Category: Ritual of Strength

I am invincible.

In this scene from Origin of Pietas, Pietas is free of the lifepod, but his injuries have incapacitated him. He must rely completely on Six. Depending on others is not the king's forte. In his ritual, the final line is that he is invincible. Here, he is anything but.

Excerpt from Origin of Pietas

Six brought out a metal box and opened it. "Plain soap. Scrap of cloth. You'll be clean before you know it." Six lathered the soap and gently scrubbed Pietas's face.

Afterward, Pietas rested on the blanket. Six dried him and worked his uncooperative arms and legs into the clothes.

Mortifying to be so useless. He hadn't been this helpless since he was an infant.

The ordeal of movement and cold exhausted him. Pietas dozed and woke to find himself clothed, dry and warm.

"Ready for a manicure?" Six used the knife to pare the claws on Pietas's hands and feet. As he had on board the ship, Six passed the time with tales.

How many were fanciful stories and how many true? Pietas doubted he would ever know. It didn't matter. He could rest his throat and learn more about this ghost. The thought that he no longer gathered intel in order to kill him was unsettling at first. How long since he'd listened to someone without thinking how he could use the information to his advantage? Since he'd listened to enjoy a story?

This time, when Six told a bawdy story, Pietas laughed aloud.

Six grinned at him, threw back his head and laughed along.

The ghost cleaned up the area. He put the bar of soap back in its box and withdrew a metal comb. "This comb is also a magnet and it's strong, but it's not getting through that rat's nest. I can take care of it, if you don't mind a haircut with a blade."

The last haircut he'd had, at Dessy's hand, had been with a blade. Then, he'd thought he would trust no one else near his neck with a sharp weapon. For Six, he did not hesitate. "Please."

The knife sawed through his wet hair faster than Pietas's dagger. And didn't that tell a story all by itself?

"You okay for a few minutes while I grab a quick swim? Wash off some of this dirt?"

"Yes." He soaked up the sun. The reflective blanket warmed beneath him.

Six stripped. Like most soldiers, he showed no concern about baring his body. However confined he'd been on board the ship, he'd kept up with exercise. The ghost turned and waded down into the water.

Spread across Six's entire back was a tattoo of a mythical beast, teal outlined in black. Wings unfurled. Claws out. Fangs bared.

A dragon.

The sense of destiny coming full circle hit with the impact of a tornado slamming into a shack.

Pietas thought about the dragon while Six finished bathing.

At last, the ghost picked up his shirt and began drying himself. He dressed and came back up the slope. "Okay. Let's get you back to camp to rest and I'll fish. I'm ready for some solids and I think you could handle some tomorrow. Ready?"

"Ready."

Six picked him up.

"You like teal."

"What?" Six tossed wet hair out of his eyes.

"The color. Teal. Turquoise."

"Turq-- Oh! You saw my dragon. Took a lot of visits to complete that."

"Why?"

"It's the detail. They draw the outline first, and then--"

"No, why a dragon? Why teal?"

They'd reached camp, and one end of the parachute cloth had pulled loose. It flapped in the wind.

Six put Pietas down, and began refastening the cloth. "Dragons are primal. They're protectors. They represent courage. Teal because it's the color of sky and sea. It's heavenly energy. Pure. You ever get a tattoo?"

"Ultras could never keep them."

"Oh, right, forgot. Tattoos tell you about a person. Who they are, where they belong. Some, who they belong to."

Pietas smiled. "Yes. They do."

I prevail over every circumstance.

In this scene from Origin of Pietas, Six and Pietas are deep into a journey across the planet, hoping to locate the other immortals. Pietas has said he has few lovers, and even fewer friends, and Six asks why.

"My troops all but worship me. Leading the council made me hated. I long for someone with whom I can be myself."

Six leaned forward. "They fed us nothing but lies about you. Well, except to say that you were a supreme fighter. That was true. Watching you in that room..." He uttered an expletive. "You had no defensive moves. Everything was offense. No wonder no one gets close to you. Like trying to hit a tornado."

Such praise from so valued a warrior! Pietas let himself smile.

"Anyway..." Six picked at a broken thumbnail. "I'm sorry we didn't meet under different circumstances."

"Are you?" A long strand of hair had fallen over the ghost's face and Pietas moved it aside. "Why?"

Six tossed his head and that strand fell back into his face. He tucked it behind an ear. "I would have liked sparring with you. Learning from you."

"I will teach you anything you want to know. But I hope here, you'll never have to use it."

"Yeah? Well, we find your people I might."

"Indeed. But not if I can prevent it. You are my friend. I will stand between you and anyone who thinks to harm you."

Six set a fist over his heart in an Ultra salute of tribute. "Thank you, Pietas."

He nodded. No doubt his family would think the ghost stayed with him only for protection, but if there was anything Pietas was good at, it was recognizing honor.

Six blazed with it.

How long had he spent in Six's presence before he'd considered him a friend? Now, he could not imagine life without him. He refused to accept that so mundane a thing as death might take Six away from him.

While his father was the better geneticist, his mother had a deft understanding of human needs. Surely the two of them could find a way to lengthen the ghost's life. Six had often said he'd lived past his "expiration date" and was on borrowed time. They would have to borrow more. How often had Pietas wished for humans to die?

Now he wanted one to live forever.

No fear touches me.

There's a difference between feeling fear and being controlled by fear. In this scene, Six offers a bit of advice. At the beginning of the previous book, nothing the Ghost Corps soldier said made it past Pietas's iron will. How could a mortal know more than he did? But over the journey across the planet, step by step, Pietas has opened his heart. Now that they are finally entering the camp where the other immortals live, Pietas must face the one person who's hurt him more than any other. His father.

Excerpt from Forged in Fire

Fists clenched, Pietas halted. His heart raced. His breath came too fast. Too shallow. I am bigger than any fear. I am unbeatable. I am unstoppable.

"Yes, you are." Six touched the middle of his back.

Pietas jerked away from him. "You aren't supposed to hear me, ghost."

"Then stop thinking so loud."

His iron discipline kept swear words from spewing out his mouth, but if ever one fit, it was now.

Six grinned. "Same to you, Ultra."

Exasperated, he turned to go.

"Hey." Six touched his arm. "Can I give you some advice?"

He tightened his jaw, faced the man, and waited.

Six stuck his thumbs under the straps of his pack. "After I signed the paperwork to become a ghost, I went home. Visited family. My abuela had died, but I hung out with my cousins. I said I was going on a long-term mission, so they put together a going away party. My birth mother showed up."

The ghost related few stories of his personal life, so Pietas paid close attention. "What happened?"

"I hadn't seen her in years. Maybe ten or more. Didn't want to see her. She'd abandoned me. Why should I talk to her? But I kept hearing my abuela's advice. 'Value family. They're your treasure.' I didn't want to believe that for a minute, but I couldn't get it out of my mind."

"You talked to her."

"I did. But before I went, I reminded myself of a few things my abuela taught me. Be aware of your emotions." He counted on his fingers as he listed them. "Don't respond to emotional chaos. Set boundaries. Don't let anyone steal your joy. Forgive those who do you wrong."

"How can one forgive when one can't forget?"

"Forgiveness doesn't mean you forget. You should never forget. To forget would mean they could hurt you again."

"Then how can one forgive?"

"You forgive because no matter what they did, or whether they deserve to be forgiven, you recognize that you deserve peace."

Pietas clasped his hands and brought them to his mouth, voiceless.

Once, when he'd trained with Armand and Philippe, he'd missed a blocking opportunity and Armand hit him in the chest. Philippe followed through not two seconds later. The twins hadn't intended to hurt him, but the double punch laid him out on the floor, unable to breathe, unsure his heart was still beating. Helpless.

Six's words hit him the same way.

How he ached to believe them.

The blood of my enemies trickles into the pool of time.

There's a story about "the blood of my enemies" when it comes to Pietas. This excerpts explains it well.

After exiting the pool, Pietas brushed off the water and wrung out his hair. He pulled out a tray holding half a dozen clasps. He chose a silver dragon studded with six turquoise stones, twisted his wet hair and fastened it up, out of the way.

He dried his face, gathered a brush and black face paint. Leaning in close to a freestanding mirror, he outlined a bandit's mask from beneath his eyes to over his dark eyebrows and filled it with black.

He'd worn the mask in battle ever since defeating the First Division, a human special-ops group formed to fight Ultras. It came about because Pietas had slain an enemy and blood had splashed across his eyes. Thinking the blood belonged to Pietas, the Ultra troops had rallied to him and slaughtered the humans. The blood dried almost black.

Stories of how their "bandit king" had conquered the First Division filled the night.

The name stuck. To his troops, he was First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras.