93. Youk

The Honyrs decided to pass and enter Lamasta, a detail that didn’t worry Dashvara much, as he had come to the conclusion that sooner or later he would have no option but to accept Todakwa’s pact if he didn’t want the Xalyas wiped off the map, and under those circumstances, he was never going to accept the Honyrs swearing loyalty to a damned vassal of a damned rotten rat.

They arrived in Lamasta without him almost realizing the journey. His mind was racing. And the scroll in his right fist weighed down on him like an anvil. He held back the urge to smash it to bits, dismounted in front of the shelter, and let a boy lead Sunrise to the enclosure. The Xalyas surrounded him and greeted Shokr Is Set, Yira and the newly arrived Honyrs with welcoming smiles. Captain Zorvun stopped in front of Dashvara and, seeing the young Xalya hesitate, he arched an eyebrow and observed:

“It was a short meeting. And, from the look of you, something tells me it didn’t go well.”

“Are they going to launch the attack?” Shurta asked.

Dashvara grimaced and shook his head.

“No. Forget it. Todakwa is proving to be a reasonable devil. Er… It’s time to go discuss this… matter with Zefrek and Lifdor. We have two days to think about it.”

“Think about what?” Zorvun asked warily.

Dashvara looked him in the eye and coughed daintily.

“Remember what you told me in Titiaka about pragmatism and pride? Well… I think it is appropriate for us to consider Todakwa’s proposal,” he asserted and held up the scroll for a moment, adding, “While I read this to the Shalussis, please welcome and settle the Honyrs as best you can. Their coming is a credit to their people, and it honors ours.”

He bowed his head and walked away towards the headquarters. Several of the brothers followed him, full of curiosity.

“What the hell kind of proposal are you talking about?” Sashava asked, panting with his crutches as they sped along.

Dashvara shortened his steps and summarily explained:

“The serpent wants an oath of vassalage.”

More than one person was stunned. Zorvun huffed in disbelief. The newly arrived Xalyas had not yet been informed either, and now they were as dumbstruck as the others. Aligra wore a mournful expression worthy of a tale of terror—the Liadirlá knew why she hadn’t stayed with the other Xalya women in Honyr territory. Zamoy was the first to react:

“Ah the bloody devil!”

The Baldy was choking with indignation and said no more. The astonishment had left them all speechless. They were already reaching the headquarters when Lumon asked:

“What exactly does this vassalage imply?”

Dashvara shook his head.

“I don’t know. The scroll explains it in detail. I decided not to refuse rashly. It was Kuriag’s idea. Todakwa simply liked it… though I’m sure he imposed his own conditions anyway.”

This time, when they reached the headquarters, they were not turned away, and Dashvara went inside with the captain, Yira, Yodara, Lumon, and Sashava. The whole Shalussi leadership was present; given the variety of origins, the group wasn’t small. About twenty veteran warriors were already there, shouting in a thunderous hubbub. Dashvara stopped, watched them patiently and, little by little, the tumult calmed down, and the eyes turned towards him. When a relative silence had settled, he unfolded the paper scroll and said:

“Todakwa has suggested we consider his proposal. If you agree, I’ll read the terms aloud to you, and then we’ll comment on them separately if you feel it’s more appropriate.”

Zefrek intervened:

“I think in this case it is appropriate for both clans to have a joint discussion.”

The chieftains nodded one after the other with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and Dashvara began to read. The beginning was a tirade presenting the agreement, with technical words that half of the Shalussis present probably did not understand, Dashvara suspected. Even he couldn’t understand all those complicated phrases… This text had to come from the mind of a scholar… and he doubted it was from Kuriag Dikaksunora. From his cousin the diplomat, then, perhaps? Who knows. In any case, the series of conditions began without surprises: Todakwa demanded absolute loyalty, the right to conscript in case of war, freedom of movement in the territories of each clan, he prescribed certain prohibitions and reserved the right to impose more rules of a minor nature relating to hunting, livestock, and a long et cetera, without the possibility of refusal on the part of the vassals, even though they could “appeal”. He also imposed the presence of death-priests to educate and give glory to Skâra. He explicitly denied Lifdor the right to lead the clan of Shalussis and demanded that a single leader represent each clan. In exchange for all this, he promised to help his vassals when they needed it, to lower the prices according to their possibilities and to ensure the respect of their culture and identity within the new steppian power…

“The new steppian power,” Sashava spat. “I would gladly drag that Essimean snake across the steppe!”

“Better not. His blood would poison the land,” the captain growled with restrained rage.

Dashvara finished the section and finally reached the last sentence:

“The following signatories accept the pact and commit to abide by it for the next twelve years.”

Zorvun arched an eyebrow.

“Twelve years?” he repeated.

Dashvara shrugged.

“I suppose it must be so that we don’t get the idea of rebelling beforehand and wisely wait until the validity date.”

“Which is not going to happen anyway,” Lifdor croaked. “We’re not going to accept such humiliation.”

Many supported his view vehemently, but others did not seem at all so convinced. All in all, this was a victory over the servitude they had known until then. The pact, on the whole, was obviously appealing to them.

Once again, the Xalyas were more spectators than actors in the conversation that followed the reading of the pact. Voices became heated. Those who argued for vassalage were called cowards and traitors, and they in turn called the latter reckless fools for persisting in confronting a growing army of Essimeans who offered to free their enslaved women and children and leave them relatively in peace.

“The Essimeans fear us!” roared one with a grizzled beard and a powerful voice. “If they do not attack us, it is because they know that their spells are no match for a good sword stroke. We are warriors and they are mere wimps. Let us impose our own pact!”

“We can add conditions,” Zefrek commented, drumming on the table.

“Conditions are not enough,” Lifdor replied. “My honor categorically forbids me to even consider making a pact of vassalage with that vermin.”

His assertion ended in a stentorian thunder, which obtained many echoes. Dashvara rubbed his forehead, wrinkled by so much noise. He tried, in vain, to pick out some constructive comment from the chaotic voices that were rising. Zorvun commented in his ear:

“It reminds me of when we used to celebrate horse races in Xalya.”

Dashvara’s lips curved. But his smile twisted when he thought that the party now being held threatened to turn into a brawl. After waiting a few more seconds, Dashvara shook his head and said to his brothers:

“Today we will get nowhere. The sun will soon set. It will be better if we return to the shelter and share dinner with the Honyrs.”

Zorvun agreed but said:

“I’m going to stay here for a while longer. I’m curious to know what Zefrek thinks about all this.”

Dashvara shrugged, and leaving the captain there, he and the others headed for the exit after a quick general salute to which the Shalussi leaders barely responded.

As if we didn’t already have enough racket in the morning with the explosive disks… It will be best if the Shalussis go to sleep and let their dreams give them advice before they make a hasty decision.

Dashvara felt even more worried than a few hours earlier, for the simple reason that Todakwa’s proposal threatened to tear both Shalussis and Xalyas apart, between those who were happy to accept a ray of light in exchange for chains and those who wished to win their freedom and die carrying out an honorable revenge. And, honestly, something in Dashvara, perhaps fatigue, wisdom, love for his people, or who knows what, made him lean towards the former.

We’ll still be able to rebel if Todakwa doesn’t keep to the pact, he thought on one hand.

But another little voice mocked him:

Don’t you feel like you’re settling for less, Dash? You no longer seek freedom, nor revenge, nor justice. Your only concern is saving your people from death and complete slavery and you even feel grateful for Kuriag’s intervention…

He spent the whole evening with a muddled head. The Xalyas happily shared their little bit of food with the Steppe Thieves, and those in turn shared some sort of milk cake that drew enthusiastic comments, which were soon stifled so as not to disturb the Honyrs as they ate in their ritual silence. They had already finished eating for a while when a group of five teenagers returned noisily, surrounding a young Youk in wet and muddy clothes. Standing up, Miflin’s mother huffed.

“Eternal Bird, where have you been? Take off that shirt, Youk, it’s a mess. What the hell happened to you?”

“He’s so clumsy! He fell flat on his face!” one of the companions laughed.

The boy did not answer, and to everyone’s amazement, he made his way through the crowd with lightning speed and tried to escape. He did not succeed: Captain Zorvun, who was standing at the entrance, chatting with Yodara, grabbed him by the neck.

“Hey! Where are you going, kid?”

Alerted by Youk’s deeply altered face, Dashvara put aside his meditations on the pact and followed the scene with curiosity. Confronted with the Captain’s question, the child did not utter a word. Zorvun frowned, and Lariya joined them, obviously annoyed by the young Xalya’s behavior, but not only by that: seeing two of the kids who had accompanied him laughing under his breath, Dashvara turned dark, guessing what had happened.

“Come on,” Lariya sighed. “Take off that shirt, I’ll wash it.”

“No!” Youk retorted, stirring abruptly. If Zorvun hadn’t held him in a firm grip, he would have rushed for the exit.

Before his puzzling refusal, Lariya stepped forward and forced him to remove it. Youk didn’t resist, but his face became violently flushed. And everyone soon understood why. His chest was covered in tattoos. Skâra tattoos with patterns and Galka signs clearly identifiable by their black and blue colors.

Surprise seized them all, and Youk took advantage of it. With his cheeks flooded with tears and his eyes bulging, he jerked free and ran out of the shelter. The others did not react immediately; then finally, there were gasps and comments, and over them, Orafe bellowed:

“I curse the Essimean and spit on their dead!”

From the knowing looks the two kids who had laughed before exchanged, Dashvara deduced that they already knew Youk’s secret and had been pestering him because of it. He kept their faces in mind and decided that he would personally teach them a lesson they would never forget.

Looks like Todakwa gave me back Essimean demons instead of Xalyas, he muttered, annoyed.

Makarva had gone out in the night to look for the boy. After a few minutes, he returned, a worried expression on his face.

“I can’t find him. I have no clue where he disappeared to.”

Worried, others were rising to search for him when suddenly a loud cry was heard outside, whether of alarm or protest, Dashvara could not determine, but the sound of hooves that followed made him fear the worst. He was reaching the entrance when the stentorian voice of the captain tore through the night:

“Come back here, you fool!”

He was speaking to Youk. Except that Youk was already riding away into the night shadows and he could only hear him from a distance. He didn’t listen to him anyway: he kept galloping. Dashvara hissed an imprecation and took off running towards the paddock. More than one person had the same idea at the same time, and Dashvara braked before ordering:

“Boron, Alta! Your horses are the fastest. Bring the boy back.”

A few moments later, the Placid and Alta were galloping north out of Lamasta. Towards the Essimean camp. Dashvara exhaled sharply. Just the thought that Youk might think he’d be safer there than with his people made Dashvara feel horrible. Mostly because it wasn’t Youk’s fault but others’, and mainly his own fault for despising Skâra and its rituals, for condemning the death-priests and their practices, for denigrating everything the young Xalyas had learned in the past three years under the Essimeans. Certainly, Dashvara only felt fear and contempt for that deity, simply because she was Essimean and her worshippers were hostile to him… The problem was that the young Xalyas had felt that contempt. Hence some were ready to show their elders that, for them, Skâra was nothing, even if it was not true; and hence others, with the Divinity branded in their minds, even tattooed by the death-priests, were dying of shame in silence. And, as the great, blind, stupid steppe lord he was, Dashvara had seen nothing.

Brilliant, Dash. You are no match for the King of the Blind. Please remember that, first and foremost, these people are human like you. They are united by the tolerance and trust that reign between us. And, in this, you have failed Youk. We have failed all our young people completely.

He rubbed his forehead tiredly, and Todakwa’s words came back to echo in his head, ‘you’ll found in your clan young people who think in Galka, pray in Galka, and dream in Galka…’ True. It was true. Their death-priests had achieved something unthinkable. Something that would have made his lord father turn over in his grave.

Pah. At this point, Lord Vifkan would have already died of horror after everything that happened.

He felt a hand silently take his, and he answered gently, turning his eyes to those of his naâsga.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, curious.

Dashvara glanced around. They were halfway between the shelter and the horse paddock, and the Xalyas were wandering and talking in low voices, scanning the darkness and hoping for the boy’s return. The Honyrs had almost all stayed inside, getting ready to sleep after an exhausting day. He hadn’t had a chance to really talk to them yet, other than the usual politeness. They were probably wondering if they had fallen into some sort of trap by entering Lamasta to defend a half-dead people who was, all in all, planning to betray one of the most essential bases of its Eternal Bird and submit to Todakwa. He sighed.

“About a thousand kinds of things,” he admitted at last. “Todakwa. The Shalussis. The Honyrs. My people. And my stupidity… As Maloven used to say, he who wants to embrace everything ends up grasping only emptiness.”

Yira let out a slight amused gasp.

“Are you trying to embrace your stupidity?” she teased.

Dashvara smiled and argued:

“To fix it, one must first understand it.”

He took his naâsga by the waist and scanned the darkness with her. On the village hillside there was an entire line of burning torches and the occasional silhouette of a Shalussi sentry. That Boron and Alta were taking so long was beginning to worry him seriously.

“Dash,” Yira said suddenly, breaking the relative silence of the night. “Tell me… what do you think of this pact?”

Dashvara grimaced.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Sometimes it seems to me the right way, other times a folly—really, I don’t know. I’m suspicious of Todakwa, naturally.”

He sensed Yira’s assent.

“Maybe Todakwa isn’t just doing this to please Kuriag Dikaksunora,” she mused.

Dashvara arched an eyebrow and looked at her in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

“Mm… Well. If I were Todakwa, the ones I should be most worried about right now would be the Federates. They’re going to send soldiers to the steppe, and believe me, when the Titiaka Council sends soldiers, they don’t pack them back in anytime soon. By making the Xalyas and Shalussis his vassals, Todakwa is ensuring that you won’t weaken his own clan and that you will even help him in case of…” she shrugged, “potential unwanted invasions.”

Dashvara stood looking at her, stunned. Finally, he breathed out.

“Gosh.” He smiled broadly. “You are the worthy daughter of Atasiag Peykat, naâsga. You’re good at this sort of thing.”

The light of a torch illuminated Yira’s amused eyes.

“Not as much as my father,” she assured. “But, from listening to him, I’ve learned a few lessons.”

Dashvara smiled, once again glad to have her by his side despite the situation. He was pondering on her words when Miflin announced from a distance:

“They’re coming back!”

The horses’ hooves could be heard approaching. Anxiously, Dashvara probed the darkness, and when he finally saw the riders, he felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold of the night. Yes, Alta and Boron were coming back… but without Youk.