Jackal Among Snakes

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.

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

clanging as she walked away. Then, as though her throne was a door, she retrieved her

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

would not again appear, Galamon walked back to

said Argrave, appearing out of thin air. Galamon’s eyes widened, but

to begin, but

said, looking back in reflection. “Kind of like… a final push off the cliff, I

way?” Galamon

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

“That’s it?” Galamon asked.

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

his helmet back on.

“Got that right.

#####

ate his meal

El. Is everything all

liked now. He was sweet, gentle, and he was always available to listen to her feelings. She found it utterly insufferable. Even that nickname, El, made her sick. This had been the cause of her untimely separation with her feet and her eyes? This fawning, obsequious, and all-around boring man was the

world did I see in you?” Elenore shook her

Lazare’s yellow eyes looked down at his meal, downcast at her tone. “But whatever

when you gouged out my eyes, staring down at

killed my entire family afterwards.” He toyed with his food in bitterness. “Can’t we just… forget about

side. No words came to her. She remembered giving that order. It had been two or three years after the event, when she was just burgeoning as the Bat. Her power had been waxing greatly, and in

that nothing had felt sweeter than that sense of power over people. To make her father be her personal messenger, bringing the news her order had been completed. To enact vengeance on the man who’d robbed her

do remember that, don’t you?” Lazare

quietly. Then, she looked over. “I gave that

you feel better?” Lazare

it hadn’t made her feel better. It had been like pouring pounds and pounds of syrup atop filth. The dirtiness, the hatred, kept with her for all the time afterward. She never tended to the wound. She’d just buried it beneath other things. It never truly mended, not even to this day, not even

day after day,” Elenore mused, pushing away

why did you do

“Just… because a little broken girl got too much power, too fast.” She looked at him.

he shook

in exchange for my eyes is… quite frankly, immoral. I should probably forgive you. But even still, I just can’t.” She rubbed her hands