That afternoon, Narsilap had taken me to the Brown ferry dock. The snow was beginning to melt in the mountains, swelling the river with the rich, silty water that had given it its name. The green was gradually becoming the dominant color on the ochre banks and as usual, the brown-hornian spring promised to be humid. A warm wind blew from the south, making my cloak flap and caressing the Brown. The air smelled of fresh flowers and the heavy and mineral perfume of the river. I remember this day very well. There are days when fate forks, even if we do not realize it immediately, the details come back to us years later, and this day was one of them.

The ferry was vibrating when the springtime turbulences of the river seized it, and I was smiling, both happy to leave the city and amused by Narsi's obvious unease at the creaking and jolting of the skiff. It wasn't our first crossing, but he hadn't yet gotten used to it, each jolt wrung a painful grimace from him and the phalanxes of his single hand clutched like claws at the railing. Eventually a discussion ensued as the boatman grunted and panted on the soaked rope, and this helped to distract my master's attention from the tremors of the water.

Narsilap told me that he had dinner with Bard the night before, and that Bard was interested in my progress. The primate was even thinking of entrusting him with other students, in order to provide Brown-Horn with a true coterie of worthy healers. I nodded, oscillating between pride at having been considered a subject of discussion by the primate and a somewhat childish jealousy at the idea that I might no longer be the only mespa of the master surgeon.

Then wood hit wood, there was a sharp bump, and we landed on the other bank. The ferry emptied of its two other passengers, a wool merchant and his ox, and we pulled away so that the man could take his empty cart onto the muddy road. We watched the wagon pull away towards the Woody Tower, that small, dirty fort that marked the border with Cover-Pass, and then we headed south.

We had come to harvest roots of blue burdock, which grew in abundance on the eastern bank of the Brown among the sprouting willows, and whose decoctions work miracles on burns. We hardly needed to stray from the path that meandered along the east bank before landing in the canton of Brican. In the spring of my ninth birthday, everything was growing in abundance, even me, and I fit better in my new clothes since I was over a span and a quarter. While we were working, Narsilap pointed to other plants and asked me if I recognized them from the sketches in his herbarium. I managed to identify a specimen of a large horehound that had not yet bloomed, and even pointed out that it was not the season to harvest them, which brought me an approving smile.

"You have a good memory, Mespa. You make a good apprentice." I was still blushing when we heard the horses.

A column of armed men descended the path in our direction, their long spears pointing to the sky. There must have been thirty of them, all of them on a horse without exception, and their appearance was so impressive that even Narsilap stopped to watch them pass. They wore lamellar armors and cone-shaped helmets that held a veil of mesh so that only their eyes could be seen. Their steeds, fully harnessed in glossy bronze bards, reflected the afternoon light, and strange shields, covered with indecipherable inscriptions, hung from their saddles. They were cataphracts from Val, coming from across the mountains in their warlike splendor, perched on large rigan horses, and they were probably the first to pass through the region in many years. I thought it was one of the most beautiful things I had seen in all my childhood.

The Vals were our northern neighbors, the descendants of exiles who once came from the distant and cold lands across the Foam sea, which some called Navjolt. Their small country was bordered on the west by the fertile plains of Rig, and on the east by the course of the river Denis and the cities of Carm. The reputation of the val-warriors was well established. It was commonly believed that they were the best warriors in the world and there were few men to say the contrary. Val-warriors had always played a military role in the primacy, serving as luxury mercenaries and advisers during the countless border conflicts that had punctuated brownian history. Nevertheless, there had always been peace between the Val country and its neighbors. Even when the Carmians of Orfys and Pelt had joined forces to besiege Riteshell a century before I was born and when there was the battle of Denis, things had not changed.

The assault had been repulsed by the Vals, who had been satisfied to massacre the opposing army, without bothering to pursue the survivors beyond their borders. Although they had since stopped renting their services to the Carmians, trade had continued between the two countries and there had been no further retribution. This was incomprehensible to both the Brownians and the Carmians, and yet this was the way of the Vals, because despite their prowess on the battlefield they never had a taste for conquest.

The horsemen passed slowly, without giving us a glance, their weapons rattling and tinkling in rhythm with the heavy hooves of the horses.

Narsilap contemplated their departure with a dark expression that I did not understand, as it contrasted so much with the luminous performance that I had just witnessed.

"Come, Mespa," he said. "Let's head back." I followed him, and we waited at the pier while I threw stones into the water.

"I hope they were going to chase the bandits from Vaw." I looked up.

Narsi's gaze was fixed on the approaching ferry, but his words were undoubtedly intended for me. "The passage of these men is a bad sign. A very bad sign, Mespa, and you should not be happy about it." I blushed for the second time today, that my admiration would have been so obvious, and Narsi must have taken it as a confession, because he continued. "Wherever the val-warriors go, war comes. The profession I am teaching you is not a good one in times of war. May the Nine be merciful, I hope these men were hunting bandits."

We made the return trip in a gloomy silence, Narsi because he had become worried and I because I felt as if I had been reprimanded for no good reason. We returned to the master surgeon's tower to dry the roots. After carefully cutting out the plants, I briefly went over an essay that was far too complex for me on the blood system, thinking about armors and horses. Meanwhile, Narsilap was finishing hanging the fruit of my labour from the highest beams, a task he performed admirably for a man who was missing a hand. Through the stained glass window, the sky darkened, and threatening clouds soon filled the valley. Thunder rumbled, and lightning zapped the sky over the forest of Cover-Pass. Rain began to tinkle on the slates. As I got up to light the torches, the day took an even stranger turn.

We heard a commotion on the stairs, some shouts, and then there was a heavy knock on the trap door, which Narsi hurried to open. Sesh appeared first, dragging a second man who was supported by the first-blade Natime. From time to time, my lessons were interrupted by the unexpected arrival of a wounded man, whom Narsilap hurried to heal and, sometimes, to the surprise of his patients, he punctuated his interventions with comments intended for me. For my part, I did my best to observe without hindering him. There had been a militiaman who had pierced his hand in training while trying to pick up an arrow, a farmer who had his foot crushed by his ox, and others. But each time, the patients had waited for Narsi downstairs, in a small shack that served as an infirmary, next to the barracks.

Sesh nodded gravely to me, and then the two men carried the wounded man to the table that Narsi was trying to clear of the bundles and scrolls cluttering it. When they finally managed to lay him down, I could see his face and the shock was brutal. Captain Nad had returned to Brown-Horn. I had only seen him once or twice, this man who had accepted money so that the slave trafficking of Gavan Estu could be ignored, but his appearance had marked me. A hard and emaciated figure, like the profile of a scavenger bird. As I saw him, however, he was unrecognizable, trembling and stammering incoherently behind a shaggy beard. His clothes hung around him in smeared tatters, and when I approached a candle to assist Rus'Narsi, I saw that it was blood. A lot of blood, which had stuck his clothes against his crusted skin. It took the combined efforts of Sesh and Natime to restrain Nad's weak gestures, so that Narsi would take him out of his clothes and examine him. My eyes widened.

That body was a horrifying sight. Nad had been horribly lacerated, deeply wounded, plowed so many times that his entire torso was nothing more than a seam of wounds, infection and dried blood. But the most awful thing was that, in spite of everything, this man was still alive.

"Maybe the boy should go outside."

It was Sesh who had spoken, breaking the deadly silence that had been imposed when candlelight had illuminated Nad's terrible mutilation.

Narsilap swallowed and wiped his forehead before shaking his head:

"The boy stays."

Sesh sniffed. His companion added:

"He walked to the city gates in this state. This is..."

Nad tried to straighten himself up, Natime invected him with his reedy voice and pinned him to the table as he twisted and gnashed his teeth. Narsi took the candlestick from my hands. "Go and fetch the mad-care, disciple," he said to me in Rajjan. I did so, and returned with a vial filled with the oily extract.

Narsilap soaked a cloth with it and with his valid hand he placed it on the patient's face. I left to bring my master's tools and clean linen cloths to the table. When I returned with the leather briefcase that I unfolded on the dining table, Nad was no longer agitated. "Alcohol," Narsi said, "and a bowl of boiled water". I obeyed, under Sesh's flat gaze.

When he was ready, the surgeon began by cutting the most infected wounds, from which blackish pus mixed with blood flowed out. Natime turned up his nose. Narsi spoke as he cut:

"I don't think I can help him, but since he's going to die anyway, there's no harm in trying. Look, Mespa. Put your fingers here, along his neck. The skin is burning and you can feel the heart beating too fast. This is a sign that purulence went into the blood."

I nodded, disgusted but attentive. One of the deepest cuts revealed the whiteness of a rib. Narsilap continued his observations while meticulously cleaning his patient's wounds.

The bowl of water was reddening. Then suddenly he hiccupped.

We all retreated, because the last swipes of the rag had rid Nad's body of the dried blood that had stained it, exposing his wounds. Sesh swore. Natime touched his moon-shaped pendant. The cuts had not been made randomly.

There was something they were drawing, no sane man could have said exactly what it was, but the grooves intersected here and there to create a unique acronym, made up of intertwined lines as complex as a spider's web. There was a long moment of silence. Then Narsi inhaled audibly before dipping the cloth in water again.

"I don't recognize this mark," Sesh observed, as flatly as possible, and Natime also shook his head in mystification. The surgeon poured some alcohol on a clean cloth. "Neither do I," he said. "If there were more symmetry, it would make me think of the glyphs that the Enlightened drew in Orfys " Natime once again put his hand to his lunar pendant and whispered something about witchcraft. Sesh said nothing, his gaze fixed on Nad's face, and then he frowned. "He has something," he said. "There, in the ear. I mean, where his ear used to be." Narsi bent down, and I did the same, carrying a candle with me.

Outside, a lightning bolt underlined the jagged outline of the clouds. The thunder exploded, making the stained glass window vibrate. Narsi bit his lower lip. "You're right, soldier. Mespa, hand me the clamp. The small one." Nad had no right ear since the primate banished him last year and the wound had healed. The surgeon felt the folds with his tool and then firmly inserted the clamp. He closed it onto something and pulled, using the palm of his hand as a lever. "It's not coming?" Natime asked. Narsi answered nothing, crouched down to the level of his patient's face and renewed his efforts.

There was a tiny wet crack. Narsi fell backward.

Something obscene was hanging from the end of the clamp. With a sharp movement, his features distorted by horror, the master surgeon threw the thing into the middle of the tower. It landed softly in front of the desk. Sesh and Natime swore together and stepped forward, their hands instinctively reaching for their swords. "Bring the light," Sesh said in a harsh tone that left no room for discussion. I did so trembling. Natime pulled his weapon out of its sheath, and from the tip he touched the thing on the ground.

I think we had all expected it to move, but it didn't move. It was long, for something that had just been ripped out of a man's ear, a good quarter span, thick as a child's finger and pinkish-white, bright red with blood on the extremities. Narsilap approached as well. Natime sniffed:

"Looks like a worm."

Narsi leaned over. "It's not a worm," he said gloomily. "It's a root. I can see the rootlets from here." As he came closer, Sesh put his hand on his shoulder. "Jerem," he said, addressing Natime, "put it on the fire." Despite Narsi's protests, using his blade as a shovel, Natime carried the flaccid thing to the flames of the crackling hearth on the other side of the room and set it on fire. There was a slight crackling sound. The soldier returned slowly, looking both surprised and pensive. "I've never seen anything like it. I've never even heard of it." Narsi shook his head and opened his mouth. Then Nad began to scream.

We pivoted together. The former captain was no longer on the table, he staggered towards us like a drunkard, while he was shouting his head off. Blood was dripping from his head, which was no longer really straight. His words were incomprehensible at first. He didn't look threatening, rather plaintive even, but he shouted like a madman. His glassy eyes were fixed in mine, so that I had the impression that he was talking to me, but it was sometimes Narsi, sometimes Sesh he seemed to accuse with an uncertain finger. "She's coming!" he roared, and that I heard clearly. We all heard it. "She's coming!" As Sesh drew his sword to intervene, Nad fell to his knees. His voice had suddenly died away, but his lips were still whispering. Then he collapsed to his side and stopped moving. Narsilap stepped forward, and this time Sesh did not hold him back.

"Dead," he simply stated. I was shaking like a leaf.

Later that evening, after Sesh had escorted me back to my silent room, I tried unsuccessfully to read. The storm had dissipated as it had come, and there was a strange calm. I blew out my candle, alone in the dark, thinking of the Ronna farm and the comforting company of the other children's bodies. I could not get the image of Nad out of my mind and I could still hear his terrible screams. I slept very little that night, and when I finally managed to close my eyes, the dreams were waiting for me, as they always did.

I let myself be carried away by the strange nocturnal call, happy for once not to understand anything anymore.