“Are you going to stay here long?” Ero continued, as Domino remained quiet.
“There are worse things.”
“For a wild beast, yes. But nichans don’t hide. We don’t run away.”
“In that case I’ll go back to the village. We’ll see if I’m a nichan . . . or a wild beast. Let’s see who I’m—who I’m gonna kill next. How’s that sound?”
Ero clicked his tongue and stared into Domino’s eyes. “Are you done?”
“It’s too dangerous,” Domino said.
“So you’re going to stay here, like the village idiot everyone hears about but never sees? Will you steal food at night when everyone’s sleeping, like a rat?”
Fuck off, Domino wanted to answer, but the words didn’t cross the barrier of his lips.
Ero sighed and shook his head. “You must eat. Your brother wouldn’t want you to starve to death. You think he came between you and this dohor for you to throw your life away?”
Domino’s chest swelled.
“There’s a meal waiting for you. As long as you are part of this clan, there’ll always be one.” Ero stood up. “You don’t have to talk, you don’t have to do your chores for now. But out of respect for all your brother has done for you, don’t let yourself fall apart. I won’t let you. And before you start shitting yourself, no, that’s not an order, just a reminder.”
“Respect,” Domino repeated, forcing a bitter laugh. “Is that what it’s called when you stick a blade in a child’s face?”
There was silence. Domino stared at his uncle with a look so bitter the challenge it raised twisted his guts.
They’d never had this conversation. Domino had always avoided the subject. To forget, to forgive, to move on. He’d achieved none of this.
Ero stared back at him. “You want to talk about this? Now?”
Domino said nothing, didn’t look down.
“It was a mistake,” Ero said.
“True. Now you’re gonna tell me you were blinded by sorrow.”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t regret anything, do you?”
“We’re done with this conversation.”
“Unlike you,” Domino continued, ignoring his uncle’s answers, “I’m not hurting anyone by falling apart.”
“Your Vestige is looking for you everywhere.”
Ero’s remark struck him like a slap in the face. Domino instinctively stood and looked around.
“I sent him back to his chores,” Ero said. “I was tired of him snooping and begging just because you’re avoiding him.”
Domino relaxed a little and looked down at his injured hand, whose swollen knuckles restricted his mobility. Had he been here, Gus would have grabbed that hand between his own and applied some of his gift. That one touch, at once cool, tender but numbing, would have been enough to persuade Domino to return to him. Knowing that Gus was looking for him and asking after him crushed his heart. Gus never asked for anything from anyone. Ever.
Domino took his head in his hands.
Ero sighed again. “It’s raining, Domino. Why don’t you get up and eat? I’m sure you can decide how you want to waste your life on a full stomach.”
So Domino followed him and ate. Then he was gone again.
X V
Never before had a boy as young as Domino been invited to attend the village council.
He’d spent two more nights outside. The first had seen him rolled on his side in a sheltered corner of the kitchen, deserting it before breakfast was prepared; the second he spent between two henhouses. He’d never imagined that after so many years he’d come back and get stuck between these pens. He’d crawled in there with difficulty, enjoying the comfort of the warm boards, the smell of straw, and the constant clucking of the chickens. When the rain returned in the early morning, he had no choice but to seek another shelter, a dry place away from the other nichans, away from anyone prone to talk to him.
But he couldn’t escape his uncle so easily. Ero had grabbed his arm, preventing him from going back to the baths, and brought him to the auditorium.
The room was located in the sanctuary, above the great hall, and was intended for various uses, always approved by the Orator or the Unaan. The village councils were held there, private ceremonies whose nature remained vague in Domino’s mind. He’d understood that it was also here that the village Orator inked the tattoos honoring the dead. It was accessed by a staircase at the back of the sanctuary, out of sight.
Domino had never set foot here. The room was more private and exclusive than any other place in their territory. Nichans had to go to the Prayer Stones to pray and honor the faces of the missing Gods during the Callings; the banquet hall was a place of gathering, announcement and sharing. But the auditorium only opened its doors to a few privileged or mournful people.
Domino entered with apprehension, holding his breath. Seeing the columns surrounding them, the imposing wrought-iron brazier in the center of the room, the deep, richly colored carpets all around the flames, he first thought he was going to receive the marks. A touch of excitement mixed with humility warmed his heart. He wanted so much to honor his brother, to bear the marks that would help support Mora’s soul to the Gods, to keep his memory intact through eyes that from now on would glance at his tattooed skin.
Many of the clan’s nichans were tattooed. After the premature death of a family member, a nichan would always receive the marks. Beïka would do it if he hadn’t already. So would Belma. She’d probably wait a few years to bring Natso up here, so that he’d be old enough to endure the brutal pain of the needles and understand the value of this ritual.
Domino was ready. At that moment, it was all he could do for his brother. He’d never get forgiveness, could never go back. The marks were his last gesture to the one who’d raised him longer than their mother had had a chance.
The Orator stood in the center of the room, throwing handfuls of spices into the blaze to perfume the air. Although he’d never spoken to him, Domino had seen the man many times over the years. His name was Issba. He looked barely older than Ero and wore his hair long, very long, in a thin twist reaching his calves. The sides of his skull were closely shaved. The pocked skin around his ears and on his cheeks was evidence of a skin disease cured years ago.
He briefly raised his brown eyes to Domino and Ero as they entered the auditorium and then returned to his spices, sorting them in the palm of his hand before letting the flames consume them.
Issba was a man of the Gods, entirely devoted to the divine word, to remember and share with his fellow nichans the memory of a time when the Faces of the Gods still brightened the sky. The Orators’ role had changed after the Corruption’s arrival. Before that, they’d been nothing but men and women praying all day long to thank the Gods for the blessing of life. Since the other nichans were busy hunting, roaming the world, and breeding, their people needed someone to pray continuously on their behalf. In days of old, Orators were the only ones who remained exclusively in their human forms. A necessary renunciation to love the Gods. Then the Gods had disappeared, and the Orators had gained influence. After all, they were the sole bearers of their Creators’ memories. They always prayed for their kind, usually alone, but it was said that only the Orator of a clan wasn’t accountable to the clan chief.
It was only today that Domino faced from up close this thin man, dressed in a faded, black linen shawl.
Ero pushed his nephew to the carpet and motioned for him to stay there. Domino obeyed and knelt. Issba still ignored them, even when Ero passed by and threw into the fire some spices collected in a round golden bowl.
Then Orsa arrived, repeated the same process, and sat down on a carpet farther away. Within minutes, three more nichans joined them. They all took their places, Ero included. As the flames crackled, the Orator kept them waiting. He then settled on a cushion on the floor on the other side of the brazier, across from Domino.
“My young apprentice is ill,” said Issba in a voice tha
t carried effortlessly to the other end of the large room. “This is very unfortunate. He shouldn’t miss an event like this.”
“You explicitly asked not to wait any longer,” Ero reminded him, annoyance folding the skin of his forehead.
“I know what I said.”
“Have you changed your mind then?”
“We don’t change our minds. One of you will have to visit Tulik during the day to report back to him the content of our conversation. I do not have time for that.”
There was silence around the fire. One of the nichans sighed. It was Omak. “I’ll take care of it,” she said.
“They will be eternally grateful. What we are witnessing in these dark days may never happen again. The Gods’ will is mighty and beautiful, but it weakens if we forget to—”
“The days are short, Issba,” said Ero, and everyone turned their eyes to the Unaan, even Domino, who until then hadn’t been able to veer his attention away from the Orator’s hollow face. “If we’re to climb to the Stones, we better hurry.”
Issba then set eyes on Domino, whose heart beat stronger and stronger. The man got up, walked around the blaze—more stifling than anything else at such a time of year—and positioned himself in front of the teenager. There was sweat on the man’s chest, forehead, and short nose. He rubbed his hands, bent down, and lifted Domino’s chin with his fine, delicate fingertips. He pushed back the dark, wavy streaks falling on the boy’s forehead. “This is a beautiful face,” said the man for himself. “How old are you, boy?”
“Thirteen. Soon fourteen.”
“Thirteen. You already look like a man. You’re growing up well. Your eyes are frank, though full of doubts. But the signs can’t escape me. You already have a proud stature. Let me look at you. Get up. Take off your clothes.”
After a long hesitation, Domino complied. He got rid of his tunic and trousers and laid them at his feet. Nudity rarely made him uncomfortable, but in the middle of this room, with all eyes resting on him, facing the Orator and his piercing scrutiny, Domino knew what humans felt, what their modesty dictated to them. He resisted the urge to hide his sex behind his hands.
Issba studied him from head to toe, settled a finger on his waist, then his hip, going up in a firm pressure to feel the fine muscles of his arms. “You have a good build, good shoulders. You will become a beautiful man, I can attest to that. Are you a virgin?”
Domino swallowed heavily. “Yes,” he said, heat washing through his face.
“That will have to be taken into account,” Issba said louder, as if addressing someone other than Domino.
“Indeed, he’ll need a good girl for his seasons,” said a nichan named Anon two places farther down the circle, his forearms decorated with thick honorary tattoos.
Domino knew that the man had lost his partner even before Domino and his brothers arrived in the clan. The two men had been part of the council since before Ero became Unaan of the Ueto clan.
“I was worrying more about cultivating that virginity,” Issba replied, turning Domino’s face to the left, to the right, bending slightly to touch the curve of his throat and the bone pointing under the skin. “Losing it could alter his abilities.”
“Maybe review your judgment on that,” Ero said.
“Do you know what is good for him, Ero? Do you know our ancestors’ nature?”
“He’s a pure blood. I saw his true nature with my own two eyes, thank you. It will be torture if you forbid him to take a woman during his seasons. Since he has to go through this, I see no reason to impose any abstinence on him. It’s part of us. At least leave that to the boy or you’ll kill him.”
“He’s probably above that.”
“No one’s above it.”
Orsa smiled, and Omak glanced obliquely in Domino’s direction. A gaze that didn’t fail to emphatically detail the teenager’s anatomy. Omak had always looked at Domino with insistence and curiosity. Or want—he couldn’t have said. For his part, Domino tried to remain dignified in the face of this conversation, which had become too personal for his taste. He rather lost track of it.
He now knew that there would be no marking. The Prayer Stones were their next destination. Domino already sensed that he wouldn’t like what would happen there.
“I can’t forbid him from doing anything,” Issba resumed after a pause. “I am only here to offer my advice and knowledge.” He lifted Domino’s chin again between his fingers, forcing their gaze to meet. “Our Almighty Gods have set their eyes on you and they have made a choice. They do no such thing without purpose. You will have to prove yourself worthy of it.”
Domino’s eyes wandered. Ero looked at him, as did the other nichans in the auditorium. The boy looked down. Were the Gods really responsible for this? By accidentally taking Mora’s life, had Domino disgraced their offering? None of this felt like a gift. Whatever it was, he was sure he was no longer worthy of anything. He’d failed the Gods. He’d failed Mora.
“Come on, boy,” the Orator said, shaking Domino’s face. “You don’t have the choice. Don’t you want to make our Gods proud?”
The man seemed to be waiting for an answer. For once, Domino was at a loss of word. Issba added, “And your people, your clan. Everyone is counting on you.” He let go of Domino and stepped back several paces, opening his arms wide as if to take flight, a slight smile arching his lips. “Honor them, boy. Reveal your smile.”
So that was what this was all about. They expected him to transform? Here? Had they lost their mind to request such—
For fuck’s sake! He was responsible for his brother’s death. Were they all craving the same end?
They don’t care. They think Mora was weak, that they can survive this beast . . .
Domino forgot the man who stood before him, his charisma, his title, and pushed away in a powerful strike everything that made up his being. No more nichan smile, Domino even dulled his senses.
His answer was sharp and final. “I won’t do it.”
Ero folded his arms across his broad chest. He’d already been offered this line.
Issba raised his eyebrows, somewhat surprised. “Come on, I know it’s intimidating but there’s no reason to be shy. You are safe now. Don’t be scared. Let’s see it.”
“No.”
The Orator lost his smile and his arms fell along his body. He stared at Domino accusingly and less forgivingly than Ero had a few days earlier.
“That is not an acceptable answer, boy. Whatever grief you are going through, you have no excuses. You are almost of age to be raising children. Act like an adult.” The lack of a positive reaction from the boy forced the man to show more authority. “Besides, that is no way to stand. Come here. Here, I said! Do not resist. Stand there. Stand up. You think this is a way to honor the Gods? No, look at me.”
Instinctively, Domino had turned his eyes to Ero, begging for his help. How ironic to have only his uncle to rescue him at this moment. His uncle who had insisted that Domino accompany them on their cursed dohors hunt.
Ero’s expression darkened, but he didn’t move an inch, his jaw muscles rolling under his beard.
Once again, Issba moved back to give Domino enough room for a transformation that didn’t come. “Reveal your true form, be proud,” said the Orator.
“No.” Domino stood on his feet, jaw clenched, his anger rising. “No, that’s a simple enough word. I think anyone in the rest of the world would have understood it by now.”
His hands trembled as he struggled against the urge to run away, to scream at the man to let go. He had to keep his calm, and insolence was all he had left to restore his strength.
A resounding slap smacked his cheek. Domino opened his eyes wide as Issba pointed a finger at him, the burning tongues of the flames shining in his eyes.
“I won’t accept this answer,” he said. “You dishonor the memory and the infinite goodness of our Creators. I will not tolerate it any longer. Transform yourself immediately!”
“I will not.”
Another slap.
“Transform at once!”
“No.”
Then another one.
“Don’t waste my time.”
“No!”
The Orator’s hand went up, quick as lightning. The blow didn’t burn Domino’s cheek. With a firm grip, Ero had stopped Issba’s hand.
Issba exhaled in surprised. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Stop hitting him,” Ero ordered wearily.
“You dare defy the way of the Gods?”
“I don’t intend to watch my nephew slaughter you, so reconsider your attitude before it gets ugly.”
“I am not afraid of him.”
“Your courage does you honor, but it wouldn’t save you.”
“Indeed.”
Issba got his arm back and, despite being a few inches shorter, looked at Ero with the luminous gaze of a man who fears no harm, who bends to no law. Domino had taken the opportunity to step back. In the auditorium, the nichans watched the exchange in silence. Orsa had stood, ready to defend her partner.
“This boy has to wake up,” said Issba.
“He will, but not under your will. Last I heard,” Ero recalled, “I’m still his Unaan. And in his mother’s and brother’s absence, he’s my responsibility.”
“You think you can solve this problem without me?”
“I’ve achieved a lot without your . . . guidance.”
“In that case, get out.”
“You said you wanted to go to the Stones—”
“That’s not the case anymore.”
“I thought you Orators didn’t change your minds.”
“The boy refuses to obey. Unless you force him to, it would offend our Gods to go up to the Prayer Stones under these conditions. I will not do them such an insult. Are you going to force him?”
Ero took a brief glance at Domino over Issba’s shoulder, brief but long enough for the hesitation lingering at the edge of his mind to show.
Domino would leave his clothes here. He would flee before the order fell.
“It’s interesting that you fear the effects the loss of his virginity could have,” Ero told the Orator, “but that you don’t care what shock his being might suffer if I ordered him to go against his greatest fears. The blood oath isn’t without danger to body and mind. You already know that. You Orators refuse the oath for that reason. Given what he is, it’s impossible to say what—”
The Nichan Smile Page 19