The Nichan Smile

by C. J. Merwild

  The woman reached out to open the door, but Ero stopped her and pulled her out of the way. Good, Domino thought. If she stayed close to them, she risked being hurt. Ero opened the door, bent down to enter.

  One step was enough. A sword flew across their field of vision, missing Ero by an inch.

  Domino entered, shoved inside by Beïka and Memek, who appeared to take care of their opponents. Bent in half under the low ceiling, Domino avoided the next blade that passed close to his arm. Without thinking, he struck down. His fist crashed into the nose of a long-faced man, splashing blood everywhere with the amplified sound of a cracking egg. The man fell to the floor as another, larger and bathed in sweat, hastened to replace him. Domino hesitated, frozen on his feet. But unlike his companions, his nichan smile didn’t appear. No transformation on the horizon.

  As if he’d just noticed it, the human took his chance. He turned and grabbed an old human lying on the ground next to his fellow bloodied partisan, using the old man’s body as a shield. The elder was missing half of his left leg, his teeth, and his hair. Probably the farmer’s husband. The partisan brought his blade close to the old man’s throat.

  Fury grew in Domino. As quickly as his human form allowed, he grabbed the partisan’s arm, his grip as strong as a steel bracelet, and mowed the legs of the two humans facing him. The old man collapsed on the dirt floor, escaping the partisan’s hold. The partisan remained standing, without balance, hanging from Domino’s fist. Domino clenched the human’s wrist tighter. The man lost his sword, which bounced off the ground in a metallic clink. He growled as a yelp rose and died in the yurt. Then another, right behind Domino. The nichan veered his eyes. Dark human blood drenched the bottom of his pants. More blood on the ground. A clicking noise snapped close to his ear. Domino turned to the man he was still holding. The next moment, a silvery glow reflected the light coming through the open door. Domino’s eyes widened. A circle as black as nothingness presented itself to him.

  The mouth of a pistol.

  The end of the barrel aimed at him between the eyes.

  A clawed hand whistled in the air, and a dark stream of blood dashed around. A long trail partially blinded Domino and ran down his eye. Then the cannon disappeared as the man, his throat slit to the bone, exhaled before his eyes. The human’s head fell to the side, opening the wound like an oyster.

  Still in shock, Domino didn’t realize until several heartbeats later that he hadn’t let go of the dead man’s wrist. He forced himself to unfold his fingers. At his feet, the old man held his shoulder, crawling away from the tree around which his yurt was built. Its trunk vaguely resembled the shape of human legs…

  A tree . . . with human legs. There’s blood on its knees.

  What was he thinking?

  Domino wiped the blood leaking inside his right eyelid and looked around. Memek stood beside him. She panted through the rows of fangs, her ebony hair and skin blending in with the darkness of the yurt. She shook her hands and blood slid down her black claws. In this form, it was impossible to make out her tattoos.

  Behind them, Ero and Beïka wiped their faces. The humans at their feet no longer breathed. The fight had lasted less than a minute.

  A gasp broke the silence. The old woman entered her battle-ravaged yurt, her knees bumping in fright and exhaustion. She sailed among the shredded human corpses, the overturned furniture sprinkled with blood, and joined her companion, who found the strength to stand upright.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, to which she replied with a kiss on his bald, sweaty forehead.

  “Pick that up,” Ero said, bringing Domino back to reality.

  His uncle pointed to the bodies. They had to be buried. Domino avoided Memek’s heavy gaze, and they both obeyed. If he’d been quicker, he would have stopped that human from drawing his weapon and sticking it under his nose. And a glance in Beïka and Ero’s direction as they carried the corpses outside told him that the two men had witnessed his blunder.

  They gathered all the limbs and guts, put them in the ground, and recited a brief prayer before returning to tell the farmer that the job was done. Even though she didn’t chase them away, she closed her door on them without a goodbye. As the nichans turned on their heels, picking up their saddlebags, Domino noted that the piece of red cloth had been snatched from the door.

  They were no longer welcome.

  X X I

  Contrary to what they’d suggested, the entire region wasn’t dry. They found a small brook a mile to the south and washed themselves in it. The red blood of the humans stained the swirl as the morning heat continued to rise.

  Domino moved away from the group. He used no pretext, just walked along the shore, and sank into the shadows of the trees. He couldn’t leave the area. Ero’s order was still acting on him, like an anchor stuck deep in the sand, limiting the range of his movements. He could feel it getting heavier as he went along. Each step became more difficult and hazardous. So he stopped and looked up at the sky, trying to distinguish the shape of the clouds among the thick foliage.

  Domino could have died today. The cannon would have exploded in his face, spewing millions of sharp, incandescent shards. His unrecognizable-faced body would have been buried in that forest he didn’t know the name of, far from Surhok. From Gus. Ero would have returned to the clan without Domino.

  He took his face in his hands and groaned in frustration. What would have happened if he’d transformed? Would he have controlled his actions, his emotions? Would he have killed a family member again? It was of little comfort to know that Mora’s death was an accident. Mora was still dead.

  He looked down at his hands. This morning he’d fought humans for the first time in his life. He’d reacted instinctively, taking only a second to study his opponents and find the quickest way to neutralize them. Up to a point, he’d succeeded. But there was a simpler way to beat a Blessers supporter. Memek had shown him.

  Had she ever killed someone before today? She hadn’t hesitated, her movements of dazzling speed, as precise as Ero would have been. Memek was only two years older than Domino, but the gap between them was tremendous. Well, she was the clan leader’s daughter, after all. And as for her father, a human had taken Javik, her older brother. It was hardly surprising that she showed so little mercy.

  “Are you going to do this often?” asked a voice behind him, and Domino tensed from head to toe.

  He turned his head vaguely without facing his brother. “What do you want?”

  “Right now? I’d gladly break both your legs. Then you’d finally have an excuse for your bullshit.”

  Beïka had just taken what he thought was a commanding tone. He wasn’t emulating Mora’s behavior—a calm and compassionate mother figure—but Ero’s. Even his choice of words was vaguely reminiscent of something their uncle might have said. But in Beïka’s case, these words, as always, sounded hollow.

  “Why don’t you find somewhere else to be?” Domino replied.

  He didn’t fear his brother, hadn’t in many years. Nothing that united them was like the bond he’d shared with Mora. Beïka had always repudiated Domino.

  Like the other nichan children . . .

  When Domino came into the world, had he turned Beïka’s life upside down? Had Beïka grown up with fear in his stomach, turning it into hatred because, unlike other kids, he couldn’t run away from his own kin?

  It was possible, though Domino wouldn’t ask his brother to confirm. Beïka was way too proud to admit that Domino’s existence had had such an impact on his life. True or not, nothing was enough to justify the odious way Beïka had always treated him. But at least he understood. Domino’s true nature was nothing but trouble.

  “I’m fine just here. Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Beïka cried out.

  Domino didn’t make a move. “Fuck off.”

  “You think you’re above everyone, right? Domino, the pure blood, his people’s hope. I don’t see any nichans in front of me. And to think the Gods cho
se you, that they gave this gift to you. That’s twisted! Look at you, they made you human. Incapable, a coward, weak. If I were you, I’d feel like shit. Tell me, does your weakness suffocate you some days? Does it make you want to end your fucking life?”

  This time Domino turned around. He was already tired of this day, and it was just beginning.

  Why had Ero asked Beïka to accompany them? As backup? As an older brother? In that moment he was only stirring up the grudge Domino had buried deep within himself since childhood. The sight of the honorary marks covering Beïka’s throat and chest intensified this resentment. Domino should have been marked. He and Mora had formed a family, a powerful and genuine bond to which Beïka was a stranger.

  “Look at you,” Beïka continued in disgust, scrutinizing his little brother. “A waste of time and space, that’s what you are. You and your puppy eyes. If I’d not seen it with my own eyes, I’d refuse to believe that a brat like you ripped off our brother’s head.”

  No . . . Did I do that? His . . . head. I . . .

  Just like Ero, Beïka knew Domino had no memory of the events of that day. Was he lying right now? He was Beïka. The words leaving his mouth were only venom and hatred.

  The same hatred grew in Domino. He caught it in flight, filled it with his warmth, and let it give him strength. “Is it jealousy I see? And you think you’re strong and brave. Oh no. It’s not brave to be jealous, Beïka. It’s me the Gods have chosen, you say? So what? You think you would have made a better candidate? The rest of the clan probably would have taken you down by now if you were in my place. Do you know why?”

  Beïka walked toward him, his teeth clenched. “Shut the fuck up, you little shit!” He stopped within a hair’s breadth of his brother’s face.

  Not the least bit intimidated, smelling Beïka’s hot, raging breath on his chin, Domino continued in a calm, unhurried voice. “Ours would have taken you down because it would drive you crazy to be what I am. Because you don’t have what it takes. You can parade as much as you want in front of Ero, pretend to be him, imitate his every move, kiss his ass. You’re wearing yourself out. There’s a crowd of nichans more capable than you to succeed him.”

  “I’ll make you shut your fucking mouth. Is that what you want?”

  Domino looked right into his brother’s eyes. They were the same height and knowing that Beïka had finished growing where Domino hadn’t made him gloat. Domino didn’t care much about his own height, but such a detail mattered to his brother.

  “Whatever happens, I know at least one thing about you. They would never have chosen you,” Domino said, pointing to the skies. “And I’ll tell you something else I know, because we share the same blood: one of these days, when you realize that you’re less than a bug, you’ll fall on your knees before me and beg me to forgive you for being a dick. You—”

  Beïka’s fist crashed into Domino’s temple. His head went to the side but he regained his balance, throwing himself on his older brother, no longer containing his rage. He struck Beïka’s stomach with his fist, once, twice. The man retreated a step, groaning all the air from his chest. But he resisted. His knee flew up, right for Domino’s crotch. Faster than him, Domino blocked the kick with his left palm. He pushed his brother’s leg to the side, and his fist struck harder under Beïka’s ribs.

  Suddenly he felt the change as much as he saw it through the dark stars surging from every corner of his sight. Beïka’s skin was turning black.

  The asshole is transforming!

  “Enough!”

  Ero.

  Domino let go of his brother. As he returned to his human form, Beïka took a step back. Domino did the same.

  Ero approached, frowning. His gaze shifted from one man to the other but stopped on Beïka. “Go back to Memek right now and wait for me.”

  Beïka obeyed immediately and disappeared between the trees. He was replaced by Ero’s silhouette, more massive, indestructible. Still vibrating with anger, a pain pulsing in the soft corner of his face, Domino lowered his eyes. If he raised them to Ero, the blood oath would make him nauseous again for daring to look at his leader with the fierce hatred now tensing his body.

  “You still want to leave?” Ero asked. “Go back to Surhok?”

  Domino was surprised by the question. “You know I do.”

  Ero nodded. “Let’s say you go back. Let’s say you give up on the idea of one day accepting what you are. What do you think will happen?” Domino remained silent, for his uncle was about to lecture him once again. “You’ve seen these humans just as clearly as I have. They’re worse than the one who killed my son. They travel around, looking for nichans to slaughter, humans to punish for looking at us without spitting in our faces.”

  “I’ve never fought a human before,” Domino said, knowing where this speech was leading them, feeling the need to defend himself. “I just need more experience.”

  “No, Domino. Any nichan would have known what to do without any training. You know that, so don’t even bother making up excuses. Mora was no hunter, yet he didn’t hesitate to kill to protect you. He was your age when he did it for the first time. He knew what to do. It is part of who we are. We don’t hesitate. And you lost that. You’re so afraid that you’ve destroyed day after day what makes you one of us.”

  “I’m still nichan,” Domino said shaking his head.

  Stuck in his human camouflage, refusing above all to accept his original form—that of his ancestors, the true form of all of them—could he still claim to be nichan?

  I am nichan, no matter what shape I am. I will always be nichan.

  “The Blessers are going to invade our lands one of these days,” Ero said. “Not pathetic followers, but those who inspire them and make them believe that by getting rid of us, the Gods will return. It is their hatred that ruins the lives of nichans and Vestiges.” Domino swallowed hard at the sound of this word. “How long do you think you’ll survive against their weapons? Take two seconds and imagine that. You’re barely faster than them. Barely stronger. They’ll kill you effortlessly because you didn’t do what needed to be done. They’ll kill you, your family, and your Vestige.”

  Domino suddenly looked up. He ignored the cramp that forced in his spine to bend him and struck Ero with his eyes. “Don’t talk about him,” he raged through his teeth.

  An order. The cramp twisted his stomach, and he breathed faster, a vein hammering against his swollen temple.

  Ero had an amused grin. “You want to hit me, don’t you? Answer me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course, you do. No one touches your Vestige. It belongs to you.”

  “He belongs to no one!”

  Domino was feeling worse and worse. The anger he directed at his uncle was unhealthy, going against the oath that bound a nichan to his Unaan. But he couldn’t calm down. Imagining Gus at the end of a rope still made him sick. Anyone who touched Gus—human, Blesser, or nichan—would pay for it.

  His uncle knew exactly where to hit to hurt.

  “If you attack me, you’ll regret it, and I don’t have time to wait days for you to recover. So I’m gonna do you a favor, and we’ll move on. How’s that sound?” Ero spread his arms. “Hit me.”

  Domino didn’t react, shocked by this request that he never thought he’d hear from Ero’s mouth.

  Ero left him no choice. “Hit me!”

  Domino shouted as his hand collided with his uncle’s face. One blow, just one, in the nose, exactly where he’d imagined it to land. Ero’s head went backwards as a crackling sound echoed through the woods.

  It wasn’t enough, hardly a fragment of what his uncle deserved, and yet it did Domino a lot of good. He shook his hand, waiting for the aftermath of his attack. But the cramps were gone. His guts unraveled. By responding to Ero’s order, an order he dreamed of carrying out, Domino had silenced his torment. Or at least part of it.

  His uncle straightened his head, wiped the blood from his broken nose. At the base of the bridge, the shatter
ed bone threatened to pierce the skin and break free. But Ero didn’t blink at the pain. He stared into Domino’s eyes. He took a step, placed a protective hand on his nephew’s shoulder, and struck.

  Domino wasn’t as tough as his uncle. He bent in half, Ero’s fist still buried under his ribcage. Its power drove the air out of his lungs. His belly contracted. Domino collapsed at his uncle’s feet, close to vomiting and crying. He managed not to cry.

  Here it was—the aftermath.

  “Join us when you can walk. Don’t come back crawling. A nichan doesn’t crawl in front of anyone,” said Ero, his voice distorted by his blood-clogged nostrils.

  How long do you think you’ll survive against their weapons? You’re barely faster than them. Barely stronger. They’ll kill you effortlessly because you didn’t do what needed to be done. They will kill you, your family, and your Vestige.

  Slumped to the ground in the fetal position, Domino tried to push his thoughts away. Amidst his nausea and the headache resulting from Beïka’s blow to his temple, Ero’s words pulsed through his mind like blood in his ears, like acid in the pit of his gut.

  They will kill you, your family, and your Vestige.

  It would happen, no matter how it was done. Domino had seen the barrel of a pistol up close today. He’d been close to meeting his end. The beast inside him, the nichan he truly was, wouldn’t have feared the bite and the burning of crystal shards. Domino would have killed this partisan before the idea of using his weapon even occurred to him. He could only assume, only believe, that the beast that Ero and a handful of nichans had seen three years earlier was capable of this. That beast had killed a dohor. When Domino had awakened that night, he hadn’t a scratch on him—only a bump offered by his uncle. The dohor hadn’t had time to touch him.

  A nichan as powerful as their ancestors were before the Great Evil. In this form, only the Gods knew what Domino was capable of.