28 Shadows of a heart

Atasiag Peykat walked through the streets of Titiaka, crossed the Avenue of Sacrifice, passed the tavern of the Joyful Nadre, turned left when he reached the headquarters, and finally arrived in front of a beautiful red stone house with a magnificent arch of white jasmines at the entrance. Only then did he turn to Dashvara and observe:

“You walk like an old man.”

Dashvara pouted and replied:

“I’m enjoying doing that while I still can, since I’m not sure I’m going to make old bones.”

Atasiag arched an eyebrow and smiled.

“Was it the Ragails?” he asked.

Dashvara immediately understood what he meant, and for a moment, he wanted to lie and nod, but his assent turned into a denial.

“Not at all. The Ragails were very well behaved. It happened on the way back,” he explained. “I ran into the Korfu’s grandmother, and the grandson jumped on me.”

Atasiag was about to knock on the door but stopped on hearing that.

“Lanamiag Korfu?” He sounded astonished. “You ran into the grandmother of the Korfu? What do you mean by that?”

“I banged into her. I was deep in thought, like any good philosopher.”

Atasiag chuckled.

“I see.”

“And then I had the great idea of running away,” Dashvara added.

Atasiag shook his head.

“I’m going to have to ask Loxarios to give you all some lessons so you can survive in Titiaka without having your backs thrashed every day. Anyway…” he sighed. He turned and knocked on the door. The door opened, and Dashvara immediately recognized the woman who appeared in the doorway. It was Aligra of Xalya. Her moody eyes had not changed. And her strange pallor had even intensified. She was wearing a simple tunic and ordinary pants. She had not followed the same path as Fayrah and Lessi at all, he observed.

“Come in,” Aligra said, opening the door wide. She closed it as soon as they crossed the threshold. “Sheroda is in the living room.”

Atasiag nodded and turned to Dashvara.

“Wait here,” he ordered. He left his staff against the wall, and pensive, Dashvara watched him disappear through a door in the hallway. Did this man really intend to marry Sheroda? Every time he remembered the face of the Supreme, Dashvara shuddered. He could imagine Atasiag being madly in love with her, but he couldn’t imagine this woman with golden eyes having such deep feelings.

Left alone, Dashvara and Aligra watched each other for a few seconds. The girl had grown up, she was nineteen now, and all traces of childhood had disappeared. Finally, Dashvara broke the silence:

“I’m glad to see you again, Aligra. How are you?”

The girl’s jaw was tensed.

“I don’t know yet if I’m happy to see you again,” she retorted. “Have you seen Fayrah and Lessi?”

Dashvara heard that old accusatory accent in her voice and wondered if she was still blaming him for the death of his brother Showag. If that was so… demons, Showag had been lucky to know in his short life a woman who loved him so much.

“I saw them,” he replied in a neutral voice.

“And?” Aligra threw out sharply. “You didn’t disown them, did you? You couldn’t do it. They are traitors,” she spat.

Dashvara raised his eyebrows and then suddenly laughed.

“Ah, Aligra! You should be leading the clan, not me. You would respect the Dahars without hesitation, and you would end up disowning the whole clan, starting with me. Eternal Bird,” he sighed. He calmed down and continued with gravity: “Of course I disowned them. Fayrah disowned us before. If she’s happy like this, with her Cili god and her dresses, I’m not going to force her to be what she doesn’t want to be. That’s her decision. She thought we were monsters, and she hurt my pride,” he confessed.

Aligra looked at him with astonishment. Her lips trembled.

“So… the Xalya clan still exists?”

Dashvara looked at her with compassion. She must have felt very lonely these last three years. Hesitantly, he offered her a friendly hand, smiled, and hoping that the girl would show a little more joy, confirmed:

“The Xalya clan still exists.”

To his surprise, Aligra responded to his gesture by backing away abruptly. Her eyes lit up.

“You are not the lord of the Xalyas,” she said. “You have betrayed your Eternal Bird.”

Dashvara cleared his throat and dropped his hand at his side. Three years had not changed anything. Aligra was still as stubborn and intransigent as ever.

“As you wish, dear.”

Aligra shook her head.

“You are not worthy. Showag would have been.”

Dashvara repressed with difficulty an exasperated snort.

“If you want, come with me and explain this to our brothers. I’m open to a vote if you run for office. Demons, Aligra,” he sighed. “One thing is to have a clear head and an Eternal Bird with good principles, and another is to maintain all that when you’re being tortured. You have every right to despise me for not doing so, but frankly, just because I betrayed allies under torture doesn’t mean my Eternal Bird is useless. That’s not true. It’s not,” he insisted. “Listen. Arikava of Xalya, the second lord of the clan, betrayed his allies to save his life, and everyone hated him for it. Then he proved to be the bravest of them all and saved several clans of the steppe at the cost of his life.” When Aligra did not answer, he shrugged. “Well, keep on thinking what you like, Aligra. I am only the lord of those who wish it.”

He fell silent, and the silence dragged on. Aligra and her quirks… He bet that at no time had it occurred to her to ask him how he was doing or how the other Xalyas were doing. Her mind was so obsessed with the Dahars that she could not see the people behind it. In a way, she was thinking a bit like his lord father.

Atasiag finally returned, and Dashvara followed him into the living room with some relief, but as soon as he crossed the threshold, a new fear came over him. The time had come to find out how guilty Sheroda considered him for the death of her two friends murdered by Arviyag and his men.

You gave them your life, Dash, he reminded himself. He tried to brace himself, determined to repeat his promise to the Supreme.

She was standing next to an extinguished fireplace, wearing a white dress. As soon as Dashvara saw her, a part of his mind confirmed that this newfound daze and fascination was due to some kind of spell. She’s not human, he thought. Then he met her golden eyes, and all thought died as he drowned in them. He lost himself in this bewitching look that attracted him like the caress of a merciful Death, and his heart was devastated. He asked himself: how could I have betrayed her? Overcome, he threw himself on his knees and realized, in surprise, how close he was to her. His words came from his mouth clearly:

“I betrayed you all and caused the death of your people. My life belongs to you. And if I have to die for you to forgive me, so be it.”

He was doing the right thing, no doubt. Any Xalya would have done the same. When he met the cold, unforgiving eyes of the Supreme again, he was not afraid. He just knew that whatever she did, Sheroda would make the right decision.

Suddenly, Sheroda pulled a dagger from her sleeve, and Dashvara swallowed, staring at the steel blade.

Uh… And now, honestly, how ready are you to die, Dash?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Atasiag’s face turn pale, and he felt appalled. Was Sheroda really going to…? The cold touch of steel bit into his left hand but barely made him bleed. Sheroda opened her thin lips, and Dashvara was horrified to see sharp blue teeth appear.

“Lia… Liadirlá!” he stammered.

Her golden pupils split into several slits, and a white, bifid tongue caught the drop of blood on her dagger. Dashvara watched her transform, dumbfounded. These were not illusions like Yira’s. This was pure reality. Sheroda was… a monster.

He could not bear it any longer. Awkwardly, he staggered back and stood up, wishing he could fly away like the Eternal Bird to put as much distance as possible between him and this abomination. A wave of fear paralyzed him.

No, Dash, those are just spells she’s casting on you. Move. Get out of here. Or kill her. But you can’t give your life to that monster…

“I am not a monster,” Sheroda murmured softly, as if she had read his mind. “I am a shixan. So was one of the Pearl Brotherhood whose death you caused. He was my son. And you killed him.”

She had stopped in front of him, raising a face both beautiful and monstrous. Dashvara could not move. He felt surrounded by an energy that suffocated him and threatened to overwhelm him. He had no idea what a shixan was, but it was clear that they were powerful creatures. And this is what you want to marry, Atasiag Peykat? Not even for an army of horses! Eternal Bird… And now it turned out that he had killed her son.

“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered. His own words seemed hollow and offensive. He made a great effort to avert his eyes from those of Sheroda, and he could not. It was as if he had been paralyzed. Then he saw that the shixan had held out her two hands, white as milk, and that she was now putting them on his forehead. Dashvara wanted to stop her, but he could not even open his mouth.

What followed was… death. Or at least it felt like it. In his troubled mind, he saw a woman dressed in white and thought he recognized her as one of those mythical fairies of the steppe who could read hearts and bring out all the nooks and crannies of the mind. He found himself defenseless in front of an impartial judge who had just discovered his faults and was throwing them at his head without mercy. He was assailed by all his remorse, one regret after the other. It was not the shixan who was tearing them out of him to show them to him: rather, it was he who was hastening to reveal them, convinced that the sooner he admitted his mistakes, the more lenient the judge would be. Trembling, he finally opened his mouth and heard himself uttering utter foolishness.

“I killed,” he stammered. “I am guilty.”

“How many living beings did you kill?” Sheroda asked, kneeling beside him.

“I don’t know,” he croaked. “A lot. Nadres. Humans. Orcs. Milfids. I killed an old horse when I was ten. But it was to save him from the pain,” he protested to himself. Sheroda’s hands gripped his temples like hooks. He gasped. “I-I murdered a man. I killed him from behind and slit his throat. But he had sent his warriors against my people. I executed a murderer. He deserved it. He was a murderer. And also… also, I killed two other men. But they were slavers. I had to kill them. And I killed your son. But I didn’t kill him. I am not guilty.”

“You are guilty,” Sheroda said.

“I am guilty,” Dashvara repeated in terror.

“You betrayed me.”

“I betrayed you,” Dashvara confessed.

“You killed my son.”

“I killed him.”

“You have been weak.”

Dashvara nodded, his heart growing emptier.

“I have been,” he murmured.

He lost count of the accusations that Sheroda was throwing at him. At times, he repeated, “I am guilty,” and gradually, his mind was freed from the energy pressure, but it still took him a while to realize it. Sherodas’ questions began to make no sense, he became delirious, and then he began to run out of air. He heard Atasiag’s voice, but he did not understand what he was saying. He simply saw him appear between Sheroda and himself and saw his worried face. He barely heard a:

“That’s enough. You’re going to drive him crazy.”

“This man does not deserve to live,” another voice said with a sob.

“No, Sheroda!”

A heated discussion ensued. The shixan had stepped aside, but Dashvara still felt Sherodas’ insidious hands against his head. He felt empty, unworthy, and soulless. Finally, the argument ended. He had not been able to understand the words, but he understood that Atasiag was trying to save him from the clutches of the Supreme. But he can’t save me from myself, he thought, shaking. The Diumcilian’s hand gripped his shoulder firmly.

“How do you feel?”

His question came only seconds later, and in the meantime, Atasiag tried to help him up. Staggering, Dashvara was unable to interrupt the flow of words that poured from his mouth.

“I am despicable,” he stammered, horrified. “My Eternal Bird is dead. I’m going to hell. All the gods of the world will punish me.” He clutched Atasiag’s arm like a lost child. “I am guilty. I am evil!”

“That’s not true, Philosopher,” Atasiag muttered.

“Yes, it’s true,” Dashvara sobbed. “Fayrah was right. Our Dahars are poisoned. My clan is dead. My world is dead. And I did nothing to save it. And I killed. I am guilty.”

Atasiag let him cry on his shoulder for a while and patted him rhythmically on the back, gently.

“Come on, boy,” he said at last. “Let’s go home. Can you walk?”

Dashvara stepped aside, dazed, and pulled his sleeve over his eyes before looking around for Sheroda. She was not in the living room.

“She will not punish you anymore,” Atasiag assured.

Dashvara looked into his eyes. He saw concern. And an unexpected tenderness. He took a breath. Wassag was right. Atasiag is a good man.

“If you want, you can stay with Aligra until you get better,” the federate offered.

Dashvara widened his eyes and shook his head.

“No. I’m coming back with you.” He wouldn’t stay another minute in this house. “If only I really deserve to live,” he muttered.

Atasiag sighed.

“Of course you deserve to live, Philosopher. You must live. I say so, and I am your master. And now, let’s go.”

Dashvara met Aligra’s accusing gaze in the hallway and suppressed a grunt before following Atasiag out. It was like returning to the real world after spending a lifetime in the court of hell. There, on the street, people were laughing, chatting, with their own lives, their own sins and virtues. Not everything was black and white.

He ran his hands over his forehead as if to finish ridding himself of Sheroda’s spells. However, he could not get rid of his own thoughts. In his head, the terrible truth was still drumming. He was guilty. And he could never stop being guilty until the time of his death came.

Atasiag began to walk more slowly than he had on the trip out, and deep down, Dashvara thanked him for it: now, in addition to a sore back, his mind was numb, and his Eternal Bird had been shattered. After a good deal of inner reflection, which only confirmed his opinion, he said:

“To what extent is a guilty man capable of convincing himself that he is innocent?”

Atasiag glanced back and walked beside him, waving his baton gracefully.

“To unsuspected limits, believe me,” he replied. “I know several councilors who, guilty of wars and deaths, still consider themselves the saviors of Diumcili.”

Dashvara raised an eyebrow, surprised that he had even given him an answer.

“Are you talking about the Legitimate Dikaksunora?”

“About him,” Atasiag said, “and about others who support him. A crime perpetrated for survival may be justified, but crimes perpetrated for greed are never justified.”

Dashvara pouted.

“When I killed Nanda of Shalussi, I did not do it for survival,” he murmured. “I killed him for revenge, in the most infamous way.”

Atasiag sighed without answering. Dashvara smiled, looking glum.

“One of the slavers I killed wanted to surrender, and I didn’t listen to him. And then Tsu tortured me, and I wasn’t able to die with dignity like my father did. And, in spite of everything, it was enough for me to get out of the Supreme’s house to start putting things into perspective. I fear that I am too used to forgiving my faults. So much so that I might become as bad a man as the Master and still think I am obeying my Eternal Bird—”

“Tsu, the drow?” Atasiag suddenly interrupted, genuinely amazed. “The one who is now with you?”

Dashvara nodded.

“He is a doctor. Arviyag used him as a torturer. With those thimble things, you know.”

Atasiag turned pale.

“No, I don’t know, Philosopher, and I prefer not to know. Merciful Cili,” he murmured.

He said nothing more. They were crossing the Homage Square when Dashvara broke the silence again.

“You saved my life. Why?”

Atasiag raised his eyebrows.

“Because I could do it, that’s obvious, right?”

Dashvara shook his head.

“You got angry with that…” He was about to say “monster”, but he didn’t dare and simply pronounced, “With her.”

Atasiag smiled.

“I didn’t get angry with her. Sheroda is a wonderful woman. But… in this case, she was so angry with you that she was on the verge of committing a folly. I simply helped her to calm down. One day she’ll thank me for it.”

Atasiag picked up the pace a little, and Dashvara followed him, puzzled. This man had prevented Sheroda from committing a crime and then, instead of consoling her, as it should have been expected, he had consoled him.

“Do you really love her?” he asked when they were already on the last street.

Atasiag seemed not to hear the question. However, a few seconds later, he stopped.

“With all my soul,” he said. “You don’t know her. Her heart is as pure as a goddess’.”

“That’s precisely what frightens me,” Dashvara cleared his throat. In addition to the teeth and eyes, he added to himself. “She’s not human.”

Atasiag had a smiling pout.

“Not quite,” he conceded. “But I love her. And that’s why you have to show her respect.”

“Ah. I do respect her, that’s for sure,” Dashvara gasped. “After what she did to me, how could I not. It’s like my Eternal Bird Itself came to me for punishment.”

Atasiag’s smile widened.

“Respect is not only obtained by fear, Philosopher. It is also obtained by love.”

He turned his back on him and entered through the gate of the house. Dashvara followed him, struck by his words. In the courtyard, he saw that all the Xalyas had returned. Some were playing katutas on the ground, others were helping Wassag and Yorlen to beautify the columns. He hesitated, and then suddenly blurted out eagerly:

“Eminence.”

With a patient sigh, Atasiag turned around. Dashvara looked him in the eye and gave him a firm nod.

“Thank you,” he said.

The federate’s eyes studied him for a few moments and finally smiled.

Silently, His Eminence Atasiag Peykat turned his back to him again and entered his home to prepare for the Sursyn Citizens’ Party.