“Yes, Mother. I understand.”
“After we visit Vylas,” Amala continued, her voice growing distant and empty, “we will have another task.”
Amala’s abrasive shift in tone confused Jularra at the time, but the following day brought all clarity.
***
Jularra’s memory started out warm and beautiful, but ended stuck in the depressing mental grime she’d known ever since. She grew disgusted with herself for allowing her memory to play out to its conclusion; the festering reminder of the Vacant Grave once again turned to reality as she passed the Acorilinian guard at its entrance.
Year after year, Jularra returned to sink down into the pit of the mountain. Year after year, she passed by the forsaken tombs and deluded few who sought to glean some kind of power from the Voidwarden’s domain and its ancient conflict with the Nurudians. Year after year, she walked past piles of shit and puddles of piss to reach the true filth.
Jularra stormed off the last step into the Voidwarden’s chamber, already rolling up a sleeve to her elbow. Scars from previous years’ renewals glistened in the chamber’s torchlight. The lonely pool, already filled in anticipation of Jularra’s visit, taunted her as she approached. No spirits would emerge from their tombs for a simple renewal—but the Voidwarden usually enjoyed watching from a distance.
It was a fairly quick process. Jularra stomped over to the pool and, after reaching for her dagger, added yet another slice to her scar-filled arm. She would then fall to a knee, lean over, and dip her arm into the pool. She had learned early on that, for the renewal to take effect, she couldn’t simply dip her arm and be done. She had to submerge her arm, and wait.
She dropped her arm under the pool and held it. To an unfamiliar eye, one might think her silly for being in the massive cave by herself, holding her arm in a pool of blood. But shortly after, the actual ceremony would begin.
At first, it felt like small, tickling tugs at Jularra’s arm. A blunt nuisance to begin with. But soon after, the tugs became violent jerks that seemed to latch on to every thread of her blood. One by one, it felt as if billions of ropes latched onto her blood and ripped them from her body through the tear in her arm. After a moment, the sensation would slowly begin to reverse. The painful jerks subsided. The pressure released.
And then Jularra felt the sensation of her arm being slightly pushed back. The cut began to feel injected, stabbed, penetrated. Streams of fluid raced through her veins as a replenishment of imbued blood was circulated back through her body. The cycle would finally slow. Her vision darkened through crimson to black, before quickly clearing once more to her natural sight.
The renewal was complete.
Jularra took a moment to catch her breath. She pushed up off the ledge of the pool and stood before whipping her arm to shake off as much of the pool’s blood as she could. She looked at her arm’s latest slice. With shaky breaths through her nose, she then scanned the dark chamber. Her closed lips grimaced with hate.
Jularra turned and raged towards the stairs. But she only made it a few steps before the sound of sliding rocks stopped her. She turned back towards the pool.
On the face of the wall, far on the other side of the chamber, was the humongous, diseased smile of the Voidwarden, formed out of the rocks.
Jularra shivered with hate and fear as the massive likeness of the Voidwarden’s mouth began to laugh, its volume matching its size.
“Congratulations… Mama.”
***
Jularra’s tears had dried by the time she reached Vylas’ home. The tears were those of fatigue—fatigue, and stress from the perversion of the Voidwarden. Even though she had found peace with her fate, and found pride in her duty to her people in the form of her growing baby, she couldn’t escape the burrowing dread that the Voidwarden smeared on the world. But it was just another renewal. Another one to forget for another year. She galloped up to Vylas’ home and swung off.
Vylas emerged from his doorway with a grin. In one hand he held a book, his thumb keeping his page.
“Well, look at this!” Vylas exclaimed. He leaned back in a stretch. “I can’t remember the last time you came in from the north!”
“Evening, Vylas.” She hopped off her horse and looped the reins around a nearby tree. “I'm just stopping by on my way back from Brinnock,” she added, reaching for a hug. She grabbed him with an added urgency, and held on longer than she normally did.
“Right,” he offered, slowly. “I heard about that.”
Jularra felt him staring at her.
“You did the right thing, Jularra. You provided for your people. You did something for those you love, and there is nothing more noble.”
“I know,” she said. “I know. I do, really.”
Vylas arched his eyebrows.
“No, I mean it,” she said, firm. “I just wish there had been other options.”
“Well, there weren’t.”
He looked at his book and creased the corner of his current page, freeing his thumb. He smiled at her.
“So, how long do you want to stay?” He gestured towards his home. “I can make up the spare bed in the loft—”
“No, no, I just wanted to stop through on my way back. Wind down and visit, and…”
Vylas leaned in, still smiling.
“I’m pregnant.”
The smile dropped away. Vylas froze, though his eyes darted around in thought. He centered back on Jularra.
“Pregnant,” he repeated in a whisper.
Jularra didn’t respond.
Vylas turned away and began to pace the area next to his fire pit. His feet shuffled along smoothly as he stared down at them. He eventually came to a stop and looked back at her.
“You’re going to go through with it, then?”
Jularra jumped right into her response, having been over it with Korden—and herself—numerous times.
“The reason this pact has lasted so long is
