The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  “Is it our God? Would it accept Antinium?”

  “I do not know. But I could find out.”

  If there was a God to ask. If this wasn’t just random chance that had given him the class. If God would answer back. Pawn said none of this out loud, but Klbkch shook his head.

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “I will resume questioning you tomorrow. I have duties to attend to, but I will resume asking questions about the relationship between this God and the Antinium. Until then, you are dismissed.”

  Pawn wanted to say something. He wanted to shout at Klbkch, or shake him. But the Revalantor stood up, and all Pawn could do was obey.

  —-

  Was this the God of the Antinium? Did it even matter? That wasn’t the important part!

  Pawn fumed as he stomped down the dirt corridors. Who cared about whether God had a physical form? It was the salvation that Pawn had been stirred by, the idea that—that there was forgiveness! There was heaven, and more, someone who cared.

  It didn’t matter that this was a God for Humans.

  Right?

  Pawn bumped into two Workers in his commute. He apologized, and then held up the queue behind him for several seconds as he debated where to go. The meal time of his shift of Workers had already passed, and there wasn’t always food there. He could go above, but Pawn was in too foul a mood to do so right now. He wanted food, peace, and quiet—

  Before Pawn knew it, he’d found himself in the Soldiers’ meal hall. He didn’t know why, but he lined up and took a bowl as Soldiers walked into the room.

  “Give me only a third of the portion, please.”

  The Worker stared at Pawn, but he did as instructed. Pawn took his bowl to a table with two other Soldiers, completely ignoring the silent stares he was receiving. He was too angry to care.

  “That didn’t matter. There was more to the story.”

  Pawn muttered to himself as he ate. The two Soldiers stared at him, but Pawn didn’t care. He munched down the foul mess of today’s mush, and felt even worse than before. Bad food, an unfair Revalantor—

  It really wasn’t right. He was just a Worker, but Pawn knew he’d been happier once. When he’d gone to Erin’s inn, he hadn’t been threatened, and he’d been allowed to speak freely. He’d been fed good food, and she had told him true things.

  He looked around. Soldiers sat at the tables around him, eating quietly. They were trapped too, weren’t they? Forced to eat this revolting food, not having anything to look forwards to.

  It wasn’t fair. Pawn longed to tell Bird or Garry about what he’d experienced. He’d been afraid to, before. But now that Klbkch had ordered him not to, Pawn longed to walk into the Worker mess hall and shout the story out loud.

  God. Heaven. It was a promise Erin had told him. Something to cling to. It would have given the other Workers hope. It would have made the deaths of the others meaningful. It had made everything better when Pawn had said it.

  But no, he was trapped like the Soldiers. Trapped by orders and silence. Pawn miserably pushed his bowl forwards onto the table. The Soldiers looked up, and then down at their food. Soldiers. That was what separated Workers and Soldiers. At least Workers could speak. But Soldiers couldn’t speak.

  And Pawn was a Soldier now, at least in part. He couldn’t speak about Gods to any other Workers. That was the problem. No other Workers.

  No other Workers. Pawn sat up in his seat, suddenly electrified by a thought. Klbkch had instructed him not to talk to an Individual or another Worker. But Soldiers?

  “Excuse me.”

  The Soldier in front of Pawn looked up. Pawn cleared his throat awkwardly. It felt strange, talking to the massive behemoth. But he could speak to them.

  “I notice you are eating. Would you mind if I told you a story? About God?”

  It wasn’t just a blank look Pawn received; it was utterly bewildered. The two Soldiers at the table looked at Pawn and made no move. But Pawn had begun this, and so the Worker took the plunge.

  “It’s a true story. About God, which is—allow me to explain.”

  He didn’t really know where to begin. He only knew that he had to share this message. And Pawn thought the Soldiers might understand. At the very least, neither of them tried to kill him as he started speaking.

  “There is a being known as a God. And it—he created everything. And rules over everything. And he cares for us, you see? Because once upon a time, there was nothing. Nothing but God. And he wanted to create something, so he spoke. And then there was light…”

  It wasn’t exactly how Erin had told him the story. But Pawn thought he should start from the beginning. The Antinium were a logical species; and besides, he felt he had to work up to Gods and virgin childbirths. He still wasn’t sure what a virgin was in any case, but it sounded important.

  The Soldiers at the table listened as Pawn explained how the world was created according to Erin’s garbled explanation of the religion. It was confusing and made no sense, especially because none of the Antinium, including Pawn, had any idea what angels were. He simply described the Garden of Eden as being protected by a giant flaming white bird and left it at that.

  But that wasn’t the important bit. Pawn explained what he felt the most important part was after he’d gone through the creation of the world and the idea of sin.

  “Even though Humans—and other species—are sinful, it does not matter. We are sinful because of what has happened, but this God cares for us. All of us. Whether we are born and die early or kill, regardless of what we do, there is someone who cares. For each of us. He knows us. He knows who we are and he cares.”

  That was what was important. How could he explain it more than that? Pawn didn’t care about how the world had started, or how many snakes could talk. It was that.

  “Someone cares. Someone knows us, knows our every waking and sleeping motion. Someone out there cares, and knows our name. Even if we do not.”

  The soldiers at the table stared at Pawn. Silently. They said not a word, but neither had they looked away. In fact, they’d stared silently at him the entire time he’d been talking, and even stopped eating. Bits of mush dropped off their hands as they rested them on the edges of the bowls.

  Pawn looked around and jumped in surprise. Somehow, all the Soldiers had moved closer. Some were bunched together on other seats, and others were just standing. And they were all listening. To him.

  Awkwardly, the Antinium cleared his throat. He hadn’t realized they’d all been listening. But it made him feel pleased, as well. And it made the next part more important.

  “Yes, well, after the events of which I spoke, the Humans thrived. But what is important to mention is that sin still existed. They were all sinful, and thus at fault. But then God decided to send his son to be borne by a Human, so—”

  The Soldier in front of Pawn moved. It was a sudden movement. One second he was sitting, the next he was on his feet. Pawn recoiled, but all the Soldiers had stood up suddenly. They looked towards the entrance of the mess hall.

  What was happening? Were they upset? But—no, Pawn realized they must have been called, or else their eating period had elapsed.

  “Oh. You have duties. I will let you attend to them.”

  The Soldiers didn’t nod, but Pawn got the sense they had heard him. They began filing towards the door, but they moved far slower than normal. They were visibly hesitating.

  Did they want to hear the rest? Pawn thought quickly. He called out to the Soldiers as they reluctantly walked out.

  “I will return later. Is that acceptable?”

  He heard no response, but Pawn saw Soldiers suddenly move in lock-step once move, briskly marching towards their destination. He watched them file out of the room and smiled.

  The next day, Pawn went back and told them more stories. He told them about a young man who died upon a cross, of a prophet who parted seas, of a people watched over by something loving and kind. The Soldiers drank in
every word, but they said not a thing. But they did listen. And Pawn believed that they believed.

  —-

  “I do not understand the purpose of this tale.”

  Klbkch snapped at Pawn as the two of them sat in Klbkch’s room. Pawn glared back, but the Revalantor did not give him a chance to reply.

  “What is sin? Murder? Violation of ten rules? Why are all beings sinful the instant they are born? What sin did we commit?”

  “Erin did not say. But that is not important. The important thing is that God sent his son—”

  “To be killed.”

  “Sacrificed.”

  “Was it blood magic? I cannot understand why one death absolves an entire species of sin.”

  “He is meant to bear our suffering. Bear our transgressions—”

  “Yet we still transgress.”

  “But now we are forgiven. Any mistakes we make are our own—”

  “And if we do not obey the rules of this God, we will be punished when we die. So you have said.”

  “Or we may obey and go to Heaven.”

  “Which no one has ever seen.”

  “We must believe it exists.”

  “But you cannot prove it does.”

  Pawn glared at Klbkch. The second day had seen him arguing for hours with the Revalantor about these very topics.

  “It is something I would like to believe in. Respectfully, it does not harm the Hive in any way.”

  “It does matter if this God intends to enforce such restrictions on our kind. If the Antinium cannot kill, then we will all be punished by this God.”

  “It doesn’t work that way—”

  “Regardless, I will not allow you to worship this God.”

  “Why not?”

  Pawn stood up, knocking back his chair. Klbkch spoke coldly as he looked at the Worker.

  “If this God made Humans in his form, then he is clearly a God for them. But the Antinium never rested in this ‘Garden of Eden’. We were not in the world where his son came to life, and thus we were not saved. We are not his. This God…is not a God for the Antinium. I will give him no power, and you will not either.”

  “Power? It is just prayer!”

  “That is enough. I will not allow prayer or worship of a God that does not belong to the Antinium.”

  “That is not fair!”

  Pawn shouted at Klbkch, surprising even himself. But the Revalantor just stood up.

  “It is necessary, and it is my order. Talk to no one, and forget about Gods.”

  “How can I?”

  Pawn’s voice was bitter. Klbkch studied him, and then unsheathed one of his swords. He held the silvery blade out towards Pawn for him to inspect. Pawn looked at the gleaming metal and wondered how many of his brethren the blade had cut to pieces.

  “Believe in this. Not something that can be neither seen nor heard.”

  The Worker shook his head and pushed aside the sword.

  “This is just an object. What I want is something else.”

  “What is that?”

  Klbkch’s tone infuriated Pawn. It was uncaring. He didn’t care about Pawn; he just saw another piece to be used. No, that wasn’t it. He didn’t understand Pawn. Klbkch was special. He was a Prognugator, a Revalantor, a Centenium, whatever that meant. He was second to the Queen. He—

  Was special. But Pawn was not. He could never understand.

  “What do I want? Salvation. Can you or the Queen offer that?”

  Pawn turned and stormed out of the room before Klbkch could respond.

  —-

  That night, Pawn shifted around again and again in his small cubicle, until he realized he was waking the other Workers up. He felt hot, hot with anger and frustration. Klbkch would never understand. But he knew who might.

  Leaving his cubicle, Pawn slipped through the tunnels, joining the night rush of Workers and moving through the passageways until he reached one that was growing familiar to him. He entered the large mess hall and looked around.

  They were there, all of them. Pawn had grown to know these Soldiers, identify them somehow. Maybe it was the way they looked at him familiarly, or how they crowded around now, abandoning their meals or taking the bowls with them to listen.

  “I have told you all the stories of God that I know.”

  Pawn addressed the hundreds of Soldiers with a loud voice. He sensed them shifting ever so slightly as he explained.

  “I have no more tales to tell you. What I know, you know.”

  They didn’t like that. Some of the Soldiers moved slightly, a sign of their agitation. But Pawn only smiled. He’d told them everything, yes, but he hadn’t told them the most important bit.

  “There is one thing left, though. One promise that God made to his people, to all people.”

  The Soldiers immediately froze in place, a sign of how eager they were to hear. Pawn held his breath, and then told them.

  “Heaven.”

  The word rang through the large room, carrying more than just sound with it. Pawn’s heart raced just like when he’d first heard that word and its meaning.

  “Heaven. It is a place God made. A place to go when we die.”

  A place to be happy. To be free. Pawn tried to explain that to the listening Soldiers. He knew they would understand.

  “You see, when we die—the Antinium, we go into the Hive. But this Heaven—if we believe and are good, we will go there. And in that place, there is no suffering. No pain. We can be happy there.”

  Happy. It was a word that Pawn barely understood. But he spoke of it confidently. It was something he barely understood, but he had glimpsed it, and it had captivated his soul.

  “In Heaven, you will not have to eat these meals. You will eat good food, and not have to fight. You will be safe there, and no one will order you about. That is what God promises. That is—that is why it is important.”

  That was the promise he dreamed of. A place where he might find his fellow Workers, the ones who had died. A reason why they had died. A place—

  A place to be rest. The Soldiers stared at Pawn. He looked at them, and saw something in their eyes. Something he’d never seen before.

  Passion.

  “That’s right. When we die, we will go there. If we believe. If we are good—if we do not sin—”

  He paused as those words left his tongue. Sin. Yes, Erin had told him about that. Sin was violating the laws God had spoken. And one of them was not to kill. The Soldiers were built to kill. How could they be unsinful?

  And yet, and yet, he could not tell the Soldiers that. They deserved a place there, and Pawn wanted to believe they would.

  But would they? He didn’t know. Pawn wavered, and lost track of what he was saying. Shortly, he stood up and addressed the Soldiers.

  “I…must go. I know you have duties. But I hope you will believe. And maybe—maybe we will all go to Heaven.”

  He left them with that, and retreated to his cubicle. There Pawn sat and agonized.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in Heaven, or God. He wanted to with all his heart, and he did. But that was the problem. If he believed in God, he had to believe in Hell. That was what Erin said existed too.

  How could Pawn accept that someone who had killed would go to Hell? Would Belgrade go to hell because he had killed? Or would believing be enough to go to Heaven? What about Bird? He’d killed more than Belgrade, and yet, he’d done it to save Erin. Did the undead not count? What did?

  And what about the Soldiers? The Soldiers…had to go to Heaven. Pawn knew it. They weren’t bad. They obeyed orders to the letter. How could that be punished?

  These were unfamiliar, uncomfortable questions. They made Pawn upset. It was as if Klbkch was whispering into his ears, making him doubt what had been so easy to accept. Before, Pawn had believed in a God, been certain that one existed, but too afraid to ask. Now he was afraid to ask, and he was also afraid—

  Afraid that God might be wrong. Pawn wished Erin were here so he coul
d ask her. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know.

  And he feared the truth. Or that there was no answer for him. Pawn went to sleep dreaming of such questions and he tossed and turned restlessly. All he wanted was to go to Heaven. He could leave the rest, but he had to know that was true. There wasn’t a single Antinium who deserved to go to Hell. Not Bird, not Anand, not even Ksmvr.

  Not even Klbkch.

  —-

  Pawn was dreaming. Or he had been. He only knew he was asleep, and then someone was shaking him, dragging him out of his cubicle. Pawn opened his eyes, and struggled to move, but an iron grip had hold of him and someone was shouting in his ears.

  “What have you done?”

  Klbkch dragged Pawn out of his resting spot and shook the Worker violently. Pawn gasped and tried to form words as he woke up.

  “What? Reva—”

  “What did you do?”

  Klbkch hurled Pawn into a wall and pressed him there. Pawn gasped for air as he felt something crack, but Klbkch was already dragging him down the corridor. Pawn struggled to find his feet as Klbkch shouted at him. He saw Workers staring at him as he passed by their cubicles.

  “What is going on?”

  “Follow me! Move!”

  The Revalantor pulled Klbkch along, running him down the corridor. The never ending stream of Workers and Soldiers stopped dead as the two Antinium charged down the corridors, and the other Antinium pushed themselves to the walls to give them room to run.

  Pawn had no idea what was happening. But he sensed where they were going and his heart stopped when he realized they were headed straight for the Soldiers’ mess room. Klbkch stopped at the entrance and unsheathed his swords, and pushed Pawn through.

  “What is happening? What—”

  The Worker stumbled into the room and his words stopped. He stared around inside and saw hell. It must have been hell, because what he saw made no other sense.

  The huge room was filled with Soldiers. Living Soldiers—and dead ones. The dead lay on the ground, beaten, bludgeoned to death, sporting huge holes in their carapace, huge, fist-sized wounds made by the hands of Soldiers. And as Pawn looked around, he saw dark shapes struggling with each other, hitting, tearing, smashing—