71. Life Debt
~ JANN ~
As the dawn glow broke, I stood on the outcropping where Melek had delivered his speeches, watching that golden orb, guided by the hand of God Himself, slowly rise to bathe this broken world in light.
But that radiance, so beautiful in the heavens, revealed little but darkness and pain below.
While the Shadows of Shade rolled and seeped through the mountains overlooking us, in the dark of the valley bodies littered the ground like leaves in autumn. Large bodies, most crumpled and caked in their own blood and dirt, some in pieces. Many unrecognizable, bloated and purple.
Later today, even the sun’s thin autumn heat would bring with it a cloying stench of death.
I sighed watching healers, trackers, and the lowest ranking soldiers move among the crumpled bodies, identifying the dead, stripping their valuables as spoils of war, and calling healers for any loyal who yet lived.
It was a dirty, harrowing job, and one that was easy to shirk, but left nations at risk if it wasn’t done properly. Needing fresh air, I’d told Melek I’d watch over the process and make certain each and every warrior’s body was checked for life, or valuables.
Every muscle in my body ached. I bled in several places, though nothing life threatening thanks to a well-timed warning from the least likely source during that battle.
Fucking Diadre …
As if thinking her name conjured her, my eyes dragged left towards the spot where I’d almost died the night before, to find her bending over one of those putrid bodies, her hair half out of its braid as she dug through the pockets of a Nephilim who dwarfed her in size, yet it was he who lay dead.
I couldn’t tell from here, but I would have gambled my home that the little she-devil was taking her spoils.
That if I were at her side, I’d find her burrowing in the pockets of the handful of males who’d come for me.
Particularly the one with the leather breastplate that strapped over his shoulders and around his waist.
He was a cunning, silent fucker who’d managed to get behind me when I was forced to shift positions during battle.
If she hadn’t screamed her warning right when she did—and thrown her knife when my first strike didn’t make it through that breastplate, to slice him right between the ribs—I wouldn’t be watching her now.
I wasn’t aware of moving, but suddenly I was in that hollow, stepping over dead bodies, wrinkling my nose against the stench of blood that would soon begin to turn under the sun’s warmth.
Diadre had just straightened and was examining something in her hands, her head bent forward and her thick hair half-fallen from her braid. I cleared my throat.
She didn’t flinch, or even look at me.
She must have seen me coming.
“What is it, Jann?” she asked flatly, turning over whatever she’d found in the Neph’s pocket.
My pride bristled, but I swallowed it back. I owed her a life debt.
“I came to thank you,” I said quietly.
She went still, only her hair fluttering in the low, morning breeze before she raised her chin, and her narrowed eyes locked on mine.
“It’s not necessary,” she said, then tucked the treasure into her cleavage before turning to walk the bloodied earth to the next body.
I caught her elbow with gentle fingers, but she hissed and responded as if I’d attacked her—whirling, arm snapping around to break my grip in admirable form many of my soldiers could have benefitted from emulating—then bouncing to face me, her center of gravity lowered and hands up to fend off any further attack .
I sighed and stepped back, raising my hands so she’d see I meant no harm.
“I’m not trying to take you. God,” I muttered. “I want to thank you.”
“So you said, and yet here I am, being touched.”
I almost rolled my eyes and left. If she couldn’t even allow me to express gratitude, perhaps she didn’t deserve it.
But my fucking honor demanded that I acknowledge my debt to her. So, dropping my arms and clenching my hands at my sides, I forced myself to bow.
“I am Jannus the Halfling, a Captain—no, General—of the Nephilim. And your servant,” I said through my teeth. “We stood shoulder to shoulder in battle, and I live and breathe today because of your—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I warned you a guy was coming and planted a knife in him. I would have done the same for a fucking messenger boy. You’re welcome. Now, let it go.”
“Trust me, I wish I could,” I said tightly. “But my honor demands—”
“Honor, my ass,” Diadre hissed, taking two short steps to stand at my toes and point a finger right at my chest. “Honor doesn’t come from you being humbled. Honor would have recognized a fellow soldier. Honor wouldn’t have dismissed me simply because I am in possession of breasts,” she snarled.
And a beautiful pair they were, too. Though the way her face was currently twisted in loathing at the sight of me, I doubted she’d appreciate the compliment.
I cleared my throat. “I recognize your skill. My life is indebted—”
“I don’t give two shits if I saved your life or not,” she spat.
“Our little charade is done. You touch me again without my permission and I will remove your testicles with my teeth. You stay the hell away from me, Jannus the Half-ass. Don’t touch me.
Don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me unless it’s in service to my King and Queen. Do you hear me?”
I nodded slowly. “I hear you.”
“Good.”
She turned on her heel. I waited until she had taken two or three steps, then started after her. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening, blazing with anger as she turned and stopped again .
“I just said, leave me alone!” Her voice went shrill on the last sentence, and with her hair sticking out after the battle, she looked like a flustered cat.
It’s not funny. It’s not funny. Do not laugh.
“Permission to speak and explain… Captain?” I whispered, proud of myself because I didn’t even chortle.
Her eyes bulged, then narrowed to slits as she folded her arms under those beautiful breasts and hissed. “Speak if you must. But get it out now.”
I cleared my throat again, then took a knee and clasped a hand to my chest. Her head jerked back a hair, but she blinked and tried to cover her shock.
I swallowed a smile. “It is our tradition that when a Nephilim owes a life debt, it must be repaid. Until then, I am at your call. A… a slave.” God, that made my skin itch.
“I will do as you wish and give you space. But only if you give me your word—as an Officer of the crown—that if you are in need, you will send for me so that I can attempt to make up what you are owed.”
“I am not—”
“If you won’t give me your word, I’ll be forced to shadow you whenever possible, looking for opportunities to release myself from the debt,” I said, working hard not to smile because her repulsion at the idea of my presence was obvious.
Had I not meant every word, I would have howled watching her pretty little mind try to weigh the displeasure of giving me what I wanted against the threat of my constant presence.
Her lips went tight and her chin rose as she fought with herself about it, then finally, shoved the breath she was holding out of her nostrils and rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” she muttered and dropped her arms, flapping a hand at me. “You have my word that if I am ever in need, I’ll ask for your help.”
“Thank you.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Is there anything else? Or—” she broke off, staring at me. Then her eyes narrowed again and she leaned closer, examining me, her eyes searching mine.
Confused, I just stared back at her until she straightened again and tilted her head.
“Are you true, Jannus? Do you even serve my King and Queen? Or are you a traitor, just waiting for your moment— ”
I growled and pushed to my feet. “I’ll ignore your rudeness and ridiculous spite, but—”
“Ridiculous?!”
“Yes, ridiculous! If you want to be respected as a soldier, don’t drag your feelings into every decision—”
She gave an offended huff, but I wasn’t finished.
“—and measure the merits of a man for his character! Since you can’t seem to stop acting like an embarrassed adolescent, let me help you: Melek is the most admirable male and powerful Nephilim in existence.
I believe in him so deeply, I rejected staking my claim to the throne, because I knew he’d do it better! ”
“So you say—”
“So it was. You can kick dirt in my face, insult me, and dismiss my value as much as you like. I will take your criticism and move on, as a soldier should. But do not…” I stepped closer, looming over her, but leaning down so our noses almost touched, snarling just as vehemently as she had moments earlier.
“…Do not question my loyalty to my best friend that I call brother . You will not survive it, life debt, or no.”
Her jaw rolled, her eyes sparking like flint on steel. “That’s a very pretty speech for someone whose eyes are still yellow,” she muttered.
I blinked and almost stumbled. I wasn’t moving, but it felt like the earth shifted under my feet.
“And Melek’s making you General? Well, shit.” She gave another deeply skeptical huff and shook her head. “Maybe I should let you follow me after all. Keep an honorable eye on you,” she growled like a pissed off kitten.
“That won’t be necessary.” I tried to make the words strong, but my voice was faint.
She caught it, and smiled. Then, to my shock, lifted a hand and patted me on the chest. “Servant, I have—”
Something crackled where she touched me, a bolt of jangling pain that stabbed from her palm, under my skin and muscle, to slide home between my ribs.
For a split second I thought I’d been stabbed. But when we both gasped and jerked apart, gaping, panting, the pain ceased as soon as she removed her hand.
My breath froze in my lungs, and my heart thumped.
Her eyes went round. All pretense of disdain or anger dropped away .
She stared at me like she was terrified.
I couldn’t breathe properly. My heart hammered in my chest. My skin felt too tight.
Then she began to visibly tremble.
“Diadre—” I breathed.
But, as if my voice were the momentum she needed, she jerked back a step, shaking her head, her lips forming at tortured “No!” as she scrambled away from me, tripping and almost falling over a body behind her.
Instinctively I reached for her arm, to catch her, to keep her on her feet. But she saw me move, and those catlike reflexes of hers kicked in.
She twisted, caught her weight with her fingertips on the dirt, then pushed upright like a racer, shaking her head… And sprinted away without another word.
Every fucking drop of blood in my veins sucked to the surface of my skin, screaming at me to go after her.
I almost vomited with the struggle to resist. My entire body shook.
What had she done to me? What the fuck had she done to me? Some dark magik that only the cursed Fetches knew about?
Swallowing nausea and trying to silence the screaming in my head, I forced myself to turn in the opposite direction, to stomp back to that outcropping of rock.
On the way I passed a fallen warrior with an iron shield polished to a mirror finish where it wasn’t etched by weapons
I swept it up as I passed, carrying it with me until I was at the base of those rocks and out of sight of anyone on the battlefield.
Then I lifted the shield, turning until the light of the rising sun bathed my face and made my reflection clear.
I peered closer and closer, muttering curses under my breath when the surface refused to give up what I needed.
A hint of green in my eyes. Even a fleck and I would tear after her, roaring, force her to see it, pin her to the ground and shake her until she opened her eyes and saw.
But I couldn’t… there was nothing…
The more I stared, the more I saw myself—jaw stubbled after days without shaving. A smear of blood on my temple. Hair sticking out in every direction. Lines in my face from weariness. Dark bruises under my eyes that only made the truth clearer …
My eyes glowed gold. The pure, pale gold they had always been.
Jannus the Halfling. The only male born to the line of pure, Nephilim ancestors.
The cursed bloodline.
Each generation dying young, despite their strength and vigor. No male in the line living long enough to see his child reach maturity.
Jannus. The Halfling. Who only lived because he had not yet sired a son.
The dead man walking.
And… the only male who willingly resisted the Fallen… but could not be redeemed?
The thought rang in my head like a gong.
Swallowing back the bile that wanted to rise, I threw the shield to the dirt and stormed away, up to the top of the outcropping to watch the battlefield below, and honor my King. Make certain no one was being left to betray him from that crowd of rebels below.
Because that was my job.
The rest… the rest was a puzzle for another day. I pushed it from my mind and cursed the woman who’d forced me to confront it.
Cursed the day she walked into my life.
And prayed that God would offer me a chance to fulfill my debt quickly so I’d never have to speak with her again.
That is…
Did God hear the prayers of an irredeemable soul?