The Nichan Smile

by C. J. Merwild

  “Gus,” Domino repeated. “Are you sick?”

  The human’s breathing grew sharper, shivering, and Domino’s fingers found the other child’s hand. This one, frozen and in slight spasms, didn’t avoid the touch. For the first time, Gus accepted what little comfort the young nichan offered him. The next moment, he did more than accept it. He leaned over to Domino, rubbing his shoulder and the corner of his head against the wooden pen, and let himself go against the young nichan.

  Taken by surprise, Domino froze. Gus had never done this before. His behavior had been a succession of hot and cold responses. And for the first time, Gus was huddled up against him. How frightened and hurt was the human to willingly seek affection?

  Recognizing the value of this gesture, Domino wrapped his arms around Gus’s feverish body. The shoulders, the back, the wings, even the terrible smell; he hugged it all in a protective embrace. Immediately, the human burst into tears. Domino’s arms held him tighter, amplifying the other child’s weeping. Tears burned Domino’s eyes, but he managed to swallow them. He had to be strong for Gus. He found his brother’s gaze on them, taken aback. Mora was as shocked as he was.

  What had Ero done? Domino was certain Gus wouldn’t tell him. All he knew was that his friend needed him, and he would be there.

  His friend, yes. Domino would be his friend, if only for as long as the other boy would need one.

  With exhaustion, Gus’s tears dried up after a few minutes. All the while, he remained leaning against Domino. The tension in him diminished. His breathing slowed, more regular now.

  Domino didn’t loosen his embrace when Mora broke the silence. “Let’s bring him back home. Clean him up. A nice bath. Something to eat. Let’s get him warm. Gus, can you hear me?” He called him Gus, imitating his youngest brother. A few seconds passed, then the child nodded against Domino’s shoulder. Mora sighed. “Good. We’ll take care of you. Don’t worry. Can you get up?”

  This time, the child answered in the negative.

  “I’ll take care of it,” said Mora, rising despite the lack of space.

  With his face still hidden under his hair, Gus sighed. A small voice came out of his mouth, hoarse with exhaustion. “Am dirty.”

  “It’s all right,” Mora promised. “We all need a bath tonight.”

  With that, he gently captured the child in his arms, stealing him from Domino’s, and they left the barnyard.

  Domino pulled the blanket up over Marissin’s shoulder and lay down in front of him. He smelled of soap and his thick black hair was curling, still wet. Behind him, Beïka, who had reappeared after the children’s bath, was sleeping. Mora kept watch.

  Beneath the thick layer of braided wool, Domino’s hand found the human’s. Their fingers remained together for a while, intertwined, one absorbing the other’s heat.

  Marissin refused to close his eyes. There were so many more chances for bad dreams to haunt him tonight. As long as he saw Domino’s face, then his dreams couldn’t reach him. He would eventually fail, but he wanted to stay in control of himself for as long as he could.

  “Don’t you want to sleep?” Domino whispered.

  He, too, seemed to struggle to keep his eyes open. He had never needed much sleep; he always spent half the night ruminating and fidgeting in bed, finding reasons to get up before dawn. But tonight he would pass on. The dark circles under his eyes confirmed that it was time for this day to end. That was a lot. Too much.

  Marissin didn’t answer.

  No. Not Marissin. He’d stopped answering that name months ago. “Gus,” he said.

  It was a shallow breath in his mouth that he could barely hear himself. But Domino shook his hand under the blanket. “Yes,” the nichan said.

  “Gus is my name.”

  Domino nodded, a slight smile on his lips. It was good to see him smile again, even if it stretched the deep scar under his eye. “I can tell you a story . . . A story about the sea. Or about the birds who came to . . . ”

  But Gus lost his fight and didn’t hear what happened next even though Domino’s voice soothed him for a while longer. His lids fell over his eyes, and he fell asleep.

  That night it wasn’t a rope that startled him out of sleep, but the dark blue of an Op crystal.

  I X

  The young nichan’s skin turned black and a smile stretched his mouth, wetting his dark, leathery lips with spit. He was young, no more than nine years old, and a whistle passed between his long sharp teeth. Nothing but bluster, but this child, if he wasn’t careful, could do a lot of damage.

  Facing him, taller by at least three heads, Domino readjusted the rosary of dead hares on his shoulder, feigning indifference. It happened like this every time. Peace had become a luxury.

  Domino squinted and took a quick look at the boy from head to toe. “You know it’s forbidden, right?” he said to the child.

  The boy’s expression shifted, but with the nichan smile splitting his face in two, it was impossible to read it.

  “My mother says you’re a failure,” the child spat.

  The words, almost incomprehensible, were deformed by the rows of teeth that altered the movements of his tongue. But the meaning was easy to grasp. It wasn’t the first time a kid insulted him. Domino was far too hot to argue or to take offense at the words of a child just out of the egg who barely knew anything about life.

  He sighed. “Yes, great. It’s still forbidden.”

  “I do what I want.”

  More words half eaten by his beastly mouth. Like most children who were still learning to transform, it would take a few years for the child to express himself clearly. A quick observation on Domino’s part. All the kids in hunting training shared the same issue.

  “Do you, now?” Domino asked.

  “I’ll transform if I want to.”

  “A nichan has no right to attack a nichan from his own clan. The transformation means death, you stupid slug. If anyone sees you doing that, you’ll be whipped. Personally, I don’t give a shit. I’m just reminding you of your options.”

  The child seemed to hesitate. “You’re lying.”

  “You want to check?”

  “You’re lying! You’re just jealous. And I can even attack you if I want because my mom says you’re not truly a nichan.”

  Domino had stopped counting the number of times a kid decided to throw those words to his face. The little one in front of him wanted to play big because he had recently gained access to a power far beyond anything he’d ever experienced before. Mora said that he’d felt invincible during this period of his life, before being quickly brought back to reality by their mother. As for Beïka, nineteen, he still hadn’t returned to reality.

  Domino smiled. He didn’t know how he would feel when he finally managed to transform himself. In any case, a disrespectful offspring wouldn’t get the best of him.

  He grabbed the rope that bound the five hares he had just pulled out of the traps set in the land around the village and threw the limp animals into the dust. “If you want to, go ahead. Attack! But hurry, I have better things to do today than kick your ass.”

  Once again, the child hesitated and his smile seemed to fade.

  Domino knew the risks. With his young, thick fangs, his claws still supple but deadly sharp, this kid had the ability to inflict serious injuries. And even though the gossip about his tardiness was somewhat true, Domino didn’t want to be gutted to prove his point. He was offended, although he didn’t let the child see it. At thirteen, Domino should have been able to transform himself long ago. He should have participated in a real hunt, not in the simulations reserved for younger children and supervised by a member of the council. He worked every day on his transformation, even when Mora didn’t have time to help him. He could do it; he refused to doubt it. But the Corruption had robbed nichans of some of their abilities. How could they be sure that Domino wasn’t the next stage in the evolution of this taint?

  He stood on his feet and waited for the child to act or giv
e up. Part of him hoped for the latter.

  The young nichan growled. “You’re trying to trick me.”

  “Of course I am.” Domino laughed.

  A stream of spittle spattered between the kid’s fangs and fell into the rocky dust. Domino had had enough of this. He was thirsty, had already emptied the bottle hanging at his waist, and fresh water waited for him in the village.

  Let’s get it over with.

  “Go back to the village with your tail between your legs and tell your mother how you quit,” Domino said, his senses alert.

  A good reflex, for the child charged immediately. Still a novice, he kept his arms back where any older nichan would have wielded those sharp appendages while jumping up and down to destabilize their prey. Domino bent and raised his hand. He then closed his fist on the child’s bowl-cut hair, stopping him dead in his tracks. As he expected, the child tried to free his hair from Domino’s grip. As his clawed hands rose to attack Domino’s fist, passing a hair from the teenager’s face, Domino bent his legs and mowed down the child’s.

  In a brown cloud of dry earth, the boy collapsed to the ground with a dull sound. The shock disturbed his concentration. He barely understood what had happened to him that he had already returned to his human form.

  “I’m going to kill you, asshole!” he roared as he got up in a hurry.

  “Numo!” called someone a little farther away.

  The child was startled and turned his eyes at the sound of his name. A woman approached. Omak. She watched the children today and carried on her back a half-asleep little boy whose ankle had doubled in size. She was small for a nichan, thin and muscular, with round cheeks permanently hollowed out by deep dimples, and skin as dark as Domino’s. She was in her thirties, and her annoyed expression marked the closing end of this long day.

  With heavy steps, she approached, not as furious as she should have been. “What are you doing, Numo?”

  The young nichan held her gaze, but he couldn’t hide his shame. “Nothing,” he lied.

  “Nothing? Then what are you doing here? We called the retreat. Why are you hanging around?” He opened his mouth to defend himself but was denied the chance to do so. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  The boy took his time, and Omak kicked him in the butt without shaking the child she was carrying on her back. Grimacing in his sleep, the child seemed not to notice what was going on around him.

  Domino was picking up his hares when Omak turned to him, eyeing him up and down. “You know kids don’t like you,” she said as if reminding him of the time. “Why don’t you stay away?”

  Domino bit his tongue and smiled, raising his eyebrows in a falsely innocent manner. “They’re adorable, don’t you think? Why stay away?”

  “You’re too old for this.”

  “Well, let’s just pretend I’m here to watch them, yes?”

  “Oh really? Then maybe you should stick with me during the training. I’d probably have a thing or two to teach you. Who knows?” She licked her lips, eyes on Domino’s bare chest, then abdomen.

  She was bathed in sweat. The hair cut short around her face stuck to her smooth skin. And as Domino turned to her, she pushed open the neckline of her tunic, revealing the inner curve of a breast. Then she smiled at him.

  Her glance and posture seemed to wait for an answer. On her back, the boy she held stirred, assaulted in his sleep by a feisty fly.

  Something pressed at the back of Domino’s skull, and he shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  It was Omak’s turn to sigh. “Whatever. If you ever change your mind . . .” He wouldn’t. “Come on, keep moving. I want to get home before the storm hits.”

  Domino overtook the woman. Once his back was to her, his smile faded.

  For two months, the heat climbed, reaching new heights, making the nichans’ toil unbearable. The riverbed of the village dried up, as it did every summer, leaving the source running deep under Surhok as the only access to fresh water. No one in the clan had ever endured such heat. It weighed and slowed down every gesture, kept everyone awake at night, soaked each individual in their own juice. And it brought in its wake a pungent and volatile dust that triggered coughing fits in the most fragile ones.

  Only children still had the energy to run around and act as if this season hadn’t turned into an inescapable torment.

  The cries of those same children returning from “the hunt” caught Gus’s attention. He raised his nose from the mulberry leaves he was spreading in various iron boxes and tiptoed up to look out the open window. (He may have grown up, but nichans always placed their windows above the level of his eyes.) Under a steel-gray sky, a group of children crossed the limit of Surhok. After the first wave, a second flowed into the village. Domino was among it.

  “Are you done cleaning up? I can see you snooping around,” said Muran, the herbalist, across the room.

  Gus ignored her. Outside, Domino smiled and stood up straight as an “I” despite the heaviness of the air and the sweat covering his half-unclothed body. Despite his playful and optimistic nature, the nichan’s grin right now was forced. Gus knew something had happened.

  “Damn it, aren’t you done daydreaming yet?”

  Muran seemed overwhelmed by the heat. Her voice was barely a whisper, with no vigor at all. A brutal cough squeezed her chest, and she hurriedly searched her things. Under the table on which she prepared her mixtures, the older woman found a terra cotta jar closed with a cork. She swallowed several sips and coughed a little more—a cough of a whole other nature. However, the alcohol in the jar had the desired effect, and the woman spilled the liquid one last time into her greedy mouth.

  When she turned her attention back to Gus, he sighed his displeasure. He’d missed his chance. There was something in the infirmary he’d promised to get his hands on.

  “Won’t you share a sip with a poor, thirsty boy?” Gus asked in an equal tone.

  Muran sighed and the jar went back to her belongings. “You’re almost done. You’ll go quench your thirst somewhere else. Water is scarce this time of year.”

  Did she truly believe she was fooling anyone? The woman’s penchant for the bottle was nothing new. And she dared give into that habit in a place meant for medical care.

  Two knocks rang out against the door of the infirmary. The woman dragged herself to the entrance with a limp gait. On the other side of the door, Domino appeared. His smile widened as he saw Muran—another forced grin—but his gaze softened as it fell on Gus. Gus relaxed and winked at his friend. With a slight wave of his chin, he pointed to the location of the object he was to take and then pointed his finger at his own chest. Domino’s expression remained unchanged. He knew what to do.

  “Muran, one of the kids sprained his ankle,” Domino announced, leaning against the door frame before wiping sweat from his shiny forehead.

  “Where is he?” the woman asked. “Why didn’t you carry him here?”

  Domino had the herbalist’s full attention. Gus seized the opportunity to act before it passed.

  “Omak’s the caretaker,” Domino said, shrugging. “She’ll be here soon. I’m just the messenger.”

  “That’s all you are? If Omak’s already planning to come here, what good are you?”

  As false distress and scruples danced across his face, Domino shook his head. “You’re right. What is wrong with me? I’m really useless. I thought you were going to close the infirmary. I didn’t want you to have to come back. Please forgive my unfortunate behavior. What a fool I can be—”

  “All right, shut up.”

  Sighing, her voice still broken from the cough, Muran took one step to turn around. But Gus wasn’t finished. Domino’s voice echoed from the threshold.

  “Wait.”

  “What now?”

  Gus replaced the boxes he’d just moved and signaled to Domino that the coast was clear.

  “Do you have something to drink for me? My waterskin is hopelessly empty,” the boy said, waving his flat-skinned fla
sk as proof.

  As he closed and put away the jars Muran had entrusted to him to justify his presence in the infirmary, Gus smiled. On the other side of the room, Domino was innocence incarnate, a gentle smile curling his lips.

  But the herbalist had had enough. “Get the taint out of here, both of you, and drink somewhere else. Yeah, that goes for you too, Vestige. Get out and close the door. You’re bringing dust in.”

  With his fist clenched on his booty, Gus obeyed. When the door slammed behind their backs, Domino frowned and wiped his face again.

  “If I hear her call you Vestige again . . .” he said as they put distance between the herbalist and themselves.

  “With all that alcohol in her belly it’s a miracle she remembers her own name,” Gus eluded, refusing to let Muran’s attitude cloud their mood.

  Domino probably understood his intention, for he moaned like a dying man, raising his arms and face to the vanished Gods. “I’m fucking thirsty!”

  The nearest fountain was close. The water they spurted out was warm, but Domino shot toward it without hesitation and then placed his head right under the bronze faucet. “It’s decided. I’m staying here until the end of summer,” he said as he pressed on the pump again and again, water trickling faintly from the back of his head to his forehead and cheeks.

  “I’m thirsty,” Gus said, and his friend immediately gave him room. “Hold this for me.” He handed Domino a small dark cigar as a reward for their day’s work. Domino caught it between two wet fingers as water dripped from his black curling hair to his shoulders.

  Water was a miracle in Gus’s throat. He rinsed his hands and face before throwing water on his wings over his shoulders. He straightened up as Domino was about to turn his heels.

  “Wait,” Gus said, raising his hand high—Domino was at least a head taller than him—and capturing the nichan’s chin. “You’re bleeding.”