“Let me go,” Gus hissed through his teeth. Immediately, the hand slipped farther in. “No!” He twitched his muscles, wiggled. Unable to get free, he squeezed his legs. Behind him, Beïka laughed, happy to finally get that lively reaction he’d been waiting for so long.
Then he inserted a finger inside Gus.
I’m gonna kill him! I’m gonna kill him! I’m gonna kill him . . .
“Domino wouldn’t like it if someone else fucked you,” Beïka whispered in his ear, his breath reinforcing Gus’s nausea. Pressure grew as another finger was added. “But maybe I should help myself, too. Stop moving, or I’ll find something other than my fingers. There’s plenty of branches outside.”
His fingers sank even farther, more threatening, pulling a strangled moan out of Gus. Then Beïka insisted beyond what anatomy should accept and pressed his full weight against Gus. The pain grew as Gus contracted, refusing the penetration. Caught between the wall and the nichan, he stopped breathing altogether. One breath, and he would call for help. It would be the end of him. No one would come to help him. Beïka’s satisfaction would reach new heights.
“You disgust me. It’s not my thing. Men, I mean. But I could do it,” Beïka mused, giving a brutal jerk that hammered against his hand like a mallet on the back of an ice pick. “I could mount you like an animal, make you scream and bleed, just to spite him. Then he’d understand that I’m not to be toyed with. My brother wants me on my knees. I’ll get him on his knees. I’ll make him beg me.” Another push of the hand. “Or maybe you can beg for him. To give me an idea. Are you gonna beg? Are you? Come on, to please me. Just do it. Beg me!”
His fingers folded on themselves, and pain radiated all over Gus’s body. His mouth opened against his will. “Stop it!”
“Again!”
The pain intensified in furious shocks, again and again and again . . . Choking under his own skin, Gus whimpered, “S-stop, please! Please!”
They stayed in this aching pressure for a few more endless seconds.
Beïka giggled. “I wish he’d heard you. Faces! You were born for that, monster. We’ll practice again, don’t worry. I’d hate to disappoint my little brother.” He freed his hand, wiped it on Gus’s shoulder, leaving a trail of blood, and let go the next moment.
Gus stood still. Yet his instincts told him to react, to flee, to get away from the predator, to hide. He couldn’t do it. Facing the wall, half-naked, he waited with his heart suspended on the edge of his lips.
He didn’t see Beïka leave, only heard the door creak and close. He then pulled up his trousers with hasty gestures, his sweaty hands both clumsy and tense.
Gus remained in the middle of the room for a long time. The tension in him threatened to break him in half. Standing on wobbly legs, he was expecting the door to open any second. When nothing happened for the next few minutes, he thought about going out. He couldn’t stay here. He had to leave.
He walked toward the door and stopped. A voice in his head told him that Beïka might be on the other side, that he might have anticipated Gus’s next move. So the young man hesitated for an eternity.
Brace yourself. Don’t let yourself be caged.
But he was in a cage, and Surhok was his prison.
Domino’s passage, the hole in the wall . . .
Gus hadn’t been there in years, hadn’t thought about it for just as long. After the accident that had lured the dohor to the village and hastened Mora’s death, he and Domino had avoided leaving the territory again. But Gus had closed the passageway after they returned from their trip outside. Maybe that breach still existed. Gus could do it; he could run away. Or at least plan his departure.
He had to make sure of that.
Still tense with fear, he grabbed the lamp and forced himself to open the hut door. In the narrow gap, he couldn’t detect the slightest movement. In the distance, through the song of the night breeze, voices echoed from inside another house, and even farther away, laughter. But the place was deserted. Without further ado, the young man went out and cautiously walked away from his home. He didn’t run into anyone, but stopped several times, hiding, becoming one with the shadows, to make sure he was alone. When the woods finally opened up in front of him, he quickened his pace after peering over his shoulder one last time.
His lamp offered him little light, but he soon found his way and the section of wall Domino had opened for them three years ago—at least, Gus was sure it was here. Beneath the branches hovering above him and swaying in the wind, he approached the bamboo ramparts and pushed. He pushed harder, testing one after another, the trunks thicker than his own thighs. The wall resisted and never shifted an inch.
Harder.
He found a safe spot to place his hot lamp and pressed against the bottom of the wall with both hands. That wasn’t enough. Domino had struck. So Gus struck. He used his shoulder on different portions of the wall, over and over again. After a handful of minutes, he’d moved so far away from his lamp that he couldn’t even see the wall standing a few inches under his nose. He returned to the trembling flame and cleared the plants growing at the base of the trunks, in order to spot the breach and stop wasting his time. His efforts were disappointing yet again. The bamboo seemed deeply embedded in the ground. Even when Gus scratched with his fingernails, pushing away the earth teeming with insects, nothing revealed itself to him. Not a single gap betrayed the location of Domino’s opening.
With his heart pounding harder and harder, Gus pressed both hands on the wall and pushed anyway. He couldn’t stop. He just couldn't.
But reality came over him. The wall had been repaired. The nichans would never have left such a flaw in their ramparts.
The young man’s throat tightened. He was trapped. He could go all the way around the village to find a weakness in the wall, but the result would probably be the same.
In a cage. With a pair of wings unable to carry him to the other side.
Still leaning against the wall, Gus felt his strength running out. His breathing became faster and faster, stronger and stronger. So why was he suffocating? Why was air not enough anymore?
Just breathe, you fool. Breathe!
He’d said the almost same words to Domino dozens of times, maybe more. Domino, who panicked, who lost control, who let his emotions get the better of him. Domino, who cried.
No, that can’t be it . . . that can’t be . . .
His chest tightened, making his breath hiss.
No, I’m stronger than that!
His throat was painfully sealed.
I don’t want to. I don’t want to.
His eyes burned.
Unable to resist any longer, his eyes filled with tears. A violent sob shook Gus. With a trembling hand, he forced his mouth shut to compel himself to silence. The next sob bent his spine, and Gus groaned through his fingers pressed hard against his lips.
He had held on all these years. It was now beyond his capacity.
Tears streamed down his face, getting lost in the weeds. Shaken to his core, Gus hit the wall with his fist. The hollow wood absorbed the shocks, so he hit harder, yielding to anger.
How could it have come to this? He’d always told himself he wouldn’t let anyone break him. He’d been hanged, he’d been given a taste of the power of the Op Crystal. But all it took was for Domino to go away to leave him defenseless. He’d survived the rope because of Domino. He’d survived the crystal because of Domino. But this time, there was no guarantee of escape. With Beïka lurking in the shadows, Gus might not survive until Domino’s return.
If he ever comes back.
He hated to think like that, but he had to consider it, prepare for it. Gus had always thought he would be alone, that the ones who mattered to him would forever abandon him. Then Domino had managed to convince him otherwise.
Now he was alone. Again.
His tears subsided after endless minutes. He uncovered his mouth, wiped the saliva from his palm against his pants, and got himself up on his legs, igno
ring the pain between them. The young man wavered forward, suddenly weak. He hadn’t slept or eaten since . . . He couldn’t tell. A fleeting thought crossed his mind. He could lay here, sleep on the ground, away from the village. A ridiculous idea. Any nichan could smell him. And what little dignity he had left had to be preserved. Since there was no hiding or running away, he might as well not humiliate himself trying.
He grabbed his lamp and slowly retreated to the village heart.
X X V I I I
“Don’t make excuses for me to follow you. I still have all my common sense, and I’m telling you this: going south is as clever right now as diving headfirst into a pile of fresh shit.” Feanim got up and put the bandage he’d just removed into one of his boxes.
At his feet, sitting in the dewy grass, Domino closed his tunic and sighed. After more than a week camping in the woods, doing nothing but resting, he was more than eager to get back on the road. But his body didn’t agree. His belly was still sensitive, and Domino was afraid to stand up straight and reopen the wounds that healed with a slowness Gus’s care hadn’t prepared him for. Next to him, Memek stared thoughtfully at the scratches that extended over ten inches on his skin, then she sighed. Was she thinking the same? They would have left this camp much sooner if Gus had gone with them.
A place like this is too dangerous for him. He’s safe in Surhok. That’s all that matters.
The group gathered its belongings and set off at a moderate pace. Feanim joined them for a while in silence. After the last few days in his company, it had become clear the man had no intention of opening up about himself. Then he diverged at a crossroads to take the westward path.
“Don’t get killed,” he said, turning around, pulling his wheelbarrow behind him in no hurry, its wheels cutting furrows in the wet earth. “And you—be careful with your shoulder.”
Domino nodded, realizing he was massaging his shoulder, which still caused him to lose control of his arm from time to time. He would get better, he wanted to believe it, but Feanim had remained vague on the subject. And now that he was heading for the most dangerous part of the region, Domino had no choice but to deal with it on his own.
He turned away from Feanim and forced his legs on to keep up with his uncle and cousin.
They skirted the last southernmost lake in the Osska region for several days under a dense drizzle and a sky speckled with black spots, heralds of a Corruption Rain. The rain came from the north, forcing them to halt and find shelter. When they resumed their journey hours later, Domino’s right arm spasmed incessantly after carrying over his head his wooden puck, which had gotten heavy with black, sticky residue.
But now that they were on their way again, nothing could have stopped Ero, not even the sky falling on their heads.
At the end of that first week, they met a couple of exhausted humans heading north. The news was the same as the ones the group had gathered in Kepam or even faced themselves: unpleasant. Although Ero kept a suspicious look on these humans, he listened carefully to what the two travelers announced.
A small nichan clan had been attacked farther south. Partisans had set fire to the village and killed many people before being hunted down by their victims. The two travelers preferred to turn back, fearing to be caught in the crossfire. They added, however, that a fishing village called Noktchen, several leagues to the south, treated nichans well—from what they’d witnessed—and had hot springs. A glimmer of hope filled Memek’s eyes.
Senses on the lookout, the Uetos walked along the waves for several hours—a cold wind swept across their faces—and found the village. Noktchen was more a hamlet than a village, however. Its few black wooden houses on stilts faced the waters, and only a wet net recently pulled out of the lake was evidence of the presence of inhabitants.
They slipped between the houses. Not a soul in sight but many hearts beat through the wooden walls. At least Domino hadn’t lost his senses. And he couldn’t deny the performance of his nose as a particular smell floating through the ruffling sea spray drew a wince to his face.
Rotting fish. By the Faces, Domino hated the taste of fish as much as the smell, and the early years of his life spent by the sea hadn’t improved his distaste.
The scent burned his nostrils, and Memek smiled. “That’s all they’ll have to eat here. You’d better get used to it,” she said, pushing him toward the biggest house in the village.
Ero was already knocking on the door. A moment passed. The panel slid out, and an elderly human with long, graying hair tied in a catogan examined them one by one. He wiped his hands on his apron. Blood. Fish blood. Domino resisted the urge to cover his nose.
“Ohay,” said Ero.
The man’s nod was his only answer as he found a way, despite his small size compared to the three nichans, to look down on them.
“We’re looking for shelter for the night,” Ero continued. “We have furs to sell, or to trade.”
“I don’t buy, I don’t trade,” said the man in an equal tone.
“All right. Does anyone in the village offer food and lodging? We might have enough to pay.”
“I have room. Six heads for three people.”
The breath of the sea wind whistled in their ears as the man announced his price. A little expensive for a small fishermen’s village. But the clouds in the sky kept getting darker, and it was likely to rain again, which was clearly a common occurrence in the area. Night approached. Ero must have been thinking the same, for he pulled his purse from the inside of his tunic and presented the six silver coins requested of him.
The human accepted them and stepped aside to let them in.
Five men and three women sat at a low table, playing cards. One of them seemed to have fallen asleep, eyes closed and chin resting on his chest. They all wore shawls made of bear or sheep fur, and the cotton of their ponchos was of a more or less faded red ochre, depending on the individual. Another thing they had in common: they all looked suspiciously at Domino and his family when they entered.
The room was small, dark, already crowded, and fogged with a long pipe the humans shared between themselves, taking turns spouting curls of smoke.
The owner showed the newcomers a corner where they could sit. All that remained was a small bench facing a low table. A bench on a human scale, far too small for more than one nichan. As Unaan, Ero claimed it, letting Domino and Memek sit on the woven hemp floor. As the owner returned to them with a steaming tureen and three spoons, Domino sniffed the air. The scent of fish was everywhere. In the customers’ clothes, in the carpets on the floor, on the nets hanging on the walls, in the soup Ero eyed behind his thick eyebrows.
But there was something else. A different smell that even rotting fish or tobacco couldn’t hide. A smell of death. Not the fish’s.
Domino decided at that moment, regardless of his dislike for fisherman’s cooking, that he wouldn’t touch the soup. Facing him, Ero and Memek ignored the food with the same suspicious expression. Something wasn’t right.
Out of the corner of his eye, Domino checked the men and women sitting at the next table. They looked like travelers, with their swollen pouches and rolled-up tents. Yet none of them carried a weapon. All human travelers the Uetos had met since they left Surhok had a stick in hand, or a knife, for the wiser ones. Not them. It was as if these people had relieved themselves of their weapons on the way here. It was as if . . .
More hearts pounded, like a diffuse rumbling. Impossible to count them. Domino felt them approaching. Outside.
He barely had time to question Ero when the humans at the next table rose in one motion. Worn metal whistled in a dissonant harmony as they all pulled long machetes from under their table. Near the stove, the host pulled a pistol from behind his workbench. The metal glowed through the smoke.
The nichans leapt to their feet.
“Don’t let them attack!” shouted one of the humans.
They all charged at the same time. Domino drew his knife from the inside of his clothes; Er
o and Memek transformed. The door slammed open and a group of armed men entered, joining the ambush. At the same time, Memek and her father stood in front of Domino.
His heart stopped. They were surrounded.
They needed a way out.
Now!
A way out!
His brain considered the options. The wide opened door. A narrow window on the other side of the house. At least twenty humans blocking the way to both issues. There was only one solution left. To create another exit.
Domino turned and banged his healthy shoulder against the wall. The wood was reinforced but worm-eaten. He could break it, even in his human form. As the hiss of blades clashing nichan claws rang behind him, he hammered again with all his might. On the periphery of his vision, a first man collapsed, the glistening tubes of his guts exposed, the white fur of his shawl turning crimson. A woman dropped dead the next second, the side of her head pierced with five holes. This didn’t discourage the other humans, who split the air with their machetes, avoiding Memek’s and Ero’s attacks.
No time to waste. Domino struck again. The wood gave way, revealing the dim light of day on the other side. Soon after, a gunshot rang out, and Memek screamed.
Time stopped.
Terror compressing his heart, Domino turned. Metal danced in the air, reflecting the colors of the shed blood filling the room. A blade spun before his eyes and hit Domino on his left shoulder. No pain, or so little that it could be ignored—a scratch compared to what the bear had done to him. But it was enough to awaken Domino’s rage. His body reacted faster than his mind, suppressing everything but his survival instinct and strength. He thrusted his leg forward, heel first, aiming for his opponent’s knee. The bones broke and the leg bent in an unnatural angle, like a twig. The man fell to the ground, screaming his lungs out, and Domino froze. A step from him was Ero, a machete stuck in his foot, two more blades threatening his throat and nape. Farther away, Memek lay on the ground, howling in pain. Her rust-colored blood mingled on the carpet with that of two slaughtered humans.
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