The Storm Lamb

Revolt

The bright white scar tore across the sky. It would have seen like another Storm has come but the sky remained calm and clear of rain. Tomas winced at the mage as blood uncontrollably gushes from the entry of the enlarging glass sword in his gut, he held the edges of the sword as the mage pushed, both of them locked their eyes on each other. Indignations and anger were marked on Tomas's face, his necklace glows slightly as he will. 

The hopeless struggle was only making it worse for him, if he were to just give up tugging with all his might at life, it would have been quick and free of agony, the glass sword spiked the spasm at the very thought, that made him hardened his conviction, he grasped at life with all of his strength, what would be left if he was to die, the nation of Adustio would still live at least that should be how it was. But an infectious doubt had been growing steadily in his mind ever since he saw the girl. 

Skepticism filled his mind at first but what she did prove sufficient that she had the mettle to be a savior, but the seed of doubt was cast and grown again the moment when he caught the look she gave to the chieftain, it could have been the pain, yes, it could most likely be that. There should be no question in his mind that she was just in pain, it most likely could be an erroneous evaluation of his gut feeling, he knew he had bad judgment and it should have seemed obvious this was one of them, but the haunting feeling of the "what if" won't stop itself from eating further into him.

Not everyone can smile at their own misery and sacrifice, and that's what made it mattered the most. He muttered the words of the scripture again, a fissure started in his hand and spread into the glass sword, the mage wrench free his hands from the transparent handle as the shifting sword start retaining its original shape, shifting away from its previous shapeless form that speared a sweat-inducing torment for Tomas as it resided in his guts. He seized the handle and pulled the glass out, it shattered when it touched the ground, the pieces morphed to dust and was swept away by the wind. 

The affliction grew stronger as he unsheathed his short sword from his weather-beaten scabbard, he sweated heavily as he tightened the grip on his golden short sword, he thought of his child. The very idea of never seeing him again frightened him to no ends but the thought of him dying to the Storm was an omnipotent and ever reaching terror that numbed his body and sped his already pounding heart, further exposure would have completely stolen him away from reality. 

In the adrenaline-fueled and instant contemplation, he sped up the movement of his body to his heart, tilted the hand that held the sword and made a step forward and shoved the sword's tip towards the mage's heart, other palm supporting the pommel, pushing it further into a desperate thrust. The tip touched the skin of the mage's chest as he fell backward, but the steel did not pierce it, before he could hit the sword in, they both fell, the Westland mage's gloved hands snatched at Tomas's one mid-fall and pressured the starting fissure, compromising its integrity further as the glass-like structure spread to the sword.  

Tomas looked at his cracking hand then the mage as he tries his best in vain, to hit the sword into the mage's chest, eyes brimming with confusion, fear, and ambivalence. The mage had stared at him too, his eyes were calm and there was no apparent expression on his face but deeper, there was sympathy, twisting in such a genuine way that Tomas felt himself loosening his grip on the short sword, but it was most likely because of the change in his hand's structure. The sweats rolled into the cracks in between his hand and it shattered into dust immediately, the short sword dropped as it would have looked as if he had hit it through to the mage's heart. 

He retreated back as a second outline manifested in the mage's hand. The left side of Tomas's hand was void, and blood has now replaced the dust that blew into the wind, but all he could think of is whether she will do it or not. The Westland mage stood himself up, dust off the sword and think to himself. Ten million people will die here. He kept looking at the man he had let go, a trail of blood followed him as the glass and dust morphed back to flesh. It wasn't hard to raid a village, to commit atrocities for Masters or Kings, to pretend to be mages for Adustio, but it was hard to watch, hard to comprehend, hard to let himself to simply watch ten million people die, what kind of God would have allowed that? His forgotten conscience resurfaced. 

"Julius! Where's that Storm Priest?"

"He ran."

"It's going to take a few more days for them to be drowned if they still have the Priests alive. What are you waiting for? Go get him."

"Stabbed through the gut, a hand missing, he won't live. An admirable struggle, I think he knows."

The other man smiled. 

"What is there for him to do anyway? There is nothing holy but death and disaster here."  

"A man is allowed to hope, even if that's all he can do."

He paused and look at him jarringly at the dramatic statement.

"Enough with your shit, help out with the rest of them." 

Tomas made it through the panicking crowd and had tried to find her, but from wading through panicking people and ignoring the order of his King, he no doubts had trouble finding where she was. The process was all a blinding flash of incoherent vision and sound, the most significant encounter he could remember in all of it was as he walked through the courtyard, an argument ensuing about the betrayal of the King's advisor and the scream of the dead King, all of that still would not deter him. He kept staggering forward.

It didn't matter now if the monarch lives or die, what mattered was what she had wanted. The hope he clung onto was like a demented jester, it played all sort of tricks with him, made him felt happy and played future memories of his son living, the growth of his child into an adult, watching him leave his house, and coming back with a wife, their smiles, and then a little while, children will come with them to visit him and then, his son's motionless body floating on the waters.

He just wanted to know, he just wanted to know for sure, he will give anything to know, and the moment of desperation gave him nothing despite all his pleadings, he falls heavily yet he still did not let the thought of his family die. The epiphany hit him, it was no gut feeling, he just wanted to know for sure, he just wants her to say it. 

Finally, he felt his eyes bled. The light that had called for him so much pierced and clawed his eyes. It was his hope that she was the light and she would shine. Shone she did for him. He saw her through the red vision voided mostly by black, even in the darkness caused by the very light that tore his eyes, he saw the grey, reclusive and careless gaze, he knew the answer but still, he told himself she would do it.