Chương 86: Before the Fire Falls

On the third day, Narek came out of the healer's hut. Not because Brakka had allowed it. Because she had turned her back for twelve seconds. He made it all the way to the open cage with the complexion of an annoyed corpse, his shoulder bandaged, his legs shaking, and that stupid expression young beastmen wear when they still confuse willpower with common sense. Zayn saw him coming. He stayed seated, the rope loose around his waist.

"Go lie back down." Narek stopped in front of him.

"No."

"Solid argument. Very developed. Brakka would be proud right before breaking your knees."

"You're in the cage." Zayn lowered his eyes to the rope.

"Accurate observation. You're improving." Narek stepped into the space between the three posts. The two wolf-dogs lifted their heads, but did not move. Saeva, from a rooftop, was already watching them. Korr too, near the central fire. No one intervened. Narek crouched in front of Zayn with difficulty. Pain tightened his face. Zayn reached out before he could stop himself.

"Idiot."

"Shut up." The boy grabbed the rope. His fingers were trembling.

"I saw you come out of here." Zayn did not answer.

"The little ones saw it too." Silence. Narek pulled at the knot. Not hard enough. His shoulder betrayed him, and he swallowed a groan. Zayn caught his wrist.

"Stop."

"No."

"Narek."

"No." The boy looked up. His eyes were bright with fever and anger.

"You do not go back into the cage to protect us. Do you understand? You do not do that." Zayn stared at him. The easy answer was there. Sarcasm. Deflection. Turn the wound into a joke. Nothing came out. Narek pulled again. The knot came loose. The rope fell into the dust. No one moved. The entire camp seemed to be holding its breath. Narek took the rope and threw it out of the open cage. Then he said, too low for everyone to hear:"If you want to leave, leave. If you want to stay, stay.

But don't pretend you're something tied down just so other people are less afraid." Zayn lowered his eyes to the rope.

"You prepared that line?"

"Yes."

"It's too good for you."

"Brakka helped me."

"That explains the violence." Narek smiled for half a second. Then his legs gave out. Zayn caught him before he hit the ground. This time, Brakka arrived like a storm.

"Narek!" The boy went pale.

"I can explain."

"Can you die after explaining?"

"No."

"Then shut up." She almost lifted him with one arm. Before leaving, she threw Zayn a dark look.

"You too, don't smile." Zayn raised his hands.

"I didn't do anything."

"You exist. That's often enough." She carried Narek away under the children's nervous laughter and the adults' disapproving growls. Zayn remained standing in the open cage without the rope. Korr approached. His gaze dropped to the rope in the dust.

"You let it fall."

"He threw it."

"You didn't pick it back up." Zayn looked toward the healer's hut. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"No." Korr nodded slowly.

"Then stay standing." He turned away. No grand declaration. No forgiveness. But the open cage, that morning, stopped being a cage at last. The attack came before the end of the day. Not on the camp. On the hunt. Saeva, Odran, Varok, and four other hunters had gone to check the northern edge, where the white arrows had been found. Zayn accompanied them on Korr's order. Not to fight. To see. Korr had said it plainly:"You know human traps. Look like a human. Walk like a Fang." Zayn had answered:"Very nice.

Contradictory, but very nice." Then they had left. The forest was too calm. Not silent. Calm. As if the sounds had been moved to the wrong distance. Zayn felt it after an hour.

"We're being followed." Varok sneered.

"By your smell?" Zayn looked at the trees.

"By someone who knows where to place their steps so you'll think you heard a bird." Varok opened his mouth. Saeva raised a hand. Everyone stopped. A bird cry rang out. Once. Then twice. Not the Red-Claws' signal. Not the Mist-Fangs' either. Odran threw his axe before the first arrow even left the bow. It tore through a curtain of leaves. A masked body fell. This one did not wear white. It wore clan hides. Mist-Fang hides. A fake. The arrow it had been drawing fell into the mud. Green. Not white.

Zayn ran to the body and tore off its mask. Stitched mouth. Black tongue. Eye mark.

"They're changing the color," he said. Saeva cursed. Then the trees exploded. Five figures burst out at once. Not all masked. Two wore Red-Claw hides. One wore hawk feathers. Another wore bracelets of white bark. The last had its face uncovered. An elven face. Or close enough. Fine features. Long ears. Pale skin. Silver hair plastered to its skull by rain. But its eyes were empty. Not dead. Emptied. Zayn understood before the thing attacked.

"They're using bodies." The emptied elf raised a bow. Varok froze. One second too long. The arrow flew toward his throat. Zayn activated Flesh Assimilation. Plate. Forearm. He deflected the arrow at the last instant. The point opened his skin, but did not go through. One beat. Two. Saeva slipped under the elf's bow and cut off its hand. Three. The elf did not scream. It tried to bite. Four. Odran crushed its knee with a kick. Five. Zayn released the plate. Six. The skin bled, but held.

Varok looked at him, mouth slightly open. Zayn spat to the side.

"Thank me later with less hatred." Varok gritted his teeth and charged. This time, the Red-Claws and Mist-Fangs struck together. Not out of friendship. Out of necessity. Odran broke two false wearers of clan skins. Saeva pinned a creature against a trunk. Varok cut the head off a masked archer while yelling that no one wore his clan's colors to shoot him in the back. Zayn, meanwhile, went for the elf. He slammed it to the ground, knee on its chest, fingers around its throat.

"Who sent you?" The elf opened its mouth. No tongue. Only a silver filament wound around a lump of black flesh. It spoke anyway. The voice came from everywhere except its throat.

"The white woods have claimed." Zayn tightened his grip.

"No. Who is using you?" The elven body spasmed. Its eyes suddenly filled with tears. For an instant. Just one. Someone came back behind the emptiness. Not for long. Just long enough for the tongueless mouth to form a word. Not in the human tongue. Not in the clans' language. But Zayn understood the meaning, maybe through the mark, maybe through fear. Mercy. Then the silver filament tightened. The elf's skull cracked from the inside. Zayn jerked back just before the head exploded into pale roots.

Saeva dragged him away. The roots lashed the air where his face had been a second earlier. Then they dried out. Everything became calm again. Too quickly. Zayn remained crouched, breathing hard. Varok stared at the elven corpse. His face had changed. The anger was still there. But something else had entered it. Doubt.

"That was an elf," he said. Zayn answered:"Yes."

"But not free."

"Yes." Varok clenched his axes.

"Then who?" Zayn looked at the bodies. Stolen clan skins. Different-colored arrows. An emptied elf. An implanted voice. The manipulation was getting deeper at every step. And the deeper it got, the more it kept pointing toward the elves anyway. Because someone had access to them. To their bodies. To their bonds. To their symbols. To their voices.

"Someone who wants us to run out of time to ask that question," Zayn said. A horn wailed from the south. Not the group's. The camp's. Long. Broken. A single note. Saeva went pale.

"The camp." They ran. The smoke was visible before the palisades. Black. Then green. Then white. Three different fires. Bad sign. Zayn ran until his repaired leg screamed as if Brakka were insulting him from inside the bone. He did not slow. Odran overtook him. Saeva too. Varok stayed beside him for a while, then accelerated in turn. Zayn arrived last at the ridge. And saw the Mist-Fangs burning. Not entirely. Not yet. But enough. The northern palisade was open. One hut was in flames. Figures ran between the tents.

Korr was fighting near the central fire against two masked creatures. Mara-Kharn, the bear-woman observer, was carrying a child under each arm. Ishen the hawk-man was shooting from a platform. And at the edge of the healer's hut, Brakka was holding a half-torn wooden door like a shield. Behind her: Narek. Standing. Wounded. With a knife too small in his hand. Zayn came down the slope.

"Narek!" The boy turned his head. Mistake. A masked creature surged up behind him. Zayn activated his claws. Not two fingers. The whole hand. Pain exploded. He jumped. Too far. Not fast enough. Brakka hit the creature with the door before he got there, crushing it against a post.

"I told you to stay down!" she roared at Narek.

"The camp is burning!"

"I'll burn better than you!" Zayn reached the hut and grabbed Narek by the collar.

"You have an unhealthy obsession with bad decisions!"

"You came back!"

"That is not the point!" A green arrow struck the ground between them. The earth began to smoke. Brakka shoved both boys.

"Central shelter! Now!" Saeva arrived like a shadow, drove her spear into a perched shooter, then shouted:"They're not trying to win! They're after something!" Zayn understood at once. The cold stone. The elven hand. The proofs. He ran toward the hut where they had been kept. Too late. A man in a white cloak was already there. Not masked. Not beastman. Not elf. Human. Or at least he seemed human. He was holding the elven hand inside a black glass box. His face was calm. Too calm. Zayn entered the hut.

The man turned toward him. Value: 17 Weak. Ridiculously weak. So not the danger. The danger was in what he wore around his neck: a metal eye hanging from a black chain. The mark on Zayn's tongue turned icy.

"You're not a fighter," he said. The man smiled.

"No."

"Then what are you?"

"A witness." Zayn took a step. The man lifted the box.

"The white woods have reclaimed what was defiled. The clans saw it. The children heard it. The dead will carry it better than the living."

"Who sent you?" The man smiled wider. His teeth were black.

"Someone who knows you'll end up wanting someone to blame." Zayn charged. The man crushed the metal eye in his fingers. His body arched backward. Then exploded into white light. Not an explosion of fire. An explosion of image. Zayn saw an immense tree. White. Impossible. Thousands of lights in its branches. Elven voices. Pale hands. Narek screaming his name. The camp in flames. An arrow in a child's throat.

And at the center of it all, a sentence driven into his skull: The white woods chose to cut out the defilement at the root. Zayn fell to his knees. When his vision returned, the man was dead. The box too. The elven hand was gone. And outside, someone shouted:"They're fleeing!" He staggered out. The attackers were already falling back toward the forest. Again. Always. Strike. Leave images. Steal proofs. Burn enough that the fear continues. Korr roared an order. No one pursued. Not this time. The camp was alive.

But open. Wounded. And now the main proofs had been stolen. Zayn looked for Narek. The boy was near Brakka, alive, shaking, furious. He met Zayn's eyes.

"What did you see?" Zayn did not answer. He still had the white tree in his eyes. He knew it might be false. He knew that. But falseness did not keep an image from burning. And now it was burning in his head too. Korr approached, covered in blood.

"The proofs?" Zayn lowered his eyes.

"Stolen." Silence. Saeva closed her eyes. Varok cursed. Mara-Kharn set down the children she was carrying and looked at the flames. Korr said nothing for several seconds. Then:"Then only the witnesses remain." Zayn raised his head. The witnesses. Them. The camp. Their wounds. Their dead. Their visions. Their doubts. Everything a manipulation could turn against them at the next council. Far away, in the forest, a final white glimmer vanished between the trees. Zayn felt his anger grow. Not yet the Fall.

Not yet the rupture. But an ember darker than the others. Something that no longer needed certainty to begin wanting punishment. Brakka passed by him dragging a wounded man by the collar.

"If you stand there any longer, I'm using you as a post." Zayn blinked. The sentence dragged him back just enough. He grabbed the wounded man with her. The camp was still burning. Narek was still alive. Korr was still standing. The final catastrophe had not yet fallen. But someone had just proven they could enter, strike, show the white tree in Zayn's eyes, and leave again. Next time, they might not leave enough living people behind to doubt.