by Pirateaba
The Revalantor of the Antinium stared down at Pawn. He looked uncertain. Old. Tired. But his voice was like cold steel as he spoke.
“Here is what will happen. You will not mention Gods or your class or Skills to anyone. And you will not worship or interact with this one in any way. Is that clear?”
Pawn could barely speak. He looked at the Revalantor, but instead of obedience, his first instinct was to question. He had to know.
“Why? What are Gods not to be spoken of?”
Klbkch shook his head.
“That information is secret. You do not need to know it.”
“But what did I do? Why is knowing of Gods important? All know of the dead Gods—”
Pawn only saw a blur, and then he felt himself being crushed against the wall. Klbkch held him with one hand while the other one held an sheathed sword an inch away from Pawns’ eye. There was no mercy in the other Antinium’s gaze, just cold, focused anger.
“I will repeat myself once: you do not need to know why. You are a Worker; you will obey.”
Pawn tried to make a sound; it was only a gurgle. Klbkch held him in place until Pawn was starting to see blackness around his vision, and then he let go. Pawn gasped as Klbkch stepped back and sheathed his sword again.
“You are forbidden from discussing God, your class, or any similar subjects with any Workers or Individuals. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly.”
The words felt bitter as they left Pawn’s mouth, like how the food sometimes tasted if the Worker’s food had included more semi-rotten ingredients than normal. Klbkch stared at Pawn and then nodded curtly.
“Good. Leave. I will summon you at a later date to address this.”
Without another word, the Revalantor turned and strode off through the tunnels. Pawn watched him go. He had no idea what had happened, what to think. But he was alive. He was—
Alive.
—-
Twenty minutes later, Pawn had finally regained enough of himself to walk away from Klbkch’s quarters, in case the Antinium returned. He walked slowly through the Hive, ignoring how his pace slowed up countless Workers and Soldiers behind him. He had to think.
What had happened? What had he said that had upset Klbkch so? Why—why was mention Gods so wrong?
What was wrong with a God?
Pawn walked along, kicking at the ground. He didn’t know where he was going. He was upset and confused and—
Why had Klbkch acted the way he had? Why had he nearly killed Pawn? Over what? Over Gods?
No…knowing that there were Gods, not just dead ones. But even that made no sense. A God was a good thing. Erin had explained it. Gods helped. Gods made heaven and that meant…
Pawn turned and followed another Worker at random. He didn’t even care where he was going. What was Klbkch going to say to the Queen? Would she summon him? Or just have him killed? For knowing of Gods?
Why? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Klbkch hadn’t asked about the God, didn’t known anything—or if he did, he hadn’t explained.
Why would he hate Gods? Or a God? Why hate a God? That made no sense.
It was a God. God was God. Gods. Heaven. Gods and heaven and forgiveness and sin. How could anyone just turn their back on that? Or just ignore?
Pawn stopped at the entrance to a large room. He faintly detected the unmistakable aroma of the Hive’s food. Oh. Of course. It was meal time for some shift of Workers. He didn’t really want to eat, but maybe the noxious food would calm him down. He had to do something, whether it was walk or eat…
Automatically, Pawn walked into the large room. He got into line and then paused. The Worker in front of him was quite large. And the room was a bit bigger than normal. He stared up at the broad back in front of him. And up…and up…at the head of the Soldier…
Pawn froze. He stared around the room. The line in front of him wasn’t moving, and no one in the room was either. Soldiers, hundreds of them, sat or stood, all turned towards Pawn.
Staring at him.
The room was full of Soldiers. Soldiers, and a dozen Workers who were serving food to them in huge, deep containers three times as large as those given to Workers. But even they had paused in the act of ladling the soupy mush into the Soldiers’ bowls.
Everyone was staring at Pawn. He felt hot, then cold. And afraid and—
He’d gone the wrong way. He’d taken the wrong turn, because he was not supposed to be here. Oh, no. Not at all.
Pawn had walked into the Soldiers’ mess room. Not the Workers’.
In the complete stillness, Pawn looked around. Everyone was still staring at him. All the Soldiers in line were looking at him and he couldn’t read their expressions. Pawn felt a cold knot of fear in his stomach.
He shouldn’t be here. Pawn turned to go, and then hesitated.
Why should he go? He didn’t belong here, true, but no one was kicking him out. And he was an Individual, wasn’t he? Couldn’t he stay here? What would happen if he did? Would Klbkch hunt him down and kill him?
Slowly, cautiously, Pawn stepped back into line. He stared at the Soldier in front of him, almost daring the huge Antinium to do anything. The Soldier stared back, and then slowly turned forwards. The Soldier in front of him did the same.
As one, the room slowly moved back into motion. The Workers continued serving food, the Soldiers filed forwards, and Pawn found himself in line, holding a huge and heavy container. He wasn’t even hungry, but he was committed now, and found himself standing in front of a Worker with a huge ladle who dumped a large amount of orange-brown stuff into his bowl. It looked like the food Workers got, but there was a lot more of it.
“Ah. Thank you..”
The Worker stared at Pawn. Pawn stared back. Then he shuffled forwards and a Soldier took his place.
What next? Now Pawn supposed he had to eat the horrible food, all of it. He stared around the room and noticed something else that was different about this room. All the Soldiers weren’t eating while standing like the Workers. No, instead they were sitting!
Each Soldier sat on a mound of dirt and balanced their food receptacles in the small hollowed-out mounds of the dirt table in front of them. Pawn stared, amazed. They had benches and tables! True, they were just crude mounds of dirt packed together until it was hard as stone, but still!
Pawn quickly realized why the Soldiers had tables; they had to. Their basins of food were too deep to really eat from without a stable surface, and the Soldiers’ clumsier appendages couldn’t balance their containers as easily.
Indeed, now that Pawn looked, the Soldiers ate far differently from the Workers. Instead of efficiently scooping food into their mouths they stuck their heads in the containers, or awkwardly lifted the muck up. They just didn’t have the same manual dexterity, and that meant there was a lot more mess on the ground.
Pawn sat at a table with two other Soldiers and looked around. There were hundreds of Soldiers in this room, all eating feverishly. He was so preoccupied with staring that he completely forgot his own food, until he saw one Soldier exiting the food line.
Maybe the Soldier was tired or distracted—Pawn kept thinking the other Soldiers were staring at him, but whenever he looked around he just saw them engrossed in feeding. But this Soldier failed to notice some fallen food slopped on the ground as he carefully held his own bowl of dinner. His foot trod down on the slimy patch and he slipped.
Pawn saw the Soldier try to regain his balance, but it was too late. The Soldier didn’t fully face-plant, but he collapsed forwards and all of his meal spilled out of the bowl in front of him. Instantly, the Soldier righted himself and scurried forwards, but the damage was done.
The Worker saw the Soldier desperately try to push the spilled slop back into the container, but he got as much dirt as food in as anything else. The resulting mash was…even more disgusting that it had been, but the Soldier righted his container and walked over to a table. He began to eat as if there was nothing wrong. But
there was.
The Soldier couldn’t have been happy with the dirt-infused food. Pawn knew that. He and the Workers might differ in size, but they were still based off the same shape. He knew how appalling the food was without adding anything else to it.
And yet, the Soldier made no effort to go back into line. Nor did Pawn really expect him to; that would have been…not against the rules, but it would have been unusual. No non-Individual would have done something like that, so the Soldier would just eat his dirty food in silence.
That wasn’t right. Pawn stood up. He didn’t realize what he was doing at first, but as he approached the unfortunate Soldier, his own bowl in hands, he knew. The Soldier looked up and froze as Pawn came over to his table.
Pawn cleared his throat awkwardly. He didn’t know—he could sense the eyes of everyone in the room on him again. But he knew what he wanted to say, so he said that.
“Here. I don’t need mine.”
The Soldier stared at Pawn as the Worker thrust the bowl of food at him. He stared at the bowl, and at Pawn.
“Take it.”
Slowly, the Soldier shoved his bowl aside. He reached up, but his fingers were clumsier. Pawn carefully put the bowl in front of him. The Soldier stared at the food, and then at Pawn.
Then he began to eat. Cautiously, carefully. As if every bit of this new mush was ten times better than the dirty stuff in his bowl. Which, to be fair, it wasn’t. It was only a bit more palatable, but the Soldier ate and Pawn felt…
Better. Just a bit.
After that, Pawn just sat at the table while the Soldiers ate. He tried to focus on them, rather than think. It was almost peaceful, not having to do anything. And Pawn was so tired of—
The last Soldier finished eating from his bowl and stopped. Instantly, all the Soldiers stood up as one. Pawn jerked in surprise, but the Soldiers just walked towards the entrance of the meal hall. They put their bowls on a long shelf of dirt as they passed, ready to be reused as they filed out of the room.
Oh. Of course. They were done with their meal and leaving. Pawn stood up and followed them out, noting a new group of Soldiers were coming in. He left with the first group, and because he didn’t feel comfortable following the Soldiers any more, he began walking back to his sleeping area.
It was time to sleep. Pawn found his spot, looked around, and saw countless other Workers already sleeping in their dirt cubicles. He stared at his hands as he made himself comfortable in his spot.
This day was confusing. He’d been afraid at first, and then nearly killed when he’d spoken to Klbkch. Pawn still didn’t know why, but he was afraid to find out. Afraid—and yet, he wanted to know now. Klbkch knew something about Gods, and Pawn wanted, no, needed to know. He would find out.
And the Soldiers? Pawn thought of the Soldiers. He didn’t know what to think about that. It was just a small part of a long day. And yet he was still smiling a tiny bit as he fell asleep.
—-
The next day, Pawn woke up as he felt Klbkch summon him to his room. It wasn’t an actual voice in his mind—it was more like a feeling, strong as certainty. It made Pawn rise before the other Workers and walk through the tunnels to Klbkch’s quarters before he’d even eaten.
“I am here, Revalantor.”
“Come in and sit.”
Klbkch had placed a second seat in the room. He sat in his own chair, twin blades sheathed as he watched Pawn sit. He wasted no time on greetings or small talk—the Antinium just leaned forwards and spoke.
“I have consulted with the Queen on this matter. You will not be killed—immediately. But if there are any changes in your physical form or actions which may harm the Hive, you will be immediately killed. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
Pawn stared at Klbkch, confused but determined to listen and make sense of things. Klbkch held his gaze for a few more moment and then nodded.
“Now. Explain this God to me.”
“What?”
“Explain it. All of it. What Erin said about this God, word for word. I want to know its history, forces, motivations—everything.”
That was how Pawn found himself trying to tell Klbkch the same story Erin had told him. He tried to start with the same miracles she’d begun with, a God that created the world and made people in his image while he watched over them, but he kept on getting interrupted by Klbkch.
“There are no mentions of multiple Gods?”
“None. As I was saying, after he created the world, he rested for—”
“And it is a he? This God has a gender?”
Pawn clicked his mandibles together irritably. He hadn’t had breakfast, and he was hungry, even for his daily rations. Klbkch kept interrupting him before he got to the important parts, too. Who cared about gender?
“…That was how Erin described him, although she said that God may not have a gender.”
“Why say ‘he’, then?”
“She said ‘it’ sounds too weird.”
“Hmm. Does it have a physical presence?”
“In a sense. It—he—works through chosen Humans.”
“I am familiar with the [Priest] class. In any other ways?”
“Ah…he sent his son to earth. And his son is divine as he is.”
“His son?”
Klbkch stared at Pawn so hard that the Worker felt uncomfortable. Why did Klbkch care so much about these details?
“Yes. God had a son. He was named Jesus of Naz—”
“Explain to me how a God has a son. Would that not also make him a God?”
“He is…part-God, or so I believe. But there is only one God in that sense, or so Erin said.”
She mentioned other Gods, but Pawn felt it wise not to mention that just yet. Klbkch tapped his chin with his finger.
“I feel there is something I have missed. I shall re-clarify. There is only one God, correct?”
“True.”
“But he has a son.”
“Yes.”
“Whom he incarnated as a physical manifestation on earth.”
“Born of a Human. He was Human.”
“But he is also part God?”
“…I believe so.”
“That makes no sense.”
It didn’t. Or rather, it did and Pawn understood it in his own way, but he knew he couldn’t explain that to Klbkch. He tried to shift the conversation away from this issue and get to the important part.
“He is dead, in any case. He is now in Heaven, with God. That is what Erin told me.”
“I see. So in any case, there is only one God.”
“Yes, but in Heaven—”
Once again, Klbkch cut Pawn off.
“So, you are absolutely sure that this God is not present in the world at this moment?”
Pawn couldn’t really scowl, but he grew agitated and let his voice reflect that.
“I am sure.”
“Very well. Now, where did this son of God incarnate? Do you know the geographical location?”
“Yes. Yes I do. He was born in Jerusalem, a small town in the nation of Rome. This was at the time when—”
“Rome? Jerusalem? Where are these places located? Which continent?”
“These are locations and names from where Erin comes from.”
It was as if Klbkch was listening to something completely different than Pawn. The instant Pawn said that, he relaxed and seemed almost relieved.
“I see. I see.”
Pawn stared at him, nonplussed.
“As I was saying, the Human woman Mary was pregnant, and she was due to give birth—”
“I do not need to hear the rest of the story at this moment.”
It was like being slapped repeatedly. Pawn opened his mandibles, and then closed them. He was annoyed, and so he interrupted Klbkch before the Revalantor could speak.
“How is any of this important, Revalantor Klbkch? Why are Gods an issue that requires so much attention?”
Klbkch paused.
“
That is none of your concern. It is a secret.”
“I would like to know it.”
“You will not be told. Enough. My next question—”
“I should know. If I do not, I may err accidentally.”
Pawn held Klbkch’s gaze as the other Antinium looked up and stared at him. After a second, the Revalantor seemed to come to a decision.
“All you need to know is that the existence of a God is tied to the Antinium’s existence on the continent of Rhir. Although the Antinium have changed since then, my original task as a Centenium relates directly to Gods in particular. It supersedes all other orders; hence, my inquiry. That is all.”
Pawn felt as though he should drop his jaw like he had seen Erin do now and then.
“Centenium? I am not familiar with that role. What are—”
“Enough.”
Klbkch stopped Pawn with one hand. He considered, clicking his mandibles together lightly as Pawn shifted impatiently in his seat. At last, Klbkch nodded.
“I have ascertained that this God is not similar to…it is not of immediate concern.”
“Meaning what?”
“I am not sure. But as its existence is known only to Erin and possibly Ryoka Griffin, I will withhold judgement until I am able to speak with them. You will not be executed.”
Pawn looked up hopefully
“Then—”
“However, I will not permit prayer to this…God. My order still stands: you will not tell your fellow Workers about this God either.”
“But why?”
It wasn’t as if he’d been praying to the God before. But to be told not to without reason—Pawn felt himself growing annoyed again.
“May I ask your reasoning, Revalantor Klbkch?”
Klbkch tapped the hilt of his sword once, and then again.
“There are several questions that remain unanswered for me. If this God is a being that created Humans, where did the Antinium come from? Are we creations of this being, or…not?”
“God created all things.”
“In Erin’s world. Not this one.”
Pawn opened his mandibles—and closed them. He couldn’t respond to that. Klbkch nodded.
