Soldier Witega: Witega series book 2

By R. L. Neely

Is everyone redeemable? Mylah comes to that question often in this sequel to "Little Witega"

As the Wlite work to liberate Banloca, Mylah finds herself at the heart of the action, but can she forgive herself for what she had to do during the war? Can she learn to forgive others?

Mylah's connection with Eofor deepens. Together, they b

• Language: English
• Publisher: JoeMamas
• Release date: Aug 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088220603

Book preview

I

Every day right before I was fully awake, right before I opened my eyes, it was almost as if I were still there. My mind played cruel tricks on me; I would roll over and smile in my daze, my fingers gracing the soft fabric that lay next to me thinking it was Lahil. Or, I would mistake a noise in the night for Halcyon’s grumblings. The days and nights have mingled together in the river of my consciousness; I don’t know how long I’ve been here; I don’t know what day it is.   

I squinted my eyes toward the windows in the room, trying desperately to see the world I missed. The windows were dressed in heavy velvet curtains, allowing only slivers of sunlight to filter through, casting a gentle illumination upon the room. 

Course ropes adorned my wrists, their fibers digging into the flesh underneath. Paintings of regal Bealu figures adorned the walls, their stern gazes watching over the room with an air of authority. They never smiled. My heart pounded within my chest, a steady rhythm of both fear and determination. I can’t continue on like this, my will to fight is waning.

The centerpiece of the room was a grand canopy bed, its richly carved posts reaching toward the ceiling. The bed was draped in sumptuous fabrics, inviting rest and comfort, yet I found no solace in its embrace. It felt more like an icy prison, trapping me in a life that wasn't my own.

The air was frowsty, tinged with a mix of dampness and decay.

My captor was the embodiment of my worst nightmares, bearing the mark of the enemy that sought to extinguish my spirit and strip me of my life force. His eyes held a cold, calculated gaze, a reminder that I was now at his mercy. Such angry, angry eyes. At first, I met his gaze, narrowing my eyes in defiance, spitting insults, and matching his malice with my own. But there are ways to wear a spirit, and he took pleasure in breaking mine. 

Ah, you’re awake; if you behave, you may accompany me on the wall. I see you’re longing for the outdoors. 

I turned my head to face him; his white robe graced the floor as he walked towards me. All I could muster was a soft, ok.

When he was here, I went away in my mind, I thought often of my friends of old. Did they yet live? When I had first woken after my capture, I fought with everything I had. His face still bears the scars from my nails embedding themselves in his flesh, ripping at the thin skin. I’ll never forget his words.

 Such bravado, He grinned, smearing the blood across his face.

 That day a piece of me died, a piece of me I’m afraid will never come back.

Here, change into these, and don’t even think about running. 

As my wrists were freed from their bindings, I tentatively clothed myself in the new attire, all under his watchful gaze. My wrists were sore and ached, my mind screamed at me to run. But I didn’t. I knew I had to tread carefully.

The man approached me, holding a thick, dark veil in his hands.

 Let this shroud shield you from prying eyes.

 I draped the blanket-like veil over my head, its weight becoming a physical reminder of the confinement I still faced. What choice did I truly have? The fabric enveloped me, obscuring my features from curious gazes, shrouding me in an air of mystery. I felt both hidden and exposed, aware that the world outside awaited me with its own set of perils. All were preferable to the ones I faced here. I could hardly see out of the thick fabric. My breath became labored; the cloth clung to my nostrils like a mask every time I sucked a breath in.

Silently, he guided me through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace, our footsteps muffled by the rich tapestries adorning the walls. There was so much color, yet all I felt was gray.

 We emerged into the open air; his grip on my arm was firm, unyielding. He forcefully pulled me along. Without warning, he tugged me forward.  Dragging me through the chilling depths while my veil clung to my face, dampening and weighing me down. 

Is this where I meet my end? The great mote?

 The water swallowed my senses, muffling the sounds of my gasps and splashes, further obscuring my vision as the veil clung to me like a second skin. He ignored my flailing, dragging my cloaked form through the waters. As we emerged from the murky depths, I stumbled onto solid ground, my veil dripping and clinging to my face. The man, seemingly unfazed by our damp ordeal, continued to guide me forward, his grip never relenting. Through the hazy mesh of wet fabric, I glimpsed the vast expanse of the outside world, my heart yearning for the freedom that seemed just beyond my reach. The weight of the wet fabric added an extra burden to my movements and would have slowed my steps if he were not dragging me.

I yelped at the pace he was dragging me. We were now ascending the steps to the middle wall. As he continued to guide me upwards, I couldn't help but wonder what lay on the other side, beyond the confines of the palace, the middle level. 

 He guided me to the edge overlooking the middle level, the Keeper level. The rhythmic cadence of the protesters' cries reverberated through the stone, resonating with my pounding heart. I wanted desperately to pull the veil off to see what was going on more clearly. The man never loosened his clutch on my arm; I felt my pulse throb underneath his hold. 

There was movement to my left; the man pulled me down into a deep bow. I knew it was the Monarch who stood in front of us.

Children of our great republic, I stand before you today to honor the brave guards who have sacrificed their lives for our land. We gather here to pay tribute to their valor and commitment. May their memories live on in our hearts. His voice was weak; his speech came out as a deranged ramble. Even through my veil I could see his gestures and wanted to cringe.

Empty words, just empty words. He knows nothing of sacrifice!- We need more than mere ceremonies to honor our fallen!

Voices called out over the Monarch’s speech. I could not tell where they came from; my close proximity to the Monarch filled me with dread and a sense of impending doom.  The Monarch continued speaking, either unaware or in an attempt to drown them out. The wall filled with more bodies, my stomach pressed against the ledge. I wanted nothing more than to rip the veil off.

My dear children, I hear your concerns. Rest assured. We are committed to addressing the grievances of our people. The Monarch continued his speech. Men pressed into my form; we were packed on the wall like sardines.

 That was when I heard it, the ear-piercing screech. The sound of wings flapping grew louder, and the sky darkened with a menacing presence. Watchers, their sharp beaks and talons gleaming, descended upon the wall.

 Screams and wails echoed along the wall. The carnivorous birds swooped down, their wings beating with a furious intensity. Chaos erupted as they aimed their attacks at the Monarch, tearing at his elaborate garments and piercing his skin with their relentless strikes. 

The man holding my arm released me, running to the Monarch’s aid. I ripped my veil off, falling into a dead sprint, pushing and shoving past other frantic men. The protests below were louder now.

 The birds know. They seek retribution for the suffering endured under his reign.- Nature's justice is swift! Face the consequences of your actions! 

Then the arrows rang out. I could not tell if from below or from the wall itself, some aimed at the Watchers, others aimed for the Bealu along the wall. It was a bloodbath. As the Watchers continued their assault, the air filled with a wave of squawks and the Monarch's desperate cries for help. The once-powerful ruler found himself at the mercy of the very forces he had disregarded and exploited.

It was a poetic ending to a life that only brought forth misery. Their wrath knew no bounds. With razor-sharp beaks and talons, they viciously attacked anyone within their reach, sowing chaos and panic along the wall. 

Men screamed and scattered, their attempts to fend off the relentless assault proved futile. The red-winged onslaught was swift and unforgiving, leaving trails of blood and cries of pain in their wake.

Guards and soldiers, taken by surprise, fought desperately to protect themselves, their weapons swinging in desperate arcs. I stumbled, pushing through the wave of bodies and wails. The hair on my neck stood on end with every screech. 

Let chaos be our ally, for in its wake, a new order shall rise! A man held his sword high; standing in my path, his dark hair shrouded his face. He charged in my direction, leading a brigade of men in black.

  My arm was yanked forcefully. I flew backward to see him. The man, my captor.

 His eyes were angry; his white vesture stained a bloody red, matching his hair. He held me at my shoulders, sneering and spitting on me in his discontent. He began dragging me back in the direction I came. My gaze hardened as I stared into his back, my feet stumbled underneath me.

 I will no longer be tormented. With as much of a steely resolve as I could muster, my eyes narrowed as I noticed his dagger resting within its sheath, conveniently within my reach. A smile split open my face.

A glimmer of opportunity sparked within me, and without hesitation, I swiftly grasped the hilt of the dagger, feeling its cold, unforgiving touch. He showed no regard towards my antics, his grip on my arm never faltered.

The weight of the weapon felt both foreign and strangely empowering in my hand. It differed from a sword. It was light and more intimate. I wouldn’t be able to wildly slash at an arm’s length, no; my attack would have to be close, direct. He remained oblivious to the danger that lurked within arm's reach.

I smiled wider, seizing the moment, my grip tightening around the dagger as I lunged forward, my movements fueled by a mix of fear and determination. In one swift motion, I drew the blade from its sheath, the metallic rasp of steel against leather cutting through the tumultuous air.

 He paused his step. His eyes widened as he turned to face me. I laughed, driven by a surge of adrenaline, and unleashed a series of swift and calculated strikes, aiming for vital points with ruthless precision.

I felt every emotion I’d hidden within his grasp; I felt everything all at once.

Each strike carried the weight of my pent-up anger, each stab an act of defiance against what he did to me. I fought with a fierce determination, my movements fluid and relentless. The blade found its mark, piercing through his defenses. I’m sure it would have elicited gasps and cries of disbelief from those witnessing the scene unfold, if it were not for the ever-pressing battle going on. As his grip weakened, his life-force seeping away, my eyes burned with a mix of triumph, and perhaps guilt. I felt everything, I felt the resistance of his flesh against the blade and the warmth of his blood.

In that moment, I reclaimed my agency. I relished every moment as I watched the spirit drain from his eyes. His lifeless body slumped to the ground, a silent testament to my newfound strength and resolve. I stood there, the dagger still clutched in my hand, my breath heavy and erratic. I didn’t fully believe this was real. I felt the warm blood dripping from the dagger; the air stunk of iron.

I watched the life drain from his eyes, yet it did not feel real. I found myself not only standing over his body but stooping down, marring it further. In that moment, I felt no remorse for the life I had taken. 

This was not like the ones that haunted me in my dreams. The scars on my body and the torment etched in my memory fueled the fire within me, pushing me to embrace the darkness that had consumed me.

My conscience was seared, the echoes I heard of Byre or even my own scolding were lost to me. As I surveyed the surrounding scene, my eyes glinted with a feral intensity. My cheeks hurt from how widely I was smiling. Smiling seemed so foreign I thought I had forgotten how.

The clash of steel and the cries of defiance merged into a symphony pleasant to my ears.

My heart beat with a savage rhythm, my senses heightened by the raw energy of the moment. I savored the taste of victory, relishing in the power I had seized for myself. The bloodlust that coursed through my veins was a double-edged sword, a force that both empowered and consumed me. 

We cannot falter now! Remember why we fight!- But look at the loss! Is it worth it?

I swallowed, joining in the bloodshed. I did not care for sides or alliances. I cut all down. No one was on my side; no one came to my aid.  I stabbed and sliced, paying no regard to the screeching overhead. I felt everything; I felt the joy that’s been stolen from me, the laughter, the sadness, the rage, I felt everything.

 As I pressed forward, my eyes caught sight of the fallen, their bodies mangled in heaps.  I pushed forward, my steps unwavering. Only one goal rested in my mind. Make them pay, make them all pay. In the midst of the chaos, I found a strange solace. Here, along the wall, I felt alive. Every clash of steel, every surge of adrenaline, reminded me I was still alive. 

 A figure charged for me, his dark garments billowed behind him in the breeze. Fueled by adrenaline and the urgency of the moment, I instinctively raised my weapon, ready to strike. Who would win this game? Dagger or sword? In the heat of the moment, we locked eyes, his blue eyes reflecting the same fierce determination mine held. Our blades clashed with a resounding clang, the metallic sound echoing through the chaos.

I grit my teeth, stepping closer to him. A laugh bubbled its way out of my mouth. My eyes crinkled in joy as I lunged my blade dangerously close to his side. I felt free; I felt alive. I felt everything; it was overwhelming.

Did they teach you how to hold a sword or just how to trip over your own feet? I barked out a laugh as we continued our dangerous dance. 

His eyes widened, his sword dropped to the ground. I smiled wider, raising my dagger high above my head.

 Mylah?

My face fell; I blinked slowly, as if coming out of a deep sleep. My dagger still high above my head as I met his eyes, the realization hit me. 

My muscles tensed. Pick up your sword, Lahil. My voice was cold and bitter.

He shook his head, his hands flexed in a confused frenzy. 

Pick up your sword, and fight me, I ordered, holding my dagger to his neck.

 I felt nothing but rage and indignation, the surrounding chaos fueled me. He didn’t move, his melancholic blue eyes bore into mine. 

Mylah, I won’t do that. 

My resolve faltered as I choked back a sob. I felt everything, even the feelings that shouldn’t be felt. Why didn’t you save me?

My hand holding the dagger fell to my side as he embraced me. His brawny arms encircled me, grounding me. I crumbled into his hold as he whispered words of comfort into my ear.

I'm so glad you're safe. I shoved at him, fighting his hold, tears clouded my vision. 

I was never safe, I growled, my knuckles turned white holding the dagger. 

His face fell, wet streams poured out of his eyes, reflecting a vulnerable light on his face. I shoved at his chest again, barring my teeth.

I yearn to witness their anguish and see justice served upon all.

He released me, his body trembled, his expression was one I couldn’t quite read.

Then we’ll make them pay. He said finally. 

I smiled widely; we stood back to back as we engaged the Bealu. Some did not fight against our assault, lifting their palms up in surrender. They begged for their lives, many quoting Unlar’s teachings as I slit their throats, silencing them. 

None shall escape the righteous wrath of my blade! I called out; my voice a whisper compared to the screeching and screams echoing around us.

 Lahil too seemed to be enjoying himself, though I paid little attention to him.

Stay your hand! We must find a path to safety, the wall is overrun. Lahil spoke next to me, his hand resting on my shoulder as I heaved a felled Bealu over the wall.

I didn’t turn to him. Flee yourself if that is your choice, coward.

 I made my way to my next victim, slashing into their clothing from behind.

Mylah, must you continue trying to martyr yourself? We need to go, now. His voice was urgent.

 I rolled my eyes. He can run if he chooses, I won’t. I ignored him, taking a further step into the carnage. He sighed loudly and I felt myself lifted into the air. He held me snugly against his chest. I found myself not fighting his hold. Even though I wanted to, I wanted to stay in the battle and make them pay, make them all pay.

I nestled into his arms, my heartbeat quickening, and my eyes locked onto his. Lahil was Witega; Lahil also wanted the pain to stop. Lahil would slay every last one to make the pain stop. As he carried me away, his footsteps resonated with purpose. His powerful strides navigated the treacherous terrain; he carried me as if I weighed nothing. He weaved through fallen debris and heaps of bodies.

I clung to him, burying my face into his chest as he ran. The echoes of battle slowly faded. All I could hear now was my own labored breathing and his heartbeat drumming in his chest. I didn’t even realize we were inside until he placed me on the ground.

I looked around, my eyes adjusting to the light, gray dust settled upon the worn furniture and cracked floor. Tattered curtains danced in the breeze, their frayed edges resembling ghostly figures in the dim light. The silence within this building was palpable, broken only by the distant echoes of chaos that reverberated through the city streets.

It was as if the very essence of life had been sucked away, leaving behind a hollow emptiness. In the center of the room, a stone hearth stood cold and unused. The home looked much like Unlar’s; there was a stairway to our left that I’m sure led up to a bedroom. This was the lower level it had to be. Is this where he’s found himself now? I took a shaky breath in as my eyes continued to scan the room. 

I will slay them all, Lahil. I said, breaking the silence, my gaze falling on his. I will slay them all, and if you dare to stand in my way, I will slay you as well.

He nodded, his hands gently coming around mine to pry my grip from the dagger. 

 Your bloodlust is not a curse to be tamed, but a weapon to be honed. Embrace it, Little Witega, for it sets you apart.

 My eyes widened in surprise, for I hadn’t expected him to quell the tempest within me, instead thinking he would urge me towards restraint. But no, what was I thinking, Lahil understood my pain. He saw the strength in my wild abandon, the way it propelled me forward, and he would not stifle it. 

He took the dagger from my hand, guiding me towards a chair to sit down.  My knees shook as I sat down. He sat across from me, pulling his chair close so our legs touched. He encouraged me to unleash the full extent of my ferocity. His head held high as he spoke, a true Witega. I leaned into his speech, my hands finding his and clasping them together in my lap. In his words, I found relief and validation.

He saw me not as a liability or a burden, but as a fierce warrior who possessed a unique strength. In that moment, our gazes locked, a silent vow passing between us. We would embrace the darkness within, not as agents of chaos, but as catalysts for change. We needed to stop the pain. We would not harm the innocent, the other races, but Bealu needed to be exterminated.

Lahil understood me; I didn’t feel judged by him. In the confines of the stone house, we sat as kindred souls, sharing a dangerous conviction that could shape the course of our lives and the destiny of our world.

With each passing moment, my rage burned brighter, guided by the steady presence of the Lahil at my side. And together, we prepared to unleash our ferocity upon a world that dared to stand in our way. With every calculated word, he outlined a strategy that would bring the enemy to their knees, ensuring that their reign of oppression would crumble under the weight of their own tyranny.

His voice resonated with a mix of resolve and urgency as he painted a picture of liberation, intertwining the threads of vengeance and justice. 

We shall strike at their very core, he declared, holding my hands in his. With their Monarch gone, it will be much easier to pick them off. The Watchers are under our control now.

My grip tightened around his fingers. You’ve caught a Watcher?

 I could feel his breath against mine as my body hunched closer to him. 

Aye, he looked up at me, grinning. Now they do our bidding.

A flicker of uncertainty danced across my features, mingling with the burning desire within me. Could I trust this support, this celebration of my bloodlust? What about the Watchers? Did Byre not tell me they were captives themselves? Now we are their masters, are we any different than the Bealu? It went against every warning and every teaching I had received, yet it also ignited a sense of liberation I had never felt before.  What did Lahil do to control them? Is it something I can turn a blind eye to? 

Can I trust you to stay here and rest? He asked me playfully, pausing his monologue for dominion.

He stood up. Where are you going? I asked, standing up myself, my hands still clutching his.

 They rely on me, just as I rely on you. 

My heart skipped a beat as he brought my hands up to his lips and kissed them softly. Remain here, gather your strength, and prepare for the battles yet to come.

 I nodded. Promise me, I whispered, my voice threaded with a mix of vulnerability and determination, that you will return to me, to continue our fight together.

 I didn’t want to be alone, not after what just happened. But I couldn’t beg him to stay. I already felt weak.

With a final touch of our lips, we sealed our bond and the unspoken understanding that our paths would converge once more. He turned to leave, his steps carrying him back into the chaos he caused.

He looked back once before stepping over the threshold and into the street.  I stood still for a long time, my mind reeling, still not grasping the reality of today’s events. I turned, looking up the stairs, and shivered. 

I found rest on the cold, unforgiving stone floor of the house. Fatigue settled into my bones, but my mind remained restless, replaying the battles fought and the blood spilled. My body, weary from the day's exertions, yearned for rest. 

 I don’t know if I can ever sleep in a bed again. The thought of one haunted me. Curling up in a corner, I sought comfort in the embrace of darkness. My breathing slowed, eyelids grew heavy.

 The silence of the house enveloped me, broken only by the distant echoes of the ongoing protests. The scent of dampness permeated the air, mingling with the taste of anticipation and uncertainty. As my eyes closed, I drifted into a restless slumber, my dreams haunted by visions of the battles fought and innocence lost.

 My body twitched in response to phantom swords slashing through the air, and my mind whispered fragments of battle cries and pleas for mercy. In my sleep, I longed for Lahil, the one who comforted me and understood the depths of my desire for vengeance. His absence weighed heavily upon my heart, a yearning that tugged at me even in the realm of dreams.

II

As I stirred from my slumber, my eyes met the sight of Lahil sitting across from where I lay, his focused gaze fixed upon the task at hand. The rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone filled the air, the sharp and purposeful movements of his hand guiding the honing of his sword.

The pale morning light streamed through the narrow windows, casting long shadows across the worn stone floor.

Dust particles danced in the air, caught in the soft rays of sunlight that penetrated the room. How long had I slept? It was afternoon when I fell into my dreams.

 I examined him. His firm, calloused hands moved with precision. As the stone beneath the blade of his sword yielded, revealing a razor-sharp edge, a glint of determination sparkled in his eyes. His dark hair had been braided, pulled out of his face, revealing his sharp features.

 My eyes traced the contours of his face, the sinewy muscles of his arms, the blade that seemed to come alive under his skilled touch. I could sense the intensity that emanated from him, his unwavering determination to protect and lead our cause.

As the last stroke of the sharpening stone resounded, his eyes briefly lifted, meeting my gaze. His chin was dark with stubble.

 Did I wake you? With a faint smile, he set aside the sharpened sword.

I shook my head groggily. He rose from the chair and strode to my form, placing himself next to me against the cold stone wall. Seated side by side on the cool, stone floor, he leaned in closer to me, his voice hushed yet filled with urgency. I rubbed the sleepiness from my eyes, facing him. He spoke of the protests that continued to rage outside, the resounding voices of the people echoing through the city streets. 

I was right in my prediction that slaying the Monarch would just make them turn on their own kind. With a somber tone, he described how the power vacuum left by the toppled ruler had given rise to rival factions vying for control. Lahil’s plan was to lie low for now, to regroup his men and allow them to eat each other alive.

How many are there? Do you think one is powerful enough to gain control? I asked.

He brushed a hair behind my ear causing me to flinch. My pack only knows of four, but I’m sure there will be more soon. Bealu love power. He shook his head, No, they’ll destroy each other before another Bealu rules.

In the midst of this turmoil, he saw an opportunity to strike a decisive blow, not with force, but with patience and strategic cunning. With a calculated gaze, he outlined his vision of the city tearing itself apart, factions and factions locked in a relentless struggle for dominance. 

He spoke of hidden alliances, secret machinations, whispered rumors that echoed through the city's shattered corridors. Unlar’s group is pining for leadership, a reform for the republic, so they say. Two other factions of the Bealu are also bidding for rule, the other he spoke of just wanted chaos.

Only time will tell who survives the bloodbath. Our role, he explained, would be to observe, gather intelligence, and exploit the fractures within the city's power structure when the time was ripe. He wasn’t acting at all like the brash, arrogant leader he was before, this Lahil was calculating. He seemed to have learned from his mistakes in the past as a leader.

 What of the Keepers? I asked interrupting him. My hands found their way into his.

He spoke of the underground network that had formed a web of support and resistance woven in the shadows. There were pockets of buildings and streets within the second level, safe havens where the Keepers found aid from the unrest. No longer just the alleyways. With their control of the Watchers, no Bealu attempted to harm any Keeper, at least no Bealu who had enough sense about themselves. 

Though there was still unrest and tension between the sides, Bealu from surrounding settlements poured into the capital in record numbers, either as aid or for the Lament. Their numbers were massive. The new Bealu were foreign to the inner turmoil the city faced. They knew not the cause Unlar fought for, nor did they know about the men who threw down their arms. They were the ones filling the ranks; they were the ones without sense and took to malice with the Keepers. Many of the Lecabal and other Keepers wanted to flee, escape the chaos. Lahil urged them to remain, stating we needed to bide our time and be calculating. 

Why can’t we use the Watchers and flee? We could march right through their gate with their cover.

 I tilted my head to the side, touching my chin.

 He shook his head, They won’t leave the city, it is where they make nest.

I nodded, allowing him to continue.

 I cleared my throat, my head leaning on his shoulder as he spoke. What of Halcyon and the others? I asked, peering up at him.

His blue eyes met mine; there was a long pause before he spoke. Halcyon does not agree with our ideals. 

My grip on his hand tightened as my body tensed. But she is well, she is alive?

 His gaze softened. He pulled me closer to him. "Halcyon is alive, yes; all of your companions still live,