The Desperate Prayers of a Heretic

What do the desperate prayers of a heretic mean to the gods?

Just Outside of Eritrea, Bilar 62 RB

Oh great Ichel, preserve her.

Ammon’s shirt clung to his back, wet with blood.

Steady her heart.

He walked slowly, legs unsteady.

Mend her breath.

Pol seemed lifeless in his arms. But she was breathing. She had to be. Blood covered her face. Blood covered her arms, and her neck. There was too much. But she was alive. She had to be.

Protect her from Andra’s grasp.

Ammon crossed the threshold of the Wallow. Taking care to find an almost dry spot, he dropped to one knee, and set Pol down gently. He rose to his feet.

Save her.

“Ammon!” A girl with fiery orange hair ran to greet him. Violet.

Her expression changed from relief to horror as she caught sight of the figure lying in the mud, “What happened?”

“Get Mina. Hurry. Please.” His voice was hoarse.

Violet opened her mouth to speak, then, closing it, ran towards the Nest. Ammon sank to his knees, and prayed.

Antaradus, Kiamareno 59 RB (3 Years Prior)

Ammon knelt at the edge of the hearth, staring into the fire. The flames seemed cheerful, dancing erratically, as if everything were fine. As if people weren’t dying. As if there was no terrible sickness tearing through their homeland. As if that sickness wasn’t taking his family.

Tears sprung to his eyes as he spoke the too-familiar words.

"Oh great Ichel, preserve them.”

Three spruce cones burned in the fire. One for his amma, one for his appa, and one for Zara. Dead Man’s Spruce. Andra’s trees. Only offered to Ichel in dire times.

“Steady their hearts.”

Ammon had never seen his appa so weak as the day he’d gone to stay with Hendrix. His signature smile had seemed tired, strained. His hands had been shaking as he sent Ammon to find the blacksmith.

“Mend their breath.”

Hendrix had been working when Ammon arrived. The forge had been hot, like the tears that now ran down Ammon’s face. With the fire that now seemed to taunt him.

“Protect them from Andra’s grasp.”

Ammon had been scared. He was still scared.

“Save them.”

The sweet smelling spruce smoke rose into the air.

The Wallow, Bilar 62 RB

It wasn’t long before Violet returned, with Mina and Markus in tow.

Mina knelt over Pol’s unconscious body, “What happened to her?”

Ammon swallowed, “Nothing she deserved.”

Mina shot him a look he couldn’t quite decipher, “We’ll discuss this later.”

Markus put a hand on his shoulder, “It’ll be okay.”

“Enough about that. Don’t you understand that you put everyone in jeopardy?” Ammon hadn’t noticed Eden approach, “We’d probably all be better off if someone tied you to you–”

“Why wasn’t she warned?” Ammon interjected, a fire lighting in his eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Eden asked, surprised at the interruption.

“Pol. She wasn’t warned about the scouts. Why?”

“Oh, you mean the minstrel. Well, you see, if we’d sent someone to tell her, they might die themselves, making her a ne–”

“Don’t say that.” Ammon stepped towards Eden, “Not about Pol. She’s not a ‘necessary sacrifice’. She’s a person. And she should have been warned.”

Eden looked at him in annoyance, “Now, listen when I say this, if it wasn’t her, it would have been someone else. Someone else who we couldn’t afford to lose.”

“But we could afford to lose her?”

“Now, lo–”

“Who gets too choose who’s important and who’s not?” Ammon was shouting now, anger present in every syllable.

Violet shot him a warning look, but he took no note of it.

“Who gets to choose who lives? Who gets to choose who dies?”

He advanced on Eden, almost seeming to tower over him, although he was a couple inches shorter.

“If you could jus–”

“Do you even care? Of course you don’t.” He looked at Eden with disgust, “You’re like everyone else! You only care about the people you can use. The people with influence. The rest of us are nameless to you. Irosatta.”

Ammon’s voice was jagged now, like broken glass.

He continued, “But the th–”

“That’s enough.” Eden looked down at Ammon, “If we could save everyone, we would. But we can’t. Do you understand?”

Ammon just stared at him, anger still blazing in his eyes.

“Do you understand?” Eden repeated.

Teeth gritted, Ammon replied, “Yes, sir.”

Eden sighed, “At least you’re safe. If you’d gotten yourself killed saving that stupid minstrel’s life…”

It was less than a second before Ammon’s fist collided with his jaw. Eden blinked for a second in shock, then drew his sword. Ammon just stared at him, his anger now mixed with grim resolve as he stared down what could very well be his death.

Markus put himself between Eden and Ammon, sword drawn,

“Get out of here.”

Ammon didn’t move.

“Ammon, go!” Violet yelled.

He could hear the fear in her voice, and it awakened something in him. Almost like a memory.

Ammon ran. He followed the Path as far as his legs would carry him. Which wasn’t very far. In fact, he only made it about half a kilometer before his legs gave out.

Antaradus, Kiamareno 59 RB (3 Years Prior)

The wood fell from Ammon’s hands as he stood in the doorway.

“They’re gone.” His voice was fragile. A whisper. Thin as the ice that clawed at his heart.

“I’m sorry.” Hendrix pulled Ammon into an embrace, and Ammon cried.

He cried for his mother, who would never sing him another lullaby. He cried for his father, whose smile would never again brighten someone’s day. He cried for his sister, who would never again pester him with nosy questions.

Ammon cried for the memories. He cried for the laughter. He cried for the cold nights telling stories by the fire. Most of all, he cried for the loss of his hope.

Just Outside of Eritrea, Bilar 62 RB

Ammon hit the ground hard, hands scraping against the dirt. For a moment, he lay there, almost wishing he had fallen in the Wallow, where the ground was always soft. It was only a second before he dragged himself to his feet and continued to stagger down the path.

For a long while, Ammon didn’t look back.

Miletos, Tunasiamoni 62 RB

Ammon watched the snow fall, barely noticing it. Warmth radiated from the bowl of watery soup which currently resided in his hands. Nik was watching him. He could feel it.

The silence stretched thin. Nik inhaled as if to speak, then released the breath. Finally he spoke.

"I'm sorry. You've clearly been through a lot. It's not my place to pry."

Ammon felt the need to respond, "You haven't done anything wrong."

"Still, I've made a guest uncomfortable. If Aunt Daphne finds out, I'll get quite the talking to. 'Oh Nik, you'll bring Celyn's wrath on all of us.'" He grinned sheepishly.

Ammon shook his head, "I doubt she'd spare her wrath for the likes of me."

Nik frowned, "Celyn cares for everyone."

Ammon just looked away, remembering smiles, and lullabies, and too many questions.