jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-447

When Galamon touched the bright white within the door to the White Planes, he had been expecting and dreading dealing with many things. Would it be the death of his brother? Would it be the first time he’d killed someone in wake of his vampirism? He had confronted these scenes in his head countless times.

Instead, when his vision returned to him, he gazed upon a tall Veidimen woman sitting upon a white throne. She wore a white robe of fur, and had a bow across her lap. Various other weapons hung from her waist, and she had daggers lined along the robe’s chest. Her face was stern, austere, and divinely beautiful, yet her hard white eyes spoke of impartial judgment that would offer no leniency. Her hair was a long and untamed mane, making her appear even more ferocious than she already did.

As recognition dawned, Galamon’s heart thumped wildly, and he knelt and removed his helmet. His breathing was heavy as he waited, half-doubting what he had been taught. He had no memory of meeting Veid—why, then, would he see his goddess here?

“Lift your head, Galamon,” Veid spoke. Her voice flowed like water, yet carried such power behind it that Galamon felt a child again.

Galamon obeyed, looking up. Veid still sat there, unblinking, unbreathing. He dared not speak, fearing this might be some trick of the door’s design far less than the prospect of offending his goddess.

“You bypassed the door,” Veid said, slowly rising to her feet. She set the bow on the armrest of her throne. “You have nothing within to shield yourself with. There are no memories you have not conquered. But I remedied that.”

Galamon blinked, saying nothing. Those within the test could not mention either the door or the White Planes—meaning, who he saw was precisely who he saw. His heart beat ever faster.

Veid stepped closer. “You are like me.” She looked off to the side. “You spend all of your time in your own head. Deliberating. Agonizing.”

Galamon’s whole body shook. He didn’t know whether to disagree with Veid because he was her inferior, or agree with her because she was his divinity.

Veid again focused on Galamon. “Will you serve me?”

Galamon’s heart beat ever faster. It screamed at him the simple answer—yes, yes, a thousand times yes! But instead, Galamon said, “I pledged my service to Argrave.”

Veid offered her hand. “And if I were to name you my consort?”

Galamon couldn’t help but lower his head. “I would refuse. I made a vow to my wife.”

Veid was silent, and Galamon dared a glance up. Her face was stoic, ever-calm. She said evenly, “And that is why you are here—because you would refuse me twice for the sake of your word alone. Worry not. I never expected you to agree. I do not often choose mortals to represent me. Few are worthy.”

Galamon lowered his head further until it touched the ground—whatever the surface was, it was cold and painful. “I am not one of the few. I should not stain your reputation with the corruption of vampirism, even if I am cured.”

“I decide that.” Veid leaned down and grabbed his shoulders, then pulled him to his feet as easily as though he was a child. As he adjusted, she asked, “Do you wish to champion me?”

Galamon went silent for a few minutes, staring into the eyes of his goddess. He didn’t feel he could muster the words ‘no’ if he tried. He nodded.

“It’s yours.” Veid raised her hand and then slammed it against Galamon’s chest. He felt his heart resonate with something. It was an aura, a power, as pure as water and as strong as an icy blizzard. His brain filled with knowledge of her power, her blessing… and it made the whole world spin. And more than her blessing, he knew how to conjure her symbol, denoting his newfound position of champion.

Veid removed her hand from his chest and walked away even as Galamon gathered himself. “Keep it up,” she told him, the weapons on her waist clanging as she walked away. Then, as though her throne was a door, she retrieved her bow and walked inside… and Veid was gone. She left behind her last words, saying only, “Your king is coming.”

Galamon stepped closer, looking around in utter confusion. He never quite understood why people disliked his brevity until now, left wanting as he was. He looked around at the White Planes, finally perceiving his surroundings. There were rolling hills of whiteness, almost like the flat mesas or plains of Veiden when covered by snow.

When he knew that Veid would not again appear, Galamon walked back to his helmet and picked it up, staring at its eyeholes in utter confusion.

“Knew you would make it out first,” said Argrave, appearing out of thin air. Galamon’s eyes widened, but he slowly processed things.

Galamon didn’t know where to begin, but a question rose to mind. “What happened?”

“With me? Mine was quick and painless,” Argrave said, looking back in reflection. “Kind of like… a final push off the cliff, I guess.”

“In what way?” Galamon pressed.

Argrave looked surprised at the further questioning, but he did consider the issue. “Thought about a lot of things I might do to tame the whiteness within. I saw me. The old me. I asked for a little refresher about certain things, and I got some good information. And in the end, I just said one thing, and it closed the conversation.” Argrave spread his hands out as he said it, as though unfurling a paper. “I told me… that I was fine as I was.”

“That’s it?” Galamon asked.

“That’s it,” Argrave nodded, then looked around. “I think all the old me really wanted was hearing that from someone I respected. And I respect myself, now. All the past versions of me, too. Couldn’t be who I am if I wasn’t who I was. Past few months, I’ve been coming to terms with who I am, and what my strengths actually are. And that version of me, good ol’ Vinny—he’s one of them. Might be my biggest strength, and what’s the damned shame in admitting that?” He laughed and shook his head. “But listen to me, acting all grand. Let’s wait for the others. Want to bet who comes first?”

Galamon put his helmet back on. “You’d pick Anneliese.”

Argrave laughed. “Got that right. But we’ll see.”