39 Burning path to freedom

“Wake up…”

“Wake up, Dash…”

“Wake up, by all the demons!”

Dashvara inhaled and choked on the smoke. Smoke? He shook his head to clear his mind and half-opened his eyelids. He met the captain’s two dark, intense eyes.

“I’m awake,” he muttered at last. He was hurting somewhere, and badly. His head, he realized. In a daze, he looked around the room, lit by a candelabra. Outside, in the night, one could hear cries. “Where—?”

“At Zaadma’s,” the captain replied. “You barely got out of the arena. The whole Titiaka is on fire. And now get up, son. Can you get up?”

Dashvara tried to remember what happened… and he only managed to recall half of it. He knew that he and Raxifar had fought like red snakes. He remembered at one point losing one of his swords. He had retrieved another from a guard. Then came the Ragail illusions. Hundreds of citizens had swarmed the upper bleachers, shouting “For the Union!” and “For Titiaka!”. The shouts and the fight had spread throughout the Arena. Then Raxifar, regaining an unexpected flash of sanity, had pushed him into a tunnel and shouted for him to run. Dashvara had run with him and with the ten or so Akinoas who had faithfully waited for Raxifar. Jostled from all sides, they had run, and exhausted, Dashvara had finally lost his balance on the stairs. He had rolled all the way down, taking several guards with him. He couldn’t remember anything else.

“Oh…” he groaned as the captain helped him to his feet. “I’m really going to start believing in this resurrection stuff. How come I’m still alive?”

The captain smiled.

“And you’re asking me? Well, if you really want to know, I think you owe it largely to the Akinoas.”

Dashvara saw him glance back and followed the direction of his gaze. He gasped. Raxifar was there, alive, lying on a bed just like him. He was wounded, and Zaadma was busy wrapping his arm in a bandage. Dashvara crawled over to him and saw that he was awake.

“Raxifar,” he said, his voice exhausted. His limbs were shaking with fatigue.

“He has no life-threatening injuries,” Zaadma whispered in a small voice. “He will survive… normally.”

The Dazbonian had her cheeks bathed in ashes and tears. For all answer, Dashvara just shook his head slightly in sign of gratitude.

“We have to go,” an urgent and trembling voice said. “Otherwise the ship will leave without us.”

Dashvara saw Rokuish in the doorway; the Shalussi carried a bag on his back and a sword on his belt.

“Xalya…” Raxifar whispered. Kneeling in front of his bed, Dashvara turned to the Akinoa. He was smiling. “I killed the Master. I killed him.”

Dashvara softly shook his head and smiled ruefully.

“Where are your people, Akinoa?” he whispered. He did not expect an answer, but Raxifar gave it to him anyway with a grim concision:

“Dead.”

Dead. The word entered Dashvara’s heart like a cold and absurd breath. He felt the captain help him up again. He stretched his arms towards the Akinoa.

“Get up, Raxifar.”

The man tried. But he did not succeed. He didn’t try very hard either. He sighed:

“Tell me what the point is.”

“Captain, help me,” Dashvara asked, his voice filled with desperation.

Between them, he and Zorvun pulled the giant to his feet. It was clear that the giant was doing nothing to make their job easier.

“We’ll never make it to the boat in time,” Rokuish complained.

“Where are the others?” Dashvara inquired. He could hardly articulate every syllable. “And Atasiag?”

“They left by boat,” the captain replied. At Dashvara’s curious look, he added, “I ordered them to leave. Only Arvara and I stayed, to get you out of there.”

“Well, it’s lucky you found me alive, then,” Dashvara breathed out. “Well, let’s go.” He let out a small, not entirely lucid laugh. “Are the Unitarians the ones making all that noise?”

No one answered him because at that moment someone kicked in the door of the herbalist’s shop shouting:

“Death to the Legitimates! Long live Titiaka!”

The man continued on his way, repeating his refrain. The captain cleared his throat.

“Unitarians,” he finally confirmed. “Let’s get out of here. Shalussi, leave the bag. It will only delay us.”

“That’s not what will delay us the most,” Rokuish retorted.

Leaning on each other, Dashvara and Raxifar hobbled to the exit first. Outside, in the relative darkness of the burning night, they saw an alert Arvara holding a double-axe. The Giant gave his lord a relieved pout, and Dashvara saw that he was doing his best not to look the Akinoa in the face.

Outside, it was chaos. In the distance, high flames could be seen rising from some large buildings.

“What’s the point…?” Raxifar murmured again.

Dashvara clenched his jaw.

“To live, Raxifar. Maybe there are other Akinoas left on the steppe. Maybe you can help them.”

The Akinoa shook his head. He did not answer, but as they walked behind Arvara, Dashvara felt that Raxifar was supporting him more than he was. Zaadma, despite her pregnancy, walked ahead of them at a brisk pace; Rokuish followed her with worried glances around. However, the people they passed were far too preoccupied with their own problems to bother with them. There were artisan slaves coming out of their stores with large bags, hoping to take advantage of the chaos to run away or who knows. Some citizens had blocked their gates and remained locked in their homes, waiting for all this madness to end. Perhaps they believed that peace would come with the dawn, but given the number of Unitarians who had risen up in the Arena, nothing was certain.

Suddenly, Dashvara stopped dead in his tracks. His mind was now working a little better, and he had just remembered an important detail.

“Captain!” he gasped. “I couldn’t find Fayrah and Lessi.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and Captain Zorvun shook his head.

“Lanamiag Korfu took them out of the arena. Yorlen guided them to the harbor, and Rowyn got them into a boat. They’re safe, Dash. Don’t worry.”

Dashvara took a deep breath.

“What about Yira?”

“She stayed at the boat that must be waiting for us. Come on, keep moving.”

Dashvara continued to move forward, unable to believe that, in the end, the majority would make it out of there alive. They were the only ones left. He looked at Zaadma and Rokuish and gritted his teeth, swearing to himself that they would not die in Titiaka. Surely, if I do get out of this alive, I’ll be laughing about it for a long time, he thought with an inner laugh.

They were not heading for the port of Alfodyn but for Xendag. They were approaching the headquarters, half running and half staggering, when they heard a loud noise of fighting. In front of the wall that separated the Sacrifice district from the Sibaskin district, dozens of citizens were fighting hand to hand against Ragail guards. The latter were totally overwhelmed by the numbers, but they resisted for a while behind their shields before starting to undeniably retreat. A few minutes later, they were attacked from the other side, by citizens from Sibaskin, and they had no choice but to flee through the wall. They ran away as the Unitarians shouted in victory. Dashvara and the others passed by them, trying to blend in, and within minutes, they were walking through Sibaskin. Raxifar let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Thank you guys for clearing the way,” he commented.

Dashvara smiled, looking grim.

“I can’t wait to get back to the steppe and leave these savages behind.”

“Savages,” Raxifar spat.

They started laughing nervously, and the captain gave them a dark look.

“Hurry up, by all means, do you want the ship to leave us stranded in this hell?”

They avoided a group of angry citizens, moved away from the Loan House, and entered the shadowy alleys of the neighborhood. There, fortunately, there was no fire. Dashvara was putting one foot in front of the other, unable to see where he was going, not because it was dark, but because his vision was blurred at times. His head felt like it was in a bubble, and the screams sounded in his ears like distant complaints from a nightmare. They reached the docks without incident, and Rokuish let out an exclamation of deep relief:

“The boat is still there!”

The port was crowded. People were running around looking for a boat to board. The port of Xendag had no large ships, most were fishing boats, and Dashvara wondered what the port of Alfodyn must be like at this very moment. Probably much worse than this one.

A citizen of imposing stature collided with Dashvara causing him to lose what little strength he had left: he collapsed. Oh… demons. Watch where you’re going, federate. Raxifar supported him on one side, and Arvara on the other, and they continued to move forward until Dashvara regained his footing. Finally, Captain Zorvun lost his patience and drew his swords, shouting:

“Calm down! Make way!”

People began to scream, and some threw themselves into the water. The captain’s ability to calm people down was admirable. The way was cleared, and they soon reached the dock where the waiting ship was moored. Yira was there on the gangway, her sword drawn and pointed at free men trying to board.

“Bitch!” one shouted. “You hurt my arm!”

Bitch yourself, Dashvara roared inwardly, outraged. Suddenly, he heard one of the sailors shouting:

“Cast off…!”

A figure silenced him, threatening him with the tip of a sword. Dashvara opened his eyes wide when he recognized him. It was the Honyr Sirk Is Rhad.

“They’re coming!” Atsan Is Fadul exclaimed from the prow.

Between the three of them, Yira, Rokuish, and the captain cleared the area, and Dashvara walked up the gangway as if in a dream. With wobbly legs, he dropped into a corner near Raxifar. He almost passed out. He breathed in the night air and glanced at the fishing boat he was on. It was full of unfamiliar people, mostly slaves who were bustling about impatiently, anxious to leave Titiaka as soon as possible. Thank you for waiting for me, foreigners… His wry smile barely managed to make it onto his face.

“This time you can, sailor,” Sirk Is Rhad growled. “Cast off.” Immediately he turned to Dashvara and leaned toward him with a sharp gaze. “Are you hurt, sîzan?”

Dashvara tried to straighten up a bit.

“No.”

“And this one?” the Honyr added, his jaw clenched. His gaze had fallen on Raxifar. Dashvara smiled wearily.

“He fought well by my side,” he replied. “And he saved my life. Lately, I feel like everyone saves my life, and I don’t save anyone’s.”

Sirk Is Rhad nodded and stepped aside as Yira approached. Dashvara took her hand. The sursha’s eyes had been paralyzed by so much cataclysm. Perhaps the fires had brought back bad memories.

“The worst is over,” Dashvara assured. “Or at least I hope so. We can still drown. I never liked boats much. I never…” He gasped, out of breath. His vision was blurring. “I’ve only been on a boat once to get here.” He blinked. “I can’t see you very well.”

He felt Yira’s gloved hand on his cheek.

“Just because you can’t see me, it doesn’t mean I’m not close to you,” she whispered.

Dashvara huffed, amused. Yira had said that very phrase the second day they met, in a totally different context. Trembling, he drew the strength to lean over and place a kiss on her veiled forehead.

“Naâsga,” he murmured softly. He was about to be dragged down by exhaustion when a sudden thought stirred him. “Tahisran!” he breathed out. “I completely forgot about—”

“He’s fine, Dash,” the captain sighed as he sat down beside them. “I already told you that everyone is fine. Well, except for Kodarah. He twisted his ankle again while running. And now stop worrying and sleep. You look like an undead.”

Dashvara pouted, and unwittingly, he looked at Yira. He let out a soft laugh. He couldn’t help it.