Some enemies are impossible to ignore – Bringer of Chaos #SpaceOpera #MFRWhooks

Last week, I shared a scene with Pietas trapped inside a lifepod that didn't allow him the bliss of sleep. It ended with the horror of realizing someone was further wrapping it in chains. This week is a bit lighter fair that reveals how he and the ghost guarding him first connect.

Enemies

The curse of an Ultra’s metabolism was that while he healed fast, he needed almost no sleep. Pietas longed for the escape it gave humans. Yet while he wished for it, the fact that he should desire anything human appalled and disgusted him.

Since the lone interaction with Ghost Six and the wrapping of chains, nothing had occurred. He supposed it had been nothing more than hours, but it felt as if months had passed. Years. Decades.

Pietas counted. Every time he passed three thousand he lost his place. He recited poems he’d read. Books. With his eidetic memory, rereading a book was simple. He practiced maths. He recalled songs, but sang them in silence.

It hurt to move his mouth. The thirst raging in his body made his lips stick to his teeth. Every time he moved his lips, the skin tore, then regrew. He pushed out flakes of it with his dry tongue. His face must be gaunt, hollow. One time, when younger, he’d gone two months without food, testing both strength and resolve.

This felt longer.

Once he got out of here, he’d never have to go thirsty. He’d find pools of water. Rivers of it. He’d bathe every day. The smell of his own body and his sweat would not fill his nostrils and choke him. He would fashion a house with towering ceilings. Big rooms. Never be held in a place such as this.

His houses would have windows that let in light. Open doors. Nothing that locked or closed. Who would dare to rob Pietas ap Lorectic? Who would wrong First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras? No one. He needed no doors. No locks.

He had begun counting and was almost to three thousand when the whistling returned. This time, his heart leaped at the sound.

For the first time since the pod had closed on him, laughter filled him. Though it sounded like a dragon gargling, and tore his throat, joy erupted. He was not alone. They might be enemies, but better an enemy than the monotony of silence threatening to crush his will.

The whistling stopped and then started.

Pietas listened without complaint. Once he was free, he would kill this ghost, but for now, he welcomed his presence.

Silence dragged, but then the whistling resumed. A soft warmth suffused Pietas. So rare was the feeling in his life he didn’t recognize it at first.

Peace.

The ghost whistled in fits and starts, stopping and starting in varying lengths of song. It took a long time for Pietas to recognize a pattern. A long tune, then a short one. Silence. The letter N. A long tune, two short ones. Silence. The letter D.

N and D. What did that mean?

The ghost whistled two short tunes, a long, a short, and then silence. F.

Short, long, short, silence. R.

NDFR. What kind of acrostic was that?

This was madness. He was hearing patterns that did not exist.

Pietas wasted time pondering the effects of his captivity and almost missed the next letter: I. NDFRI?

When another came, he saw the pattern. He’d come in on the middle of a word the ghost had been repeating. Were they listening? Watching? Could the ghost say nothing, so he whistled the message?

How unlikely was it that this message would pass from human to Ultra? And that Pietas would believe it, considering the person who sent it?

He’d gotten the order wrong. It wasn’t N-D-F-R-I-E.

It was F-R-I-E-N-D.

Origin of Pietas

Enemies by birth. Allies by necessity. Brothers by choice.