Author: Kayelle Allen

Excerpt Origin of Pietas

In this scene, Pietas and Six are on the planet Sempervia, and Pietas has been performing the ritual on his own. Six, being human, is unworthy of taking part.

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 do 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 let his gaze travel slowly down Six's length and back up before breaking into a smile. "Yes, I am."

"Not funny, Ultra. Anything else?"

"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, 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."

Pietas narrowed his eyes. "Ghost, don't make me eat you."

"Yeah? I got two words for you, Ultra. Bring. Salt."