29. Warrior’s Length
~ MELEK ~
The house was quickly hidden from view as the trail I followed curved away from the manicured gardens to drop behind large trees and the natural roll of the land.
I soon found the pond and tree Harris had mentioned, and immediately knew it was the right place. Gall loved spots like this.
You couldn’t see the house from here. But there was a small, circular building that was little more than a roof and pillars—no walls—with a bench nestled in its shade.
The pond made a figure eight between it and the roots of the tree right before the land fell off in a gentle roll to dip low enough that the canopy of the forest below stayed below eyeline for a time, giving the impression that you stood above the forest.
The sun was dipping to the horizon beyond the trees, so everything was beginning to glow with that particular warm haze that came only as sunset neared. Lanterns flickered to life under the eaves of the small structure, and among the trees, making stars of light between the leaves along the trail.
I took a deep breath, enjoying the calm. But I didn’t know what to do with myself.
Gall had been angry with me before, though rarely. He’d never refused to speak with me. Nerves fluttered in my stomach, both apprehension, and anticipation. I had missed him. Yet, Harris’s words worried me.
If Gall was suffering because of his role in Gault’s death, I wanted to help soothe him. Particularly if he was to stay here in Theynor permanently, as Yilan insisted. We couldn’t risk him alienating these people out of sheer angst.
I paced the soft grass under the tree considering and discarding strategies for how to ease his mind…
until I heard boots crunching on scattered twigs.
Frustrated, because I was still uncertain how to approach this with him, I turned to face the trail, my heart swelling as I waited for him to appear from behind some of the smaller trees that lined it.
Gall appeared, head down, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark trousers that looked like work trousers, rather than fighting leathers. His golden hair gleamed in the scattered patches of low light under the branches.
He had either seen me before I’d seen him, or he knew this area well enough to know where I would be, because he didn’t lift his head as he stepped into the grassy area alongside the pond.
His head, still low, turned slightly as if he were checking to see if there was anyone else nearby, but he still hadn’t let me see his eyes by the time he came to a stop a few feet away from me.
I just stood there, washed in relief and love and not a little fear.
“Son, I—”
“I only came out here because Harris said it was rude not to. That… that I don’t have to be your friend, but I do have to be a gentleman.”
I blinked. “Gall, I know it’s been hard—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses. I know right from wrong.”
The words were so dark, so steeped in conviction, they tied my tongue.
He stood in front of me, half his body alight with the golden sunlight dropping behind me, half shrouded in shadow. His chin was low, and his shoulders hunched.
And he still hadn’t shown me his eyes.
“Gall, please.” I stepped forward, my chest constricting when he flinched. “Son, I know it’s been a terrible time, and I wasn’t here. I know things were confusing, but—”
“I am not confused,” he snarled. And finally, finally lifted his chin, just high enough to look at me out from under his heavy brows, his golden eyes glinting .
I blinked and I knew.
I should have known. Should have anticipated. But now I could see it and… and I grieved for him.
My boy had done a man’s job. And a man he had become. Whether it suited him or not.
There was no longer any question in my mind how to address this with him.
Our eyes locked and despite the grief weighing my lungs, I straightened to my full height and forced my features to calm, barking at him—not a father’s assurance, but a General’s command.
“Soldier, attend.”
I saw his lips tighten in the split-second before he reluctantly obeyed, but we had trained and trained to make certain he’d never again face repercussions for responding too slowly to a command.
He snapped to attention, chin up, and eyes fixed in the middle distance. But his jaw was tight, those muscles flexing as he clenched his teeth.
I crossed the space between us to stand over him—barely. I used to have inches on him. When had he started looking me in the eye?
Except, he wasn’t. He was doing as he’d been told, standing at attention, avoiding challenge, awaiting command. He stared at the tree over my shoulder, lips pressed to thin lines as he fought the urge to resist me.
“Are you the Warrior who answers to Gallus Dann Handras?” I bit off the syllables of his full name.
Gall blinked. “I am,” he responded abruptly. “But… I am no Warrior. I am a servant to the… the…”
Shit, was he going to forget?
Gall swallowed hard. “I am a servant to the crown, a-a mind trained for war, and a body apprenticed to weapon.”
“You speak true, soldier,” I said quietly. “But today, I stand, a Warrior, a General, and… and your Commander, to acknowledge you before the Crown.’
Gall’s eyes went wide and he swallowed again, but he rightly didn’t say anything as I drew the knife from the hidden sheath in these leathers that Yilan had given me, thanking God she’d trusted me enough to give me a weapon.
Keeping myself straight and proud, but my face solemn, I stared down at him. “What is your name, Warrior?”
“I am Gallus Dann Handras,” he said slowly, blinking several times .
“Gallus Dann Handras, I am Melek Erus Handras, and I see you. I see not a soldier, but a Warrior. A man who has taken the fate given him, and proven his worth. Do you recognize the call?”
A tiny noise broke in the back of Gall’s throat. “I… I do,” he rasped, his eyes beginning to well.
Fuck. Now I was going to cry.
I blinked back the threatening blur, and swallowed the pinch in my throat.
“I stand witness to you, Gallus Dann Handras. I acknowledge your courage and strength. I call witness of the world to your victory. Only a warrior can take the life of an enemy in war, and so you… You are now a Warrior.”
Gall cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. “I… Papa are you sure?” he croaked, his voice a ragged whisper, as if we truly recited the ritual in front of an audience.
I swallowed hard and only nodded once, waiting for him to finish his response with the correct words, praying he remembered them.
Gall blinked again, and again, hands clenching to fists at his sides as he fought for control.
“I have slain the… the enemy in defense of my brothers,” he said hoarsely. “I have proven no coward in the face of danger.”
I nodded again sharply, just once. “Stand silent, Warrior, in respect for the dead.”
The poignancy of that moment smacked me between the eyes.
It was tradition in our ranks to recognize the fallen, to acknowledge that victory in battle came at the cost of death from another.
That our brothers who had been killed were now in the dirt with our enemies.
And that we, too, would fall one day. But I hadn’t thought ahead to the fact that Gall would be asked to stand in silent memorial to the man he had killed: His blood-father. And his King.
But to my surprise, even though his eyes widened, and a quiver rocked through him, his eyes cleared of tears and his chin rose as we stood there, twin statues, remembering the dead.
When the minute of silence was done, I cleared my throat and put one hand on his shoulder to turn him so he stood on profile.
Then I grasped his hair—the unruly short-length on top that needed a cut now, but that only served to emphasize what we were there to achieve.
While he stood, breathing heavily through his nose, I used my blade to slice the hair on the top of his head from front to back, leaving only the round bunch at the back of his skull uncut.
Then, in a move that was more symbolic than anything else, because the hair was barely two inches long, I pulled the leather tie from my warrior’s length and looped it around the bunch of hair in my fist.
It stuck up like a child’s pigtail at the back of his skull, and should have looked ridiculous. Like a clown.
But the picture of my son, standing there with his chin high in pride, and his hair gathered at the back in his warrior’s length made my chest squeeze so tight I could barely breathe. When I spoke, the words were a ragged rasp.
“Gallus Dann Handras, I name you Warrior and brother. And I welcome you to the Nephilim ranks.”
Technically, there should have been a great cheer then. Salutes from all the other soldiers of the same rank. Hands shaken by those that outranked him. And commands given by the highest—the Captains and myself.
But there was only me. And the ritual was done. So I swallowed the lump in my throat and put both hands on his shoulders, turning him to face me.
And he finally met my eyes.
“I’m proud of you, Gall,” I said hoarsely. And then I thanked God when my son’s face crumpled and he dropped his forehead to my chest, his body trembling as he fought not to embrace me.
“This is fine. You can be scared and angry at the same time,” I whispered in his ear, one arm wrapped around his head, the other around his shoulders, holding him to me. “You can be unhappy and happy at the same time. Just feel it, Gall. It will pass. All of it. It will pass.”
Finally, with a low cry, his arms flew from his sides to wrap around my waist and he clung to me, shaking as he fought sobs.
And then I held him while he cried, silent tears rolling down my cheeks.