Ishar sometimes found himself going through the motions without participating in any direct way. Sometimes, as others spoke, he would just sit there as if separate from all that occurred, it wasn't that he wasn't aware, far from it, he listened but he found meaning to be corrupted by other things, other emotions that painted the mosaic of his experience as something entirely different from what was.
The Water Seekers all talked in unison, their faces scrunching up with what Ishar could only articulate as excitement. They spoke of him as one would a God but there was the underlying tone that spoke of him as a harbinger of sorts. Those who'd walked silently for majority of the journey suddenly couldn't be silenced. With gestures, moving their arms about like geese preparing to take off, they spoke of him and all he could do was just stare straight ahead of him.
He wasn't looking at the hulking Kolotians who acted as sentries to the gaping hole that led to where the Kolotian colony actually was. He just stared straight ahead of him, as if unsure of what else he should do. But he didn't suffer the nervousness of a bride to be, he felt rather like a groom whose bride was uncertainty and his every motion should aim to mirror her composition lest he drew her ire.
He licked at his lips. So far everything had gone according to plan, he was finally among his own kind. But instead of the jubilation he thought his heart would exult in, he instead found himself under a blanket of melancholy. Deep seated sadness set perch upon his heart. A sadness that could only be heightened with every glance at all that was around him.
Here were his people, hiding in the desert.
Ishar had charged the late King Vayin Vigon. Stripped him of his dignity and made a mockery of his throne. The servants of Meena who so avidly debilitated his people were a floundering mess who'd just tasted the consequences of their actions by his hand. Yet, out here in the desert his people remained, out here they did not know of what went on in the realm. Cut off from society, cut off from progress. They hid, every breath borrowed and every idea snuffed out under the yoke of suffering that was fixed to them.
He'd dreamed of this, seen himself at the head of a grand procession of Kolotians, traversing the desert. Heading to where water flowed freely and everything was a lush green, a different tone from the brown sand all around. It was his purpose, he knew this. He had to act at the moment, stir his limbs into motion. Demand an audience before the Kolotian Colony. Demand change!
But wouldn't it be better to just observe everything until something happened that would tilt things in his favour? And here he found himself at an impasse, unsure as to whether to act or not.
So he stood as the Water Seekers talked, as one of the sentries went into the hole and later emerged with ten more hulking Kolotians who circled him on all sides. The Water Seekers picked up their stone cans and placed the severed Binorian heads where they'd been for the better part of the past few days. And in they went, trailing behind Ishar who was boxed in on all sides.
Within the hole in the ground, things took an unpleasant shift. The ceiling was too low. The walls too narrow. They reached a part where they had to march single file, the big Kolotians trailing ahead and behind Ishar. It looked as if they were heading deeper towards darkness, the walls getting narrower then suddenly a gust of wind from ahead spoke of a wider space. Squeezing through a particularly narrow slit, they emerged into a dome formed from rock crusted with green slime that glowed. The glow was enough to enable Ishar to see all that was around him.
Kolotians. Old Kolotians, young Kolotians, sickly Kolotians, healthy Kolotians, curious Kolotians, frightened Kolotians. Everywhere he looked there were Kolotians and they all had the same thing in common. Most of them were missing fingers.
Dirt caked cloth made tents that seem to have been perched in a box set with a path cutting across each set. There were close to two score tents per box set and the stench of unwashed bodies permeated the surrounding. The glow from the walls gave the place a luminous glow that would have looked beautiful if the dirt didn't infringe so much on all that was around.
The tents seemed to go on forever and as they walked throngs of Kolotians joined in, some hugging the Water Seekers and pestering them with questions. The once eager to opine Water Seekers now walked in silence and when the Kolotians peered into their stone water cans, screams ripped the air and it seemed the roof would come down from all the commotion.
Through all this Ishar maintained a languid air, his every motion simple and his bearing as mild as an emperor's in a golden palanquin. This were his people, scorched and suffering. They were his people, weak and shriveled. His people!
He balled his fingers into fists, this checked the large Kolotians flanking him. Soon they emerged from the rows of tents to a wooden contraption in the likeness of a house that stood at the far end. From this contraption a man emerged, flanked as Ishar was flanked by tall brawny Kolotians.
The man had a pinched face, almost rat like in its severity. Thin whisps of hair marked what was once a lustrous mane. His smile revealed missing teeth but his hands had a full set of fingers. He was dressed in silk, something none of the other Kolotians wore. A ring made of gold decorated the little finger of his left hand. He walked with a cane that looked fashioned from ivory and he approached with the air of one who was used to giving orders and seeing them followed.
The whole congregation of Kolotians bowed, from the Water Seekers to the dust caked urchins who riddled the place. Everyone exhibited picture perfect humility before the man in silk and the very air was thick with the rancid anticipation of what would come next. They all bowed but Ishar remained standing.
He never bowed, not to Desan and not to Vayin Vigon. And certainly not to the man who stood before him, taking him in with eyes two sizes too large for his face. The man gave a gapped tooth smile and spoke, a raspy voice that bounced across the dome, "Alright, what's this then?"
"Your end." Ishar answered and all rose to regard him. He smiled and he knew his eyes flashed amber and the man before him stumbled back a step. His people were beaten and worn out. His people were forgotten and ailing. His people starved and thirsted. His people did not know what comfort was. All this would change when he stood in the place of the one regarding him, and there was only one way to do that.
But still, the thought of letting things be until a tilt occurred that would pour everything into the correct sequence that would be favorable for him plunged him back into the impasse. And Ishar found himself floundering, unable to find meaning to every thought strand within his mind. Madness is for the few. Ovek spoke from within him and he found himself finally having a glimpse of something with understanding.
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