“Those whips can harm you because they’re not weapons, per se. You were born of a god… and while you can be harmed by things that aren’t considered a weapon, you can’t be killed by any of them. Only a weapon forged by a god, made in the halls of gods, can end your life.”
He laughed at her explanation. “Do you think me insane to believe that?”
“How else do you explain it? Or the fact that you heal faster than most? It’s why you weren’t killed when your horse stomped you… how he was able to injure you. As for Belial, he’s a demon and he’s here to claim both our souls. If you were demon-born, he wouldn’t have to do that. Your soul would already belong to his master.”
For once, Valteri listened to her. “And why are you here?”
“When someone dies, there are a lot of… things that want their soul, for a lot of reasons. There are many who do what I do—escort the souls of warriors. We try to ensure that every soul is protected as it travels from this realm to the next. Unfortunately, we’re not always successful. Whenever a soul is lost in transit, it’s a blow to the universe, for the light of that soul goes out for all eternity. Our job is to protect those lights as best we can.”
She gestured at the door. “When I came for the soul of a young man who’d died in battle, his mother couldn’t accept his fate. She traded her own soul for the powers to rip me from my world into this one and trap me here to punish me for doing what I’d been ordered to do.”
He was taking the news much better this time than he’d done before. Of course, it probably helped that he was drunk and would probably forget it all.
“The crone you fear?”
She nodded. “Belial was here when she first cursed me. This is a sick game for him.”
Ariel swallowed. “While Lucifer is to be feared, there are far worse things in the universe than him. Belial serves a dark lord called Kadar, or Noir. He’s an ancient god who wants to reign over the world as he did long ago.”
Valteri listened quietly as she explained things he wanted to deny.
Yet how could he?
As he’d said, he’d spent his whole adulthood baffled by the fact that he’d rushed headlong into battle and never been harmed. Even when he should have been. Somehow, he always knew when to counter and strike.
His gifts were unholy.
Even when swords had grazed him, they’d left no mark.
It was why he’d denounced the god that the monks had told him had cursed him from birth. Because he didn’t feel evil. The last thing he’d wanted to be was damned for something he couldn’t help.
But her words gave him hope for the first time in his life that there might be another explanation for his “gifts.”
For his birth defect.
“Why does this Kadar want you?”
“Because of a war that was fought long ago. The Primus Bellum. The gods of light and dark tore this world apart in their feud. Belial and Shadow are veterans from that war. As were my father and yours.”
He gasped at her words.
“It’s true. I wasn’t born then, but they were. Others of my kind, Arelim, fought for the Kalosum, the light army. Anytime they can claim one of us and turn us to the dark to become an Irin, they call it a victory. In my case, because my father’s one of the Nasaru—a leader of the Arelim—they deem it an even greater victory if they can claim me.”
Ironically, that explained much.
She placed a fragile hand on his forearm. “You,Valteri, aren’t the son of a demon. You’re the son of someone a lot more powerful. Your father fought against Kadar and his army. He was part of the Kalosum. One of their key members. Your eyes aren’t a deformity. They mark you as Jaden’s son. He is extremely powerful, and if Kadar ever laid hands to you… there’s no telling what he might do.”
Scowling, he stared down into her blue eyes, praying that she was insane, but only clarity stared up at him.
“You and Thorn should be bitter enemies. His father and yours are mortal opponents. But he turned his back on Kadar and has been on our side for centuries now. There’s nothing evil about you. Only how you’ve been treated.”
She walked herself into his arms and held him close. “And there’s the bitterest irony of all. Thorn was raised as a beloved son while his destiny was to serve his father and tear this world apart. You, who were born to be a sword for honor and good, were only shown the worst of those you protect. For that, I am eternally sorry.”
He held her close as bitter memories surged through him. What hurt most was that in all his life, there was not one single good memory there.
Not one.
His life had been nothing save loneliness and anguish. Every day laden with the deepest desire that it would be his last.
