24 Survive but do not betray

The refuge where Yerris took us was, in fact, almost invisible to anyone who did not know where it was. It was a rocky cavity located behind one of the countless buildings of the Labyrinth. It had two openings. One, “the chimney”, was a simple hole in the rock perhaps a span wide. The other was “the door”, which was actually a narrow opening at the bottom of a particularly lost dead end where the residents of the neighborhood dumped all their garbage and old, unusable utensils. The Mole and the Soothsayer had tried to tidy up the mess and had put a wooden crate at the entrance to keep the rats out, but there was no escaping the smell.

I called our shelter the Cave, for its small size and appearance reminded me of the cave of my nakrus master. Well, it was not exactly the same. There was no chest, no lantern, and no mattress either, and the first night I spent there, squeezed between Manras and Yerris, made me wish I were like my nakrus master. He didn’t need to sleep, the smells didn’t make him gag, and his muscles didn’t get stiff. But, well, as he would have said, the life of a nakrus also had its drawbacks.

We spent eight days playing cat and mouse with the Ojisaries. Every time we left the cave, we looked paranoid. We took exaggerated detours, we always went out in groups of at least three, and we avoided the squares in the Cat Quarter. Truthfully, we didn’t run into any Ojisaries. Yet Yerris and Slaryn prowled the neighborhood looking for our companions from the Well. They found Syrdio and Nat the Diver: both had returned with the band of the Swift. They also found the Venoms and Damba, another boy. But that was all. Twenty were missing. I understood the concern of the Black Cat and the Solitary: if any of them had escaped the Ojisaries and were feeling the effects of the lack of sokwata, who knows if they would even be able to move and go back to our exploiters? Yerris assured that the effects were… very unpleasant. I remembered well the Priest’s image of the Evil Spirits entering the body to tear everything apart. I had no desire to experience it myself. Yerris had told us very clearly to return to the shelter immediately, as soon as we felt our eyes burning or anything else wrong. He hadn’t told us where he kept the sokwata, and I must say I didn’t insist on knowing, not after the penetrating look he gave me, assuring us that it was better we didn’t know.

Not a day went by that I did not visit Rogan in the hospital to help him heal with my spells. I found him asleep every time, except on the eighth day when he blinked and looked at me with eyes that seemed to be in another world entirely. I said “ayo,” to him, full of hope, but he did not answer me, and after seeing him close his eyes again, I left a paper in the palm of his hand. I had cut it out of a newspaper that afternoon. It was a pretty engraving of the Rock as seen from Menshaldra.

I stood up.

“Forward, shyurs,” I said to Manras and Dil.

We left the hospital and happily headed for the Cats. By the time we got back, it was already dark. Despite Manras’ complaints, we took the longest route to get as far away from the Ojisary territory as possible and reached the Timid River, which had its source in the Rock, before entering the Labyrinth from the east. Some of the alleys we passed were full of people of all sizes and colors; others were deserted. After climbing some narrow stairs and crossing a small wooden bridge, we finally came to the dead end… or rather the Reeking Alley, as Manras called it. With wrinkled noses, we passed through the narrow corridor as fast as we could. If I had dared to open my mouth wide, I would have uttered an “ayo, ayo!” as we entered, but I said nothing, for besides, Yerris said that the less the neighbors heard us the better, because otherwise, they would be quite capable of expelling us. As soon as I entered the cave I heard a groan, and I squinted in the darkness.

“Guel?” Manras said.

It was the Soothsayer. She was lying in a corner, trembling. Huddled not far away, the Mole said in a weak, dark voice:

“She’s very bad. And me… I’m not much better. I think it’s because of this… sokwata. We’ve been here for hours. Sla and the Black Cat aren’t coming. They’re not coming,” he repeated. The tension vibrated in his voice, as if he was trying to stifle the pain.

My mood darkened suddenly, and I crouched down beside him, asking:

“Does it hurt a lot?”

The Mole did not answer. He merely lay back and gave a long, jerky sigh. The silence was filled with expectation and anxiety. I don’t know how long it was before Manras whispered:

“My eyes are burning, Sharpy.”

I swallowed and confessed:

“Mine too.”

And it was true. My eyes burned as if the Cold One had taken hold of me, and I felt twinges all over my body. The sensation intensified as time went on. The Soothsayer was silent: she seemed to have fainted. The Mole, on the other hand, repeated between his teeth:

“We’ve gotta move. Sla is not coming. We’ve gotta get out…”

To get out, it runs, but to go where? The only solution was to go to the Ojisaries, and they were on the other side of the Labyrinth, maybe half an hour or more away, considering our condition. No, I thought. The Black Cat would come back. He would come back, and he would bring us sokwata. Damn him if he didn’t…

The fall into hell, gradual at first, suddenly sped up. The pain went from being bearable to being a real torment. I thought of Rogan’s words and truly believed that the Evil Spirits had been unleashed within me. Then I thought of Rogan, and imagining that he was suffering the same as we were, I found strength enough to drag myself out and mutter to the silent night:

“Help us… help us…”

I don’t know how long I kept repeating the same thing until, when I couldn’t take it anymore and saw death coming, I put things into perspective and said to myself that the Ojisaries might have made us fish for pearls, but at least they gave us sokwata. A life as a prisoner miner was better than death. All I had to do was get up, get my comrades on their feet, get out, and put one foot in front of the other until… until reaching those who had left us in this state. If Slaryn had not appeared at the dead end, I think I would have made up my mind, but the voice of the Black Dagger gave me hope. I felt a hand shake me.

“Sharpy! Blasthell, are you all…? Move over, let me through.”

She pushed me aside more than I pushed myself aside. Anyway, Sla just went to check that we were all in, and she went:

“Where the hell is Yerris?”

This suddenly took away my hope. What? Slaryn didn’t know where the Black Cat was?

“Help us,” I stammered. “Sokwata. Sla… the Priest…”

“Devils, don’t ask for a confessor, you’re not dying yet. I’ll bring you the sokwata. Don’t panic. Yerris says that last time he went two days without taking it and he survived. I won’t be long.”

It took her forever to come back. Well, at the time, I was not really aware of her return, in fact I was not aware of much except that I was in pain. I only know that I had found a small stick near the entrance and was biting it fiercely. Hands grabbed the stick and tried to pull it out of my mouth. They succeeded, they forced something down my throat, and suddenly I felt a wave of energy come over me, as if my body abruptly remembered how it was supposed to work. The pain gradually faded, my eyes stopped burning, and my mind began to reason again. I heard the wheezing of my companions, blinked at the harmonic light that Sla held, and saw the Black Cat beside her.

“Yerris,” I gasped. My hands were shaking with fear, but everything seemed to be back to normal now.

“Spirits and demons,” Yerris muttered. He sounded even more exhausted than we were. “Sorry, shyurs. I’ve been an idiot.”

I frowned, not quite understanding his words, and turned my head to make sure that Manras and Dil were recovered now. They both looked as frightened as I was. What we had just been through was a nightmare. Sla undid the harmonic light, and strangely enough, darkness didn’t engulfed us: it was already dawn outside.

“It wasn’t your fault, Yerris,” Sla finally said.

“It is,” Yerris growled. “I should have foreseen it. I know how these gwaks are. They attack before we attack them. And they are incapable of trusting anyone. They’re devils.”

“Nonsense,” Slaryn said calmly; “you would have done the same thing in their place.”

Yerris did not reply, and increasingly puzzled, I inquired:

“What are you talking about?”

Yerris was unusually irritated. He replied with a muffled hiss:

“About that isturbagged gwak. Syrdio. And Diver. Last night, one of them pretended to be ill. I believed him and went to fetch them some sokwata. I was a fool. They followed me and…”

He was silent, and I turned pale as I guessed.

“They stole the sokwata from you.”

“You’ve got it round,” Yerris sighed, altered. “Dead round. And now who knows where they put it.”

I shook my head in confusion.

“But then… how did you give sokwata to us?”

Yerris inhaled, and Slaryn replied:

“Syrdio gave it to him.”

“Let’s say he sold it to me,” Yerris corrected through his teeth. “Blasthell, how I’d be glad to wring that damned nail-kisser’s neck. If he was before me just now… Gaaah… Damn gwaks!”

As if he wasn’t one himself, I thought. I almost smiled at that, but my lips immediately twisted at the thought that Syrdio was now in possession of the sokwata. As Yerris continued to hurl imprecations, I interrupted him, hesitating:

“But, Yerris… what did you give him in return? Money?”

The dim light and my sokwata eyes allowed me to see the Black Cat’s grimace.

“Money,” he confirmed. “Until he realizes that the money we give him is not worth it. On that day, he’ll stop giving us sokwata so he can live a few years at the cost of our lives. I have no hope that this scumbag will be able to share life time. He’s worse than an isturbag. He’s a murderer—”

“That’s enough, Yerris,” Slaryn cut him off. “Stop now. We’ll come to an agreement. Let’s be logical: it’s not in their best interest to have seven, no, actually, nine enemies.”

“Seven,” the Black Cat replied. “The Venoms and Damba have joined forces with Swift’s band. There are seven of us against about fifteen gwaks, almost all of them between twelve and fifteen. Argh, did I say seven? Forget Manras and Dil. So we’re five. And, you yourself told me that the Mole never threw a punch in his life—”

“Hold your tongue,” Slaryn growled. “That’s not what I said. The Mole knows how to defend himself, right?”

“Yes, of course, he defends himself by running away, haha!” Yerris scoffed. Slaryn gave him a shove, exasperated. Unlike the Solitary and me, the Black Cat didn’t notice the Mole’s ashamed expression; Yerris may have been a good cat, but tact wasn’t his strong suit, to say the least.

I rolled my eyes and observed:

“Well, maybe that’s the solution: we pay them back, snatch the sokwata, run away, and the sokwata is all for us.”

“First, we’d have to know where they’re hiding it,” Slaryn said. “And after that, we wouldn’t want Swift to lend Syrdio a hand and come down on us the next day.”

The Mole ventured:

“But maybe if we let them have half of it…”

“Perhaps they would calm down for a while,” Slaryn conceded. “But only for a while.”

There was silence. Then the Soothsayer intervened:

“Black Cat. How much money did they ask you for?”

Yerris coughed, embarrassed.

“Well… he says the dose is one goldy. So, he said, next time… we should bring him two each.”

Conclusion: Yerris had not been able to pay and had committed himself to us all. There was silence as we processed the news. One goldy per week was doable if we worked at it. But it was still a low blow.

“We’ve got to get that alchemist out,” Slaryn blurted out.

We nodded silently. However, the idea was very nice, but putting it into practice was suicidal. Besides, if we left the Ojisaries without an alchemist, our companions who had been brought back to the Well would curse us to their last breaths.

After another long silence, I realized that, despite the sokwata, the sleepless night had left us all exhausted, and finally, putting off worrying about anything else, I imitated my comrades, went back to lie down, and yawned…before suddenly straightening up and exclaiming:

“Mother of your ancestors! Rogan! Rogan has no sokwata!”

I got up so quickly that I hit a lower part of the ceiling, and the blow was so violent that I saw stars.

“Thunders, shyur! Go easy,” Yerris snorted, taking me by the arm. “We’ve got enough problems already, so don’t break your head.”

After suffering like hell all night, it was amazing how a single blow brought a flood of tears to my eyes, but they were not just from pain.

“Yerris! You’ve got to help me, I’ve got to get Rogan some sokwata. Tell me where that scaluftard is, I’ll cut off his ears if he doesn’t give me some sokwata. Tell me where he is!”

Yerris sighed and nodded.

“Stay here, Sharpy. I’ll be right back.”

I refused categorically and went out with him, holding my head. I had even a wound, I realized. My hands were bloody.

“Blasthell. What a slugbonery,” I croaked, trying to swallow my tears.

At the end of the blind alley, the Black Cat stopped to take a look at my wound, he grimaced, and only said:

“Blasthell.”

He took a direction, and I followed as best I could. Each step echoed in my head. Although the Labyrinth was starting to be familiar territory for me, I got a little lost with so many alleys, especially since I wasn’t in a state to pay too much attention to where we were going. The sky was clearing, and although it was still very early, there were already workers on their way to the factories; nevertheless, the atmosphere was still silent and sleepy. At last, we came to a slightly wider dead end where some gwaks were sleeping like bliss. Swift, however, was awake and sitting on a barrel, filing his nails with a knife. When he saw us approaching, the red-haired elf did not move, but he did not take his eyes off us. When we were a few feet away, he calmly said:

“You again, Black Cat? Ayo, Sharpy.”

I had tried to clean my cheeks as much as possible, but my voice seemed a little shaky when I said:

“Ayo.”

The band kap tilted his head to one side, his gaze alternating between the two of us, as Yerris declared:

“I need to talk to Syrdio.”

“If it’s to talk business, it’s with me,” Swift warned. And at last he stepped down from the barrel, slipping the knife into his sleeve with obvious skill. “Is it about the sokwata?”

“It is for the Priest,” I explained. I cleared my throat to give my voice a little more firmness, “He’s in the hospital, and right now he may be suffering a living hell. I have to go save him.”

Swift nodded, looking understanding.

“I see. You want me to help you, huh? What the hell happened to your head? Were you the one who clobbered him, isturbag?”

“Isturbag yourself,” the Black Cat growled. “The gwak hit himself; I don’t beat up my mates. Look, I just wanted to tell you something, Swift: you think you’re very clever now that you’re taking advantage of us like the Ojisaries did, but it won’t last. We’ll free the alchemist. And your sokwata, we won’t give a damn about it. And your sokwata friends, I’ll make them pay, you hear me? I will make them pay dearly.”

His hostility shocked and frightened me at the same time, for to attack Swift in such a way and in his own shelter was not particularly prudent. The kap looked theatrically impressed.

“How vengeful. Look, I’m just protecting my people, that’s all. You wouldn’t tell them where the sokwata was. So I understand that they’re not telling you now. Because they too hold grudges.” He glanced at his gang. Several of them had woken up and stood up without coming near. He resumed, “I happen to have a dose left here in my pocket. And I’ll give it to my namesake for free. Because I’m a charitable gwak.” He put his left hand in his pocket and handed me a small black pill. I looked at it curiously, and as I was about to take it, Swift pushed it aside slightly and added, “All the other doses for you and the Priest, you could have them for free too… on one condition.”

I frowned.

“What condition?”

Swift glanced sideways at the Black Cat before putting an arm around my shoulders and walking away a little, saying softly:

“I haven’t forgotten that I taught you a lot of pilfering tricks this winter, and you were doing better than fine, I remember. Do you remember?”

As nodding would have given me a headache, I replied with a:

“Natural.”

He smiled.

“Natural,” he repeated. “And since I’ve learned that you’re a Black Dagger… Well, since you’re still a kid, I won’t ask you to hunt the Crown of the Fallen, but I want to offer you a deal. You join my gang, and you give me half of what you earn. In exchange, as I say, a free ration of sokwata for two and also a good shelter to sleep in and not… the dump where the Black Cat has set you up.” He smiled, mockingly. “What do you say?”

The offer was very tempting. My gaze slid surreptitiously to Swift’s pockets, so close. Did he keep more sokwata pills there? I turned my eyes back to the elf’s scarred face and hesitated, trying to understand, despite my aching head and fatigue, what my namesake was offering me. In other words, he was telling me: join my gang, mate, and let’s join forces. And it also meant a: cut ties with the Black Cat and the Solitary and send them to go chase the clouds. I shook my head and said:

“I can’t. Yerris is my friend.”

Swift arched an eyebrow.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

I wavered.

“Well… I can’t leave him.”

My namesake looked skeptical.

“Isn’t it more like you’re afraid to steal for a living?”

I returned his stubborn look.

“The hell, it’s not that. The nail-pinchers, I can pick their pockets without batting an eye. No, it’s more that…” I shrugged and, since I had his full attention, I took advantage of it. “I have another proposal. A better one. You give me the sokwata for free. Four rations. For me, the Priest, and my cronies from the newspapers. And, in exchange, I’ll join in, but only by day, and I swear you’ll get more earnings than losses. But you don’t say a word to the Black Cat or the Solitary, it runs?”

Swift now looked at me thoughtfully.

“For now, I’m fine with it. It runs. If the Black Cat finds out, it won’t be from me. But I think he already suspects we’ve come to an agreement, namesake. Today, I’m giving you the day off because of your head. But, tomorrow, I’ll see you on the Esplanade, near the manticore, at eleven. Don’t be late.”

He ruffled my hair, and I uttered an “ouch” of pain. I walked quickly away with the Black Cat, under the indifferent, curious, or mocking glances of Swift’s companions. We walked through the narrow streets in silence. I, with my headache, was not in the mood to talk. After a while, Yerris said:

“You’re going with him, aren’t you?”

In his voice, I heard a hint of disappointment. I rolled my eyes.

“Blasthell, no. We just talked, that’s all.”

The Black Cat looked at me out of the corner of his eye, uneasy, and I felt uneasy in turn. But I didn’t see myself saying to him at all, “look, Yerris, don’t worry, now I’ll team up with Swift, but just a little, I know you don’t like him, but, think about it, he’s the one with the sokwata now, now’s not the time to fall out with him, right?”. I sighed and reaffirmed my opinion: my agreement was a survival agreement, not a betrayal.

When we left the Cat Quarter behind, the Black Cat said goodbye to me, saying:

“I’ll see if I can find… more companions from the Well. I’m sure there are others out here. Ayo, shyur.”

I could hear his tone of voice, but I did not pay much attention to it. On the way to the Passion Flower Hospital, I thought only of my fatigue and my head. Halfway there I realized that I had left my cap in the Cave. As I passed through the Esplanade and met the frowning eyes of a fly, I saw my hands covered with blood, and fearing to attract attention, I hastened to wash them in a fountain and to run water over my wound. By the time I reached the hospital, daylight had fully broken and the sun was shining over all the lower part of Estergat. I walked through the main hall, greeted the kadaelf, who was working as a secretary that morning, and went straight to the large ward where Rogan was. The scene I saw left me very pale. Two nurses were standing by the Priest’s bed, trying to calm him down. Rogan was delirious, uttering inarticulate cries and others which I understood very clearly.

“Confession, confession, I want to die!” he said.

I rushed to the bed, and when he saw me, he seemed to calm down a little. He croaked in a heart-rending tone:

“Sharpy, kill me, for the sake of your ancestors, kill me…”

Seeing him calmer, one of the nurses moved away, and I took advantage of a moment when the other turned his head to put the sokwata pill in Rogan’s mouth.

“Swallow, Priest, swallow,” I whispered.

I took his hand and saw how his face gradually relaxed, his eyes became less bright, and then his lips moved. He stammered:

“Spirits.”

He said it with so little force and exhaled so long that I thought he had just breathed his last, and I called myself names because I had not insisted that the Black Cat give me at least a dose of sokwata in advance for the Priest. Maybe his seizure, coupled with his flank wound, had been too much for one body. But the Priest was resilient, and when I laid my head on his chest and heard his heartbeat, relief prevented me from protesting when the nurse begged me to leave because they were going to change my friend’s bandage. They did not want me to stay and see, so I went away, but not without checking a second time that the Priest was now fast asleep. I did not go very far. I walked out of the hospital, dragged my feet through the park, and not having the courage to walk so far back to the Cave, I climbed a tree with a short trunk and thick branches, curled up, taking care to put my head gently between my arms, and closed my eyes at last, breathing peacefully. Like that, lulled by the sounds of the city, the birdsong, and the gentle summer breeze, I fell into a long sleep. And I dreamed of a necromantic child, wild and innocent, ignorant and happy, who, back in the valley, climbed the trunks of his friends the trees and sang with laughter: karilon lu, karilon lu, Summer, be welcome, I sing and greet you, karilon lu, karilon lu…