Lifeblood
Page 32
Troikans physically attacked a fellow citizen.
The knowledge leaves a dark, sticky film over my skin. A shadow?
A strong arm enfolds me, but I wrench backward, severing contact. Friend or foe?
“Hey, hey. Are you all right?”
I know the voice, at least. Victor. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Will I, though? Whether in body or spirit, people are people; where there is free will, there is potential for ultimate good or ultimate evil. I could be attacked at any moment.
“Tell me what happened,” he demands.
I relate the story as best I can.
He gives me a gentle push toward the Gate. “Let’s get you to a Healer. You’ll be patched up heart, mind and body.”
Most of—cough all cough—my training sessions have ended with me bruised and bloody, but I ate manna and boom, my spirit patched up all on its own. I had no reason to visit a Healer. Now I consider Victor’s words. Patched up heart, mind and body. I guess Healers do more than deal with physical injuries.
“No.” Teeth chattering, I sidestep him. What if I’m deemed unfit to train? What if I’m ordered to take time off? “I’ll be all right. I’m due to practice with Levi. And so are you.” We’re overdue now.
“When you visit a Healer, a report is filed and an investigation launched. The Grid can be used to find out everyone in the vicinity of your attack. Your assailants will be caught and disciplined. Probably with an Exchange.”
The Exchange is the best way to teach us the importance of doing unto others as we want them to do unto us.
“If those kinds of details can be unearthed, who would ever dare break the rules?” I ask.
“Well...some people know how to hide their location from the Grid,” he admits. “But it’s always best to check.”
No doubt my attackers hid their location. “Did you see what happened?” I drop the board and rub my temple, hoping to ease the pain and pressure.
A heavy pause before he sighs. “When I came through the Gate, you were standing alone with a spiked log in hand.”
“So that would be a no.” I wipe my eyes to clear my vision. Victor is in front of me, his hair a mess, his amber gaze glittering with concern. “I still don’t want to visit a Healer.”
He bends to pick up the log. “This is a pretty abysmal start to your Everlife, yeah?”
“I’m sure there have been worse.”
“None that I’ve seen.”
Great. Wonderful. I lumber toward the coliseum, and he stays by my side. “Why would someone do this?”
“Before your arrival, we lost a Conduit,” he says. “Ever since, our Light has been dimmed.”
“Exactly! Why would anyone risk killing me? I’m needed!” Whether I’m liked or not.
“Darkness makes people...cranky. Besides, I’m not sure your Second-death was the endgame today. I’m guessing your attackers simply took satisfaction in your pain.”
One of my number brands tingles, the same way it tingles when I read from the Book of the Law, and I frown. I look left then right, up then down, but notice nothing amiss.
One possible explanation...his words caused the reaction? But is he right or he is wrong?
The tingle becomes an ache, but I’m in no shape to puzzle out the reason. “Forget about me. Let’s talk about you. I’ve been training with you, but I have no idea what your position is.”
“I’m a Messenger.” He practically pounds his chest like a gorilla. “One of the best. I whisper words of encouragement to Troikan loyalists, inspire Unsigned humans to speak with TLs and report any findings to Laborers.”
Archer was the best at his job, too. “I know why your brother defected to Troika. Why did you?”
He tenses before he admits, “I wanted more time with him.”
Oh...ouch. A barbed lump grows in my throat. “Because of me, he’s gone.”
“Every day I’m more convinced he can win the Resurrection, despite the fact a Conduit is in the running. The way everyone reacted to your involvement in his demise...he was more loved than I realized.”
His words both tear me down and lift me up.
To me, the Resurrection proves Myriad is wrong and souls of the dead never Fuse with human souls in order to return to the Land of the Harvest. To someone like, say, Killian, it might prove only Myriadians experience Fusion.
A lie. Only a lie. One of so many.
Killian, like everyone else in Myriad, believes my spirit is Fused with one of their great Generals. He also believes his mother’s spirit is Fused with a human, that she’s a new person, alive and well.
Will he see this situation as I do, or as I suspect? The answer is so important. After all, our beliefs direct our steps, leading us along certain paths.
Lies are shackles. Truth is freedom.
Lies will keep us apart. Truth can bring us together.
“Can any spirit win, or only the ones who died this year?” I ask. “And when does the Resurrection take place?
“Only the spirits who died this year. And in less than a month.”
What? Hardly any time to enact a plan of action. “Why do it? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m overjoyed it happens. I just don’t understand the reason.”
“You just named the reason. Our joy.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “I’d like to speak with those who have been resurrected in the past.”
The knowledge leaves a dark, sticky film over my skin. A shadow?
A strong arm enfolds me, but I wrench backward, severing contact. Friend or foe?
“Hey, hey. Are you all right?”
I know the voice, at least. Victor. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Will I, though? Whether in body or spirit, people are people; where there is free will, there is potential for ultimate good or ultimate evil. I could be attacked at any moment.
“Tell me what happened,” he demands.
I relate the story as best I can.
He gives me a gentle push toward the Gate. “Let’s get you to a Healer. You’ll be patched up heart, mind and body.”
Most of—cough all cough—my training sessions have ended with me bruised and bloody, but I ate manna and boom, my spirit patched up all on its own. I had no reason to visit a Healer. Now I consider Victor’s words. Patched up heart, mind and body. I guess Healers do more than deal with physical injuries.
“No.” Teeth chattering, I sidestep him. What if I’m deemed unfit to train? What if I’m ordered to take time off? “I’ll be all right. I’m due to practice with Levi. And so are you.” We’re overdue now.
“When you visit a Healer, a report is filed and an investigation launched. The Grid can be used to find out everyone in the vicinity of your attack. Your assailants will be caught and disciplined. Probably with an Exchange.”
The Exchange is the best way to teach us the importance of doing unto others as we want them to do unto us.
“If those kinds of details can be unearthed, who would ever dare break the rules?” I ask.
“Well...some people know how to hide their location from the Grid,” he admits. “But it’s always best to check.”
No doubt my attackers hid their location. “Did you see what happened?” I drop the board and rub my temple, hoping to ease the pain and pressure.
A heavy pause before he sighs. “When I came through the Gate, you were standing alone with a spiked log in hand.”
“So that would be a no.” I wipe my eyes to clear my vision. Victor is in front of me, his hair a mess, his amber gaze glittering with concern. “I still don’t want to visit a Healer.”
He bends to pick up the log. “This is a pretty abysmal start to your Everlife, yeah?”
“I’m sure there have been worse.”
“None that I’ve seen.”
Great. Wonderful. I lumber toward the coliseum, and he stays by my side. “Why would someone do this?”
“Before your arrival, we lost a Conduit,” he says. “Ever since, our Light has been dimmed.”
“Exactly! Why would anyone risk killing me? I’m needed!” Whether I’m liked or not.
“Darkness makes people...cranky. Besides, I’m not sure your Second-death was the endgame today. I’m guessing your attackers simply took satisfaction in your pain.”
One of my number brands tingles, the same way it tingles when I read from the Book of the Law, and I frown. I look left then right, up then down, but notice nothing amiss.
One possible explanation...his words caused the reaction? But is he right or he is wrong?
The tingle becomes an ache, but I’m in no shape to puzzle out the reason. “Forget about me. Let’s talk about you. I’ve been training with you, but I have no idea what your position is.”
“I’m a Messenger.” He practically pounds his chest like a gorilla. “One of the best. I whisper words of encouragement to Troikan loyalists, inspire Unsigned humans to speak with TLs and report any findings to Laborers.”
Archer was the best at his job, too. “I know why your brother defected to Troika. Why did you?”
He tenses before he admits, “I wanted more time with him.”
Oh...ouch. A barbed lump grows in my throat. “Because of me, he’s gone.”
“Every day I’m more convinced he can win the Resurrection, despite the fact a Conduit is in the running. The way everyone reacted to your involvement in his demise...he was more loved than I realized.”
His words both tear me down and lift me up.
To me, the Resurrection proves Myriad is wrong and souls of the dead never Fuse with human souls in order to return to the Land of the Harvest. To someone like, say, Killian, it might prove only Myriadians experience Fusion.
A lie. Only a lie. One of so many.
Killian, like everyone else in Myriad, believes my spirit is Fused with one of their great Generals. He also believes his mother’s spirit is Fused with a human, that she’s a new person, alive and well.
Will he see this situation as I do, or as I suspect? The answer is so important. After all, our beliefs direct our steps, leading us along certain paths.
Lies are shackles. Truth is freedom.
Lies will keep us apart. Truth can bring us together.
“Can any spirit win, or only the ones who died this year?” I ask. “And when does the Resurrection take place?
“Only the spirits who died this year. And in less than a month.”
What? Hardly any time to enact a plan of action. “Why do it? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m overjoyed it happens. I just don’t understand the reason.”
“You just named the reason. Our joy.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “I’d like to speak with those who have been resurrected in the past.”
