77. Between betrayal and revenge

What I hadn’t thought of was that the plan to eliminate the Black Hawk and Adoya would be based partly on me. The idea was simple: I would enter the dead end, pretend to surrender, try to find out how many people were there, and then run away. My new allies would ambush my persecutors and fall upon them—if they pursued me—and then we would go in and kill the Black Hawk if he did not deign to come out.

Apparently the hunt had met with Frashluc’s approval. The Black Hawk was now nothing more than a troublesome wreck to him, and my proposal had even pleased him, according to the Albino. I could not, therefore, have found a better ally.

Six of us set off. The Albino and Swashbuckler went ahead, wrapped in their cloaks. I, accompanied by Diver, went forward in the middle, with the rodaria twig between my teeth. I felt no excitement, but I did feel a desire for revenge. The Black Hawk had exploited children, had mutated them, had condemned them to almost certain death. He was a devil, a murderer, and he deserved to die. And Adoya, for terrorizing Manras as a child, for threatening to kill my family, deserved it too.

Following the Albino’s advice, I kept repeating that to myself as we made our way through the dark alleys to the old Ojisary refuge. It was nearly five o’clock in the morning, and there were still almost three hours to go before dawn. The few Cats we passed on the way instinctively moved aside and were almost invisible in the shadows.

We reached the den, and the Albino stopped. Two of the henchmen moved away to the alley beyond the dead end. After a moment, the Albino whispered to me:

“Go ahead, Bard.”

Diver gently nudged me to encourage me. I breathed in deeply. Without weapons, without even a stone, I walked down the alley, stopped for a moment by the rock that was just around the corner, glanced down the dead end… And saw nothing.

I came out into the open and, swallowing my nerves, muttered:

“Come on, Mor-eldal. You’re the Survivor. Come on, Mor-eldal. Courage and bravery.”

I walked down the dead end to the door through which Sla and I had taken the Alchemist the previous summer. I was about to knock when suddenly two dogs came barking out of the back shack. Immediately the door opened. Not the alchemist’s, but the one that led to the collapsed mine. I ran for my life. But, of course, the Albino hadn’t thought about the fact that I couldn’t run as fast as a dog. Or maybe he didn’t think I would go so deep into the dead end. In any case, the dogs’ teeth quickly caught my calves. I fell, screamed, my mind blurred with panic, and suddenly I felt arms grab me. They pulled me in.

I landed on the stone floor in a room lit by a lantern. Adoya’s seven dogs were now all inside, and drooling with their fangs out, they surrounded me, but did not touch me. However, I hardly noticed. Whether it was due to the trauma or some inexplicable phenomenon, my mind was blank, with only harmonic images running through it. Now I was seeing a river. And someone was throwing me in, and… and I was drowning. I was drowning like Dil in his nightmare.

“You filthy rat,” a voice said. “You killed my son. The only son I loved. You miserable gwak. I will kill you all. All of you mutants. I will kill you all…”

I felt a hand grab my neck. Of course, that’s why I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t because of the river. It was the dark elf who was squeezing and squeezing…

My first instinct was to send him a mortic shock. I did so. But it was so weak that the dark elf was hardly stunned. So I said to myself: concentrate.

I concentrated, and instead of taking the morjas from my bones, I took it from the ferilompard bone hanging from a necklace, and oddly enough, I took it from Azlaria’s amulet as well. The energy was so dense that in a matter of seconds, I reached the greatest amount of morjas my body had ever had. On the verge of fainting, I raised my mortic hand, placed it on my attacker’s neck, and launched the discharge.

Such a release of energy left me half faint. The Black Hawk collapsed, but Adoya shouted right away, and the dogs set on me. And I, struggling to catch my breath, covered my face with my arms and screamed at the top of my lungs. So I hardly heard the other screams, and I even hardly noticed it when the dogs stopped biting me. A hand touched me. I threw out what was left of my mortic energy and caused someone to croak in surprise.

“What the…!” someone gasped. “The gwak cast a spell on me.”

“Sharpy!” another voice shouted.

It was a familiar one, and when Diver helped me to my feet and tried to pull my hands away from my face, I didn’t resist. I stopped screaming, and drowning in pain, looked at the scene blankly. Around me there had been a massacre. Adoya and his dogs were dead. So were two other people. And the Black Hawk…

“He’s still breathing,” the Albino informed, leaning close to the dark elf. He looked up at me with red eyes and winced, “I thought I’d let you have the honor of finishing him off, but… I have a feeling that won’t be possible. I’ll take care of it.”

“No, let me do it,” Diver interjected. His voice trembled. He repeated, “Let me do it.”

The Albino let him have the honour, and between the worlds of death and life, I saw my companion move away from me, take a dagger, and thrust it into the neck of the madman. Blood gushed forth. But instead of fainting, this time I did not react. I felt only tears running down my cheeks. Tears of horror. The Albino said:

“Found anything interesting, Swashbuckler? Well. Hurry up and pocket it, comrades. Let’s not hang around here.”

I must have looked really terrible because they did not even ask me if I could stand up. Swashbuckler lifted me up, and we sped out of there. The way back and what followed became intertwined in my mind. I kept repeating to myself: forget, forget, forget… The whole scene with the dead bodies, I wanted to forget it all! And the dogs. I wanted to forget the vindictive glint in Diver’s eyes when he had stabbed the dagger into the Black Hawk. And I wanted to forget the fear. And I wanted to forget that I was the one who had sentenced them to death. My family was safe, round… but I was more afraid than ever. The thing is, I didn’t want to join Frashluc’s gang. I didn’t want to associate with assassins. Even if they were assassins of assassins. I wanted them all, all of them, to forget me and leave me in peace.

And so, tormented as much by my thoughts as by the bites, I made no effort to get out of my mental shock. Actually, I made the opposite effort. I did not want to return to reality. Voices became mere meaningless sounds, images merged with those conjured by my mind… and it was better that way. From reality, only the touch of the arms that gripped me helped a little to comfort me, and, not caring whose arms they were, I clutched them tightly too.

Besides that source of consolation, there was a stranger one: from Azlaria’s pendant flowed a regenerative morjas that spread through my body, to the wounds. Was it real? I didn’t know. The thing is, at that moment, I thought with infinite relief: Elassar is with me.

* * *

For the next three days I did not loosen my lips to speak. I was left in the hands of old Fieronilles, who was something like the doctor of the band, and the old man told me old stories, he showed me another time the picture of his late wife on his pendant, and, well, he spent so much time nursing me and talking to me that, if in the old days at The Drawer I called him “Grandpa”, now, even though I did not call him at all, I thought so. He was a good man and, to my joy, he was the friend of old Bayl of the chocolates. Not a day went by without the blind man coming with some treat. In short, I felt as cuddly, comfortable and serene as could be. And not wanting to change anything, I refused to say a word and remained in a silence as deep as Little Wolf.

Several times, someone from Frashluc’s gang came to inquire about my health. That is, what bothered them most was my silence. I was supposed to answer their questions, after all. One of the men, thinking I was just making fun of them, tried to make me talk by force, but to no avail, and old Fieronilles and his dog got so angry that no one dared to touch me again.

On the fourth day, I began to feel better, though I had spent a night full of nightmares. I sat up in bed, and seeing old Fieronilles busy threading a needle, I looked at him for a moment and saw how his hand was shaking. I slipped out of the covers, went over to him, took his trembling hands, and helped him to thread the sewing thread through the eye.

“Ah, thank you, my boy,” old Fieronilles smiled. “My hands are not what they used to be. Tell me, have you ever sewn?” I shook my head. “Never? Well, sit back and watch. Learning to mend your own clothes is essential. Watch.”

I watched. After a few minutes, I wanted to try. The old man, of course, let me, and I took up his work with great concentration. And I finished mending my coat, which had been torn by the dogs. Then, seeing how dusty the little room where the old man lived was, I swept and removed the cobwebs from the ceiling, repaired a chair as Rux, Miroki Fal’s butler, had taught me to do, and polished his boots. Seeing me so busy, old Fieronilles was smiling.

“Looks like a house fairy got into my house,” he commented. “Come on, that’s enough, kid, or your wounds will reopen.”

Indeed, one of the deeper ones on my arm had reopened, and old Fieronilles gently chided me before reapplying his ointments.

“I can’t believe it, it’s already been three days since I’ve been to The Drawer,” Grandpa said. “Maybe I’ll take a walk there now. Do you want to come?”

I nodded, and we both walked slowly out of the house, followed by Chestnut, Grandpa’s dog. The people of The Drawer received us well, but I noticed that, as I was not making any noise, they soon stopped paying attention to me. It was funny to see how a mute could pass completely unnoticed.

I ate the leftovers Grandpa left me and spent a pleasant afternoon petting Chestnut, chewing smograss, and helping Sham clean the glasses. My help was rewarded with a generous snack. That led me to think that it was not true that my presence went unnoticed. The tavern keeper’s question confirmed it.

“So, Bard? Aren’t you ever going to sing to us again? That would be a shame, you know?”

The conversations died down immediately, and many of the people supported his words by saying, “Yeah, sing to us, sing to us again!”. I turned slowly, stunned, and looked at the faces of the Cats. The ruffians, the thieves, the merchants… all of them were great regulars at The Drawer. I knew them all. Some had given me a nail for some service or a certain song; others had fun teasing me just to hear my seasoned gwak replies; others, less sociable, would say, “buzz off, gwak” when I went to tell them fibs or was disturbing them. Sham insisted:

“Won’t you sing to us?”

I looked up at the tall dark elf and shook my head.

“No?”

I shook my head again. And, despite the general disappointment, I did not change my mind. The tavern keeper sighed and patted my cheek.

“Okay, kid. But then help me at the counter.”

I helped him. I felt I had to communicate to them somehow that if I didn’t sing, it wasn’t because I was angry with them, but because… I didn’t want to, period.

When Lotto the Tinker announced four o’clock in the afternoon, old Fieronilles, Chestnut, and I left the tavern and went for a walk down to the Timid River. I was taking Grandpa by the elbow, so that he could lean on me. When we reached the river that cascaded down to the river of Estergat, we sat on a rock and looked out over the views: Menshaldra, the bright waters of the river, the distant fields, the trees of the Crypt. Estergat was a huge city, but from the Rock we could see the wide domains it governed. On this day, one could even see the white houses of Azada, downstream.

Grandpa was silent. I took off my boots, wet my feet in the warm water of the Timid River, and then being careful not to prick myself on any sharp rocks, I went back to the old man and began to stroke Chestnut with the tip of my foot.

We were thus quiet when suddenly I heard a:

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“Sharpy!”

I turned and saw my cronies running down the slope. They were followed by Rogan, who was carrying Little Wolf, and others of the band were approaching too, among them Syrdio and Swift.

I smiled broadly and went back to the path. I greeted my cronies with friendly pats, kissed Little Wolf, and smiled all the time. The Priest looked at me with a mixture of curiosity, relief, and embarrassment. He said:

“So, what Diver says is true… You don’t talk anymore.”

It almost sounded like a question. I gave him a smiling pout as if to reply, “it’s doesn’t matter”.

“Well, what a bummer,” Swift interjected, coming closer. “You who like to show off so much. You’re building up a reputation as a great gwak, namesake.”

I was troubled. Devils. So they knew. Of course they did. How could they not know? Adoya had come to me and threatened my family, and the next day, he was found dead, along with his dogs, the Black Hawk, and two associates. Plus, I’m sure Diver had told them what happened.

“He’s gone as dumb as Little Wolf,” Syrdio said with a mocking expression. “And that’s because you’re a coward, Sharpy. Sure you whined like a wolf when Diver popped him off. And your brain got so bland that that old fart has to fix you up, am I round?”

I looked at him, my eyes wide. He said in a row:

“Wimp-isturbag-fool-jerk.”

My indignation reached its peak, and I threw myself at him. And as he continued to hurl insults at me as we rolled over the dirt and rocks, I grunted:

“Isturbag, your mother!”

My companions, around, shouted “roll, roll!”, but then Syrdio pushed me aside and said:

“I won! Swift, my twenty nails!”

He stood up before my stunned eyes. We hadn’t finished the fight. I protested:

“Blasthell, what do you mean you won? I didn’t surrender.”

Syrdio laughed and gave me a push.

“No, isturbag. I won against Swift. He said: Twenty nails to the one who can awake Sharpy’s tongue,” he explained. “And I said to myself, ‘Damn, I’ll take the bet’. I’m a master at making Sharpy flip out, after all.”

“You had every chance of winning,” the kap muttered, amused, and he added, “I’ll give the twenty to you later. I don’t have twenty nails right now. Unless Sharpy already has those five goldies he promised.”

I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed—they had pulled me from my sacred silence, blasthell—but at the same time… I was also glad they did.

“Well, right now I don’t have them, natural,” I said. “Can’t you see what state the dogs have got me in? They almost ate me alive. But, as soon as I can, I’ll find the money. By the way, have you seen Sarova?”

Rogan cleared his throat.

“No. He went straight to the barber. I found out because, the next day, Samfen came to ask about you.”

“Oh,” I muttered, surprised. I picked up my cap from the floor. “And what did you say to him?”

The Priest snorted.

“Well, that I had no idea where you were. Apparently, Sarova has been almost as mute as you. He didn’t tell them anything, and yet it seems that the barber gave him quite a dressing down. Oh, and also, I hear he’s forbidden them to set foot in the Cats ever again.”

“And I don’t think they will ever come back!” Swift laughed. “Seeing so many gwaks has frightened them. Well, I’m going back uphill, because the sun is sloping fast.”

In fact, night was already falling, and an orange light bathed the entire Cat Quarter. Facing Rogan’s questioning look, I said:

“Go ahead. I’ll be right there.”

I walked away, back to the rock and the old Fieronilles.

“Grandpa, Grandpa! Do you want me to walk you home?”

The old man smiled.

“Ah… well, I know the way, kid. I walk here almost every day. You can go with your friends. Just one thing… remember, when they come for you, you’ll have to go with them.”

I understood that with “them” he was not referring to my companions but to the men of Frashluc. My face darkened, but I nodded.

“Yes, Grandpa. I know. I haven’t forgotten.”

Old Fieronilles raised an index finger and said:

“Wait.”

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a necklace.

“I found it some time ago in a market, and it caught my eye. In Veliria, we call it a music necklace. I don’t know if it’s still worn, but I know that, in the old days, all the troupes of note had one. It’s for you, Bard. I know you like necklaces.”

Moved, I put the music necklace around my neck and examined it curiously—it was a simple leather cord with a pendant in the shape of a flute with several bamboos. I blew into one of the small pipes. A simple blowing sound came from it. It was clear that it was more a decorative pendant than an instrument. I smiled.

“Thanks, Grandpa.”

Old Fieronilles had risen from the rock. He shook his head gently, smiling.

“You’re welcome, Bard. Don’t forget your boots. And stop by to see me if your wounds reopen.”

“I will. Ayo!” I said.

As he walked away towards the heart of the Labyrinth, accompanied by Chestnut, I retrieved my boots, hurried up the hill, and caught up with my cronies, Rogan, and Little Wolf. Soon we were talking, and blah, blah, blah, the grandfather is so nice and, hey, have you seen my music necklace? I want one too! Lend it to me. I’m not lending it to you, you’ll break it. No, I won’t break it. Well then, but only for a second… And so we arrived at the refuge when it was already dark, and we sat down around the fire, and, surrounded by my companions, I sunk into a peaceful sleep, safe from nightmares.

I thought that those from Frashluc would wait until the next day to question me. I was mistaken. Diver came to wake me at an ungodly hour, shook me out of my peaceful sleep, and I muttered:

“Go blow yourself up.”

“Get up,” Diver insisted. “Frashluc wants to talk with you right now.”

The “right now” sounded urgent. I stretched against my will and grumbled:

“I’m sleepy.”

“Well, put up with it and get moving,” my comrade said.

I sighed, slipped out of the cover, trying not to disturb my cronies, and followed Diver out of the Bivouac. The sky was overcast, and I could not tell what time it was. In any case, it was still dark.

I was still so sleepy that I stumbled several times. I followed Diver through the alleys like a zombie. After a while, he put something in my hand.

“Swallow this, it’ll perk you up.”

Without thinking about it, I put it in my mouth, chewed it, swallowed it… and the taste suddenly reminded me of something.

“Good mother!” I exclaimed, incredulous. “It was passwhite! You made me swallow passwhite! I didn’t want to eat that!”

“I thought it would make it easier for you,” Diver replied. “That way you spill the beans and that’s it. Maybe you won’t even remember it. Come on, don’t get mad.”

I was mad, but I soon stopped being so, for the effects of the passwhite were not long in coming. As I began to zigzag, Diver took me by the arm. He took me into The Yellow Dragon, the inn in the Grey Square, and left me in the hands of a man whom I probably knew, but did not recognize in my condition.

“He took it by himself?” the man asked, surprised.

“I told him to swallow it, and he did,” Diver replied.

“For real? Ah, how beautiful friendship is,” the man scoffed, and dragging me towards the stairs, he added, “You come too.”

“Me, sir?” Diver gasped.

We climbed the stairs. At the top, I burst out laughing, I don’t know why. The man huffed.

“Well, looks like it had a strong effect on him,” he observed.

“Sokwatas are more affected than normal people, that’s why,” Diver explained. “The remedy didn’t change that.”

The man pouted.

“Mmph. I hope it’s not going to be a problem. Let’s go.”

We went through a tunnel that seemed familiar, and then through other unknown tunnels and stairs. We passed a few people, I don’t know how many. At last, we came to a comfortable, well-lit room with a large carpet, a small hot water fountain, a large armchair, and a small table in the corner. Standing by the armchair was Frashluc, the fat old man, looking as nail-pinched as ever. As soon as the sajit who had been holding me by the shoulder let go, I began to wander about the room, rambling and humming.

“Uh… Did you get the wrong dose?” Frashluc asked.

I stopped near the spring and looked at the bottom. It was dark. I dipped my left hand and began to sing:

The water’s so limpid,

so bright. If I drink it,

I see myself drinking

the sky and the air!

Hoyoyoyoy!

“Good mother, this house is damn pretty!” I exclaimed, laughing.

And it really was. Or at least it was warm, and at that moment, I really liked it. Someone took me gently by the shoulder, and I turned to see the face of old Frashluc. I smiled.

“Ayo, Grandpa, how are you.”

I heard a muffled laugh. It was Diver. Frashluc cleared his throat.

“Come here and sit down.”

I sat where he said, on the carpet, and he went and sat opposite me in the armchair. His eyes looked at me.

“I held up my end of the bargain. Now you hold up yours, boy. Talk. You want to talk, don’t you?”

I blinked. Did I want to talk?

“Yes, Grandpa. I want to talk. I have a lot to say.”

Frashluc smiled.

“Good. Then talk.”

It wasn’t so easy to get me to talk, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know what to say: they had to ask me specific questions. I answered them all. And so they found out the identity of the hobbits, even though they probably already had an idea about it, they found out about the tunnel that would connect Yadibia to Estergat, and they also found out that I didn’t know much else. That generated a certain exasperation. There were people in the room. Maybe… four, five people? In addition to Diver and me.

“Tell me, boy,” Frashluc resumed. “You say that this journey you made up to the valley was to go to your master. Who is this master?”

“My master!” I said excitedly. Just the thought of him made me smile widely, and I fidgeted on the carpet. “My master. I missed him so much. I was so troubled with the barber, the comrades, my brother… that I thought: I’m going home. And I did. And I gave him the bones.”

“What bones?”

“The bones,” I smiled. “Ferilompard bones!” I burst out laughing, and when I calmed down, I added, “The bones. Elassar told me they were a marvel. He was pleased. Because I brought them to him.”

As I recalled it, I was overwhelmed by joy. Frashluc’s eyes twinkled as if my words had particularly affected him.

“He’s delirious,” one of those present snorted.

Frashluc nodded calmly.

“Totally. Tell me, boy. One more question: do you think Korther knows you’re here?”

That was not an easy question. I gave him a confused look. They had to rephrase it, and so I answered:

“I haven’t talked to my cousin since Sacredday. He said he was gonna introduce me to his girlfriend. But I didn’t go. Yet he invited me to a free dinner and everything. But I was so scared…”

“Scared?” Frashluc repeated.

I nodded, my throat tight.

“Because of Adoya. And the Black Hawk. I was very scared.”

Frashluc nodded, and to my surprise, he reached out a hand and took mine.

“What about now, boy? Are you scared now?”

I blinked, smiled, and shook my head.

“No! Now I’m fine.”

Frashluc’s fatherly hand soothed me and comforted me even more.

“One more question, boy. Are you listening?”

My gaze had wandered, but I returned to the old man’s eyes. Frashluc asked:

“Why do you think Korther didn’t help you save your family and why did I?”

Another complicated question. He rephrased:

“Korther didn’t help you, did he?”

I shook my head, growing more somber. The dose of passwhite must have been lower than the first time I had taken it because I was already beginning to feel its depressive effects.

“He didn’t help me,” I muttered.

“And why is that?”

“Because he’s busy,” I replied.

“Mm, or maybe… because he doesn’t care what happens to a gwak?” Frashluc suggested.

His words pierced me like daggers. I lowered my head in confusion and nodded. Then Frashluc said:

“But, you are no mere gwak. You are a skilled thief, Draen. You can be useful to me. Tell me, Draen, do you want to be useful to good Grandpa?”

For a moment, I recovered my good humour and exclaimed:

“Ragingly!”

“Good,” Frashluc smiled. “Because you do know that, while the Black Hawk could scare you very much, so can Grandpa, and even more so. But that won’t be necessary, will it? You just have to remember who is able to help you when you have a problem and who isn’t.”

He stood up, pulled me by the hand to get up too, and continued:

“The only thing I want you to do, Draen, is this: keep being a Black Dagger. You’re going to spy on Korther. You’re going to find me the entrance to that tunnel. You only have to find it. You have three days. You think you can do it?”

My mind cleared at times, and understanding what he was proposing, or rather ordering me to do, I stammered:

“Yes, sir.”

Frashluc was satisfied.

“Remember who is in charge here,” he added. He lifted my chin, and his eyes locked on mine as he whispered, “Obey me and you will have no reason to fear me.” He uncovered a bite wound on my arm and added in a harsher voice, “Betray me and your body and those of your family will end up in tatters.”

Faced with his implacable eyes, I began to tremble like a leaf. I could not show more clearly that I had ragingly understood his words. Then Frashluc sat up and said:

“Take him away and set him free.”

When I came out of that room, I found it less pleasant than when I had entered. Much less pleasant. And as I stood under the night sky and the cold air cleared my mind a little, I thought: blasthell, what has just happened? What have I said? What have I done? My confused mind still did not let me think clearly, and I felt even more anxious about it.

“Sharpy,” a voice suddenly whispered to me.

I had barely started walking in the Grey Square. Diver caught up with me. I saw him open his mouth, but I didn’t let him say anything: I punched him in the stomach.

“That’s because you drugged me, you bastard!” I spat at him. “You tricked me. We’re comrades. You bastard. You bastard. You bastard…”

Diver was slow to catch his breath. I strode away. Now I was walking more or less straight. More or less. I had reached the other end of the square when I heard Diver’s panting behind me:

“Sharpy. Sharpy, I’m sorry.”

His voice sounded so miserable, so painful, that I stopped and turned around. My companion was… I opened my eyes in disbelief. He was crying. Diver, crying!

“Forgive me, Sharpy,” he resumed. “I… I was just following orders. And I thought that way they wouldn’t have to beat you up to make you talk if you were being stubborn.”

“Yeah,” I hissed, sharply. “You follow orders, and comrades come after. Well, great. As the other guy said, how beautiful friendship is.”

“Sharpy!” Diver insisted desperately. “You don’t understand. If I don’t do what they tell me, they’ll chase me out of the Cats and sell me to the flies. And, if I run away or spill, they pop me off. Frashluc is a devil.”

I gritted my teeth. I wanted to tell him that they were doing the same to me and that, to top it all, they were threatening to kill my family. But I just said:

“Besides, if you leg it, you’d stop getting karuja. Huh?”

My voice was charged with venom and accusation rather than compassion. Diver remained as if petrified. I added in a bitter tone:

“A true comrade doesn’t leave his gang for such slugboneries. And you left, Diver. Don’t say you didn’t. You left because of karuja. You sold yourself for a damn plant. Come back with us, blasthell. And if Frashluc pops you off, I’ll pop him off. I give you my word as a gwak. Come,” I insisted.

I waited a few seconds. He said nothing and did not move. Then I let out an expletive, turned my back on him, and left.

I had betrayed the Black Daggers, and I had come to accept it. I was going to betray them even more, and that, more or less, I had accepted it. But what I couldn’t accept was that Diver could be such an isturbag. I really liked him, and it was reciprocated, and yet…! Definitely, being a comrade didn’t mean that you couldn’t be a complete idiot.

I looked up at the dark, cloudy sky, scanned the dark alley with a still troubled gaze, and whispered:

“Spirits, if you’re really around, protect Diver. Protect him well and help him, because he needs it.”

And, when you are at it, help me too, I added mentally. With a sigh, I took the direction of the Bivouac. Once I arrived and settled back in between my companions, I fell asleep immediately and slept like a lebrine bear. This was the only good thing about the effects of the passwhite: it kept me from thinking too much about my infamous betrayal.