No small task, especially not for one man alone.
What Dio failed to see was that they already had proof, and that proof sat on the stolen shuttle across from Eleos. Baylmon the giant — a Jogen native, captured by Dio upon his first trip to the planet’s surface. Dio had taken the giant as a prisoner with hopes of being able to use him to negotiate with the natives. Unfortunately, the Rephiim had no understanding of such a concept.
Dio had wanted to torture Baylmon for information. Eleos did not allow him to. He’d made a deal with his brother instead, pleaded with him, promising to take the Rephiim as his ward and teach him of the Virtues. It was nothing short of a miracle that both Dio and Baylmon had been willing to cooperate. The giant was a quick learner, and had a natural curiosity that mirrored Eleos’ own.
Baylmon caught Eleos staring at him then and flared his nostrils. Eleos had come to understand this was the Rephiim’s version of a smile. It took three seats to accommodate the man’s size. A strange sight, no doubt — akin to seing an adult sitting at the children's table. Eleos recalled the day Dio brought the beast home. They’d been much less accommodating then, having chained him to the deck in the cargo hold instead.
Baylmon said something in his native language, which Eleos could not understand without BT-9’s translation.
“You’re either a madman, or an idiot,” the droid relayed.
Eleos smiled. “Why not both?”
Baylmon only tilted his head at Eleos. Humor was one thing the two of them hadn’t worked out yet. The Rephiim spoke again.
“Fólk mitt þik ei þessa dræpei, ok ēg þē þū ertu būinn.” My people will kill you for this. I hope you are ready.
“I do not fear those who can only kill the body.”
The giant flared his nostrils again as a look of recognition painted his face. Or was it reverence? Eleos couldn’t quite read the expression, but it was one that was common for Baylmon. “We will see.”
***
Eleos had never seen Earth before. At least, not physically. He’d visited their home planet in simulations many times, but never had its grass graced his feet, nor its air sweetened his lungs. The generation before him were the last of Earth’s inhabitants. They’d left their planet crumbling in the rearview, and birthed their children adrift unto the uncharted reaches of space. It was his father’s dream that they’d find a new home for their people. He would have liked Jogen.
The planet welcomed Eleos like a waiting lover at the end of a long journey. Its warm winds rushed across the prairie to greet him, showering him in a thousand caresses. Nameless birds flocked overhead, praising the sky with their songs. Eleos laughed as he watched them go. So free, so careless. Just as he felt then.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Your brother said the same thing,” replied Baylmon. It was hard to catch his tone, but the look of loss in his eyes said enough.
“There’s so much of it, Baylmon. More land than we could ever ask for. Surely our people could share this planet.”
It was a naive hope.
“And do you share your wife with just any man who comes to your door and asks? What if he comes barging in, demanding to take her? What would you do?”
Eleos stepped off the shuttle’s ramp. He’d removed his shoes as if he were stepping on sacred ground. “Share my wife? No. But, if the man is in need of food and shelter, then he is free to share my pantry and my quarters.”
Baylmon growled. His face soured as his eyes found a spot in the distance.
“Look, my people come.”
Eleos had almost forgotten, having been so charmed by the feel of dirt between his toes. Surely enough, seven silhouettes darkened the horizon, baring crude weapons and foul intent. The Rephiim had come for them.
They were surrounded not moments later. Eleos took each face to memory, astonished by the size of each Rephiim. It seemed impossible such creatures could exist. Baylmon was the runt compared to these. Each stood over nine feet tall and must have weighed three times the amount of your average man. Their skin was a dark umber, nearly crimson at times. Gold hung from the intricate braids in their hair, accented with glinting jewels and delicate chains. None of them spoke, but their posture said all Eleos needed to hear.
Baylmon remained beside BT-9 on the ship’s ramp. The giant received a few harsh looks from his people as Eleos made the first attempt to approach. The Rephiim growled at him, brandishing their blades. The largest of the greeting party stood at the front of the group. His was a gruesome weapon — a jagged sword with notches cut from the spine and an edge that could split a hair. He spat a mess of harsh words at Eleos.
“Þū okkar jörð ei fōtum þīnum vanærēð, mann!”
“You dishonor our ground with your feet, human.” BT-9’s translation lacked the original bite. “You are not worthy of our dirt.”
It was the truth. Eleos was not worthy of something as simple as dirt. Not after what his people had done to the Rephiim. Despite Jogen’s beauty, he saw its wounds — scars left by human hands. Trails of scorched craters lined the planet’s surface like whip-stripes left in a man’s flesh. Dio had been the one to order the strikes, claiming they were a strategic effort to coerce the Rephiim into negotiating for peace. The natives had done no such thing. Though, if it came to war, the giants would be severely out-matched. Eleos wanted to avoid that possibility.
“You’re correct, I am not worthy,” Eleos said, kneeling before the man. The leader’s sword leveled itself at him. Eleos, being true to his word earlier, lifted his head and pressed his throat to the tip of the blade. It bit into his skin, drawing blood. Another gamble. The gesture seemed to horrify the Rephiim. “If someone must atone for my people’s actions, let it be me.”
BT-9 relayed the message. Eleos watched his accuser’s eyes widen. The Rephiim man shouted something at Eleos, though kept his blade in place.
“He wants to know why you give your blood freely,” BT relayed.
Eleos smiled. “What is my blood worth to me? You can take it if you must.”
Another of the natives spoke then. A woman, from what Eleos could tell. She seemed mortified. Baylmon stepped forward and responded before BT could translate. His words were met with flared nostrils and sharp inhales.
“What are they saying, BT?”
The droid paused, processing. “Baylmon says you’re mad. I think they found that funny.”
Eleos smiled again, feeling a laugh come on himself. “Will they kill me?”
“It appears not. Your actions have won your life, though not their trust.”
“That will come in time,” Eleos said. “Tell them we’ve brought food, and medicine.”
***
BT-9 was right, the Rephiim hadn’t trusted him. They took the food he offered but left the medicine, seemingly uninterested in it. After some negotiations, Maland — the man with the crooked blade — had permitted Eleos to stay, though their town was off limits to him. A line had been drawn in the dirt, one he could not cross. Death was the promised penalty.
They took Baylmon with them, likely to glean what he’d learned during his capture, which left Eleos alone on his shuttle with his droid. It wasn’t so bad. The weather had remained fair, so most of Eleos’ time was spent outside. Maland would occasionally send couriers to gather more food, though none had dared to cross the line. Eleos would try to make conversation, but the Rephiim didn’t appear interested. It wasn’t fear that stilled their tongues, but scorn. Eleos was no stranger to their hatred, for he’d seen its likeness in his brother many times before.
It went on like this for a week. They would come in pairs, and Eleos would have food packaged and ready for them, along with notes that BT-9 helped him transcribe. They’d glare at him, watch him like some exotic animal in a cage. The only words he got were curses, which BT was kind enough to translate each and every time. Others spat on him, while some pulled blades when he got too close.
Their message was clear.
It was another eight days before something began to change. Eleos had just finished his morning reflections when he spotted his new friends coming over the hill. Maland had sent three this time. Eleos recognized two, but the third was new. He was being carried by the others, unable to stand on his own. The entourage approached slowly, toeing up to the line in the dirt and standing anxiously before it. Eleos greeted them as always, and invited them closer, as was his habit. To his surprise, one of them addressed him.
Eleos called BT-9 over to translate.
“They ask if you have medicine.”
“Yes.”
Another question came. “Are you a healer?”
“Yes.”
“Can you fix him?”
“I will try.”
Nervously, the Rephiim carried their wounded friend beneath the shade of Eleos’ shuttle. They refused to go into the ship, but Eleos did not prod them for fear of scaring them off. It was soon apparent that the Rephiim man they were carrying had broken his leg. At Eleos’ command, BT-9 brought the medical supplies from the ship. Eleos was careful to handle the leg. A quick scan with a handheld x-ray confirmed it was a broken tibia. Or, at least resembled a tibia in shape and structure. He was amazed at how similar the Rephiim anatomy was to their own.
“I’m not sure how you managed to break this, my friend,” said Eleos. “Your bones are thick as steel.”
The giants didn’t appear to understand. “Can you fix it?” Was all they said.
“I can, but you will need to trust me.”
They looked at one another, conversing with their eyes. “We will try,” one said finally.
Eleos produced a syringe gun from his bag. The giants eyed it warilly. “To help with the pain.” He struck the affected area and watched as the drug relaxed the injured man. “What is your name?”
“Kasdēn.”
“Kasdan? You might want to close your eyes. You will not like this next part.”
The other Rephiim held Kasdan as Eleos grabbed hold of his ankle. Without warning, Eleos torqued his body into the giant's leg. Kasdan howled, startling a flock of birds from the nearby field. No luck. The bone refused to be moved.
Eleos paused before trying again. He felt his lower back twinge as he strained, praying all the while that it would work. The Virtues must have heard his prayers, for by the act of some miracle, Eleos felt the bone slide back into place. He let go, and Kasdan sat up, red with rage, and punched a crater into the ground. Eleos was thankful the others had been holding him down beforehand, otherwise he would have been a smear in the grass.
A final x-ray told Eleos that the bone had been properly set. He then splinted the leg and gave Kasdan some painkillers to take home. None of the strong stuff, just some anti-inflammatories. “Keep your weight off it until it heals,” he said, “but it should get better over the next few weeks.”
***
After Kasdan, more visitors came to Eleos. Some wanted food, some needed minor medical attention, most just wanted to gawk. He was able to tease some conversation out of the Rephiim, though you could hardly call it that. Even with BT’s translations, there was a language barrier. Eleos found himself wondering about Baylmon. He hadn’t seen the man since they’d been split up.
If the Rephiim were willing to stick around, Eleos would read to them. He’d come to find out that they didn’t have much interest in human stories. The Rephiim seemed to hold a universal distrust for violence. No death, no blood, no weapons, which gave Eleos very little to work with. There was only one book he found that captured their interest.
“In the beginning,” Eleos read, “there were the Virtues. The Virtues were of God, and they were God.”
This drew a swell of curious murmurs from the small crowd that day.
“Through the Virtues, all things were made. They molded and formed the Earth from nothing.”
More murmurs, some more audible this time. “Virtues? God? Who is this God?”
Eleos smiled. “Everything which is made was made of the Virtues. Through Him, all things were given life.”
One man interrupted. “How did they do this?”
“Well, He simply spoke and it was so,” Eleos replied.
“He? Are these Virtues one person, or multiple?”
Eleos struggled for an explanation. “They are both. They are God, and God is them.”
Only silence followed this time. Then, a woman spoke up. “Who could have such power to do these things?”
So Eleos kept reading. He read about how the Virtues separated night from day, and air from water. He read about the creation of the beasts of the land and of the water. And, of course, he spoke about the creation of man.
“These Virtues,” asked another Rephiim, a woman. “They created you?”
“Yes,” replied Eleos.
“Are they good?”
Eleos had paused. “Well, of course. God is the only one who is good. He is Virtue.”
“But you are not good,” said another man. “Why?” The others voiced their sympathy.
“Because we betrayed the Virtues. We turned away from God.”
This drew a round of growls from deep within the chests of the Rephiim. The gesture was alien to Eleos. Were they angry, or distressed?
“Why would you do this?”
Eleos could only shake his head and shrug. “It is in our nature.”
***
Three days later, an orbital strike took the town. The quake from the blast shook Eleos from his cot. It hit in the early hours of the morning, before the sun had risen. Another attack from their ship, the Solar Ray. It seemed Dio was no longer concerned with the preservation of his brother’s life.
Eleos donned his coat, rushing out into the eerie dawn where a smudge of black billowed just over the hill. He collapsed as he watched the smoke roll, being driven to prayer in his anguish. Briefly, he considered crossing the boundary Maland had drawn in the dirt — considered betraying their pact. Thankfully he hadn’t needed to, as two runners came to collect him not long after. As they crested the hill, Eleos feared they’d come for his life, intent on collecting the blood they were owed. He was surprised to find the opposite. Baylmon and Kasdan had come for him.
“Maland sent for you,” they said, not even winded from the run.
Eleos was amazed. “Kasdan? Your leg… it’s healed.” It hadn’t even been a week and this man showed no signs of his previous injury.
“Come,” Baylmon urged. “You are needed.”
“Beyond the line?”
“Yes, into the town.”
Eleos struggled to keep up. Twice the Rephiim had to stop and wait for him. It was a half mile before they crested the hill and the giants’ home spread out before them. Beautiful was not the right word. Astonishing, perhaps? The town was a sprawling network of paved thoroughfares and multi-storied buildings, with smaller homesteads scattered across the farmland beyond. Eleos had known the Rephiim were well-developed, but it was different seeing it firsthand, even as the far edge of town smoldered.
“Tashank,” Baylmon said. “Our home.”
His escorts cared little for subtlety as they ushered Eleos through the heart of Tashank. Mourners lined the streets, weeping in the odd, lilting ways of the Rephiim. Eleos’ found it hard not to gawk, being moved by that universal grief which was palpable in the air.
The buildings of Tashank dwarfed Eleos, seeming much larger up close. He’d never seen anything like them, stacked atop one another in clusters like piles of building blocks. Baylmon and Kasdan led him to the site of the strike, where the mourning was much more raw. Men and women alike screamed and clawed through rubble, looking for their loved ones. What once were buildings had been reduced to landslides of stone and burnt wood, which bled into scorched craters that wept soot into the air. Here and there, bloodied bits of body parts, or strands of scorched hair, would poke out from beneath the rubble. Eleos found it hard to comprehend such gruesomeness, being in the midst of it. He knew well the capabilities of his people’s weaponry, but never had he been on the receiving end. This had only been a small one — a precision strike.
They found Maland kneeling at the foot of a felled home. The chieftain’s face was a mask of agony. He held someone’s hand in his own — a woman’s. She was on her back, staring into the sky as she wept. Her lower half had been swallowed beneath the debris. Maland saw them coming and stood. If ever there was a moment Eleos truly feared for his life, it was then.
The Rephiim man barked something at them. BT translated.
“Why is he here?”
Baylmon and Kasdan both knelt before Maland. “We brought him.”
Maland stormed past them, making for Eleos. A hand larger than his head took him and tossed him. Eleos hit the ground hard, sliding across the stones and biting through his tongue as he landed. Maland was on him an instant later. His fist blocked out the sun, then crashed into the ground mere inches away from Eleos’ head. Maland screamed in his face. Pure, raw anguish. Eleos let himself drown in it, and it was then that he realized the lie. No one had sent for him.
It took both Baylmon and Kasdan to pull Maland away. “We brought him to help!”
“His presence puts us all in danger!” Maland retorted, ripping himself free. “They will come for us — for him!”
“The woman…” Eleos managed to say. His voice was small, but BT’s translation got their attention. “Is she okay?”
No response.
Eleos scrambled to his feet, rushing to the woman Maland had been holding. She was still alive. Dark blood, so red it was almost black, stained the ground beneath her. A beam had crushed and severed her legs. Eleos examined the wounds, staining himself in her blood.
“Belts!” he yelled. “I need belts! Something to stop the bleeding!”
The onlookers backed away, disgusted by the human in their midst. Maland ripped Eleos away from the woman. “It is forbidden!”
“What? To save a life?”
“Her blood belongs to Jogen now,” Baylmon said, noticing the blood that stained his hands. “We cannot intervene.”
“Then why would you bring me here? Why?” Eleos fell back to the ground, taking the woman’s hand in his own. Her eyes met his. He recognized her terror. “I can help you. You’re going to be okay. You will not die here.” Eleos had to make this right. “BT, I need tourniquets!”
The droid came to Eleos, brandishing the med kit it had stored. Eleos found his tourniquet and began applying it to the woman’s leg. It was nearly too small. She took his hand as he worked, stopping him, murmuring strange words.
“Þū ertu lofþēð?” Are you the promise?
Eleos did not understand, but there wasn’t time to waste. “You'll be okay, let me do this. I’ll fix this, I promise.”
“Lofþēðain,” the woman said, then went limp as she turned her face to the sky. Her life left her with a final breath as her body went still, no longer trembling as it had. Eleos was covered in her blood. He saw the horrified faces of the Rephiim. None dared meet his eyes. Baylmon and Kasdan shuffled nervously nearby, both eying Maland with caution. The chieftain said nothing. His head hung low, eyes fixed on the woman. A solemn song formed in his chest, soon filling the courtyard around them. BT tried to translate, but Eleos stopped him.
One man’s song of mourning became an ensemble as the rest of the Rephiim joined. Their voices lifted to the skies, reaching up to a God they did not know. Eleos wept – wept over the loss of a woman he’d never known. How was he supposed to make this right?
***
“The woman was Maland’s wife,” Baylmon told Eleos. “Her name was Samay. Such a loss is a terrible thing.”
Kasdan nodded slowly, his eyes never lifting from the floor. With Maland’s blessing, Eleos was permitted to stay in the city. Kasdan had taken them to his home, a single-person dwelling on the southern side of the courtyard. It was one of the only dwellings that hadn’t been leveled in the strike, so Eleos had an unobscured view of the destruction from the window. Couriers were sent to retrieve Eleos’s things from his ship. BT-9 had given them a list of items to grab, of which there were not many.
“Why wouldn’t she let me help her?” asked Eleos.
Kasdan went to speak, but Baylmon took the lead. “Rephiim lives are sacred. Losing a life is even more so. Death comes for us all some day. It is not natural to intervene, nor is it natural to take a life ourselves.”
“Then why was I allowed to help Kasdan with his leg?”
“My life was not in danger,” Kasdan said.
“Neither was that woman’s, if only I could have helped her!”
Baylmon shook his head. “What you did was not good. Her blood was not for you to take, it was for Maland. You are lucky he has not killed you.”
“I didn’t want her blood, I wanted to save her life!”
“You do not know our people,” Kasdan said. “You’ve only made a mess. Nothing good will come from this.”
These people were infuriating. Why would they bring Eleos to Tashank, then shame him for intervening? That’s what Eleos felt then — shame. Kasdan was right, he had no right to do what he did. He was brash, careless. He should never have crossed the line with them. But surely he could not be faulted for trying to save a life.
“Maland said something like that,” Eleos said, “back in the courtyard. He said they will come for us. For me. Who was he talking about?”
A knowing silence passed between the two Rephiim.
“The Anakhthēnar.” Baylmon spat the word in his native tongue.
From BT’s mouth, it came out as Anakri. “I… do not have a translation for this word,” the droid said.
Baylmon tried to explain. “The Anakri are not Rephiim. They judge us. They are permitted to take life while we are not, for our own good. They will come here, looking for you.”
“What would they want with me?” Eleos asked.
“Justice,” Kasdan said.
Baylmon nodded. “Yes, for what happened today. And they wish to see if the rumors are true.”
Eleos couldn’t ignore the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. “What rumors?”
“Our people,” said Baylmon, “they think you are the Lofþēðain.”
“The promised one,” Kasdan added.
Eleos recognized the word. Lof-thay-thayn, it sounded like. Maland’s wife had said it just before she died. “What do you mean?”
“Your arrival, it’s believed to have been prophesied.”
Eleos scoffed. “Prophecy?”
“Yes, you are just like the man our prophets predicted would come,” said Kasdan. “You’ve come to teach us of your God, the one who created all gods.”
“Surely this is a mistake—”
“Were the things you taught our people lies? The Virtues?”
“No, they are true but…” Eleos ran a hand over his face.
Baylmon cut in. “You cannot deny these things. Your fame has spread beyond just our town. Our elders will be scared of this — Maland is scared of this. It’s why he will not kill you. Only the Anakhthēnar have the right.”
This was not at all what Eleos had wanted. He’d only come to find peace with the Rephiim, and secure a future for both of their people. “Do you believe these things about me?”
Baylmon growled. “I cannot deny what I have seen.”
“I am not the man you think I am.”
“Perhaps not, but many think you are. That is why we took you in,” said Baylmon. “We must hide you from the Anakhthēnar when they come.”
***
The sight of fire over the hill the next morning signalled the arrival of Eleos’ judgement. He watched through the open window of Kasdan’s dwelling as his ship burned and smoldered in the distance. There was no going back for him.
The Anakri arrived in Tashank shortly after. The town’s citizens gave the robed giants a wide berth as they moved down the street and crossed into the ruined courtyard. Curved blades slapped at their hips while jeweled braids clapped at their backs. Eleos and his protectors followed from a distance, careful not to be noticed.
The lead Anakri — donning a scarlet robe as dark as the blood of Samay — shouted something in his native tongue. He was met with silence. Pregnant seconds passed before he shouted again, the same question as before. BT was able to translate this time.
“We know there is one among you who is not like us! Where is he?”
Again, no one answered.
“Our people do not betray you, Eleos,” said Baylmon. “They believe the rumors to be true.”
“What will happen if I don’t go to them?”
There was no answer.
“This man is not Lofþēðain!” yelled the Anakri. “He is an enemy to our people. If you are loyal to your blood, you will do what is right.”
The other three broke from the group. With hands on sword hilts, they stalked through the growing crowd. Eleos could feel the collective tremor of held breath and pounding hearts in the air. Something happened beyond his view that stirred the crowd. There were panicked shouts and audible gasps. One of the Anakri appeared from the sea of bodies, dragging someone out by their hair. He threw the Rephiim at the foot of the head persecutor.
It was Maland.
The man in the scarlet robe spoke again. “You are the chieftain of Tashank. These people fall under your authority. Do not put their lives at risk for this outsider!”
Maland said nothing.
“Where is he? The human.”
Still nothing.
The Anakri turned to the crowd. “Is this what you want? You will sacrifice the blood of your chieftain for the blood of an enemy?”
Eleos took hold of Baylmon’s sleeve. “I cannot let them kill him.”
“And I cannot let you go,” replied Baylmon. “If you die, then we’ve only your brother to deal with. This is not a fate I would wish on us.”
“Maland is innocent! My people are the ones who have done this to you. Their blood is on my hands.”
“Why are you so eager to die?” Baylmon hissed.
Why indeed?
They’d been too busy arguing to notice Kasdan had slipped away. Eleos saw him too late. He was headed for the Anakri.
“Kasdan!” Baylmon called. “What are you doing?”
The Rephiim turned. “I’m going to explain to them what’s happened. Perhaps they will understand and spare us.”
“You can’t!”
Kasdan was already running for the Anakri, shouting, “Wait! I have information!”
Baylmon cursed beneath his breath.
The Anakri in scarlet motioned for the crowd to let Kasdan through. Eleos felt it again — that delicate dance between life and death. He swayed on the knife’s edge, unsure of where the winds of fate would push him.
Kasdan reached the Anakri. He pleaded with them, tried to explain. Eleos could not hear the words, but he knew the look of a desperate man all too well. How many times had he had similar conversations with his brother?
Eleos’s fate was sealed by the tip of Kasdan’s finger, which now pointed across the courtyard directly at him. The crowd parted as the Anakri turned to look, their eyes finding him.
Baylmon growled. “We need to leave.”
Eleos made no effort to move. His eyes were locked on Kasdan. He tried but could not find it in himself to hate the man then, even as he’d been betrayed.
There was a glint of sunlight, barely perceptible by the naked eye. A stunned silence followed, accentuated by a look of terror on Kasdan’s face. Eleos’s heart stopped. Blood, precious blood, poured freely from the Rephiim’s throat. One Anakri pushed Kasdan over as he choked on his own blood, leaving him to die on the street.
“Come!” Baylmon yelled. “We must go!”
Eleos didn’t hear the man. He turned to BT-9. “Watch after Baylmon, BT. He is your master now. You will do all he asks.”
“I will serve Master Baylmon, as you have requested.”
Baylmon said something. Eleos didn’t understand it, but he didn’t need to. His mind was made up. Too much innocent blood had been spilt on his behalf.
“I’d hoped this would have worked,” Eleos said to the giant. “I’d hoped for peace between our people. Perhaps there can be one day.”
Eleos delivered himself to the Anakri before Baylmon could stop him. He’d known this was a possibility when he crossed the boundary that Maland had drawn in the dirt. Death was the promised penalty.
May the Virtues have mercy on me.
If you made it this far, then I sincerely thank you! This is the first of four installments I’ve written for this short series. Stay tuned for part three, A Letter to Death, which will be coming out next week! If you’d like to be notified of when that happens, then I encourage you to follow me on Substack, or subscribe to this publication to have it sent directly to your inbox.