"You know, Pietas... It's okay to admit you forgot a detail." Six shot him a smile.
"For you, perhaps. Such excuses were unacceptable when I was growing up. Saying I forgot was equivalent to saying please beat me now."
Six chuckled. "Sounds like a tough childhood."
"You have no idea." Pietas settled back against the boulder. "But regarding rain, I hope we have ample warning. We need better shelter than our lean to."
"I was thinking, now that you're able to walk on your own, we might relocate upstream. There are hills north of here and I found shallow caves. Deeper ones would be good natural shelter. There are fish near the waterfall."
"I agree shelter would be good, but we agreed once I'm able to walk any distance, we need to find my people."
Six faced him. "I haven't forgotten, but we don't know where they were released."
"My mother used to say most settlements were made along the equator and then spread in both directions. Judging by the sun, we're in the southern part of whatever continent this is. It's summer, wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes. Most likely."
"If we went north, how long would we have before the weather grew colder?"
Six murmured in Spanish, rubbing his jaw. "It could get cold fast. We're ill equipped for that. If we go south, perhaps we'll see a clue we're near their settlement. Smoke from campfires, that sort of thing."
Pietas crossed his ankles in the other direction. He might not be able to coerce Six, but he could lead him. "I think you're right. We'll try it your way. South it is."
"What? Why?" Six braced his hands on his hips. "You never give in that easy."
"You made a good point about going south. As a leader I always relied on the wisdom of my staff. I can't know everything, as much as I'd like to. I've relied on your wisdom since we arrived. You've been out. Seen the land. You parachuted in and therefore saw it from above, which puts you in the position of having more experience regarding layout of the land. Hence, I'd be a fool not to take your advice."
"Huh. How about that?"
"I'll be ready to go by the end of next week."
Six sized him up. "I think you're right."
"Of course I'm right. I'm always right."
No answer from Six, who began rechecking his lines.
"I'm coming down here alone in the morning to perform a ritual."
At that, Six's head popped up. "Oh no. You're not coming down here by yourself. I've seen tracks from big cats up in the hills. It's not safe."
"What will you do if one shows up? Trap it with fishing line? I'll be fine."
"You're not coming down here alone."
"I said I'd take your advice, ghost. Not your orders. I don't need your permission."
Six pulled in a fish and unhooked it. "Look at the size of this one!" He held up the wiggling fish for inspection. "That's enough trout for dinner and breakfast."
"It is indeed. These fish are also called steelheads. The scientific name is oncorhynchus mykiss. Successful breed. Terraformers consider them a standard food species for most worlds."
"Thanks for the reminder you know everything, Ultra." Six placed it in a water-filled makeshift bucket and began drawing in his other lines. "I'll agree to you coming down here alone on the condition I'm close enough to hear you if you yell for help."
"Yell for--" Pietas scoffed. "The day has not dawned when I will 'yell for help' from a mortal. This is a private ritual. You may not see it."
"I'll turn my back, but I'm coming with you."
"You stubborn, pig-headed--"
"Yeah?" Six leveled a stare at Pietas. "Look who's talking, Pi."
Pietas gathered a breath for his next argument, but then let it all out. "Fine! Suit yourself, ghost, but this ritual has been performed for hundreds of years. You are not to witness any part of it. It is for Ultra eyes, not mortal. Is that clear?"
"Clear. You need help bringing anything down here for this ritual?"
He would need a small fire, the water, a blade. He could perform the fire part back at camp and then--
All the air whooshed out of him and Pietas sank back against the boulder. It would not be the same. Not have the same intensity if he had to hobble down here while bracing himself on a stick, to then proclaim his physical prowess.
"Okay." Six braced a foot against the rock where Pietas sat. "I know that look. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I've decided not to perform the ritual. Yet."
"Uh huh. What if I helped you set up and then gave you whatever privacy you needed. Would you do it then?"
"I do not--" Pietas bit back a retort about not needing help. Servants had set up the ritual in the past. Why not let Six help? "Very well. I will allow you to assist me, but you may not observe."
"Since you asked so nicely."
Being on the receiving end of the same words Pietas had said to his father flashed a hot emotion onto his skin. His empathic senses were returning. Which meant the ritual could not happen soon enough. It would gain him much needed focus.
Six stood and brushed off his pants. "You want help with your hook and line?"
"Don't be insulting."
"Fine." Lifting his hands in surrender, Six nodded toward the water. Beneath the creek's surface, a trout twisted and flopped, caught on the hook Pietas had dangled.
"Six! Look! I caught a fish!" He clapped his hands in delight. "I think this one's even bigger than yours."
"Of course it is."
At his companion's dry tone, Pietas turned to him, questioning.
Six nudged his chin toward the fish. "Haul that sucker in and let's eat."
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning, Pietas woke to the smell of baking apples and pushed himself up, sniffing toward it. "That's heavenly."
"Isn't it?" Six had skewered apples on thin metal stakes from his survival pack. They roasted over the fire. "Woke up wishing I had buñuelos de manzana for breakfast."
"What is that?" He joined him.
"Are you serious? The best rosquillas known to mankind. My abuela used to make them fresh on Sunday mornings before church. I'd peel apples, cut 'em up and she'd drop 'em into a sweet batter so smooth..." Six kissed his fingertips. "Con azúcar en polvo tapa con miel. Perfecto."
"So apple fritters with powdered sugar and honey."
"Si. Un desayuno bueno."
Pietas scoffed. "That is not a good breakfast. That's obesity coming at you like a bullet. You can't eat like that and stay healthy."
"Why do you care? Can Ultras even get fat?"
"Don't be insulting."
"So? I repeat. Why do you care?"
"I--" Pietas stopped himself. Why did he care? Because he liked this human. Because he didn't want to lose him. Before meeting him, even the suggestion of friendship with a human would have been revolting. Now? Here he was, worried over one. "Because it's better for you if you eat well."
"Aguafiestas, Ultra."
"I am not a killjoy. Face the truth. You are a sugar addict. And from the way you've said so much in Spanish this morning, you miss your family."
Six stared at him for two heartbeats and then shrugged. "Si." He handed Pietas a metal plate and slid two of the hot apples onto it. "What do you miss, mi amigo?"
The Uurahkal and its good food, soft beds, smooth sheets and warm blankets. Hot water. Showers. Plenty of soap. His uniform. His shoes. He would admit no such weakness to a human. Nor would he lie. He settled for part of the truth.
"I miss my family."
"Not food? Not cookies or pancakes?" Six slid grilled fish onto Pietas's plate.
"No. I eat to live, not live to eat." He took a bite of the grilled apple and groaned with pleasure. "But this... Pardon." How rude to speak with his mouth full. Marooned he might be, but that did not mean he had to be crude. Pietas swallowed. "I know this is only an apple, but it is as good as a fritter."
"Gracias. Glad you enjoy it." Six bit into the apple and lapsed into a flurry of Spanish superlatives.
<
br /> How like the ghost to take joy in small details. It was one of his most appealing attributes as a friend. If one must be marooned on an alien world, at least it was with a cheerful companion and not a naysaying obstructionist like his father. Why thoughts of the man evoked such longing Pietas could not imagine. His father was like a hole in the shoe, ever present, ever making one aware of what was lacking, but doing nothing about it. Whereas Six...
Perhaps it wouldn't hurt for Pietas to let down a bit of his guard.
"Now that I consider it, I do miss bacon and eggs. Steak. Baked potatoes with butter and chives and sour cream. Salt and pepper."
"Now you're talkin' my language, Ultra."
* * * *
Breakfast finished, Pietas rested while Six cleaned up the campsite and began repacking the survival kit. A good soldier, he kept it ready for any emergencies. If they had to flee, it took no extra time to grab it and run. He had pulled out everything, spread it before him and was in the act of putting the most-used items on top, within easy reach. The shaving kit went on the bottom.
As an Ultra, Pietas's metabolism burned so fast his hair grew more in a month than a human's would in a year. It was why he kept it long. Not an efficient use of his time to spend it getting a constantly-needed trim. Almost all warriors were beardless, however. He'd never had facial hair, but it hadn't occurred to him until now that Six had none either. Part of his racial background? Perhaps he had native blood from a people who didn't grow it.
"Why the kit?"
"Pardon?" Six didn't look at him, but kept putting away the items.
"Why do you carry a shaving kit when you never shave?"
"Comes in the pack, standard issue. I figured it might come in handy as trade." He glanced at Pietas. "Well, maybe not on this world." He shrugged and kept packing.
A sudden raucous sound came to them. The cacophony grew louder.
Six stood and looked around him. "Where's that coming from?"
"There!" Pietas pointed. A dark cloud on the northern horizon grew larger.
"Quick! Under the tree." Six helped Pietas to his feet. With an arm around his waist, he guided him beneath the sheltering branches.
"What is it? If it's a storm we're safer not under a tree."
"Not a storm. Birds."
The smell of them came next. A flat, pasty stench mixed with feathers. The day darkened as the sound increased.
They covered their ears.
The flock blotted out the sky from horizon to horizon, sweeping north to south, cawing and flapping. It took several minutes for them to pass.
Once the birds had gone, Six and Pietas came out from under the tree. Droppings littered the entire area.
After cleaning up, they ambled down to the creek. While Six built a small fire, Pietas stripped and prepared for the ritual. He'd prepared a paste of charcoal and water and would use it as face paint for his mask.
Although still gaunt, he now had muscle instead of sinew. His skin had its former healthy color and his hair had grown enough to warrant cutting. He approached the fire.
"Okay, Pietas. This is-- Whoa!" Six turned his back. "Sorry. You do this ritual thing naked, huh?"
"How quaint of you to blush. Your cheeks turn a bright pink when you're embarrassed, ghost."
He stammered a broken reply, but fell silent.
The ghost had seen Pietas naked. Had bathed him when he couldn't bathe himself. How was this different?
"I'll be...uh..." Six gestured vaguely toward a copse of shrubs. "I'll just go wait over there. You need anything else?"
"The knife, if you please." The night before, he'd chosen Six's hunting blade, a thick, full-tang carbonized steel knife with an excellent heft and a fine edge.
"Sure." He withdrew it from its sheath on his belt, nicked the back of his hand with it and holding it by the blade, offered it over his shoulder.
Behind him, Pietas pulled back. "Why did you do that?"
"What? What did I do now?"
"You cut yourself."
Six glanced back at him. "It's custom. Giving an un-blooded knife is bad luck."
"To an Ultra, blooding a knife yourself is bad luck. I can't use that." He folded his arms. "You have ruined the ritual."
"Ruined? I didn't--" Six started to face him, but turned away. "Look, how about my utility knife? It's sharp and I've never used it for skinning. Never had my blood on it, far as I know."
"Very well." With the blade in his possession, Pietas examined it. Six had treated it with the same care he had all his tools. The blade had been honed to a fine edge. "Place it beside the fire and you may go." Upon seeing Six bristle at the dismissal, Pietas squeezed the man's shoulder. "Amigo. Gracias."
Once Six had left the area, Pietas returned his attention to the flames. He was not healing fast enough for every part of the fire aspect of the ritual, but he would do what he could.
He stooped and plucked one long blond hair, fed it to the fire. The smell of it singeing sparked upward. "As fire has victory over life, so I have victory over my enemies."
He passed a hand through the flame. He did it fast and wasn't burned, but it hurt more than he remembered. "I am powerful, as fire is powerful."
With effort and using the stick to help him, Pietas levered himself up. It had been far easier to get down than to get up. He gathered his breath and his balance.
He rested the stick against himself, reached out both fists and yanked them back. "I own the wind. I prevail over the breath of my enemies."
Leaning on the stick, he hobbled down a few steps to the creek and waded to the center. The coolness made him shiver. He waited until the water had settled before uttering the next words in the ritual. "Water submits to my presence the way enemies submit to my will."
He tucked the stick beneath his arm, cupped water in his hands and lifted it, then let it run down his forearms. "The blood of my enemies trickles into the pool of time, is absorbed and forgotten."
With care to hold onto the stick, he pushed the wet fingers of one hand through his hair. "My mind is clear. I do not waver."
Pietas submerged himself and stood, buoyant in the water. He threw back his head, lifting his face to the sky. "My body submits to my will."
Sliding one hand down his chest, he recited the words he'd not been able to complete back on the ship. "No pain defeats me. No fear touches me. My will is absolute. I am bigger than any fear. I prevail in every circumstance. I face every foe. I vanquish every enemy. I overcome. I am indomitable. I am invincible."
Taking care in the slippery mud, Pietas left the creek and once more, knelt beside the fire. He unwrapped the leaves holding the small amount of paste he'd created for his mask and applied it with his fingertips. There was no mirror to guide him, but he'd performed the ritual countless times. Once satisfied the mask blackened his eye area, he rested, preparing himself for the injury he must suffer.
He would perform this part alone, having no one worthy to accept his sacrifice. He picked up the knife.
"I, First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras, suffer for my people. I bleed for my people." He made a cut along one cheek, not as deep or long as Dessy had made. He bent forward to pull his hair toward the top of his head so he could cut it and was stopped, cold, by the inability to lift his arms far enough to reach. His muscles were still too tight, too drawn and withered to allow the movement.
Pietas remained on his knees, casting about in his mind what to do. How to complete the ritual.
The presence of Six brought both relief and a spike of anger. He sat up and tilted back his head to meet the man's gaze.
"Look, Pietas, before you yell at me, let me speak, okay?" Six knelt beside him. "I'm sorry. I know you said not to watch, but I couldn't look away. I can tell you're having trouble with this part. Let me help you. What do you need?"
The point of this part was to surrender his pride, was it not?
"I'll bow. Pull my hair toward the front and hold it in your fist. Then say, 'What sacrifice d
o you offer as proof of devotion?' After I answer, cut off the hair in your fist." He held up the knife.
Pietas resumed his position of supplication.
Six lifted Pietas's hair and drew it upward, toward the top of his head.
The sensation of being in his friend's capable hands sent a shockwave of gratitude over Pietas.
"What sacrifice do you offer as proof of devotion?"
"I surrender my pride."
Six's knife went through the wet hair in one clean motion.
Pietas righted himself. "I want to see how you sharpen knives."
Though it was full daylight, they were in shade and the firelight cast flickering shadows on Six's face. "Oh?"
"That blade is impressive."
"Thanks." He folded the knife and holstered it. "It does the job."
"However, you disobeyed a direct order."
Six fastened the safety on the holster, securing the knife. "See, I'm not one of your soldiers." Using a thumb, he wiped away a smear of blood from Pietas's cheek. "Which means you can't give me an order. Therefore, I did no such thing."
He met the man's unwavering gaze. "How you frustrate me, ghost."
"To quote you, 'Good.' Now, what's next?"
"When I performed this ritual before my people, whoever cut my hair had sex with me afterward."
Six's eyes went wide. "You're...kidding, right?"
Pietas forced himself not to smile. He let his gaze travel down Six's length and back up.
The ghost swallowed. "With full respect for your ritual and all that, sex ain't happening. Anything else?"
Pietas permitted the smile to show. "The ritual is complete."
Six gestured to his own eyes. "So that mask is part of your ritual."
"I never wear the mask until I've made myself worthy. And I'm ready for war."
"That means the day we met, you'd done the ritual."
"Yes."
Six cursed under his breath. "So, uh, what else do you need?"
"I'll settle for you helping me up."
"The great Pietas, War Leader of the Ultras, wants help from a mortal? How the mighty have fallen."
Bringer of Chaos- The Origin of Pietas Page 11
