The dohor retreated and curled up, its giant stature reduced to a ball of suffering limbs. It belched, held its hollow chest with one vibrant hand, ripped its face open with the other.
Its torment was as agonizing as the one tearing Gus apart from the inside.
Good! Let it die!
It was for the one who would last the longest, the one who would endure the pain. The more intelligent of the two. And unless it killed him first, Gus would hold on.
He pushed again against the pain that pulled him back. He shouted hard enough to break his throat, to crack his dry lips open. He spat, and his blood splashed across the creature’s bloated face.
As dark red human blood and whitish dohor’s met, the beast whimpered and retreated.
The dohor stumbled against a root and gave up. It turned away from Gus and fled without looking back. Within seconds, the thing had disappeared beyond the rows of trees.
Air finally inflated Gus’s chest with burning ease. With tears in his eyes, he wavered on his legs.
If the thing hadn’t been around, the young man would have fallen into the dirt and dead leaves. Instead, he remained on his feet. He would stand. Always.
Whistling moans and wet borborygmus at his feet. Holding his throat in one hand, eyes bloodshot, chin and lower lip sliced from bottom to top, Beïka stared at him.
The fucker was bleeding to death.
If Gus didn’t do something, if he didn’t put his gift to use, Beïka would die. Beïka who had conspired with Issba to kidnap him and bring him here. To kill him.
Far from his people, the nichan had signed his death warrant.
The irony of the situation didn’t even snatch a laugh from Gus. He was still in a state of shock, dazed and exhausted, face swollen and dripping with sweat, spit, and blood. The beating, the creature, the drumming of his heart gradually returning to normal . . . In this moment, his world looked like a divine punishment.
But he’d driven the monster away just by standing up to it. And the man who had abused him was dying at his feet.
Gus had never been in such a position of power before.
Ever.
Beïka reached out to him, imploring. The tears in his reddened eyes rolled down his cheeks, mingled with the blood gushing out of his pleading mouth. Gus stepped back, getting out of reach. Two steps were enough. A whimper of agony rose from the body lying on the ground. It wouldn’t be long now. Death would come quickly, yet Beïka made one last effort to beg for Gus’s mercy. Gus took another step backwards, almost galvanized by the feeling of power growing inside him. The power of life and death.
Then his foot struck something. As he lowered his eyes, spikes of color shone through the darkness. Green and vibrant with life. Bright yellow, almost aggressive to an unprepared eye. And the dark red of blood. Human blood.
Gus’s blood.
The young man contemplated the stain for a moment, analyzing with his disoriented mind what lay at his feet.
Knowledge came back to him from the depths of his memory, remnants of stories shared so many years before, of a reality only long-buried men remembered.
As he understood, a faint laugh, barely a breath, slipped between his blood-red lips.
Yellow flowers at the end of thick green stems.
Some fucking flowers . . .
The whole thing seemed to spring up out of the ground where there’d been nothing like it a few minutes earlier. Gus had seen flowers and leaves before. Never that color. Apart from a few rare exceptions, the vegetation since the Great Evil had come in shades of faded black, gray, and brown. Not yellow or green. Colors so rich that they seemed artificial.
And his blood . . .
Gus leaned over and stroked the soft petals with his fingertips. He moved down the stem and then grazed the earth that had been splashed with his blood when Beïka had punched him in the face.
His blood. The plant grew rapidly, its petals and quivering buds still blooming, even in the middle of the night, taking root where the crimson stains fed the soil.
Gus reflexively put his hand to his wounded face. His fingers met the sticky blood clotting around the wound on his cheekbone.
What the fuck? What . . .
He had done this. His blood had done this?
His blood had . . . created life?
This boy is full of the Gods’ beauty. This beauty, this Light has been saving lives in this village for more than ten years. Matta’s words. Mere beliefs, and yet . . .
Not blood stained by the Corruption. Blood touched by Light. The Light of the Gods.
Light thief. A name sometimes given to Vestiges.
The truth hit him harder than Beïka’s fist, even deeper. He was precious. Him. Gus. Not just the Light inside him. He’d healed wounds, saved lives. Now life itself was being born from his blood.
This truth made him tremble, for it came with a realization. He was out of Surhok; Issba had fled; Beïka was no longer a threat. Gus could leave.
He understood that now. He wouldn’t go back in that cage.
Not ever again. I don’t ever want to see their faces, their houses, hear their voices . . . Domino.
Gus’s hand stopped on a flower whose dark heart seemed to scrutinize him like a starry eye.
Domino.
So Gus had seen him for the last time that night, lying next to him, his body still warm and flustered from their passionate embrace. The feel of Domino’s lips and hands, of their bare chests pressed against each other had faded.
A memory. A dream. Gus would never bathe in the warmth of Domino’s arms again.
There had been no farewells, but perhaps it was for the best.
Gus had to go. He would miss Domino. By the Faces, he missed him so much at this very moment that he could have burst into tears. Domino’s voice, his smile, the miracle of his arms and laughter. His presence by his side, the habits and rituals that made their daily life bearable and sometimes . . . beautiful. All that had disappeared, replaced by a bottomless void.
With Domino, Gus had known happiness.
But he wouldn’t stay for him. Whatever feelings and memories bound them together, they weren’t enough.
Why stay? To become what? To live off Domino, or through him?
Domino was an exceptional person, hope for his people. He had so much to accomplish. The bond that held all nichans together existed between Domino and his people. Their lives were linked. And Gus didn’t belong there. A human like him, a Vestige, would never belong with nichans—another truth he’d accepted long ago.
He wouldn’t wait for the rest of his life for Domino to need him, for Domino to protect him. Gus deserved better than this life. By lowering his eyes to these flowers, he’d understood this and finally embraced it.
He was going to run away, no matter the risks. He’d never been surer of himself.
He looked away from the colors blooming at his feet and checked behind his back. Beïka’s face pointed skyward. He didn’t move; his chest didn’t rise anymore. Dead.
The air slowly filled with black particles. Soon they would completely cover the nichan’s body.
No burying for him. There would appear a spirit.
Gus approached the body and quickly went through its pockets. He found a time-polished silver head, a pair of nam nuts, and a handkerchief. In the other pocket was Domino’s necklace. Gus held it with trembling hands.
It reminds me of your eyes, Domino had said. What a foolish dream. Hoping for a better life had led him nowhere. Gus tied the necklace’s cords and hung it to his neck. A lesson to remember. To grow up and face reality.
Gus dipped the silver coin in his pocket, tossed the rest away.
Then he looked up at the remaining lantern. The fat wouldn’t burn forever. If he wanted to leave he had to do it at once and cover as much distance as possible before daybreak. Tomorrow, the Uetos would notice his absence—and Beïka’s—and start the hunt. Gus knew the nose of these men and women. The lead he would make in the coming h
ours was critical. He also knew how to prevent them from following his scent. Growing up with nichans, he’d learned a thing or two.
He wiped his bloody cheek and nose with the back of his hand. He was barefoot, filled with the cold of the night. It was dark, and there were beasts and dangers in this world that Gus was probably no match for. There was no guarantee that the reaction he’d produced in this dohor would occur in his fellow creatures. But he had to take a chance, even if it led to his downfall.
Freedom sometimes required looking death in the eyes and saying, “At least I fucking tried.”
Gus got up, unhooked the lamp and gathered up the rest of his strength and determination. Then he ran off with none other than himself to guide him.
X X X I V
Domino woke in a bed he didn’t know, in the middle of a room he didn’t know. Raw beams ran through the ceiling. Hanging from one of them, just above his head, was a string with a shell as large as his palm. The inside of the shell was painted a striking red. The rest of the room consisted of a bench wedged against the wall under the only window there, a hemp rug embroidered with red ribbons, and the bed on which Domino had just spent the night. It was dark and cold. Through the crumpled window panes, the singing of the waves could be heard, like a constant humming.
Lying on his back, the folds of his tunic playing with the bumps of his spine, Domino passed his tongue over his teeth. The taste of blood. Memories of that surreal night jostled against his skull. Lienn’s plans, the cell . . . the oath.
He sat up. The shawl usually wrapped around his waist lay at the foot of the bed. His crumpled tunic was open, revealing the long scars hatching the side of his abdomen. Caught between dream and reality, Domino spread his robe farther apart, uncovering his left shoulder. The stitches crisscrossing the surface of his skin were new. The wound itself was swollen but clean. Domino rolled his joint, stretching the flesh and muscle. The pain was minimal, a faint stinging, yet the young man felt the need to measure his breathing.
It’s done. Look at that. I betrayed my uncle and my clan . . .
No, not his clan. It was for them, to put all the chances on their side, that he’d consented to this trick.
Apart from a hint of guilt, Domino felt no different. Ten years earlier, when he’d recovered from his fainting after taking Ero’s oath, he hadn’t felt any different, either. However, today he was connected to a much more powerful nichan than his uncle.
He could still feel Lienn’s bloody hand resting on his open shoulder.
Domino pushed back the sheet that kept him warm and closed his tunic before tying his shawl around him and throwing it over his shoulder. Along the way, his other shoulder cramped. A pinch went through the length of his arm, and his fingers went numb. Frozen by a spasm, his hand stilled for a moment.
It’s never going to heal, is it? Or is my body punishing me for my mistakes?
A silly thought, he told himself immediately. His shoulder had been damaged in the fall. He was made of flesh and bone and blood. Even if his shoulder’s condition failed to improve, the injury was just that: an injury. It was neither a punishment nor a bad omen. Domino repeated it to himself until control of his hand was restored. If he allowed doubt and guilt to gnaw at him today and distract him from his goal, he would achieve nothing and would only lead himself to failure.
He walked out of the room and searched for his way. The corridor that opened up before him was foreign. The fort was huge; he knew only a small section of it. So Domino followed the draughts. Several times he could make out the smell of freshly boiled eggs, but he turned away from them radically when the stench of fish tickled his nostrils. After a few wrong turns, he at last found his way, spotted two guards at a door, and was shown the exit.
Even before he saw its owner, he heard an angry voice that froze his blood.
“What have you done with him?”
Ero was here.
“What do you think we can do to him?” Vevdel.
“Is he here? Is he inside?”
“How could I know? I’m not tracking your nephew, believe it or not. He’s free to go wherever he wants. My daughter has given you the freedom to move about Visha as you please, if I remember right.”
“So I am going to allow myself to move about your fortress as well.”
“Ero, calm down,” Domino said.
He crossed the vestibule and arrived at the fort’s entrance. Vevdel stood at the gate, a thin, twisted smoking pipe in her hand. Day was breaking outside, and the city already swarmed with brightly awake nichans.
Facing the woman, Ero stood slightly bent, threatening.
He immediately spotted Domino, and his jaw tightened under his beard. “You’ve been here all night?”
Domino stayed where he was. Putting some distance between him and Ero seemed wise, as if his action from the past night could be read on the lines of his face. “Yes,” he said.
“Who allowed you?”
“Myself. I do that sometimes. Choices and things. Who would have thought?”
Ero looked down briefly at Vevdel, who brought her pipe to her mouth, not allowing herself to be disturbed by Domino’s presence within the walls of her fortress.
“I suppose you’ve found him,” said the woman, smoke billowing between her lips. “In one piece.”
Domino in turn took a look at Vevdel. She and Lienn seemed particularly close. Vevdel was probably aware of what had happened last night but didn’t let it show.
Ero walked around the woman and camped in front of his nephew, so close that he wrapped him in shadow, hiding the morning’s bluish aura from him. The clan chief opened his mouth to speak but refrained from doing so. Instead, with his lips still half open, he swallowed the air before bending over to sniff Domino.
“You smell like her, like Lienn,” Ero said without lowering his voice, not caring one bit about the guards posted at the ends of the room or even about Vevdel behind him. “I smell her. Her scent is all over you.”
All inside of me.
Domino repressed a shiver and looked down.
“What have you done?” Ero asked. “Answer me!”
An order. Or was it? In any case, Domino could only assume so, for this time nothing happened to him. No impulse on his will and body. Gone.
Domino almost smiled at the relief filling his chest with unprecedented joy.
Even though part of him was ashamed, the unparalleled relief gave him the confidence he needed to respond. To lie.
“I wanted to know if I could do it,” Domino said, looking up.
“Do what?” Ero insisted. “Answer.”
Another order, and no reaction in Domino.
“I’m going to have to marry her, have children with her. That’s what you’ve decided without me, isn’t it?” said the young man in a low voice, trying to keep their conversation private. “I wanted to make sure I could do it. With her.”
He took a quick look at Vevdel over his uncle’s shoulder, then looked down, feigning the embarrassment of a young man forced to admit to his uncle—in front of Vevdel—that he’d just spent the night with a woman he barely knew.
“You slept with her?” Ero asked, incredulous in the face of such boldness from his nephew.
Would he doubt it? He’d ordered Domino to speak. So Domino spoke. Ero underestimated his nephew too much to even imagine a betrayal on his part. At least Domino hoped so. He knew he wasn’t the best liar.
Without raising his eyes to them, Domino felt the silent guards staring at him. This lie . . . Had he gone too far? To announce in front of them that he’d just had sex with their beloved Unaan . . .
Not the best way to build an honest relationship with my future wife.
“Yes,” said Domino, clenching his jaw, daring to look Ero in the eyes.
Ero’s eyebrows went to a frown. “You smell of bird crap too. Where did you fuck—”
“I won’t go into details, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”
After a long sil
ence, the Unaan chuckled. He burst out laughing and sent a blow to Domino’s shoulder. It was the same shoulder that had been used for the oath. Domino didn’t flinch at the pain. All that mattered was that Ero believed him.
“What a face you have, boy.” The man laughed. “It looks like the mask of shame. As if you’ve just been trampled on. Not so easy to please a woman without the pheromones of the seasons to help, right?”
He kept laughing in his beard as Domino refused to answer and add to Ero’s hilarity. Behind him, Vevdel sighed and turned away from them.
When Ero and Domino left the fort a few moments later, Domino resisted the urge to apologize to Vevdel. He’d fooled his uncle; the lie didn’t matter.
He had succeeded. He was free.
Lienn . . .
Or close to it.
The Uetos left their house before nightfall. Ero, dressed in the Riskan fashion, his chest girdled with black fur, a purple wool tunic falling to his knees, offered his arm to Memek and led her outside. The young woman still couldn’t walk unassisted. Her fists clenched, her eyes darkened by black circles, she walked with her head held high, limping with every step.
She, too, had prepared for this historic day. “Once I’m healed, I’ll go see if the Riskans have a nice-looking girl in their ranks,” Memek had said earlier as her father changed her bandage. Ero had chuckled with a hint of disapproval. “What? We’ll be one big clan, soon. Better become friends with them.”
“Friends,” Domino had laughed, playing with the thick golden rings weighting at the end of his earlobes. He was nervous, there was no denying it.
Memek had flashed him a smile. “I wouldn’t be against that kind of friend.”
“We have plenty of fine and strong women in Surhok,” her father had said.
“Well, thanks to you, I’m related to a lot of them. So no thank you.” Domino had laughed and Memek’s expression had turned serious, shadowed by the pain. Then she had told her cousin, “Don’t fuck this up, Domino. Marry the girl and be a good nichan.”
The Nichan Smile Page 42