45. A monster in the wedding

Wide-eyed, I poked my head through the door of the main office. I saw, in fact, a fly waiting quietly, contemplating an advertisement hanging on a wall… The next second, I backed briskly into the corridor, and seeing that the director was coming out of his office with a terrible expression, I assured:

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The director didn’t even look at me when he ordered:

“Wait here.”

He left the main office with Dalem and, obediently, I waited in the corridor. After a few moments, I looked again and saw the fly talking with the director. The fly had a thick beard. And… a purple band under his cap? When I recognized him, my jaw dropped.

“Good spirits,” I said. And I approached, unable to believe my eyes. “Kakzail?”

The gladiator smiled with all his teeth.

“Ah, there you are! I asked your director if he would allow you to attend the wedding. And he even agreed to let you go with the uniform. It suits you perfectly! Come on, hurry up or we’ll be late.”

I looked at him wide-eyed, and as he walked away towards the exit door, I turned to Dalem and the director. The latter gave me a slight smile.

“Go ahead. Anyway, today you don’t look very alert.”

It was true. I shook my head, speechless, and walked away to join the bearded man, who was already on the street. He walked with long strides, and I tried to keep up with him despite my aching body.

“Good mother, you didn’t tell me you were a fly!” I said, still amazed.

A hint of accusation mixed with disappointment vibrated in my voice. For me, flies had always been—I don’t know—the ones who grabbed you by the neck and tied you up, the ones who beat you with a baton and confiscated your belongings for no Patron-Saintly reason. A brother could not be a fly. It made no sense.

“A security guard, not a fly,” Kakzail corrected me calmly. “I may not have any degrees or education or anything, but I’m pretty good at wielding a sword. An advantage for having fought almost every day for those damned Tassians.” He grinned, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to cuff you for ditching me last night at the shop.” I pouted, as if to say: that’s all I needed. And he added: “Don’t do the same thing to me today, eh? Well, this time, I’ll wash my hands of it. It’s Skelrog who’s inviting you, not me.”

I frowned, and as he crossed the busy street, I followed him curiously.

“The schoolmaster? He’s inviting me to his wedding? Really?”

The very thought moved me and filled me with anticipation. Kakzail looked at me out of the corner of his eye with a half-smile.

“That’s right, kid. The whole family’s invited. Even Uncle Markyr, your cousins, Skelrog’s friends… Plus the bride’s family. Well, the typical wedding.”

He fell silent and quickened his pace even more. He did not head for the Great Temple, but crossed Tarmil Avenue and chose the streets that led down to Evening Park. We passed Carnation Prison, and I looked at the building with a frown. Thunders, how gloomy this place looked. And to think that Farigo must still be there, unravelling hemp ropes with bloody fingers…

I remembered that the little spinner would be released on the first Kindday in Purple Moon, in four weeks’ time, and I mentally promised myself that I would go and see him when he came out. And if his mother didn’t intend to take him back, I’d take him with me… and bam! One more gwak for the gwakery.

Kakzail drew me from my thoughts of conquest when we reached the Evening Park. He whistled:

“Hurry! They’re already coming in.”

My elder brother went straight to a small temple, and when I saw it, I recognized it: it was the one where a kind young priest had given me a shirt and cap in summer. It was the Temple of the Gracious.

Curious, I followed Kakzail and saw that indeed many people dressed for the occasion were already coming up the stoop and entering through the front door. As we joined the small crowd, I heard a woman say that it was a bright day and that it augured a very good future for the couple. Everyone around oozed joy. However, as soon as they entered, voices turned to murmurs, laughter to smiles, and the adults silenced the little ones. In the house of the ancestors, one mustn’t stir up trouble.

As quietly as a shadow, I went and sat down beside Kakzail at the end of one of the benches where the barber, his lady, and all her offspring had sat. Kakzail was talking in a low voice with Skrindwar, the glassmaker. And I was watching my surroundings while silently chewing my asofla. I caught the sidelong glances of Samfen and the older sister, and vaguely remembered that just over an hour ago, they had seen me appear on the street like a zombie gwak. I didn’t remember the details very well.

The priest arrived with the music and the bride and groom. The ceremony dragged on and on, the speeches went on and on, and I, exhausted, gradually closed my eyes… and fell asleep. Perhaps inspired by the monotonous and pompous voice of the priest, I dreamed that I was walking along a river with very cold waters, and spirits came out whispering the words of the dead. One in particular rose from the river and stood before me, forcing me to stop. It was the spirit of Warok.

“Isturbagged gwak,” he said to me. “Look what you did.”

And I looked and saw the spirits of Manras, Dil, Rogan, Yal… rising from the water, mute and smiling, and I clenched my jaws. This was not real. I knew it wasn’t. I was dreaming. Warok was dead, I had killed him, but my cronies were not dead. It was just not possible.

A sudden growl filled me with fright, and with a start, I came out of my dream, which had been more like a nightmare. The bride and groom had just exchanged the ribbons of union. I didn’t know how much time was left for the ceremony to end, but I decided it had gone on long enough. I silently placed my boots on the ground and…heard the growl and bark again. With a racing heart, I turned my head sharply towards the main door. One of the doors was ajar, and at that moment, a huge dog poked his nose through the opening, pushed through, and entered, sniffing the floor.

I was petrified. Dakis, I thought. It was Dakis, the dog of the Undergrounders. I would have bet a goldy. Still, I could not believe that he had gone in there because of me, but… why else?

Now that I could see it in daylight, I had to admit that the gwaks of the Staircase were right: it was not a wolf. It was a very large dog, with black fur and impressive jaws.

“Dakis!” Shokinori’s nervous voice cried outside. A black-haired hobbit with an extremely embarrassed expression poked his head through the door.

The dog turned his head towards his master, but he didn’t turn back and kept going, sniffing and growling. And the closer he got, the more the squirrels jumped from branch to branch before my tormented eyes. Finally, I could not stand it. As the priest resumed his speech, and several quiet complaints arose from the wedding party, I slipped to the ground and crawled to a position behind the columns. I got as close as I could to the main door. Shokinori, not daring to speak in Caeldric and unable to speak in any other language, called his dog with embarrassed whistles and stammered things incomprehensible to an exasperated man. I had almost reached the entrance when Dakis suddenly turned his head, saw me, barked, and rushed in my direction, his ears flapping wildly. I stormed out.

I went down the staircase like a hare, entered the Evening Park, and climbed the first tree I could find. I clung to a branch. Then to another a little higher. And higher… The cursed dog had started barking at me from below. What had bitten that cursed monster? I looked down, and with a start, undoing the harmonies before my eyes, I shouted:

“Your hollering’s worse than a nail-pincher’s! Shut up, you scaluftardy wolf!”

Incredibly, the beast fell silent, but it was only to bite my Swallow cap which I had dropped. When I saw it, I swore at him, broke off a small branch and threw it at the monster. He did not even look up, for he was now having a great time tearing my cap to pieces.

“Blasthell, drop that, demorjed! The cap is not mine!” I growled from my branch.

“Dakis!” Shokinori exclaimed, coming up gasping. And he added in Caeldric through gritted teeth, “Drop it. Dakis…? Drop it immediately.”

The dog hesitated for a moment, but finally dropped the cap and stood up, giving his master an expression that looked very much like a mocking smile.

“You’re annoying,” Shokinori muttered. And he looked up at me. “I’m sorry, kid. We know each other, don’t we? Oh, we do, no doubt. Look, you can come down from the tree. Dakis won’t do anything to you. I’m sorry about your hat. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

I nodded silently but did not move an inch. Then Kakzail arrived, but he did not come quite so close, for caution. He grabbed the baton hanging from his belt.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked at last.

Shokinori pouted and said in Drionsan with a terrible accent:

“I don’t understand.”

My older brother snorted.

“Me neither. Do you know that interrupting a religious ceremony in the middle of a sacred place is an offense and a sacrilege? At least that’s what the code says. I’m a security guard, and I could take you into custody for causing a disturbance. So, now, please tie up that dog and get the hell out.”

Shokinori’s embarrassed face, even seen from above, made me laugh. I climbed down a few branches, saying in Caeldric:

“He’s asking you to leave.”

“Oh,” Shokinori understood. “Of course. Uh… Just one thing, kid. Actually, two. I thought speaking Caeldric was frowned upon in this town, isn’t that the case?”

“It’s even very poorly regarded, I’m afraid,” I admitted.

The hobbit returned an intrigued expression. He glanced at a puzzled Kakzail, struck a meditative pose, and resumed:

“Listen. It seems Dakis has taken an interest in you. And I think I already know why. He is a mist hellhound. And he is particularly sensitive to certain… energies. Allow me to give you this…” He removed one of the many necklaces he had around his neck and handed it to me, “It will protect you from my companion.”

I looked into his eyes, confused. “Certain energies”, I repeated. Was he referring to… mortic energy? I glanced cautiously at the big dog, who had been watching me ever since he dropped the cap. I flinched, but reasserted myself on my branch and thought: I’m not a snotty coward. And if Shokinori gave me a gift… I wasn’t going to refuse it. Even less so, knowing that he suspected I had some practice in the necromantic arts.

Cautiously I descended to the lowest branch, stretched, and reached for the necklace which the hobbit held out to me. I perceived right away that the pendant—a small black stone—was surrounded by energy. Perhaps Shokinori was telling the truth and Dakis would stop attacking me with this necklace…

I put it on, my eyes fixed on the dog. I saw his ears perk up, and then he showed me his teeth, but without malice, rather with the air of wanting to smile at me.

“Blasthell,” I murmured. And I said in Caeldric, “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“Just a minute,” Kakzail finally interjected, altered. “Do you two know each other? What language are you speaking?”

Crouching on my branch, I was still wondering whether I would muster sufficient courage to put my feet on the ground, and at the same time, I was looking for an answer that would not oblige me to say more than was necessary, when suddenly another voice answered:

“It’s Boskrit. A dialect of our people.”

I turned my head and saw another hobbit appear. Unlike Shokinori, Yabir had adopted clothes more in keeping with those worn in Estergat: trousers, a coat, a bowler hat… he was only missing shoes. His face was a bit younger than Shokinori’s, but whether it was because he could speak Drionsan a little or for some other reason, he exuded more poise.

He turned to Shokinori with a restrained gasp and added in horrible Drionsan:

“My companion has caused problems… yes?”

I laughed and explained:

“It was his wolf. It pounced on me. For the record, it’s the third time. This hairy guy is crazy.”

Or maybe he wasn’t so much and was actually sensing the presence of mortic energy in my hand, I thought. Unless I had unknowingly given him a mortic discharge that night in the Ravines, and he was holding a grudge… Finally summoning up my courage, I slid down to the ground, and without losing sight of Dakis, I added in Drionsan:

“There’s nothing to worry about, Kakzail. They’re foreigners who came here not long ago. I ran into them, and their wolf has kind of grown fond of me. He used to scare the hell out of me, but not anymore,” I lied. “Is the wedding over already?”

Kakzail did not answer. Yabir looked in turn at Shokinori and Dakis, then at me and my brother; then, understanding that the latter and I knew each other and that the security guard did not seem to want to cause them any trouble, he bowed respectfully to Kakzail and said:

“Sorry for the inconvenience.”

And he bowed to me too! I looked at him in amazement. The two hobbits bowed again to salute, and they walked away into the park, Dakis leading the way. They were a curious trio.

“That dog’s behavior really struck me as odd,” Kakzail commented.

“Yeah, me too,” I confessed, without elaborating.

And with a distressed pout, I picked up my Swallow cap. It was in a sorry state. Dermen would force me to wear a new one, for sure. And this one, I would have to pay for it out of my own pocket.

With a sigh, I put the holey cap back on my head… just as a tumult of voices rose behind me. I turned back to the Temple of the Gracious and could see the wedding party emerging as they cheerfully sang the Song of Prosperity in honor of the newlyweds. I smiled broadly, forgot all about Shokinori and Yabir, and without giving Kakzail time to question me, ran to the temple to accompany the song with my voice, which, being that of a gwak Cat, was more powerful than any other.

When the song ended, I heard some of the young men say, “To the river, to the river!”, and I saw Kakzail give the schoolmaster a brotherly hug before they all started walking through the Evening Park towards the river. I smiled to myself and followed the merry procession a few yards away. They were already near the river when I caught the barber’s eye. It was only for a few seconds, but my smile faded, and finally, when he stopped looking at me, I walked backwards, stopped by a fountain, sighed, and sat down on the ledge.

“Good mother, it hurts,” I muttered.

I was referring mainly to the fall down the stairs, but not only that. I scratched my cheek, rubbed my eyes, and huffed when I saw that my hands were full of ointment. I washed them in the water of the fountain and noticed that several in the group, including the barber and Kakzail, were now arranged in a semicircle as the bride and groom walked towards the river, still tied by the ribbons. As I had never really observed any wedding, this made me curious, but I dared not go nearer, and I saw from a distance Skelrog and his wife bending over and dipping their bound hands into the water. I felt as if I had seen a similar scene in another place, and after meditating a little, I concluded that I had seen it before in the valley as a boy, and that this tradition of dipping the ribbons must be a ritual of the natives of the valley and not of Estergat. It was funny to think that, although I had arrived in the Rock four years after my family, I was a foreigner only in my features, while the Malaxalra, on the other hand, retained their rites.

I was so deep in thought that I belatedly noticed the approaching figure. Stopping in front of me, Samfen gave me a half friendly, half uneasy pout and said:

“Skel wants you to come. He says that you, too, must be in the circle.”

I widened my eyes slightly.

“Me?”

Samfen nodded, and not quite knowing what to make of it, I rose and followed him. My brother broke the silence after a few seconds.

“Listen… Sorry about last night. Father and Mother are a bit nervous about it. Uh… By the way. Xella and I didn’t tell them we saw you earlier this morning… on our street.”

I snorted softly. I didn’t know what to say. After a silence, I quietly cleared my throat and said a simple:

“Thank you.”

We came into the circle, and Skelrog gave me a slight smile of welcome. When I stood between Samfen and Kakzail, the former gladiator whispered through his teeth:

“What did you do to your face?”

I sighed.

“The ointment’s gone.”

Kakzail could not ask more questions, for at that moment the family solemnly broke into song in a strange language. It did not last long, and I whispered to Samfen curiously:

“What’s this language?”

“The language from the valley,” Samfen explained with a small smile. “Around here, people call it the witches’ tongue. I hardly ever speak it. Mother, on the other hand, does. That’s because Grandmother is…”

He fell silent when the barber, who was standing right next to him, gave him a curt knock on the head, and I saw my brother make an ashamed face. I kept watching the barber out of the corner of my eye as the newlyweds said a sentence together. Finally, the ritual was completed, and the circle was broken. I was wandering among the people of the valley, snooping around, not losing sight of the barber, when suddenly Kakzail took me by the shoulder.

“Hey, boy. Tell me who did this to you,” he whispered to me.

I got away, puzzled.

“You mean the bruises? Nobody. I fell down some stairs. What’s up?”

Kakzail frowned. He gestured for me to move away from the group, and after a few steps, he took me by the arm and, to my indignation, forcibly rolled up my sleeve, revealing a whole series of bruises.

“I don’t believe a word of it. Who did this to you?”

Exasperated and confused, I abruptly stepped back.

“Nobody,” I insisted. “Don’t touch me.”

Kakzail looked into my eyes as if he were trying to read my mind like the Blue One.

“It’s that gang, isn’t it? Tell me. Is it a guy from that gang? Is it Yalet?”

I looked annoyed.

“Good mother, no.” And, as Kakzail gestured as if he wanted to grab me again, I backed away hastily and nervously. Certainly, the fly uniform the bearded man wore was not improving my mood. “Leave me alone,” I snarled dryly.

Kakzail paused, inhaled, and… dropped his hand to his hip with a half-irritated, half-embarrassed expression.

“I just want to help you, Ashig.”

“Draen,” I replied. “I’m Draen. Not Ashig. And if you want to help me… stop asking questions. I don’t like questions. Does it run?”

Kakzail grimaced, then nodded.

“Mm… Okay. I don’t ask you questions and you don’t ask me questions. I won’t tell you where the Alchemist is. How about that?”

To his surprise, I gave him a mocking smile.

“Fantastic. The gnome can even run away from the Rock for all I care. I don’t need him.”

Kakzail blinked.

“Say what?”

“I don’t need him. I already have a remedy,” I assured him. And taking advantage of his confusion, I walked away, saying in a joking tone: “Ayo, mister cop.”

I was walking away, looking at my family, when I heard someone call:

“Messenger!”

I turned around and saw, near the first trees of the park, a nail-pincher with a letter in his hand and looking like he was in a hurry. Bingo, I thought with a smile. And I trotted forward and recited:

“The Swallow at your service! How can I help you?”

The man wanted me to deliver a letter to a nail-pincher in Atuerzo. It was a good distance, so I took no less than fifteen nails from him, which I pocketed, billing him for them on a blank sheet of paper. The nail-pincher didn’t even notice: as I said, he was in a hurry. And since they didn’t expect me to bring in any money that day… I got to keep it all.

After taking one last look at the Valleys and seeing that Samfen and a younger brother were giving me curious looks, I raised a hand to them in greeting and said:

“Ayo, family!”

And I set off running through the Evening Park, between alleys, trunks, and fountains. I was already out of the park when I recognized a familiar melody and braked suddenly. I spun around, and when I saw Yerris sitting alone on a bench, testing his harmonica, I laughed quietly, went around him discreetly, got to him from behind, and bellowed:

“Police! Black Cat, you’re under arrest!”

Yerris gasped, and as he turned to me and looked into my eyes, I laughed heartily.

“You can see me!”

Despite my aching body, I nimbly climbed over the bench, leaning on the back, and said:

“You’re healed.”

The semi-gnome nodded, smiling.

“Yes. More or less. Just a while ago, I went blind all of a sudden for a few seconds because I got nervous. But now it looks like it’s all over. Good mother, shyur! What are you doing in that uniform? Don’t tell me you’re a Swallow’s messenger now?”

“Dead round,” I said with a broad smile. “As a matter of fact, I have a message to deliver. Hey. How about I deliver it and come back? I’ll be back in less than an hour. Listen,” I said, giving him the fifteen nails. “You go buy some snacks in the meantime. And we’ll eat together. I invite you. It runs? I’ll tell my cronies. And Rogan, if I can find him. Normally I eat with them on the Esplanade, but I’ll tell them to come here. It’s a nice day. It runs?” I repeated.

To my joy, Yerris nodded as he uncovered his white teeth.

“It runs, shyur.”

I clapped my hands with satisfaction, waved my hand, and ran off with a happy heart.