Dagger 3 - God of Emptiness Read online

  “These four stones you love so much?”

  “Yay. Here is where I grew up, and my father and my ancestors since the Red Dawn, the day Skyrgal kicked off its unworthy people to make the Tankars the lords of the desert. The lips of these titanic faces seem immobile and silent only to those who have no ears to hear…and surely to those who dismantle them to sell their stones to the West.”

  “Those lips move only when the mushroom dances, I suppose,” the youngest priest whispered, provoking the laughter of some.

  Exodus turned around. He wondered how the skull of that unbelieving Kahar brat would look above the entrance of his tent—certainly a nice trinket to keep away the demons of the dunes. He drove away the thought since he had no desire to end up eaten alive, not that day. The other Asmeghins were waiting for just one mistake by him to solve in the most effective way the problem he represented.

  He found it quite satisfying to be the obstacle in their way. It wasn’t the first time in history that this happened to a Nehama, and—Ktisis willing—it would not be the last. “We dance in the arms of Solstice and his precious white pulp,” Exodus calmly answered. “The mushrooms you mentioned aren’t part of our world. Those are impure substances smuggled by humans for the amusement of some young Tankars. They provide partial knowledge, dictated by the voice inside—the shadow spying on us beyond the bars of consciousness. Probably the Kahars are already marching on the path traced by their new masters, who knows?”

  “Kahars have never had masters!”

  Gehennah stretched out a hand to quiet the young Asmeghin. “Please, Nehorur. There are at least twenty historical anecdotes that Exodus could bring to our attention, and we don’t have the time to listen to them all.”

  “Twenty-five,” Exodus pointed out. “Beginning with the day the Kahars’ firstborn children became the particular slaves of the Beshavis.”

  “Old traditions, in fact.” Gehennah nodded once, in a nervous movement. “Discussions of our history never particularly interested me. I’m here to formulate once again my proposal, though to no avail.”

  “If you really have to…”

  “I ask you to let us pass.”

  “You shall not pass.”

  “We must get inside that damn temple!”

  The echo of his scream slowly faded under the vault of the arena. A confused clamor rose among the members of the families.

  Exodus closed his eyes and listened, filtering single words from the mixture of indistinct voices. Soon he realized the situation was even worse than he had thought when he set foot on the sacred sand. Everyone is already on your side, damn you.

  He understood that he had already lost, but didn’t consider that a sufficient reason to stop fighting. He cleared his throat. “Today, Tankars are the undisputed lords of the dunes, but I saw it: opening the temple’s doors again will lead new demons among us.”

  “Meaningless hallucinations,” the impatient Kahar Asmeghin barked. “Give us more details. Do these demons have horns? And their tails…how long are they?”

  This time, everyone laughed.

  Exodus looked straight into the young Asmeghin’s eyes. There’s no land so small that it can’t be divided, right? You’re just a little leech who wants more, and so your eyes drift to the house next door, wondering if your neighbors might be leaving. “I speak of demons in the flesh,” he answered. “Humans, Gorgors, and those hybrid individuals of which our…distinguished guest is one.”

  “He’s not a mortal.”

  “And he’s not a god.” The Nehama looked around, looking for him again. “They’ll fight against us and each other, all against all to snatch the possession of that place. They’ll soil the sand with the blood of the wolf as that of the lamb, and what you call poverty today will become a pleasant nostalgia for a future far more terrible! I saw it, you fools. They will come!”

  “There’s another demon you’re not considering.” The Kahar raised his face and grinned, as he stroked the faithful scimitar at his side. “More fraternal than you think.”

  Exodus ignored that vulgar provocation, turning again to the old Gehennah. “When I brought you in there looking for advice on what to do, those colossal skulls emerging from the sands of time should have warned you, too, about the nature of that place. I perceived a million-years-old suffering, a tangible evil suspended like the dust in the air. Divine pain, able to alter the very structure of Creation.”

  Gehennah wheeled the cane in his hand, watching it thoughtfully. “No. Those eyes wanted to tell us something else: The Long Wait is over, children of the desert. Your benevolent Mother has finally listened to your prayers to show you the end of the road.”

  “And our distinguished guest came here to talk about this, I suppose.”

  “You suppose correctly.” The old man shrugged. “See it as my last attempt to change your mind. I hope he can advise you as he’s done with us all. There’s something in the way he talks. He’s able to understand what you’re about to say before you say it. He understands you.”

  “Whatever his words, my idea will not change,” Exodus said. “And whatever the consequences, they will be faced.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Take a look around. Is your sweet Solstice still clouding your senses?”

  The Nehama got up. He walked slowly among the Beshavis from Asa Bay, who seemed to wear their whole patrimony on their bodies in garments of turquoise silk, lapis lazuli bracelets and sapphire pendants. He found himself surrounded by the half-naked Kahars, their reddish hair gleaming in the warm light of the torches, their arms so long they were forced to walk bent to the ground. Lastly, the Tormentors of the northern territories, whose existence near the boundaries with the Gorgors had shaped them into mavericks and warmongers.

  He almost stumbled on Baikal, his second son, and affectionately caressed his face. Finally Exodus had found the son that Mother Desert had decided to leave him. “Hey, flea. You’re too little around all these people.”

  “I saw him, Daddy!” Baikal boomed, smiling, after his father had already walked away.

  “Baikal, son of Exodus! Tankars who have not undergone the Trial by Fire are not allowed to speak in here!”

  A human voice answered the reproach immediately, bringing back the silence. “Come on, Gehennah. He’s just a boy.”

  Exodus turned around and the crowd parted, opening a shady path toward the figure who had just spoken—their distinguished guest wore the metal mask of Ktisis, the god of Emptiness and father of the All. He let the linen cloth slide, revealing the whole armor of mayem underneath, shaped in the likeness of the jackal god.

  He seemed to look at the Nehama Asmeghin, and to him alone, when he spoke. “Your affection for the ancient way is admirable, Exodus.” He took a step. “I admire those who always stick to the line. That’s exactly what I did, in my time. And perhaps that’s the reason I’m here today, exiled from everything I held dear.”

  “Humans are not allowed to participate in our councils.” The Nehama turned toward the others. “And they’re not allowed to speak the Tankar tongue. This is sacrilege.”

  “It was you who said that he’s not a human, not anymore,” Gehennah answered. “Listen to the proposal of the divine Aeternus, before judging. Or are your ears so full of revealed truths that you can’t hear anymore?”

  Everyone laughed again.

  Except for the being inside the armor. “I’m no longer a man, and you know that too. I ceased to be a man when I was touched by my god.”

  “Flagellated, you mean.”

  “Chosen.” The First Disciple took another step. “Blessed with the gift that only the Lord of Destruction can dispense—to survive the changes. This is my fate.”

  “You…” Exodus clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. “What do you want from us?”

  “To unite you.” Aeternus came forward. “Unite you against the common enemy and avoid the unnecessary civil war that you’ve
been promising each other for so long—that war which will kill your children to the last. You don’t want that to happen again, right?”

  Exodus shuddered. His clenched fists became two open hands.

  “I understand your pain.” The being in the armor drew closer and caressed the young Baikal. “No father should have to bury his child, yet this has been your share.”

  “Leave him.” The father tugged the boy, resting a hand on his head. “You’ll never be afraid, Baikal. You’ll always follow your instinct and blood, as worthy of a Tankar.”

  Aeternus offered an amused sound. “Ktisis…I think I’ve already seen this scene.”

  “I have ears to hear and eyes to see. What’s your proposal, human? And why are you looking for Tankars’ help?”

  The metallic eyes alternated light and shadow in an endless dance. Exodus felt like he was looking at the face of the god who had always guided his actions. Yet he was an Asmeghin, the one who looks beyond, and knew the difference between the god of Emptiness and someone who walked around with his mask. Despised by death and banished by his own Blood Brothers…

  “I know a place, beyond the boundary between the worlds,” Aeternus began. “A world where we all will prosper, away from the barren cruelty of the desert. In peace. In harmony.”

  “That world—”

  “Shut up!” Exodus ordered to Gehennah, who had tried to speak. “Continue.”

  “Those same Guardians who rejected me and my like—as you justly remembered—hide a portal in the belly of their cursed Golconda.”

  “A portal?”

  “It leads to a place they called the world Beyond. Selfish and cowardly as they are, they’ve never exploited it while we mortals are striving for a patch of dry land—a poor, dry patch of land soiled with the blood of our children.”

  Exodus didn’t answer.

  Aeternus talked inches from his face. “Even from the top of your highest structures, when dawn breaks and the desert air is clear, you can see Skyrgal raising his arm against the sun to defend himself by his cruel fate. Does it happen to you too? Fighting against fate, knowing that you’re going to lose?”

  “It happens,” the Asmeghin answered.

  “It happens because the strong powers decided so. It happens because this is the will of those who govern us from above—overbearing masters of puppets with power of life and death over all. I can’t see any winner in the war between the Tankar clans, if not the handful of men barricaded in their towers, throwing crumbs to us and saying that the fault of our hunger lies in those who are hungrier than us.”

  “That Fortress is impregnable, it always has been!” Exodus felt anger in his own voice. “The walls of Agalloch seem built by the hands of Angra, it’s not possible—”

  “Nothing is ever possible to an enemy divided and disorganized…and without the necessary knowledge. We Disciples built those walls. We know how to make them collapse. But I don’t want to talk about this now.” Aeternus turned to the other Asmeghins. “I want to talk about the goddess we were forbidden to worship: Sep-Hul-Turah, the mistress of the road.”

  Everyone bowed their heads hearing that name, and someone knelt.

  He’s already got them in the palm of his hand. How long has this story been going on in my absence?

  “She doesn’t allow me to judge my neighbor if I’ve not walked two moons in his boots.” The First Disciple focused back on the Nehama. “She will protect us from the blows inflicted by hunger and war. She will lead us to the promised land at the end of the road—the world where we’ll live and prosper in peace, away from the torments of the desert. Sep-Hul-Turah, protectress of travelers, watch over us every single step of this caravan to nowhere that is mortal existence.”

  “Did you read my…?”

  Aeternus spread his unarmed hands. “Me? I read in your eyes the need to take refuge in the arms of a new deity, when your sterile goddess has failed you. You call her Mother Desert. I just give her a different name. But you and I are brothers and I’ll break bread with you.”

  Exodus realized he was sweating.

  “I’ll make sure that no Tankar father will ever mourn the death of his son again. I know what it means, Asmeghin. I know your pain. You must grant me the privilege to follow you inside the temple of Ktisis—because that’s what it is, as you’ve already understood. It’s the forgotten temple where the god of Emptiness sacrificed his children. We will not be like him. We will be reasonable. If strength comes from pain, what power may rise from the suffering of a god? We will use that against the Guardians and the road will be free. Free, I tell you, until we see the Tankar Dawn.”

  A long silence followed.

  The old Gehennah reached the two. He embraced his peer and asked, “After listening, what’s the decision of Exodus, dèbris Asmeghin tam Nehama brat?”

  Exodus bowed his head. A sudden, inexplicable energy rained down on him. His mind was flooded with the images of a temperate world, with streams of crystal clear water and Tankars lying on lush green meadows as they ate and laughed. The heels of children hammered the wooden planks of the bridges as they ran after a jury-rigged ball. Satiated. Happy.

  But from the depths of memory rose the voice of the flames, and a cry, Dad! Help me, Daddy!

  Exodus rubbed the dirty face of his son and said, “War.”

  Baikal smiled. Even the mask of Ktisis seemed to grin hearing that holy word.

  Mother Desert, have mercy on me, Exodus could only think as he finished the sentence. “War to anyone who violates the sacred Nehama lands, as it’s always been.”

  “You fool!” The old Gehennah struck the stone with his stick. “This will lead you and your people to ruin, can’t you see it?”

  A bestial chorus rose in the hall: the joined screams of Kahars and Tormentors. “War! War! War!”

  Gehennah laid his hands on the shoulders of Exodus. “I implore you, don’t do that. Don’t oblige them to pour your blood! What do you think you can do?”

  “Defend that power from all, if I have to. Die, if necessary. I saw it, I saw it, I tell you no lies. You won’t understand until you see it.”

  The old Beshavis looked from him to Aeternus and back, several times. “So it’s decided, then.” He composed himself and nodded. “Well, the Council is closed. At sunset, we’ll pay our tribute to the sun in the belly of the holy city. Like our fathers.”

  “Like our fathers.”

  Gehennah lingered before leaving.

  “Wait.” After the quiet order of Exodus, everyone turned to him and stood still, waiting.

  For a moment, any possible future seemed to hang from his black lips and the words they would pronounce. “Is it a crime to believe, is it a crime to be free? Is it a crime when you die without asking why, in the conviction of defending your people?” The Nehama looked straight into the eyes of Ktisis, observing the sinister gleam of one eye between the metal lids. “Can’t you see what they’ll do? They will grind us down. They will take our land, but it belongs to the clans!” He brought himself inches from the mayem face. “Be wary of humans, no matter how they show up. If you don’t want to believe in what I say, believe in the sincerity of my scars. My burns testify the trust we can have in them.”

  “We all know your story,” Aeternus answered, bored. Then he broke through Exodus’s conscience: A lesson that maybe you haven’t yet learned. There’s no way to save those who will not be saved!

  “I…” The Asmeghin’s voice was broken. “I’ve always defended the interests of every Tankar. What do you all think I’m doing now?”

  The old Gehennah closed his eyes. “Exodus. I beg you.”

  “I already paid the price of my ideal!” The Nehama faced the others. “The Tankar Dawn: one people, one common goal. That day, I and my family spoke on behalf of all. You can’t have forgotten it.”

  Nehorur interrupted, “We all know this—”

  “You were still soiling yourself with SHIT when it happened!” Exodus screamed, bringing bac
k the silence. “That day we asked the Hammer Guardians for a meeting to stop their raids in the Kahar colonies. Humans were surely happy to show us their idea of dialogue. They locked us inside the meeting place, set it on fire and danced all around drunk to the bone.” When he stopped talking, everyone watched the flames of the torches reflected in his eyes. “Varg Belhaven had set up a banquet outside—to celebrate the agreement, we thought. But the Dracon sat there to enjoy the show of our death. He ate and drank while we burned and died. Dogs don’t talk. Dogs bark! I heard him scream before the voice of the flames covered the cries of our children. And my son…the first fruit of my seed, he…” Exodus bowed his head. “You know how we all fear fire. With fire my own family was killed that night.” He caressed Baikal again. “Except for my second son, who was just born. In the fiery heart of horror, I shielded him with my own body and broke down a wall consumed by flames, my sole purpose being that he survive.”

  “And then you avenged them, didn’t you?” Aeternus said.

  The Asmeghin returned his gaze. “What do you know of pain and thirst for revenge, of how they blind even the mildest living be—?”

  “To the point of looking for the only way to punish that man,” the First Disciple continued. “And kidnap, years later, the Dracon Hammer’s daughter during the summer solstice festivities.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “To the point of keeping her captive, and raping her, again and again—a very fruitful violence, it seems. Every now and then we all allow ourselves a little blasphemy, don’t we?”

  Everyone laughed.

  Except for Baikal, who snarled, “She’s my sister, she’s not a—!”

  “Baikal!” the father rebuked, and the boy didn’t dare to continue. Exodus raised his eyes to Aeternus. I wanted to use this story against you.