Circe had kindly allowed Jayant the use of her homunculi, the stunted, impish servants that do her bidding, and they each surrounded him, unarmed, matching the Mekhet. His torso was striped bare and his dark, olive skin with doused with cold water and mud. A number of lurid scars marked moments of pain from his mortal days, a tally of battles and near-death experiences. None marked as keenly as the jagged wound on the left side of his lower back, the result of a suicide bomber as a piece of shrapnel tore through his kevlar protection and punctured his lung. It shone in the starlight and looked grotesque as Jayant twisted his body in an effort to pitch the homunculi from dragging him back down the the muddy ground. The were not strong but they were fast and had him in their claws before he could blink, and they had the numbers. It would have been too easy to draw on the blood and launch them from his body but that would not teach him a thing and so he persevered against their weight, drawing on the reserves of his energy and strength.


Jayant fell to one knee, his right hand stabilizing his fall by rooting it into the soil. Gritting his teeth and focusing the effort through his wiry body, the weight eventually took its toll and the Gurkha flailed face first into the brackish water, mud splattering over his body and grey combat fatigues. The moment he was down, the creatures had released him, backing away and allowing him to stand, which he did, slowly, his gaze unwavering and uncompromising. Spitting a mouthful of muddy water from his mouth, he simply ordered, “Again,” and waited for the press of bodies to wrestle and test him once more.


It was not a matter of pride but a matter of patience. It was about teaching his dead body to establish new muscle fibres, to make himself stronger, and it would take many lessons. It was the only way forward, the only way to learn.


You are weak, my little Jayant, so very weak. What would your Mother say?


Jayant felt the barbed words keenly and pushed through them with the belief of his actions, and a mouthful of dirty water.