98. A false god

If they had brought him into the lair of a brizzia or a nest of harpies, he would not have felt as terrified. Right now, this case, these thimbles, were a thousand times worse than death.

His reaction was not planned at all, it was spontaneous: he turned around and tried to run away. No sooner had he made his move than the sibilians grabbed him and pushed him further towards the table. Dashvara struggled, as he had struggled that day in Dazbon. All in vain. They stripped his torso, strapped him to the table, and only then did they move away, revealing Paopag, Tsu, and the case.

“Don’t think I’m doing this for the pleasure of tormenting you, son,” Arviyag’s voice said to him from a corner out of his field of vision. “The reason I’m so interested in you is because there are people in the Federation who continue to be convinced that the Eternal Bird is stronger than Cili and that you are the King. The true Immortal King who has already risen twice. What nonsense, isn’t it? But the fact is that you have at least a thousand and five hundred followers in Titiaka and to put an end to this madness, you’re going to have to publicly declare that you are a false king of a false god. And to make it sound convincing… I’m going to put it in your head until you, too, are convinced. Okay?” he finished in a serene tone, as if he were asking him for any banality.

Dashvara’s mind processed his words very slowly. His fatigue was not helping. Nor was the terror that was taking over him. But he still felt a wave of amazement and incomprehension. One thousand five hundred followers? In Titiaka? Where did Arviyag get such nonsense from?

“Just a moment,” he growled. “I never meant to convert anyone. These followers…” He exhaled sharply, lying on the table. “I had nothing to do with that. I am not a king. And the Eternal Bird is no god. That much is already clear in my head. It’s not necessary… it’s not necessary,” he repeated in a daze, and managed to finish his sentence by stammering, “t-to open that.”

He was talking about the case. He looked away from it, nauseated, and wandered his gaze over the faces of the sibilians and Paopag; he tried to turn his neck in vain to see Arviyag, and he insisted:

“It’s not necessary.”

There was silence. Dashvara saw that Tsu’s red eyes were shining. How had Arviyag convinced him? By threatening to go after the other Xalyas, surely.

“Perhaps,” the Titiaka merchant finally admitted in a thoughtful tone. “Yes, perhaps it is not necessary.” He paused. “I am curious to know. Do simple thimbles really scare you that much? I’m seriously asking. I’ve never tried.”

His tone was mocking and curious at the same time. Dashvara clenched his jaws and, trying to overcome the tetanizing fear that threatened to take hold of him every time he looked at that damned case, he replied:

“There’s nothing stopping you from trying.”

Arviyag clicked his tongue. Dashvara heard him move behind him and felt his hand rest on his right arm, examining the wound caused by the poisoned arrow. The Titiaka stepped aside after a few moments and appeared before Dashvara’s eyes, resuming:

“You didn’t answer me. What are you afraid of? Pain? Death? Don’t worry, I won’t kill you. That power is in Kuriag’s hands, and I’m not going to make you a martyr. I just want you not to disappoint me when Titiaka’s delegation arrives in Aralika and sees you. I want you to show yourself as what you are: the fugitive leader of a clan that has come crawling back to its master.”

Dashvara did not falter when he assured him in a neutral voice:

“I am very aware of that.”

Arviyag looked him in the eye and gave him a disapproving pout when he said:

“But not enough. Tsu,” he said, “I hope you haven’t lost your touch.” He took a step back inviting the drow to come closer. “He’s all yours.”

Wide-eyed, Dashvara watched as Tsu set the black case down and opened it. He protested, stirring on the table:

“That’s not necessary, Arviyag. You know it isn’t. I am a slave, I know that. I can promise you I won’t run away again.”

“I don’t care about that,” Arviyag patiently assured, “I care far more about the one thousand five hundred Titiakas followers. You can run away all you want once you deny your false god, but I doubt you’ll try after that. However, I promised your master that I wouldn’t be too hard on you…” He rolled his eyes. “And I will keep my word.”

He added some words in a Diumcilian dialect for Tsu, and Tsu nodded silently. A sibilian stepped forward to gag Dashvara, and Dashvara glared at him as he could not speak. Finally, the sibilian stepped aside, and Dashvara could see Tsu place the thimbles on his fingers… he placed all of them with amazing speed and, even more quickly, he placed them on himself, on his head, without hesitation and…

“No!” Arviyag cried.

Horrified, Dashvara would have roared even louder had he not been gagged. Fortunately, there were two sibilians right next to him, and they reacted quickly, pushing the thimbles away from the drow’s head before he had time to create a spell.

Damn it, drow! Have you gone mad?

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Yes, he had gone mad. His mouth was now spitting out unintelligible words, and his eyes were blazing, disturbed. Dashvara had never seen him like this. Arviyag gave a curt command, obviously upset, and the two sibilians who were grabbing Tsu dragged him out of the tent after removing the thimbles. Arviyag exchanged a few words in Diumcilian with Paopag, and then he poked his head out at the tent entrance and barked:

“Darigat! Come in.”

The man named Darigat entered. He was not a sibilian, but one of the black-belted workers. A recent slave. He was a tall, blond, golden-skinned elf, perhaps an elfocane, and when he saw Dashvara lying on the table, his face quivered slightly. He bowed to his master with an interrogative:

“Khazag?”

His voice was soft and melodious. Arviyag ordered him:

“Take care of this man. Paopag: don’t forget to repeat the lessons. Tomorrow, we will arrive in Aralika. The journey will be a respite for the Xalya. Work hard.”

And with those words, he left without even glancing at Dashvara, who was starting to get seriously dizzy. He hoped they wouldn’t punish Tsu too harshly. And he hoped Paopag would be merciful and not be as demanding as Arviyag. And as he hoped, his body broke out in sweat despite the cold, his chest heaved precipitously, and his eyes feverishly gazed at Darigat as he put on the thimbles. Given his diligence and confidence, this was not the first time he had used them. He’d been in Arviyag’s service for less than a year, yet he had already used them… When he saw them approaching, Dashvara let out a groan that was muffled by the gag.

* * *

“Ho-Hope?” he whispered.

“No,” a voice said to him, “there is no hope if you don’t do what I tell you. There is no forgiveness.”

And another deeper voice reminded him: “The red nadres do not forgive, my son: they devour”. He opened his eyes wide. Captain? Was it the captain? No. It couldn’t have been. The steppe lord struggled to fill his lungs with air. They were on fire. His whole body was on fire.

“The steppe is dying,” he croaked in horror. “It’s being torn apart. I see it. It’s shaking. It’s shaking. Brothers… The world is falling apart. The sky … The sky! The Eternal Bird…”

“It doesn’t fly,” the voice told him in a suave tone. “It doesn’t fly because It doesn’t exist anymore.”

“It doesn’t exist,” the steppe lord repeated. “The Eternal Bird does not exist. Yes, it does,” he suddenly protested.

An excruciating pain shook him to the core, and the voice said:

“It doesn’t exist.”

The lord of the steppe was weeping.

“It doesn’t exist,” he repeated. “They lied to me. It doesn’t exist.”

Several shocks passed through him, his eyes dried up, and his mind sank deep into a sea of apathy.

“Tell me,” the voice said. “Who are you?”

The steppe lord did not answer immediately. Finally, he stammered:

“Dash. I’m Dash.”

“And who’s your master?”

“The steppe,” he stammered.

A new jolt of pain shot through him and left him convulsing in a dark world. It was a more powerful shock. He had been wrong, he realized. He tried to think and remember the lesson. At last, he found the answer and panted.

“Kuriag… My master. Please… Nandrivá…”

The pleading or perhaps the use of the savage tongue earned him another discharge. He didn’t know how long he had been like this. Days. Weeks. An eternity. It didn’t matter to him anymore. He just wanted the ordeal to end soon. But it did not stop … It would never stop, he understood. Never.

* * *

“What did you do to him?”

Fear and dismay vibrated in that voice. Sitting on a pallet, Dashvara slowly looked up and saw a different face. Let’s say, different from the ones he was used to seeing since he had started to cease to exist. That’s what he told himself inside: that he had begun to cease to exist. That was the little he could tell himself. He swallowed as he finally recognized the new arrival. It was the master.

“Not a single lash during our absence, Excellency,” Arviyag assured. He hadn’t seen that one in a long time either, Dashvara remarked. A helpless hatred came over him as the elegant Titiaka added, “He won’t give you any trouble for a long time, I give you my word. And, in any case, he’s ready to see the priest and his witnesses. This Eternal Bird thing will fall by itself after that,” he affirmed.

He spoke with satisfaction. His eyes fell on Dashvara, and the Xalya looked back at him apathetically. He couldn’t really feel anything. The hatred had vanished as quickly as it had come.

“Get up,” Paopag told him.

Now that was the voice of lessons and discharges. Glancing at Paopag, as if seeking confirmation, Dashvara stood up. His legs were wobbly. He felt like a dead feather suspended in time. Part of him longed to ask Kuriag questions, to talk about his naâsga, his brothers, the Eternal Bird… but the mere thought of saying the word “Liadirlá” terrified him. Helplessness chained him, and after ruthlessly repressing his thoughts, now he simply brushed them away, swept them away.

“Leave us alone,” Kuriag suddenly ordered.

Arviyag hesitated.

“I advise against it, Excellency. At least, let Paopag stay.”

“I said, leave us alone,” Kuriag insisted, stubbornly.

The next moment, Dashvara saw Paopag walk away, the door closed, and he found himself in the room, alone, before his master. He felt anguish and dismay at the new situation, and his heart quickened, but he did not move. The young elf looked at him, his face pale under the light of the lantern. The silence continued, and Dashvara was barely aware of it. He was beginning to faint and to see black spots in front of his eyes. Finally, he was forced to lean awkwardly against the wall and sit back down on his pallet. A muffled gasp broke the silence.

“I’m so sorry…”

Kuriag’s voice broke. The Titiaka approached him and, seeing that Dashvara remained impassive, he dared to put a hand on his forehead. Dashvara waited for the shock to come, but it didn’t come. Instead, he felt a slight flow of energy probing him. And he saw the elf’s expression contract into a pout of confusion. Finally, he withdrew his hand and stepped away, looking frightened.

“I didn’t know… I mean… I knew but… I didn’t imagine… Oh, merciful Cili. I’m doing this for my family,” he muttered in a guilty tone. “I’m doing it for Titiaka. The Federation cannot afford any more dissension than it already has. You… understand me, don’t you? I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

His words were to Dashvara like grains of sand lost in the desert. He understood them, of course he did. But he didn’t care. Shaken by a slight spasm, he finally let out awkwardly:

“The Eternal… The Eternal Bird… does not exist…”

Kuriag bit his lips and said nothing. After another long silence, he stood up and assured:

“You’ll get over it.”

Dashvara returned his gaze, expressionless, his eyes dry. He felt a thousand miles away. In another world. In another reality.

He hardly noticed when Kuriag left. But when Paopag and Darigat returned, and he saw the thimbles coming towards him, he focused all his attention on them. He no longer felt terror in front of them, or at least, he had learned to assume it. He endured them as one endures a horribly cold day, without even realizing that he was no longer tied up, that the door was not locked and that he could have tried to flee. Just at least tried… But there was no hope.