The Omicron Legion [antikvár]

PROLOGUEDo you accept death?"Escerbio gazed at the cup of liquid steaming beneath his nose and nodded."For those not worthy of manhood, this cup brings the bitterness of death," continued the tribal Gift Giver. "Do you still wish to taste?"Escerbio nodded. Across from him, on the other side of the fire, another boy also nodded."Then let us hope the gods are with you," said the Gift Giver. He handed the wooden mug to Escerbio's friend first.Escerbio watched Javerrera raise the mug to his lips and gulp down some of the liquid. The boy's face wrinkled and grew pale. Now the Gift Giver offered the cup to Escerbio. He was an ancient man who had somehow tricked the spirits into letting him see a third century of life. His face was creased and worn, like a battered hide barren of oil. The smell of his breath was rancid and bitter, not unlike the noxious liquid Escerbio now accepted from his hand.Across the fire, Javerrera's head was rolling from side to side. His eye sockets had emptied. Escerbio drained the rest of the liquid, and the cup dropped from his hand. He gagged, and it was all he could do to force down the bile that rushed up into his throat. A fire blazed in his stomach. He seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.Escerbio had always feared the darkness. As a younger boy,