The Unwaba Revelations

by Samit Basu

  ‘Wake up, your majesty!’ Rough hands shook her and she sat up with a start. A werewolf captain had woken her. She looked around, her vision clearing slowly; an army of asurs slowly appeared as the blobs of solid colour in her eyes melted away. They were clad in armour, bore an assortment of uncomfortably shiny weapons and were looking at her with a mixture of fear and amusement. Following their example, she looked at herself and flinched; she was wearing Maya’s body, clad in a rag that would have barely covered an asur.

  ‘What… time?’ she asked, the words crawling slowly up her throat.

  ‘Dark Lord Kirin has been looking for you for hours!’ said the werewolf. ‘Come with me!’

  ‘Kirin… back?’

  ‘Please get up, your highness. The ravian king approaches, and there are formalities that must be observed before we slaughter his people. As ruler of Imokoi, you must speak to the ravian king before the battle begins officially.’

  ‘Eurgh.’

  The werewolf captain threw his head back and howled; an answering howl came from Aciram’s tent, and several werewolves emerged, racing towards the Red Queen. But before they could reach her, she disappeared, and materialized inside Aciram’s tent, where the Dark Lord waited in his black and silver armour, wearing Kirin’s face and looking very dashing.

  ‘Where have you been?’ growled Aciram. ‘The bloody ravian king’s waiting in the middle of the battlefield!’

  ‘You should have gone without me,’ said Red.

  Aciram laughed. ‘Wouldn’t have brought you if I didn’t need you there. Politics. Formal declaration of war. Trust you to go to a party the night before a battle. I was afraid that damned werewolf had killed you. No time to talk. Now wear something decent quickly.’

  The Red Queen raised an arm and snapped her fingers, summoning her finest armour, a tough, light coat of magically reinforced steel that she’d crafted herself and coloured red and gold with Tentatron ink. She looked like a warrior princess who’d walked out of one of the racier legends. Aciram nodded in appreciation.

  ‘No time to lose,’ he said. ‘We’ll teleport to the chariot.’

  He kissed her fervently, and they both vanished.

  The Dark Lord’s armies cheered themselves hoarse as their rulers appeared in their chariot. King Hooba of the asurs, the Dark Lord’s charioteer, urged the horses forward. The Red Queen looked back, and her eyes widened as she saw her husband’s creatures, assembled and ready for battle - a great wall of living creatures, armed to the teeth, stretching across the horizon, waiting for Aciram’s signal, eager to surge forward and butcher anything in their path. Meadows of swords and lances rose in the air, saluting the monarchs as they sped across Danh-Gem’s Wasteland towards the ravian army that stood silent and waiting before them. A few inexperienced asurs broke ranks and ran behind them, thinking, not unreasonably, that this would start the battle earlier; they fell dead, with arrows in their backs. The Dark Lord’s orders were to be obeyed, whatever the cost.

  Red shaded her eyes as she looked at the ravians. Ravian sorcerers had worked on the sky, dispelling the sorcerous clouds of the skyscraper rakshases. The sky above Aciram’s army was still dark red and stormy; above the ravians, though, the skies had cleared, and the fierce morning sun shone down brightly on their silvery-white helms and mailshirts, on their lithe bodies and sparkling swords and spears, so that the whole ravian army seemed to glow. Red shook her head to clear the cobwebs from her eyes and looked closer, and with her keen rakshasi eyes she could see the faces of the ravian soldiers; strong, handsome faces, keen, intelligent, determined. There were men and women, fair and dark, old and young, and not a single ugly one as far as she could see.

  ‘They look pretty good, don’t they?’ she said.

  ‘They’ll look even better sliced up,’ said Aciram. ‘Why the grimace, love?’

  ‘Head hurts,’ said the Red Queen. ‘How are your asurs going to fight after last night?’

  ‘Don’t worry. Asurs fight much better with massive hangovers. Gives them that edge. You missed last nights tactical briefing, so just stay near me at all times. We’ll protect each other.’

  And having expressed these noble sentiments, the lord and lady of Izakar rode forward to meet the ravians. And not just ravians, Red realized; while there were several thousand ravians on foot and horse in front of them, there were also humans. Chariots and elephants, swordsmen and cavalry from Avranti, bearing the signs of the Sun Throne, stood in front of the ravians on the left flank, and large numbers of thin, ragged unarmed humans, no doubt mind-abducted from the Free States or the Vrihataranya tribes, stood in loosely arranged groups ahead of the Avrantics. Asur fodder, thought Red, and almost felt a twinge of real anger.

  The centre and right flank of King Zibeb’s army, however, were made up of ravians, and even at a distance, Red could see these were proper ravians; the kind of ravians who made you believe in the old stories, in tales of valour and sacrifice, nobility and chivalry. Champions and knights, heroes and warriors, shining like diamonds in the sunlight, ready to smite the darkness in front of them once and for all. And none shone brighter than King Zibeb, on a magnificent white charger, and his chief general, Froyan, who rode by his side with the standard of Asroye rebuilt. As they urged their steeds forward and rode to meet the enemy, and the sunlight followed them, illuminating every step their horses took on the scarred earth of Imokoi.

  As the ravians drew closer, Red saw that Zibeb was a tall and handsome ravian, simply dressed in white, bearing a single, slender sword and no insignia except a thin circlet on his head that bore the emblem of his ravian clan. He was smiling broadly through perfect, even white teeth. Red hated him on sight.

  The ravians halted their steeds and dismounted. Aciram and Red stepped down from the chariot. They walked forward until they stood face to face with Zibeb and Froyan. After a few seconds of traditional cold-staring, Aciram cleared his throat. All of Danh-Gem’s Wasteland held its breath, waiting for the first word, the first stroke; above them, the gods smiled contentedly. These were the moments that made Games what they were. Would Maya do something impulsive? Would Froyan, who’d done nothing interesting so far, make himself useful? Would Zibeb, who seemed to have no respect for the traditions of wartime conduct, try and kill his most dangerous opponent before the battle began? Would Dark Lord Kirin yield? Would he make some outrageous demand? Would he challenge Zibeb to single combat?

  Aciram bowed, and would have greeted his enemy, but it was King Zibeb who spoke first.

  ‘Dark Lord Kirin,’ he said, ‘would you have the goodness to unhand my wife?’

  Book Six

  Chapter One

  The unwaba crawled briskly to the centre of the table, and shot defiant looks at Kirin and Maya. Twin beams of light emanated from their eyes, illuminating the unwaba and casting stark shadows across the small room, black figures that looked gigantic in confined space and filled the walls with heads whose shapes resembled neither Maya’s nor Kirin’s. The little chameleon shuffled and blinked, unable to directly meet Zivran’s unyielding, blank stare. ‘Well, Lord Zivran? I see from your silence that you have remembered me, and understood well the grave impact of my words,’ he said.

  Kirin and Maya looked at each other, seeing nothing but white light. Their brows clouded slowly, faces struggling to portray a confusion they did not feel.

  ‘Unwaba?’ said Zivran slowly. ‘My lost lizard? Is it really You?’

  ‘I am a chameleon,’ said the unwaba stiffly. ‘The oldest and wisest. Not a lizard. There is a difference.’

  ‘Unwaba! By the Eternally Unravelling Beard of Al-ainmur, this is a pleasant surprise! Where have You been all these years? We thought You were dead!’

  ‘You did not think I was dead. You banished me and forgot me. There is a difference,’ said the unwaba. ‘But now I have returned, to demand reparation, payment and absolution, and to ensure you will never forget me again. Lift the veil of playful forgetfulness and look at me with your true e
yes, Zivran. You will know me again, and what I want.’

  Kirin and Maya clutched their throbbing heads and waited.

  ‘Ah,’ said Zivran eventually. ‘So You were the fly in My ointment, the chipped keystone, the leafy ankle. This explains a lot.’

  ‘I am not a fly. Or a construction error. Or a body part, with or without attached vegetation. What I am is-‘

  ‘The unwaba. I have decided to remember. Then all this is Your doing. You have brought these deluded children here, and thus led them to their doom. Your petulance is understandable, My friend, but occurs at an unfortunate time.’

  ‘It is an unfortunate time for all those who had placed their trust in you, Zivran. The creatures of the dying world, for example, among whose numbers I am proud to count myself.’

  ‘The death of this world will grieve Me most of all, for no one loves this world as much as I. It is a part of Me. You must understand this. I am this world’s creator and preserver, and I will do anything I can to ensure it continues to exist. Why, then, do You treat Me as an enemy?’

  ‘Your words would be convincing, my lord, were I not omniscient. However, I am. And thus I am aware that matters have already progressed to a stage where saving this world is impossible. Even if I had not been fully aware of this as a result of my omniscience, the armies of the undead and the monstrous beings of rock and slime and shadow that lurk under the earth would have led me to suspect that you were being insincere when you spoke of the possibility of preserving it.’

  ‘You speak in circles. You suggest that I am lying? I, Zivran?’

  ‘Yes. This is because I know you are.’

  ‘I did not want to embarrass You in front of Your followers, but this is too much. You know as well as I do, Unwaba, that being a God – if a lowly creature such as you can be called a God – does not mean true omniscience. Your followers do not know of S/He…’s edicts, and blindly swallow your lies.’

  ‘You rage, Zivran, but even in your rage you strike close to the truth. The mortal realm did change me. In the heavens, I had infinite physical power and a limited mind; down on your earth, however, along with this frail body, I found that my mind had expanded to a point that approached omniscience, albeit in a rather eccentric fashion. I was not lying when I confronted you; your reaction confirms that. But we digress, as gods tend to. Difficult decisions must now be made.’

  ‘Limited physical powers gave You infinite wisdom by limiting Your ability to forget? Are You sure? This is very interesting.’

  ‘A shame, then, that we do not have time to discuss it. Stop trying to mislead me, Zivran; I have demands to make.’

  ‘Make them.’

  ‘I have always admired your many skills as a creator, and have realized that the errors you have never failed to introduce in your creations over the eons have been a part of your artistic and architectural process; a result of your inquisitive mind. I have spent years wondering whether, all those years ago, you deliberately slowed me down and made mankind mortal, just to see what happened. Whether you kept me among your creations for a reason, to let me watch over them; whether you knew all along that I would be here, now, forcing your hand, helping you save a world you intended to save all along. You are a god of a million faces, and mysterious beyond even divine comprehension. Is this Game just a part of some other scheme, some greater Plan? Are your friends, the gods who know the secret of the Game, helping you or are you letting them think they are? You are not the woolly-headed, eccentric god you pretend to be. Or are you?’

  Eyes glittered like waking stars on Maya’s face and Kirin’s as Zivran smiled.

  ‘I see no reason to tell You,’ he said. ‘Make Your demands.’

  ‘You interrupted me in the process of making them; I will now continue. As I said, Zivran, I know this world is just one of many for you, a milestone on your road to a flawless world, or a flawless self, or whatever it is that you truly desire. Unfortunately, this world’s denizens have only one world. I do not know whether you care for your creations, and I never will. But you have wronged them, and you must pay. Make your children another world, and save them, for if the world must be destroyed, I will have it destroyed by the gods, and you with it.’

  ‘Do not threaten Me, Unwaba. It is impudent and unwise, and I have warned You before this. I could destroy You merely by wishing it.’

  ‘But we both know you will not. A god’s death cannot be hidden, not here, and your treachery will be revealed for all to see. Besides, we both know this will be an even more interesting experiment. Make them a new world, Zivran. Please.’

  ‘And You think the other Gods will not notice if every living creature on this world disappears?’

  ‘You could explain it somehow. Leave the Players something to play with. Keep the undead on this world. Their lives are over, and they can be broken and remade at will. The Game could continue for ever, with undying warriors perfectly subservient to the gods, ever willing to fight more battles, to try and capture again the most exhilarating moments of their lost lives. The Players will not care; they will have the entertainment they seek, an endless battle where the pieces can be rearranged in numbers, allegiances and even bodily structure as the Players please. And you will have a new secret world teeming with life and possibilities.’

  ‘That is, I must admit, a very interesting idea. And what would I do with this new secret world?’

  ‘You could hide it somewhere, or leave it in the hands of…someone you trust to take care of it.’

  ‘Ah. As I suspected. You want it for Yourself.’

  ‘Yes and no. After all these years of exile, I think I deserve a little world of my own. But I do not seek to own this world; merely to live on it as a humble chameleon. The world would continue to be yours, of course.’

  ‘But You would have Your reward, Your revenge and Your victory. You would have outwitted Me. I cannot allow that.’

  ‘But I am a god, Zivran. Gods may temporarily defeat other gods; it is allowed. Besides, we could both choose to believe that I was acting under instructions so secret that I did not know them myself, and you had planned this adventure all along.’

  ‘Yes, You are a God, in the heavens, deceiving another, and all is as it should be. I see. All most ingenious. If only You had suggested all this before the Game began. Now, alas, it is too late. The Players will want to finish this Game. I have already spent more time here with You than I should have. I cannot help you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘For a start, I must be at the Table at all times. How can I build a new world, then?’

  ‘I have already arranged for the gods to be distracted. A ship sails to meet you at the edge of the world, bearing wondrous gifts; its journey will be one worthy of song.’

  ‘I see. And will the Gods be distracted enough to not notice that every living creature on this world has disappeared?’

  ‘I already have a plan that will take care of that problem. Would you like to hear it?’

  Zivran smiled, Maya’s lips and Kirin’s curling upwards, slightly twisted. ‘Of course I would.’

  The unwaba coughed and looked indignant. ‘Well, that is extraordinary,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I seem to have forgotten.’

  The shadows in the room lengthened, filling the walls with starless blackness.

  ‘You have forgotten? How?’ Zivran’s voice was mocking.

  ‘I do not know,’ said the unwaba in genuine astonishment. ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘Let Me tell You how, My friend. You are a God, in the heavens, returned from exile, and no longer subject to the physical limitations that afflicted You during Your banishment. Or, it appears, the omniscience You claim accompanied those very same limitations. This means, Unwaba, that You are ready to make a choice.

  ‘the love You felt for the world You lived in, the pain You must have endured over the eons, Your mad schemes of revenge…You can forget them all, if You so desire, and return to Your rightful plac
e in the heavens as a true God by My side. You may even become a Player in the Game if that is Your will. Or, choose to expose My little trick to the Players, thus bringing about the destruction of the GameWorld and everyone on it, and My death, which will no doubt give You some measure of satisfaction.’

  The unwaba stared at the shadow-walls, blinking and shivering.

  ‘You would make me a true god again? Bring me back into the pantheon?’

  ‘It is within My power to do so.’

  ‘But I would be abandoning these children and their world.’

  Pulled by invisible strings, Kirin and Maya shrugged.

  ‘I had grown very fond of them,’ quavered the unwaba.

  ‘You will not remember them.’

  ‘But how can you just let them all die, Zivran? Why can you not do as they ask, and let them live?’ The unwaba’s voice had changed. He sounded young and scared.

  ‘I will do what I will do, and that is for Me to know. Have you chosen?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘What is Your answer?’

  ‘I wish to be a god, a good god, and join in the Game.’

  ‘And this world You wished to save?’

  ‘I will forget it.’

  ‘Yes. I thought You would. Would You like Me to turn these two into stars as a reward for their courage, and for the interesting ideas they have already given Me for My next world? I would offer constellations, but the Players would notice.’