Nichans. Mother had talked about them. They’d been there since before the Corruption. “Beasts, they are beasts,” she had said. She called them monsters, killers, repeated that only their presence prevented the Blessers from crossing the border to save the world from the usurpers still waiting for their sentence in the rest of the world. She said that they were cunning, that they’d learned to take human form, claiming it to be a gift from the Gods. “They’re not human, they’re animals. Before the Great Evil, nothing was worse than them. No, don’t touch the Book!”
Beasts. The little one, hanging around him, with his tousled black hair, his grin, and his sad face. The tall one with his long braid and soft voice. The other one, whose disgusted expression felt like dirty hands on Marissin’s body. All of them; they were all nichans. They’d all touched Marissin at some point.
The child rubbed his arms. He spread on his oversized tunic the fat from the meat he’d finally dropped, now lying on the ground.
“What kind of behavior is this?” Matta asked. “May I know what’s gotten into you?”
Nichans.
The child remained silent and froze.
The truth was he didn’t know how he was supposed to react. Every new piece of information triggered a memory in his mind. Mother knew everything, always had a truth to share about the world. This world, Marissin was finally discovering. The gray sky above him. The trees with their black leaves. White or pink worms swarming in the freshly turned earth. The wind, the sound of the wind, the caress of the wind, the bite of the wind. People, as tall as the man in the doorway, sometimes much taller, like all the people in this place.
Others, almost as small as him. Children . . . like him. He’d heard of them, never seen one before.
On the day Mother left him, the world had revealed itself in a series of colors, smells, and sounds that seeped into him to leave burning prints.
It was too much.
He lowered his head, pressed his forehead to his knees, and closed his eyes.
The darkness was short-lived. Matta lifted his chin and forced him to face her. “Always look at the person you’re talking to during a conversation. Do not look down when I speak to you. It’s impolite.”
Don’t look down.
Don’t look up.
“There is no need to be afraid of me,” the woman said without dropping his chin.
Marissin’s stomach was in a knot. Several hiccups started through his chest. Enough of this! He fought for the control of his reactions and raised his head. He clenched his teeth and stared into Matta’s eyes, as requested.
“Very well.” The woman lowered her hand. “I see you’ve heard about nichans.” The child’s heart failed, but the digging of his nails in his fist gave him focus. “You have no reason to panic like you just did. Do I need to remind you that those children saved your life? They have no intention of hurting you for their own amusement, or at all. Unless you give them a motive.” A pause. “People, humans or nichans, often have some concerns about Vestiges. The country you come from shows no mercy to your kind, that’s a fact. Some people in Torbatt could be just as inflexible. However, the precepts of the Blessers have not been adopted by all Torbs. They—I can see by your expression that . . . Do you understand what I’m saying, young man?”
He said nothing. Matta spoke too much. He had a headache on top of everything else.
She filled her lungs, joined her hands on her lap, and wet her lips. “I’ll make it simple. Some people hate Vestiges. Others distrust them. Others are willing to live beside them. That is the case of my order. The nichans in this clan are suspicious, but they have no intention of hurting you. You seem harmless. Human Vestiges are rarely dangerous. Beliefs and superstitions have fueled hatred.” She paused, then resumed her flow of speech, leaving Marissin both annoyed and calmer than he’d been in a long time. She had a soft voice and kept it low. Her full lips moved slowly, at a soothing pace. She was making great gestures with her hands, taking a few seconds here and there to silence, squinting her eyes, searching for her words. A never-ending pile of words.
When she finished her diatribe, she smiled slightly. “But you—you are able to control yourself. You are neither a plant nor an animal, am I right?”
“Yes,” the child ventured.
Matta nodded and then leaned her head to the side again, looking at the child with the same disturbing look. Marissin couldn’t help imitating her. He cocked his head, wondering if this movement would have the same effect on her, if it had a chance to reveal all her secrets.
She straightened. “It seems to amuse you.”
He spoke no words, staying in that position. His heart had calmed, and he was able to swallow and breathe normally now.
Matta sighed through her nose. “I don’t know if you have any talents due to the Light that touched you—you might not know of this yourself. That’s what scares people, wrongly. Legends and rumors have emerged about Vestiges terrorizing people with the gift. Nothing but lies. It’s extremely rare for a human Vestige to develop the gift. The vast majority of you is simply bothered by deformities beyond our knowledge. I wouldn’t call your eyes or your wings deformities, but it is obvious that these attributes are out of the ordinary. Your wings don’t seem to bother you.”
He resisted the need to hug his body with his right wing. He often forgot that two of them were attached to his back. Out of the ordinary, yes, but a part of him.
Abomination, whispered a voice in his mind.
Matta went on. “People you’ll meet in the course of your life will not much care whether this holy Light came here on its own, or whether you stole it. They’ll always find a reason to hurt you as long as they’ll ignore reality and live in fear. This could be forever, I’m afraid. For this clan and anyone outside these walls, you are a risk.”
She leaned over to him. The urge to retreat overcame the child but he battled it to victory. He would no longer be intimidated, which she was obviously trying to do by cornering him like that. He looked her straight in the eye—the brown one, not the blue—measuring his breath so as not to blink.
“Did one of them hurt you?” she asked quietly.
“No.”
“Good. For now, their hostility toward you is at its lowest level. But there’s no guarantee that it will last. Nichans don’t like humans very much. Those of the Ueto Clan don’t shine through their tolerance . . . or education. I live among them only at the cost of much effort. My help is invaluable to them. If it wasn’t, I could only watch these walls from the outside. If a human doesn’t serve their interests, that human has no place in their home. For this reason,” she concluded, “the clan leader has decided that once you’ve recovered from your wounds and are able to survive on your own, you will have to leave.”
Marissin’s heart began to race again, but the boy remained motionless.
Leave. They were going to throw him out, another way to put it. Would other men come and get him? Would they bring him back to Mother? No, after he came in contact with nichans, she’d never accept him again.
“No,” he said in a breath.
Matta raised her eyebrows. “No?”
“No, I won’t.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“It won’t be easy to convince them to keep you. You can trust my experience on this. If you want to stay—”
“I’m staying.”
None of her warnings would make him budge. She seemed to come to terms with it and righted herself to take a better look at him. “In that case, there’s work to be done. The Uetos won’t accept feeding a dead weight forever. Forgive my harsh words, but you are that dead weight.”
He wasn’t sure he understood, but he let it go on without losing his determined expression.
Outside, muffled by the distance, a wave of shouting rose. Matta was oblivious to the sound. “The three boys who brought you here, help them. From now on they’ll be active members of this clan. Since you’re under the
ir protection, you’re their responsibility. If someone came to ask their opinion, they could speak on your behalf, defend your rights. You must do everything you can to make their lives easy. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Yes, most of it, but not all of it. He didn’t admit it. The way she addressed him annoyed him to no end. Who did she think she was?
She took his silence for what it was: ignorance.
“Help them with their chores. Obey their orders if they give you any. If the youngest one scratches his knees, at least show compassion. That sort of thing. In any case, make yourself useful without being noticed. No more screaming, no more hitting. You’re not a brainless beast; you just proved it to me. So enough of this nonsense. Learn to be grateful too. Those three brothers could have left you where they found you. They were under no obligation to save your life.”
Brothers. What was that? He kept that question to himself even though it burned his tongue.
“Another thing,” Matta said. “You’re going to have to learn Torb, the language of Torbatt.” He frowned. “Torbatt is the country in which we are living right now, on the Coroman Continent. Does it sound familiar? No? Well that is one thing you’ve learned today. Listen carefully to the nichans when they speak. Try to recognize the words. Some of them are close to those of our language. Torb is, of course, different from Sirlhain, but it’s quite a logical language. You are a quick-witted boy; you should learn fast. I’m very busy, so I don’t intend to be an interpreter. If you put your mind to it, you’ll do just fine.” She bit her lip and paused for several seconds. “I’ll try to find time to give you . . . regular lessons, but the effort will have to come from you. A child unresponsive to orders and education is easily made a fool of. You’re not a fool, so don’t let them think so.”
Silence returned to the room and a new, not-so-distant hubbub came over them through the thin window panes. The child dared to look in that direction, but quickly restrained himself. If the woman continued to observe him, he had to do the same.
Apart from a few words here and there, the meaning of which escaped him, he understood what she was getting at.
“You will have to make a great effort, and it isn’t certain that it’ll be enough. Are you willing to try?”
“I’m staying.”
“Stubborn, I see. Now, do you have questions?”
Before he could even think about it, the bedroom door flew open.
Domino had only opened his eyes once between the moment he’d collapsed in his brother’s arms and his arrival in their little hut. He’d immediately regretted his choice. He hadn’t had time to recognize the ink clouds in the sky as Mora carried him. As soon as his eyelids had lifted, a myriad of black and moving spots had appeared, tightening the knot around his stomach. His skull had seemed so heavy that darkness had been preferable to daylight. So all he made out of the situation was his brother’s foot pushing against the wood, the squeaking of the door spread apart, then Mora taking a few more steps before laying Domino on the mattress.
“What is happening to him?” A woman’s voice that Domino didn’t recognize.
Mora wiped his brother’s bloody nose with his sleeve. “My uncle says it’s nothing serious. Domino felt sick after taking the oath. He’ll be all right now.”
Yet, despite the rigor he imposed on himself in front of his brother, Mora was sweating anxiety. The back of his hand rested on Domino’s forehead. “You have no fever. Speak to me, Domino. Say something.”
Nausea still fussed in his gut, but Domino couldn’t resist the anguish in his brother’s tone. He kept his eyes closed but forced himself to pronounce a few words. “I am . . . thirsty.”
His lunch stayed where it was, which was a good sign. He perceived his brother’s movements around him, the lapping of water, then the rough cup around which his fingers closed. He sat up on one elbow and took a sip. Just one. The upright position was a bad idea. The world tossed under his body, and Domino let himself fall heavily against his straw mattress.
“Just lie still for now. Ero said it will pass.”
This name unleashed a surge of fear in Domino; not an urge to vomit, but something more painful, located in his chest and the back of his skull. “I don’t—I don’t want him to do that again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“No more oath.”
And new tears burned under his shut eyelids. As they rolled down Domino’s temple, Mora wiped them with his fingertips with a tenderness more reassuring to the little boy than any spoken word.
“Of course. Only once. That’s all,” Mora said. “It’s done now.”
“You promise?”
“Yes. And you did very well, as I expected. I’m proud of you, little brother.”
Domino’s chest swelled with relief, and he smiled despite his sobbing. Would their mother be proud too? His heart tightened as he remembered that he might never find out.
“I’m done with this boy,” the woman said across the room. “Do your best to talk to him slowly and clearly. It would be good for him to learn Torb.”
“I will. Does he have a name?” Mora asked.
Domino’s attention shifted to the woman, for he’d just realized it was Matta and that the human child was probably here too. If only Domino could smell him or hear his heart. Nausea reduced all his senses to crooked tools.
“He says he doesn’t remember it,” Matta said. “He’ll have to find a new one—”
“I’ll do it!” Domino cried out.
“What are you, his mom?” Mora said.
“I can do it.”
“Why don’t you get some rest instead, huh? Thank you for your help, madam.”
“No ‘madam.’ Matta should be enough. Thank you for taking care of this boy. I’ll drop by again sometime to check on his progress.”
“All right.” The woman’s footsteps echoed across the room before the door slammed behind her. “Can I leave you now, Domino?”
“You’re leaving?”
“We left Beïka alone to do the chores. I’ll go help him.”
“You’re leaving me alone?”
“You’re not alone. The little boy’s here too, in his corner.”
Domino half opened his eyes again and confirmed his brother’s words. The child, as silent and motionless as a piece of furniture, was almost part of the scenery. He’d said he had no name, which meant he had spoken to the woman. Domino was sad to have missed this. Apart from the shouting, he wondered what the human’s voice sounded like.
And then he didn’t have to close his eyes anymore. His discomfort hadn’t gone away, but the dizziness was manageable.
“I’ll bring you a bandage for your arm,” Mora said.
Domino dared to look at the wound. As he held it against him, he’d smeared blood on his arm and on the front of his tunic.
“It’s not so bad,” Mora said. “You’re not bleeding anymore.”
“It hurts.”
“I know.” Mora brandished his bandaged forearm as if to remind Domino that he was no stranger to the experience. “Try to get some rest. The cup next to you is full if you’re thirsty. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
With that, he got up and left the room after taking one last look over his shoulder. Then Domino and the human found themselves alone, plunged into silence and gloom.
Long minutes passed during which neither of them moved; at least, that was what Domino’s senses told him, for he’d closed his eyes again. He was used to the other child staying in his corner. Having refused to join the boys on the large straw mattress, he always slept either sitting in the corner, his head pressed against the wooden wall, or simply lying on the braided reed floor. He wasn’t nichan, and he offered little to no resistance to the cold sneaking under his skin at night. However, it was impossible to get close to him to offer a blanket. So the said blanket lay not far from where the little boy was now curled up, ready to fulfill its purpose.
With this in mind, Domino dozed.
He perceived words spoken in a distant but familiar voice. His mother’s. His name came up regularly, sometimes his brothers’. The rest was but an echo of his own musing, of powerful feet hammering the ground, sending tremors into the marrow of his bones. Then the next moment, he forgot that he’d begun to dream. His attention was elsewhere, without trying to focus on anything in particular. Something approached. He felt its jerky, somewhat wheezy breath. That something radiated heat, a heart pulsing in its core.
Without even thinking about it, he reached out and grasped that something. There was a gasp of surprise, and Domino opened his eyes. Crouched by his mattress was the human. It was his slender wrist Domino had just intercepted. The young nichan relaxed and released the other child.
Domino expected the other boy to run away, but he didn’t. The boy remained still, however, keeping his hand suspended above the nichan, seemingly struggling inside not to withdraw it, his eyes wide open.
Domino contemplated the other boy for a while. He didn’t care that the little human had approached him, something he’d carefully avoided since the day they’d met. At that moment Domino had only one thought in his mind: the human was beautiful.
Domino liked his light blond hair, so different from that of the people in his family. He liked this difference that reminded him how big and how full of mysteries and secrets the world was. Unlike him, he had thin lips whose curves reminded Domino of the graininess of wood. And then there was his pale, delicate skin that revealed the bluish veins under his eyes, on his wrists, and his bruised throat. That scar. It was reminiscent of the typical twist of a rope. Was Domino perceiving it because he’d witnessed this disgusting act, or was the print as clear as he saw it? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that despite all his scars, the one on his neck and the one on the upper corner of his face, the human was beautiful.
Domino decided to tell him. “Your eyes are pretty.”
Then he remembered that the child couldn’t understand him. He sighed softly, keeping silent, not looking away, wanting to make this moment last.
The child had come closer to him. He approached closer still, his left hand outstretched. He held his breath as his fingers found Domino’s forearm. Domino lay perfectly still. This little hand was frozen against his skin, but also very gentle. He looked down. The child’s fingers grazed along his still open wound. He didn’t touch it, otherwise Domino would have hissed at the pain. His gaze swaying from the human face to the hand resting on his arm, Domino smiled in spite of himself.
The Nichan Smile Page 6