Chapter Text
In the days after the Immortan's fall, it was an uphill climb. Sure, the Wretched would follow whomever offered them water, and the pups, young enough to remember their parents and their disparate faiths were pliable enough to let go of the cult of the V8, but many of the war boys did not turn so easily. They’d sort of grudgingly fallen in line out of respect for the Imperator, but rebellion was brewing. Furiosa was seriously beginning to contemplate simply slaying them all and letting Joe sort them out when, in an odd twist of fate, the inevitable became the extraordinary.
It was Capable —who had taken to spending her time with the pups to ease the ache of the loss of her friend—who fell victim first. It began like it always did, with an upset stomach and cramping, the pain bad enough to double her over in front of her tiny companions. This alone was cause for only minor alarm, as Furiosa's Warrior Women were brave and shiny, and even the toughest of War Boys fell prey to a bad lizard or stale water from time to time. But a few days later, Capable rose from sitting in the sand after telling the pups a story, and all could see the sand clinging to the seat of her pants, wet with bright red.
The painted boys stared at her in mounting horror. Bolt, one of the younger pups, was first to break. He threw himself at her, wrapping his tiny body around her leg. "Don't die, Cap, you can't!" he wailed.
She blinked at him, bemused. "Bolt, wha-?"
Another boy sank down into the sand and started bawling, then another. It seemed Bolt's outburst had opened a floodgate. Faced with a dozen crying children, Capable's confusion soon turned to annoyance. "Stop that!" she scolded, "all of you calm the hell down and someone please tell me what is going on!"
Eventually the pups calmed enough to share their fears. They'd all seen it happen before. It was rare, but always went the same way. War Boys coming back from battle in the wastes would fall ill. First, they'd develop stomach pains and weakness and headaches, and a few days later would come bloody pants, and finally, death. Slow, painful, inglourious, a sad death for a brother who would never see the gates of Valhalla. Now Capable was next.
To their shock, the woman tossed her flaming hair and laughed at them. "Oh, my silly, tiny war boys," she sighed, "I'm not sick, I'm having my moon-time." They all settled back into the sand and she told them then, about the moon time and what it was for and what happened to the body and the pups thought they'd never heard anything so chrome in their lives.
The next day, even the full-grown War Boys were abuzz with the story. Furiosa’s Warriors could hurt and bleed like the dying and never succumb to illness. Surely they were blessed by gods, real ones, or were perhaps themselves immortal. Bereft of their faith, the idea was deeply attractive. They wanted to believe, badly. But they needed more proof.
Knowing was next to bleed. The stress of the Fury Road had thrown her off slightly, else she would have started the same day as Capable. By then, Furiosa and The Dag had come up with a plan.
So it came to pass that Toast The Knowing walked naked through the Citadel, blood sliding down her legs in thin black rivulets. The Boys smelled it before they saw it, drawn to the scent of life like moths to flame. As she made her way toward the altar of wheels, they gathered in a small crowd behind her, whispering but unwilling to approach. The path took them through the Blood room, now empty. Knowing could feel the energy building behind her but pretended not to notice as she climbed the structure. At the top, she turned to face them. "Brothers," she cried, "The man called Immortan Joe lied to you. He offered you death and scarcity and called himself your father. Furiosa went on a journey and returned triumphant from the land of Many Mothers to bring back a way of life and plenty. I, Toast The Knowing, give to you now of my own blood, that you might also know this truth!"
Her climb had left behind droplets and smears of fluid on the wheels of drivers past and present. As the meaning of her words dawned on him, a single War Boy moved forward to collect some with reverent fingers. Knowing pointed. "Witness him, as he tastes of my blood and takes the first step into a glorious new future."
The War Boy, Axel, lifted his hand, examining the blood on his hand. "It's so thick," he said in quiet wonder. He tasted her then. He closed his eyes and sighed as the others looked on in something like awe. "Thank you," he whispered.
Another War Boy stepped forward, swiped his fingers across a wheel and put them to his mouth. "Witness him," Axel intoned, and this time a few in the crowd echoed him. One by one, bold War Boys came forth to partake in Knowing's gift, until none remained on the shrine. Axel gave Knowing a look, and when she nodded in response, he climbed partway up to her and collected the blood from her legs, offering it to the approaching boys with steady fingers. By the time all who were willing, some two or three dozen, had come forward, there was nothing left on her skin.
Knowing descended like a goddess, aided by her self-appointed disciple. He knelt before her. Struck by inspiration, she grasped him by the back of his neck and brought his face to her mound. Ecstatic, Axel drank of her, lapping like a dog as Knowing stroked the back of his head. Between moans, she murmured to him, instructions for his ears alone.
He rose, breathing hard, chin smeared with red. He was dizzy with the smell of her, the strength of her power over him. He raised his hands above his head in the familiar gesture of the V8, then slowly, deliberately brought the shape down to his face and dragged his tongue along the apex of his interlocked hands. "Blessed indeed are the Many Mothers, in whom we will find new life, who bleed and do not die! Blessed are we, their sons, who will carry their vision in our hearts. We are War Boys!"
"War Boys!" came the echo.
"Strong and nourished War Boys!"
"War Boys!"
"Furiosa's War Boys!"
"War Boys!"
"We live, we live, WE LIVE!"
The throng took up the cry, proclaiming life, not in the next world but in this one. At the back of the crowd, the former Imperator nodded. It was a start.