Chapter 446
[Maksulah POV]
“If you bow once, you’ll bow for your entire life.“ Maksulah’s sire had said that frequently as she’d grown. He’d been obsessed with never appearing weak and proving to every other creature that he was, in fact, Laarte the Unbroken. He told dozens of stories of how he got the name, none of them ringing of truth, or even having anything in common with each other, beyond his eventual title. She’d never given any of the tales too much credence, but as she reached adulthood, Maksulah truly understood that her sire had been a pathetic male, incapable of doing anything other than pretend to be something he wasn’t.
Even so, he had a point. It was with good intentions that Maksulah had given in to the keelish. After all, the only other option was death, and that would give nothing to nobody, or rather, it would give nothing to the Misti Hawar and would give more food to the barbarous tribe as they feasted on their prisoners’ bodies. She wasn’t much enthused about the idea of being food, so surrender, when offered, didn’t sound so bad. Then, when a hotheaded Iskatti had begun to make specific plans on how to sacrifice three lives in the hopes of allowing one to escape, she couldn’t believe it. They four had zero information that Unanki didn’t. He’d watched their defeat, and obviously he’d know what was coming, so the only information that the four prisoners could provide to their clans was that the keelish were strong.
Putting her life on the scale in balance against confirming something that everybody already knew seemed to be a pretty stupid choice to make. So yes, she’d dropped hints and given information so as to she ensure that the more eager of her companions didn’t end up getting her killed for their pride. They suspected her as culpable for the failures of their plans, which had been offensive to Maksulah’s pride for about two minutes. After that, when there was an escape attempt and every one of the Misti Hawar watched as their fellow was beaten nearly to death, Maksulah didn’t feel nearly so much regret. After all, pain was pain, and she could get used to anything.
Eventually, the nagging feeling of being trapped from being unable to use her magic went away. Yes, she still instinctively reached out to the shadow whenever she passed under a branch and when the nights grew dark and the guards’ attentions consumed with thoughts of sleep. Despite that, she pushed aspects of herself down. A part of her, perhaps from the Great Hunter himself, whispered for her to do something. To rush forward, to find freedom and to fight for something beyond this existence. Then, the rest of her remembered the sight of Kleeo having his head wrenched back by claws piercing his nostrils while kicks, punches, and overwhelming brutality beat from him any thoughts of escape. Yes, the sensation of freedom from that magic could grant her was insufficient when compared to the pain of beatings and humiliation.
“These idiots don’t realize we won’t negotiate with animals.” Iskatti constantly said similarly stupid things, his mind entirely focused on demonstrating the Misti Hawar’s superiority to the keelish. How he managed to hold his head so high when he was fed off of half a serving of ant flesh every other day was something of an inspiration. Yes, an inspiration in the same way that a rat trying to bite the fox that hunted it was inspiring. Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned, but the rat would remain dead and the fox would get its meal.
“And if our captors realize that the Nyust’Taa will never negotiate with them,” Maksulah called back, “why do you seem to think that that will end well for us?“
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“Death is preferable to this existence you coward!“ Iskatti called back with a snarl. They could look at each other from where they were chained in the unbearably hot prison. A large hole was open above them, but their treatment was far from equal. Maksulah, as the one who had quickly taken the place as the leader of the Misti Hawar prisoners, and those most willing to listen to tequila’s commands, was still chained, but her chains were 10 feet long, and she was fed a serving and a half of the ants every day, with the occasional red meat thrown her way when she did something that the keylist decided was not worthy. Iskatti’s chains were short, less than a foot long, with his feet and hands chained together to a ring that kept him permanently trapped in the fetal position. His rage was understandable, after all, he was in the worst position of all of the prisoners. However, that was nobody’s fault, but his own, as he had constantly looked for opportunities to fight for Freedom. Each, and everyone was thwarted, and every failure left him with fewer privileges and freedoms until he was in his current pathetic situation.