Slowly, very slowly, Malia started to calm down and catch her breath again. She didn’t react when Uldr spoke of how He liked her real name better, indicating that He knew quite a bit about her origin and background. She should have anticipated it, shouldn’t she? But then, nobody knew what the Gods had in store for their followers, how they chained them even if they didn’t believe anymore, what nasty tricks they used. Tanroa was different, of course, but Uldr was like the personification of some of the worst character traits ever. Simple hate he was.
Malia, although that same feeling was still pulsing through her veins, infusing her ichor and pounding in her undead heart, slowly got back to the familiar emptiness she was used to. Oh, it’d never be the same again. Every second she lived she’d feel what He had planted inside her, exist with a curse that was even worse than living forever.
Because the waves of extreme feelings dispersed, she could control herself and keep her mouth shut about the following explanations. Being a God, Uldr would know the dream she chased regarding Rhysol … and perhaps He could help her in more ways than giving her power? Wheels inside her head started spinning now, as she contemplated possible risks and dangers of her asking the appropriate questions and the probability of an agreement that went beyond the contract. Wouldn’t it chain her even tighter to the God of Undeath? Did she really want that?
Following His finger with her eyes, Malia realized the remnants of her clothing were still lying on the ground, pretty much shredded to pieces. For a moment her mind wasn’t quick enough to recognize what He meant. Should she pick it up? But she couldn’t wear it anymore. She certainly wouldn’t play the cleaning maid in His temple, even less so in His presence. Surely He had less valuable followers to do those tasks for him? Like that bootlicker of a priest, for example. So Malia didn’t move, but rather listened to the rest of the explanations. She should have asked for the information in the first place. If He hadn’t been so delighted, she might have been dismissed without knowing the important side notes. Think, think, she whispered to her emotion-infused brain.
Indeed, what He presented to her was shock therapy: Followers with more marks being able to control her and life-long service … or longer, depending on how much Uldr liked her as a follower. Malia swallowed, burying strong emotions that were flaring up in her eyes once again. One thing she knew: No matter what He said, she’d try to come free of those chains as soon as she had completed the Kahnikivas story.
Nevertheless she spit out some more words: “I will try to keep it in mind.” Sarcasm, yes. What else could she do to let out even a little bit of what was raging inside her? There had to be a way. There had to be a way. Anything else was fine. Those thoughts were rolling around in her mind again and again.
Feel lucky. Hah! He was playing a game with her; that much was obvious. Only what kind of game Malia couldn’t decipher yet. Gods were hard to read … As a Nuit, she perhaps had a tiny advantage, compared to pulsers, but she still didn’t know how so much power felt like, how it altered one’s psyche and mindset. It certainly would be interesting to find out.
And because she still couldn’t think straight, although she tried, tried so hard, there were more words escaping her grip and flowing out into the air. Like water. Dark and thick with blood. “What about the Rhysol follower? What is your position, assuming that the God Himself will enter the stage sooner or later?” You have agreed to help me. She was guessing now, hoping that Gods with similar domains held some kind of antipathy for one another. The Valterrian was proof that divine wars were indeed possible and that Gods and Goddesses didn’t live in perfect harmony in the Ukalas.
Perhaps Malia could use that fact to her advantage? If only she knew more about relationships between the divines … But then she sensed and saw that Uldr was gone, gone like He had never spoken to her. She was on her own again, alone with His slimy follower.
