“So you refuse the Gods’ gift?”
“I will not risk wasting it. The Gods have blessed us. I won’t spoil the hope they’ve given to our clan. It’d be more sensible to cast you out and lose your teachings than to follow your advice. Domino’s life is more valuable than yours. The Gods would agree with me.”
Issba raised his chin and looked away. He turned on his heels, grabbed another handful of spices from the bowl, and threw it into the fire. “Out. I’m tired of repeating myself.”
Domino grabbed his clothes. He was putting on one leg of his pants when Issba’s voice rose once more.
“You know what you have to do, Ero. You know the best way to restore the true color of a nichan’s blood.”
“He’s too young,” Ero answered.
“He’s almost a man.”
“Barely. He hasn’t yet reached the age of his seasons. Once it’s past, everything will be easier for him.”
His seasons, the rut, a mandatory step for all male nichans. A trivial subject, and yet it made Domino’s heart cower in the depths of his chest. Mora had gone through it. So had Beïka.
His turn would come.
Domino stopped dressing before taking it up again, passing an arm through one of the holes in his tunic. He was hot with nervousness, but the fabric was a protective shell he felt had been split when he undressed in front of the Orator.
“Do you think so?” asked Issba. “There is a beast in him. He should learn to embrace what he is before he reaches that turning point. His future is uncertain—you told me so yourself.”
“Enough.”
Ero’s order once again slipped over the Orator’s will like water on a swan’s curves. “You’ve been afraid of him since he was sworn in. You’ve always felt there was something different about him. That power, that savage force we all yearn for. The truth is, you are afraid he might dominate you. Fear no more, Ero, for he will. You cannot fight against the will of our Creators. Do not attempt to sabotage their work.”
Silence fell yet again. Ero was calm, his eyes locked on the Orator’s arrogant face. In an instinctive move to protect their leader, all the nichans of the council had risen when Issba braved the Unaan’s order.
In the suffocating atmosphere, the Orator never looked away. Both men stared at each other. A puff of smoke rose from the everlasting brazier.
Behind Ero, Domino came out of his torpor. It was too much. He had to get out; he had to leave this room and its rage-filled air. Without closing his tunic, he walked out with great strides.
Issba’s words still echoed in his head as he ran down the stairs. The truth is, you are afraid he might dominate you. Fear no more, Ero, for he will.
Was this what Ero really feared? That Domino would take his place? Had Ero really told the Orator that he had been afraid of Domino since the day of the blood oath? Afraid. Such a deep word. Afraid of a six-year-old who had fainted at his feet? Afraid of a teenager unable to control his true nature?
Domino shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He hated people talking about him behind his back, as if he weren’t there, as if he didn’t have a say in the matter. If his opinion mattered so little, why should he worry about other people’s opinions? No one cared about his fears, his grief, to know how he felt. He was responsible for his brother’s death, for Gods’ sake! All Ero, the council, and Issba cared about was what to do with a pure blood now that they had one on hand.
And Domino, in all this, would one of them ask him what he needed? Probably not.
Without further hesitation, he went through the village woods, and found the breach. No one had closed it yet. He pushed the bamboo logs out of the fence and slipped out of the village. He’d come all the way here without thinking, driven by an overwhelming desire for truth. He wouldn’t get far. If others saw him and punished him, he would accept it. It was worth it.
The rain was still falling, masking the smells, transforming them, awakening many others. Domino navigated between the trees, trusting his fragmented memory. He advanced with a determined step. But the closer he got to the place, the more his confidence weakened. It had been raining for several days; perhaps the tracks had been washed away.
He hesitated and stopped dead in his tracks. In front of him, a tree had been cut down. Not with claws. Not with a saw as humans did. It was broken in two. The wood fibers were still clinging to the rest of the trunk lying in the grass. Much of the top bark had been brutally torn off, as if something as hard as rock had smashed the poor tree. Probably the cause of the fall. It was a beautiful specimen, thick, at least fifty years old. Domino released the breath he’d held against his will and approached. He had the feeling that he knew what had caused this tree to fall.
On his right he recognized the place where Ero had fought and finished the first dohor. On his left, the place where he and his brother had stood, listening to the cries of the other creature who’d probably already spotted them. No blood on the ground, as Domino had expected.
No blood, but something else.
Impressive lacerations in the earth. Deep, irregular, awkwardly drawn.
You saw the dohor. You transformed and attacked it. But . . . your movements were messy. You could barely stand on your feet, as if you’d never learned to walk, like a child. Ero had not lied. These grooves could attest to that.
Domino bent and grazed the wet earth with his fingertips. He closed his eyes and concentrated. If only some pieces of this moment could come back to him. Anything would do to give momentum to the rest of his memory.
The missing spots of his mind remained out of reach.
Nothing.
He breathed as Mora had taught him, soothing his nerves, delving into his mind.
Still nothing.
He opened his eyes again. How could he have forgotten?
The upside-down tree.
No, even a blow to the head wouldn’t have been enough to make him forget. And even if it had, then his memories were not really lost, only buried deep in his head. Yet Domino felt as if he had none, as if the accident and his transformation were a lie, or as if his mind had refused to hold onto even a single second of these events.
He peered at the scene one last time, moved closer to the tree, and rubbed his palm against its skinned trunk.
Nothingness. Not an image, not a feeling outside the suffocating emptiness that dashed all his hopes.
It was a lost cause. How could he ever accept what he’d done and what he was if none of it seemed real? But Mora’s absence was real, as was Belma’s grief, Beïka’s grief, and his own.
He’d come here for nothing.
X V I
Domino turned tail and returned to Surhok, soaking wet all over. He opened the wall and crept inside the village. A familiar scent shook him with surprise.
First appeared his asymmetrical dark wings, then his light hair, like no one else had here. It was soaked and dripping on his bare shoulders. He turned his back to Domino, motionless, his arms at his sides.
Domino watched him silently, enjoying if only for a moment the peaceful presence of his friend. He was seeing Gus for the first time in days. An impulse was urging him to get away from him. Another implored him to never leave him again.
Gus turned around and sighed imperceptibly. Shadows rimmed his eyes. As Domino noted this detail, Gus’s expression hardened. “I thought I’d stay here, in case anyone else followed you.”
Domino wanted to thank him but remained silent. He’d avoided Gus for days and yet Gus was here, watching over him, covering him as Domino was defying the clan’s rules once again. A mere “thank you” felt uncalled for.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Gus asked.
The truth wouldn’t hurt, so Domino answered. “Not quite.”
Risks taken for nothing.
“Everyone’s been looking for you lately,” Gus said. “They keep asking me where you are. I never have the answer. What a shame.”
“It’s better for everyone.”
“I did. I don’t want to hurt you.” The words came out of his mouth, desperate. “I’ve already taken Mora away from us. I don’t want to do the same to you. I won’t survive it.”
That confession stole a sob from the bottom of his guts. He missed Gus so much, he missed Mora even more. In an instant, the thought of losing them both was unbearable, more palpable than the rain pouring down on his skin.
“I’m not afraid of you,” said Gus, his jaw tightened.
“I am.”
Gus turned completely to Domino and reached out his hand. Something was trapped inside his fist. He opened it, revealing a piece of dried sap carefully tied to a long, soft leather cord. Domino had forgotten that piece of amber sap, the one that reminded him of Gus’s eyes, as he’d told him.
Domino had dared share this confession. After showing it to Gus, he’d told himself that he could do it. To cross the few inches between them would have been enough, as well as a hint of courage. He would have moved slowly enough to reveal his intention, to give Gus a choice. If Gus had given him permission, Domino would have kissed his lips. But everything had gone upside down and a beautiful day had turned into an endless nightmare. Now, would he ever dare get that close to Gus again?
“Come home with me,” Gus said.
Domino looked at the palm of his friend’s hand. He was weak and couldn’t bear the thought of being alone.
So he grabbed the necklace, slipped it around his head and hung it to his neck. In the end, he’d quickly decided which part of him he wanted to listen to.
When Gus marched back to the village, Domino followed suit.
He found his hut identical to what it’d been before the accident. As always, the bed was undone, the blankets—useless in this season—pushed back to the foot of the mattress. A plank of wood had been laid on the braided floor, not far from the small extinguished brazier. A few sharp tools lay around. Inside, silence reigned, barely disturbed by the drops hammering on the roof.
Domino gently sniffed the air. He recognized smells of vaguely familiar plants—not the kind he associated with his home. Apart from that, everything was normal. As normal as their lives could be after the recent events.
He walked into the room and stood there, uncertain what to do with himself. Gus sat on the edge of the bed. He must have realized he was soaking wet, for he got up suddenly and started to change, finding dry clothes in a wicker basket by the window. After a moment of dull wavering (what was safe or not?), Domino did the same and hung his wet clothes from the rope running across the corner of the room. Water dripped on the floor.
Gus stood beside him. Maybe too close. “Your hand,” he said, taking an extra step.
Domino’s right hand was slowly healing. The still swollen knuckles tore at each movement. “It’s nothing,” he said, disposed to step back if necessary.
“If it’s nothing then it will only take me a second.” Domino clenched his fist and partially hid it behind his back. “Domino . . . ”
“You don’t have to heal me every time. I can take responsibility for my mistakes.”
Gus looked up at his friend’s cut and bruised forehead. He clenched his jaw and a trembling exhalation left his chest. “It’s been five days. I want to do this.”
Five days since Domino had begged him to keep his distance. Five days since Mora . . .
Burying his fears deep inside himself, Domino relaxed his hand and let Gus close his on his flayed skin. As expected, the process lasted only a handful of seconds. Domino’s muscles tightened and a coolness as gentle as water flowing between his knuckles carried the pain away. Gus raised his eyelids and held his friend close to him, palm to palm. Even though he’d noticed the harm Domino had inflicted to his head, Gus only focused on his friend’s hand.
Domino should have taken his hand away. He left it there for a moment, appreciating the softness of Gus’s skin and the comfort that infused peace into his body.
Then he tore himself away from the soft grip. “Thank you.”
“You’re exhausted,” Gus guessed. “You should get some sleep.”
He didn’t ask where Domino had been the last few nights. If he wanted to know, at least he gave the nichan a chance to keep his secrets.
“I don’t know if I can . . . if you stay close to me. If I have a nightmare . . . ” Domino remembered then that it was still early and Gus wouldn’t come to bed with him.
Gus didn’t react. “We can talk about it if you want.”
“I can’t. I don’t remember anything,” Domino confessed, knowing what Gus was referring to.
“Nothing at all?”
“It’s all gone. Everything.”
“Even what happened before?”
A pause. Domino stepped away from his friend and leaned against the wall. Tears were already returning, burning his tired eyes.
“I panicked,” he said. “There were two dohors, not just one. The first one that jumped us wasn’t the one from the cave. Ero got it so easily. At least it looked easy. I still panicked, I . . . I’ve never been on a real hunt. I almost shit myself like a fucking child.” His eyes went to the infinite stitch of the floor. He paused again and focused on Gus’s heartbeat. Steady and balanced. “There was another one left, the one who’d marked me as its prey. The one I—” Domino took the time to wipe his wet face and nose and sniffed. “The other one attacked and . . . I don’t know. I felt weird. I felt like I was breaking into pieces. It’s blurry, like a dream. I can’t remember. I’m . . . I’m afraid I can’t tell the difference between reality and my imagination.”
“You need sleep.”
“Is it even safe? What drives me crazy is that I don’t know if this house will hold up if I transformed in my sleep. Can I transform in my sleep? How could I know? I don’t want to do it. I don’t . . . I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be a pure blood, I—”
Suddenly his breath ran out and he turned away from Gus, resting his forehead against the wall. He pressed his fingers against his eyelids and, in a desperate effort, tried to swallow his tears. He was tired of crying, of feeling so febrile and helpless. He couldn’t take it anymore.
“I took plants from the infirmary,” said Gus, his voice softer than before. “They can help you, soothe you. You’ll get a dreamless sleep.” He took a longer breath. “No one’s expecting you to go back to your chores today. And if they do, I’ll take care of them.”
“It’s not your responsibility,” Domino whispered, still facing the wall.
“It is. I was one of the dohor’s prey. I should have been there to . . . You did nothing wrong.”
“I killed Mora,” Domino cried, pressing his fits hard against his eyes, as if shoving his eyeballs to the back of his skull would end the pain for good.
“It wasn’t your fault. You panicked. Your emotions were out of control. That’s when you transformed. That’s right? Domino.” And that name, uttered in a breath, was like a gentle caress to the nichan. “The more you wear yourself out, the more likely you are to lose control.”
Long seconds passed during which Domino absorbed Gus’s words. When he turned around, his friend was already holding a cup between his slender fingers. Domino nodded, and Gus gave it to him.
The water inside had a bitter taste. It made his tongue raspy. Domino swallowed it in one warm gulp, returned the cup and let himself go against the wall again. “I don’t want to talk or think about it.”
“Then don’t.”
Gus walked over to him. The room lacked light; Gus had only turned on one lamp, which was now on the floor. Domino could barely see his friend’s eyes.
“Don’t let me think about it,” he implored.
“Come on.”
Gus walked across the room and settled on the floor in front of the wooden plank. Domino joined him, sitting on the other side. He could feel every inch separating them, wondering if his beastly shape could fit all the way into the hut, if Gus would have enough time to rus
h out before that happened.
Domino shook his head and grabbed one of the wood chisels lying around. He knew this wooden plank placed in front of him. A closer look revealed drawings and lines carved into its uneven surface. Gus spent a lot of time leaning over this board. When Domino would go away for days at a time for hunting training, it was by carving that Gus would fill the silence. The shapes he traced ignored the grain of the wood. They veered, rushed, and circled, some straight and precise, some curved and interlocking. None of them matched the other, proud of their independence. The end result was a chaos born of long hours of work. Neither beautiful nor ugly. As Domino knew, this was just a way for Gus to kill time.
Domino had never carved anything on this board. Gus had offered to let him do it, but the nichan had turned it down. Even though Gus didn’t seem to care much for the work, it belonged to him. It was up to him to finish it. This time, however, Domino held the chisel in his right hand and placed its point against the wood in the lower right corner.
“What can I carve?” he asked, already regaining control of his voice and emotions.
“Whatever you want,” said Gus, who was already scratching the surface with his own blade.
“Show me.”
Gus looked up. His dark eyes met his friend’s and he probably understood the message. Don’t let me think about it, Domino had asked.
“A circle,” Gus said. “Not too big. It’s a good way to practice, to take the chisel in hand.”
“Okay. There?”
“Yes.”
“Am I holding it right?”
“Yeah. Just carve the circle into the wood, just on the surface, gently. It doesn’t have to be deep. There you go. You can rectify it here.”
“Right here?”
“Yes. Now you know where to dig. Take a hammer. You hit here. Make sure you point it in the direction you want to go. Not too hard.”
The Nichan Smile Page 20