ROLEPLAY

Pelorus Mekor looks at the two newcomers with disdain. They send him again some incompetents who will have to be trained. It seems that they even come from the Halt. Weaklings, no doubt, who probably don't know how to use a knife.

P: "Okay, newbies, grab a knife, we're going to cut up about fifty bodoc steaks for tonight. I'll show you how it's done. We'll take a roast beef and…"
A: "No need for that "malos", we know how to do it. Do you want the steaks tender or not?"
P: "What do you mean?"
E: "Azazor wants to know if we cut them in the direction of the grain or not."
P: "The… a direction?"
A: "Yeah, look at your roast beef, there's a direction for the muscle fibers. If you cut following this direction, the meat is firmer."
E: "But it's less tender. Cutting perpendicularly is harder, but the meat will so melt in mouth."
A: "Wait, we'll show you how."
E: "The trick is to sharpen the knife well."

Within minutes, the steaks are all sliced. The two fyros look at the chef with a smile.

A: "Do you want them even more tender?"
P: "Gue…"
A: "In that case, marinate them."
P: "Mari what?"
E: "Marinate them, bathe them in oil for at least an hour."
A: "Not forgetting the aromatic herbs for more taste."
E: "Oh yes, we have some herbs we picked in the forest near the Halt."
P: "Put herbs with the meat?"
E: "Trust us, we used to be butchers where we come from."

Pelorus sits for a few moments while the two butchers busy themselves to marinate the bodoc steaks in an herbal marinade.

E: "This will be perfect for pan-frying."
P: "Pan-frying?"
E: "Yes. How do you cook your steaks?"
P: "We boil them with the vegetables."
E: "But you can't boil meat like that!"
P: "Sometimes we cook it on a spit, but not the bodoc, it's too tough."
A: "Not the way we cut it. And even less once it's marinated."
P: "Well, listen, you seem to know a lot about it. So I'll give you carte blanche for the meat tonight at the tavern."
A: "Consider it done. Do you got a pan?"
P: "What's a pan?"
A: "A ploderos' hip we placed on the coals. When it's hot, you put the steak on it, thirty seconds, you turn it over for another thirty seconds and that's it."
P: "Is that all?"
A: "Yes."
E: "Not forgetting to baste with the cooking juice."
P: "I don't have a 'pan'."
A: "Never mind. Eeri, pass me your breastplate."
E: "My Kostomyx? You're crazy. We have a pan in the mektoub."
A: "Yeah, but it's far away, and in the breastplate, with the sweat, it gives an inimitable taste."
E: "I understand where your smell comes from."
A: "So go get the pan. And bring the ladle too, to baste the steaks."

Once Eeri returns with the pan, Azazor places it directly on the fire in the hearth, wedged with some embers.

A: "Frying doesn't take long. The longest thing is to let it marinate. But it's not mandatory. Even a few minutes only of marinating, that's not bad."
E: "Especially if the bodoc has been beaten before."
A: "It softens the meat."
E: "You also have to be careful when you kill it."
A: "Yeah, you have to avoid it the stress of feeling like it's going to die. That releases bad things in the muscle."
E: "That's why it's important to kill it by surprise and quickly."
A: "Or better yet, get some bodoc bred by the kitins."
E: "Yeah, straight from a kitins' nest. Don't you have that nearby?"
P: "A kiti… No, not here. Are there bodocs in kitins' nests?"
A: "Of course. Our job was even to go and get them."
E: "Them and the aranas, the madakams…"
A: "Hmm… very good the madakam."
E: "Have you ever tried braised madakam?"
A: "ney! Do you also deglaze it with shookie?"
E: "Ah Ah definitely! Even once…"

Leaving the two Fyros to talk about the art of cooking meat, Pelorus left the kitchen backwards to go and see his chef. Either these two were bullshitters, or he had just come across the two greatest master butchers of Atys. Either way, he had to warn the chef.

From the top of his watchtower, Wozung observes the two Fyros walking slowly inside the camp. They have just passed through the large gate to the east carrying on their shoulders a medium-sized arma, tied to a stake. The Fyros seems to inveigh the Fyrossa following him. The latter shouts out something while making a sign towards the south-western corner of the camp, to which the Fyros answers by spitting on the ground.

It's been four days that Wozung has been observing the same little game. In the early morning, the two Fyros get out by the east door, the only door leading to the desert. They come back an hour before noon, loaded with an arma or a ploderos, which they take to the tavern for lunch. In the afternoon, they leave again to return before the nightfall, this time loaded with a big bag full in the going and empty in the return. The Zoraï guard doesn't wonder about what they are scheming. It's none of his business and anyway, these two have made a good reputation for themselves at the tavern. It is true that he has never eaten so well since they have been at ovens. So what they might be up to, he doesn't care as much as his first barter.

As he is about to lose interest in them, one of the officers calls out to them. It is Ostini Facili, the chief of the guards. Not a softy, this one, a real paranoid and expert in poison. He points out the bag the Fyros used in the afternoon. These put their weapons on the ground and shrug their shoulders. Ostini seems to rise a tone. The Fyros starts to push the officer who makes him fall on the ground with a punch to the plexus. The Fyrossa picks the Fyros up while bellowing something in her turn. Ostini makes a sign to the guards around who immediately encircle the two Fyros, then they take them towards the northeast of the camp. Wozung knows what is in the northeast. The prison of the Outpost. Too bad, these were good cooks.


A few moments later, in Ostini's office

The officer looks at them coldly as they sit in their chairs. They each have a heavily armed guard behind them.

O: "I'll overlook your aggressive gesture towards me earlier. We'll put it down to exhaustion from a desert hunt."

The chief of the guards then shows them the bag that he has presented to them outside.

O: I'll repeat the question I asked earlier. Why do you carry this bag that smells of meat into the desert every afternoon? It's full on the way out and empty on the way back."
A: "Well, do you really want to know? Okay, then we'll tell you."
E: "Aza, shut up!"
A: "No, I never approved this deal. I knew it would come back to us."
E: "orak!"
A: "What about talen?"
O: "orak, talen? What's that?"
A: "Something you can't understand, you orskos!"
O: "Ors what?"
A: "You dirty Mat…"

Eeri manages to put her hand on of Azazor's mouth in time.

A: "It's okay, take it off!"
E: "It's just fyrk, still spoken in the New Lands."
O: "Listen to me carefully, you two comics, here this is not the New Lands. Here we are at Passers'. And goods embezzlement is harshly punished by our clan."

Azazor ruminates something unintelligible and spits on the ground.

O: "So this deal?"
A: "It's okay, you'll get your truth, orskos!"
E: "You're staining your honor Aza by revealing our pact."
A: "Not at all. As for me I didn't sign. Only gave you a helpful hand out of friendship."
E: "Friendship?"

The Fyrossa bursts out laughing.

E: "You can stick your friendship up you know where, you traitor."
A: "I'm not the one who flirting with degenerates."

Eeri gets up and throws a blow in the head of Azazor who wavers and falls from his chair. Then gets up and retorts by pouncing on her to strangle her. The guards must then intervene to separate the two furious.

O: "Are we done with this? Put me this one in the dungeon while waiting. As for you, the Fyros, you're testing my patience. You spill the beans right away or we'll play another game."
A: "Are you making a pass at me, hotty?"

Not being able to stand it any more, Ostini grabs the Fyros and tackles him on the ground violently. He makes a sign to the guards who begin to kick him until the fyros faints under the blows.

O: "Drag him to the dungeon with the other one!"

Ostini has never lost his patience like that. He's known for his unfailing calm. And yet, there, he has just had a homin beaten up. He feels he's going to have a hard time getting these two to talk. He's been through some tough ones, but these two really don't seem to care about getting beaten up. They say that where they come from, dying is rare. If that's the case, that explains why they're so resistant to blows. It must be a habit with them. Whereas here, the best survival technique is to avoid them.
First of all, he has to regain his composure. His reputation is at stake. And then, visibly, the blows have no hold on these homins. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm down for a moment.


In the cell where our two Fyros are locked up.

Once Azazor is locked in the same cell as Eeri, she waits a moment for the guards to leave. Then she goes towards her severely bashed fellow traveler. This one does not get up. His breath is hoarse and panting, as if he was going to choke. Whereas she approaches her face have a better look at him, he opens an eye and watches her with a big smile.

E: "Moron!"
A: "Hahaha"

He then gets up and sits down next to her."

A: "So, our little act was nice, wasn't it?"
E: "A real masterpiece…"
A: "We saved a little time. Considering what I took, they'll think that what I'm going to tell them will be the truth. That gives us some time to figure out what to tell them."
E: "It will be hard to explain why the bag that we bring every afternoon in the desert is full and stinks of meat but is empty when we return."
A: "We can tell them that we have a deal with the Atakorum tribe."
E: "The Atakorums? The mystical nomads that the other loudmouth at the bar was talking about last time?"
A: "Yeah. Why not say that we bring them meat in exchange for information?"
E: "If you say that, it's gallows at once."
A: "It's always better than telling them the truth, that we hijack meat and bury it in the desert for the rest of our trip. Dealing is better than stealing."
E: "We don't even know how far away the Atakorums set up their camp. If we want to pretend to deal with them, we have to be credible at least."
A: "Well, they must not be very far according to what Krapoutos says."
E: "Krapoutos says a lot of things, but that doesn't make them facts."
A: "Anyway, I don't think they'll want to know the details. If we tell them we're bringing them some of the meat we hunted in exchange for information about the area, they are not going to get cross, are they? These Marauders don't seem to be as heavy dullards as those at home. Bargaining, even if it's not with Marauders, seems to be tolerated."
E: "Not with their own goods."
A: "We're the ones who cook these."
E: "But it's still their meat, not ours. And they're going to want the fruit of the bargain back. They don't care about the information that the Atakorums would have given us about the desert."
A: "What are you thinking then?"
E: "You could say that we are trading in poison."
A: "Poison? But we don't have any p…"

Eeri smiles at him with all his teeth and flutters his eyelids.

A: "Oh yes, the famous vial…"
E: "He he."
A: "And where is this vial?"
E: "In my toub, if they have not already searched it."
A: "It's worth a try. We trade meat with the tribe for poison. We've been caught and so we agree to return the poison…"

Suddenly, footsteps are heard in the corridor leading to the cell. Eeri and Azazor fall silent at once. The latter lies down and starts coughing. A key comes turning in the firewood lock and the heavy door opens with a creak, revealing a stern-looking guard in the doorway.

G: "You Fyros, enough sleep. The chief must talk to you."
E: "Azazor, don't tell him anything! We swore not to say anything!
A: "I didn't."
G: "Go ahead and shut up!"

While Azazor is escorted by two guards down the corridor to Ostini's office, Eeri can't help smiling. A real play. But with a death sentence at final act if the audience doesn't like it.

HRP: Cette scène fut jouée en live sur RC par Eeri, Azazor et Finaen (loriste jouant les PNJ). Seule la mise en page et quelques micros changements ont été fait.




Ostini ouvre la porte de son bureau. Il s'adresse sèchement aux deux gardes qui l'accompagnent.

- Faites-le s’asseoir.

Les deux gardes obéissent, prêts à frapper le fyros si celui-ci tente de résister. 

Azazor s'assoit avec un air goguenard. 
Ostini ferme la porte, contourne son bureau et s'assoit à son tour. Il tapote le support en bois massif quelques instants, en regardant dans le vide, puis sort finalement un objet d'un tiroir. Une dague finement ouvragée. Azazor regarde tour à tour le matis et la dague, sans se départir de son léger sourire moqueur.

- Bon le comique, je veux que tu m'expliques précisément cette histoire de "marché". 


- Sinon quoi? Tu vas jouer de la dague?

Ostini plonge à nouveau sa main sous son bureau. Lorsque celle-ci réapparaît, c'est avec une petite fiole remplie d'un liquide verdâtre. Le sourire d'Azazor s'efface aussitôt devant la vue de la fiole. Le Matis débouche le flacon et verse quelques gouttes sur la lame incurvée. Quelques volutes de fumées naissent de la réaction entre le liquide et l'ambre solidifiée.

- C'est quoi? Du poison ? Si vous me tuez, vous ne saurez rien !

- Effectivement, c'est du poison. Au cas où tu l'aurais oublié, sache que tu as laissé la résurrection derrière toi en entreprenant ce voyage. Dans ce désert, aucune Puissance ne viendra t'aider. Alors je t'encourage vivement à collaborer, et à ne pas tenter de me rouler. Suis-je bien clair ?

Devant le silence d'Azazor, Ostini continue :

- Je suis en charge de la sécurité de l'Avant-Poste. Je dois comprendre ce que vous trafiquez. Et crois-moi, j'arriverai à te faire parler, si tu tentes de résister.

Le Matis semble particulièrement calme. Les deux gardes restent flanqués devant la porte. Azazor hausse les épaules.

- Tu sais le matis, je ne suis pas du genre à mentir. Et je veux bien tout te raconter. Mais vois-tu, je n'aime pas ceux de ta race. Chez moi, les matis ne sont qu'une bande de prétentieux puants et vils. Je veux bien croire qu'ici, il en soit autrement. Mais parle moi encore de manière offensante, menace moi encore, et tout ce que tu pourras obtenir de moi sera un bon crachat sur ton visage blême.

Azazor ne peut s'empêcher de regarder la fiole, la dague et le matis, alternativement.

- "Ceux de ma race" ? Vous n'avez donc pas encore réussi à vous départir du racisme patenté de nos ancêtres communs ? Vos civilisations sont définitivement bien en retard...

- Tu ne connais pas les matis des nouvelles terres...

Ostini émet un petit ricanement, coupé par Azazor.

- Je connais quelques rares matis.... enfin, j'en connais deux, qui sont acceptables, sur toute une tripotée de raclure de bottes.

Le fyros fait mine de se rappeler un autre matis.

- Ah non, trois.

- Tu confirmes ce que je pensais : tu généralises. Mais ce n'est pas de ta faute, c'est ce qu'ils veulent. N'oublie pas : vous faites le jeu des Puissances à vous faire guerre pour des motifs raciaux, politiques, religieux, ou que sais-je... Et pendant ce temps, vous êtes divisés. Face à eux, et face aux kitins.

Ostini fait disparaître la dague sous la table.

- Enfin, bref. Tu es donc disposé à parler. C'est parfait. Je t'écoute.

Azazor souffle un coup.

- Tu n'as pas deviné ? Le sac qui sent la viande ? Le poison que tu viens de sortir ? Tu as tous les éléments.

Il observe le visage d'Ostini, attendant de voir la lumière.

- Le Poison ?

Ostini regarde la fiole qui est restée sur la table.

- Quel rapport ? Cette fiole m'appartient.

Soudainement, le visage d'Azazor se décompose.

- Ah... ramèch ! Bon... Ce qui est dit est dit, ajoute t'il en tapant du pied sur le sol.

Ostini se remet à tapoter des doigts sur le bureau.

- On avait un marché avec les Atakorum. En échange d'une partie de la viande qu'on partait chasser le matin pour le compte de Pelorus, ils nous échangeaient une fiole de poison de leur création.

Le fyros marque une pause puis reprend :

- Vu le danger de la route, on s'était dit avec Eeri que ce serait prudent d'avoir ce genre de truc sur nous pour le reste du voyage. Je sais, c'est un détournement de matière qui vous appartiennent, mais on s'était dit que bon, d'un côté, c'est nous qui la ramenions cette viande. Le bodoc, l'arma, c'est pas de tout repos à tuer ici.

- Tu es en train de me dire que des étrangers dont tout le monde se méfie, de part leur provenance, trafiquent du poison dans le lieu de repos où ils ont été généreusement accueillis ?

Azazor a du mal à cacher sa gêne.

- Pas ici non, ils ne voulaient pas. Soit disant vous seriez pas d'accord. Du coup, on faisait ça dans le désert, plus à l'est. On s'était fixé un point de rendez-vous.

- Si j'étais paranoïaque, je pourrais croire que ce poison nous est destiné.

- Mais ça va pas ? Pourquoi on ferait ça ?

- Vous venger de toutes les horreurs que vous ont fait subir les sbires d'Akilia sur vos Terres, à tout hasard ? Il n'y a pas de raison qu'Akilia soit la seule à envoyer des agents opérer en terres étrangères.

Ostini marque une pause, puis continue :

- Heureusement, je ne suis pas paranoïaque. Je suis simplement le chef de la garde. Un chef de garde extrêmement prudent, prenant à cœur son travail. Les Atakorum, tu disais ?

- Il ne faut pas leur en vouloir. Ils n'y sont pour rien. On leur donne de la viande qu'on chasse en échange de poison. Ils ne pouvaient pas savoir que la viande était préparée au sein de la taverne. Quoi ? On a utilisé vos couteaux ? La belle affaire !

Ostini tapote de plus en plus rapidement sur le bureau. Finalement, il est peut-être un peu paranoïaque.

- Je dois analyser ce poison. Où est-il ? Par chance, il se trouve que j'ai une petite expertise en poison. Un savoir qui me vient de mon ancien Clan.

- Faut demander à Eeri. c'est elle qui l'a planqué.

- Je vois.

- Et rassure-toi, on a pas une gueule de tueur. Quant aux horreurs d'Akilia, bah, on lui a bien rendu.

Ostini fait un signe aux gardes.

- Que l'un d'entre vous l'emmène ailleurs, et que l'autre me ramène sa camarade. Faites en sorte qu'ils ne se croisent pas.

Les deux gardes s'activent et font signe à Azazor de se lever. Celui-ci se lève sans manifester de résistance et se tourne vers le chef des gardes.

- Ostini ? Si tu veux faire parler Eeri, soit poli avec la dame. Elle aussi, elle vomit les matis.

- Raciste elle aussi ? Étonnant.

- Tu ne connais vraiment pas les matis des nouvelles terres...

Un garde accompagne Azazor et l'autre se dirige vers la cellule où est enfermée Eeri. Comme prévu, les deux Fyros ne croiseront pas.

***

- Suis-moi, dit le garde à Eeri.

Eeri gromelle quelque chose, puis se lève sans un mot. Elle suit le garde jusqu'au bureau d'Ostini en coopérant, et regarde dans tous les coins à la recherche d'Azazor, qu'elle ne trouve pas. Elle affiche une mine déterminée et pugnace.

- Bien. Assieds-toi.

Il marque une pause et rajoute:

- S'il te plaît.

Eeri s'exécute, en regardant le matis en coin, essayant de ne pas lui faire face.

- J'aimerais que tu m'expliques ce que toi et ton camarade trafiquaient avec ces sacs qui sentent la viande. Et quel est ce "pacte" dont il a mentionné l'existence, et qui a occasionné votre dispute.

Eeri reste un moment silencieuse, et regarde le matis de nouveau, un sourire en coin.

- Quoi, il n'a pas déjà tout dit ?

- Je veux confronter vos versions.

Ostini scrute attentivement le visage de la Fyrosse.

- Un fyros ne ment pas. talen, la vérité.

Le matis se remet à tapoter sur le bureau.

- Je t'écoute.

Eeri fixe ses yeux sur les doigts du matis un moment.

- À propos de quoi ? Ce que nous faisions de cette viande ?

- Je vais répéter mes questions : j'aimerais que tu m'expliques ce que vous trafiquiez avec ces sacs qui sentent la viande. Et quelle est la nature de ce "pacte" que vous avez passé avec je ne sais qui.
J'attends des réponses, et non pas des questions.

Eeri retient un grognement.

- Je ne peux rien dire de ce pacte, je ne sais pas de quoi vous parlez. Ce que je peux dire, est que l'on a échangé quelques bouts de viandes avec des atakako... dey... akotorum.

Eeri continue, n'attendant pas que le matis demande contre quoi.

- En échange d'un poison très puissant.

- Puis-je voir ce poison ?

- Ai-je le choix ?

- Non, dit le matis en soupirant.

- Nous allons devoir aller à l'étable.

- Indique-moi simplement où il est caché.

- Vous ne le trouverez pas sans moi.

Ostini serre les dents... Puis se calme. Il se lève.

- Bien.

Il attache une dague à sa ceinture et fait signe au garde.

- Direction l'étable alors.

En se levant, Eeri se remémore que le poison est dans une fiole de fabrication matis. Elle bredouille :

- Il est sur mon mektoub. Je l'ai changé de fiole, celle des ata...takorum était trop fragile.

Eeri se lève et suit le garde. Les trois homins se dirigent vers l'étable, située à côté du dortoir. Puis elle ajoute, d'une voix pas trop assurée.

- Je ne sais pas d'où ils sortaient ce poison. Ça ne vient sans doute pas de chez eux.

- S'il ne vient pas de chez eux, il vient alors de chez nous. Mais ne t'inquiète pas, c'est une question à laquelle je suis à même de répondre.

Eeri ne répond rien, l'adrenaline lui montant au sommet du crâne. Les trois homins arrivent finalement face au mektoub. Après le terrible périple qu'il a traversé quelques semaines plus tôt, celui-ci semble vivre sa meilleure vie.

Elle attrape le harnais du mektoub, détache deux sangles, ce qui libère un peu le sac. Elle passe sa main derrière le sac et en tire délicatement une petite boite noire, de la taille d'une dague. Elle ajoute:

- Je l'ai mise dans la fiole que j'avais emmenée, avec un poison matis paralysant. Rien de bien méchant. Celui-ci semble bien plus puissant.

***

Pendant ce temps dans sa cellule, Azazor a des scrupules et tourne en rond. Il finit par appeler un garde.

- Oui?

- J'ai un autre truc à dire à ton chef.

- Il est occupé. Mais il en a pas terminé avec toi je pense. Tu pourras la lui poser après.

Azazor grogne un peu pour la forme.

***

- Et qu'as-tu fait du poison précédent ?

Eeri ouvre la boite, et laisse voir une fiole, et une dague vivante.

- Renversé. Mais la fiole était intacte, par chance.

Eeri regarde Ostini avec son air le plus convainquant, en se disant que plus c'est gros, plus ça passe.

- Nous voulions tester ça sur les kitins des Anciennes Terres. Le poison paralysant. Ça marche pas mal, chez nous.

Ostini attrape délicatement la fiole puis la regarde.

- Je garde ça. Et je te ramène en cellule. Suis-moi.

Il fait à nouveau signe au garde.

Eeri replace les sangles de son mektoub et suit le garde. Elle se retourne et lance au matis, d'une voix grinçante :

- Faites gaffe, quand même. Ils nous ont dit qu'une goutte tuerait un homin en deux minutes. Non pas que j'en pleurerais...

- Je m'y connais en poison, ne t’inquiète pas. Par contre celui-ci... Il ne me dit rien, dit-il en contemplant la fiole.

***

Eeri est reconduite dans la cellule. Azazor est toujours dans une pièce adjacente aux cellules avec l'autre garde. Les minutes passent et les deux fyros sont finalement reconduits dans le bureau du matis. Les deux gardes les font asseoir l'un à coté de l'autre, mais ni l'un ni l'autre ne se jettent un regard.

Ostini, assis derrière son bureau, semble plus froid qu'avant. Il fait circuler la fiole d'Eeri entre ses mains. Un garde murmure quelque chose à son oreille et son regard se pose sur le fyros.

- Tu voulais me dire quelque chose ? La vérité, peut-être ? Ça pourrait être utile, effectivement.

Eeri reste silencieuse, et regarde Azazor en coin, qui prend la parole :

- ney... Mais avant, dis moi aussi la Vérité. Tu m'as parlé d'Akilia, de ses sbires. Dis moi si je me trompe mais... tu ne sembles pas la porter dans ton coeur n'est ce pas? Je sais bien que c'est ta cheffe, m'enfin, tu peux être tranquille, on ne répétera pas.

- Effectivement, je ne la porte pas dans mon coeur. Et non, elle n'est pas ma "cheffe"... Mais je ne suis pas d'humeur à parler d'Akilia.

- Pourtant, elle se déclare cheffe des maraudeurs, poursuit Azazor.

Ostini ignore la dernière remarque d'Azazor et enchaîne :

- Voyez-vous, j'ai montré votre fiole à trois Atakorum présents en ce moment même à la taverne. Vous connaissez la suite ?

Azazor n'a plus son sourire et regarde gravement Ostini. Le matis laisse passer quelques secondes, puis se répète, en insistant bien sur chaque mot.

- Vous. Connaissez. La suite ?

- Les Atakorum n'ont rien à voir là dedans, dit Azazor. On a juste détourné de la bouffe qu'on a planqué dans le désert pour la suite de notre voyage. Et la fiole vient des Nouvelles Terres. Je peux rien dire dessus, ayant découvert son existence par hasard dans la Mer de Bois.

Eeri lâche un grand soupir contrarié.

- On avait un mektoub plein. On vous a tout donné...

Ostini affiche un sourire satisfait. Il semble fier de lui.

- Ou plutôt, vous nous avez tout pris, elle ajoute.

Azazor se tourne vers Eeri.

- C'est des marchands, tu t'attendais à quoi?

- Vous avez payé votre séjour ici. Et vous auriez pu continuer à travailler pour avoir des vivres. Mais vous avez préféré nous voler.

- On a rien volé, grogne Azazor.

- Des vivres ? On travaille comme des fous, c'est juste assez pour payer votre dortoir, rajoute Eeri.

Ostini lève la main et fait signe aux Fyros de se taire.

- Cette bouffe, on l'a chassée et préparée, ajoute quand même Azazor.

- Gardez votre plaidoyer pour ma cheffe. Ma véritable cheffe, et non pas Akilia. Moi, j'ai fait ma part du travail.

Ostini se lève et se dirige vers la porte.

- Je reviens.

Azazor se tourne vers Eeri.

- Toi et tes idées à la con.

- Les Atakorum c'était ton idée, souffle-t-elle à Azazor.

- T'avais une meilleure idée ?

- dey ! Mais parfois vaut mieux juste se taire...

- Tu crois qu'en disant rien ça aurait changé les choses? pfff

***

Quelques minutes plus tard, la porte s'ouvre. Ostini est accompagné d'une Trykère. Une Trykère que les Fyros ont déjà croisé très régulièrement... O'Teelo, la tavernière. Les deux fyros sont estomaqués. Eeri écarquille les yeux et donne un sourire crispé à O'Teelo, dans le doute. Azazor imite Eeri comme un miroir.

- Merci Ostini, je t'emprunte ton bureau. Peux-tu t'occuper du bar le temps que je m'occupe d'eux ?

- Quoi ? Heu, oui. Bien sûr.

Ostini envoie un sourire rageur aux deux Fyros puis sort de la pièce. Les deux gardes restent présents. La Trykere s'avachit sur le siège et pose ses bottes sur le bureau du Matis, qui n'apprécierait probablement pas le geste s'il était présent. Elle semble bien moins amicale qu'à l'accoutumé.

- J'ai appris que vous détourniez des biens qui nous appartiennent.

- Détourner? Non... Nous avons produit plus que nécessaire, s'insurge Eeri.

- Techniquement, c'est pas à vous vu que c'est nous qui chassons et cuisinons, rajoute Azazor.

O'Teelo ne relève pas et continue:

- Je vous ai beaucoup observés et écoutés ces trois dernières semaines. À vrai dire, je commençais à vous apprécier. D'autant plus que vous cuisinez extrêmement bien ! Mais ça... C'est grave.

Eeri regarde Azazor, consciente que ce n'est pas la bonne stratégie, en essayant de faire fonctionner son neurone pour en trouver une meilleure. O'Teelo continue :

- Tu veux parler "technique" avec un marchand, Azazor ? Si j'ai bien compris, ton truc à toi c'est la politique, l'alcool et la bagarre.

- Et le sens de la justice, dit Azazor.

- Et la cuisson du bodoc, ajoute Eeri, à mi-voix.

- Vous trouvez ça juste d'exploiter les gens? On a juste voulu se payer correctement en prenant un peu de viande en surplus, dit Azazor.

- Sinon, nous ne tiendrons pas deux jours dans le désert, renchérit Eeri.

- Alors pourquoi le cacher ? Pourquoi ne pas avoir en discuté ?

- Parce que vous êtes des rapiats, s'écrie presque le fyros. Nous aussi on vous a observés. On a dû vous filer tout notre stock de viande séchée rien que pour entrer dans le camp et dormir deux nuits dans votre dortoir.

Eeri grimace aux mots d'Azazor et lui donne un coup de coude en espérant qu'il la ferme.

- Vous avez donc survécu deux nuits de plus grâce à nous. Puis trois semaines, dit O'Teelo.

- Ostini, que nous avions pris pour le chef, ne semble pas ouvert à la discussion, note Azazor.

- Ou plutôt dire, il s'est fait un plaisir de ponctionner tout le stock que nous avions, ajoute Eeri. Après trois jours, on avait plus rien. Et plus rien pour acheter quoi que ce soit...

- Ostini, le chef ? O'Teelo ricane. Il est uniquement le chef de la garde. Un bon chef d'ailleurs, paranoïaque à souhait. C'est souvent très utile.

Eeri a un haussement de sourcil à "bon chef, d'ailleurs". O'Teelo continue :

- C'est pour ça que nous vous avons embauchés. Pour vous aider.

- On a l'expérience avec les maraudeurs des Nouvelles Terres. Alors ne vous étonnez pas si on a pas joué franc jeu dès le début. Surtout après le racket à l'entrée.

Eeri fait ney de la tête pour appuyer les mots d'Azazor, qui rumine tout seul à voix basse : - marchand, voleurs, comme les trykers tiens, tous des....
O'Teelo grimace.

- Ne nous comparez pas à ses barbares. Et ne me parlez pas de racket, vous n'y connaissez rien. Vous venez d'un monde où tout semble facile. Ne vous êtes vous pas posé la question d'à quel point il a pu être difficile de créer cet avant-poste, et de le faire vivre durant toutes ces décennies ?
Oui, la vie est dure ici. C'est un fait. Mais mieux vaut ça que la mort.

Eeri prend une grande inspiration :

- Bon, on a merdé. Que peut-on faire, maintenant, pour nous racheter?

O'Teelo regarde la Fyrosse.

- C'est une bonne question.

- Vous avez la fiole de poison d'Eeri, c'est pas assez pour quelques morceaux de viandes? Ou faut vous filer nos armures et nos slips?

O'Teelo regarde l'armure du Fyros.

- Sans façon.

Eeri se tourne vers Azazor.

- N'en rajoute pas. Ils n'ont aucune utilité d'un poison comme ça, en plus.

- Tu parles...

Eeri éveille la curiosité de O'Teelo.

- Et quelle est son utilité ?

Eeri montre la paume de sa main, qui laisse apparaître une tâche noire.

- Je ne l'ai jamais testé. Mais je peux vous dire que j'ai souffert pour l'obtenir.

- Qui voulez-vous empoisonner, demande O'Teelo ?

- Oui, qui veux-tu empoisonner, grince Azazor en se tournant vers Eeri.

- Personne en particulier, répond Eeri. Si je tombais sur votre Akilia, je ne me gênerais peut-être pas. C'était juste la question de partir équipés, et au pire, ça aurait pu être une monnaie d'échange. Je voulais essayer ça sur des kitins des anciennes terres, aussi.

- Si vous cherchez Akilia, retournez à l'Ouest. Elle doit se trouver quelque part entre les Nouvelles Terres et son quartier général.

Eeri fait non de la tête.

- On ne la cherche pas.

- Dans tous les cas, il est certain que je ne vais pas vous laissez progresser à l'Est avec un poison inconnu. Ostini vous prend pour des assassins envoyés en opération à la Citadelle, ricane O'Teelo.

Azazor se tourne vers Eeri.

- Et une connerie de plus d'Eeri, une!

- Oh, eh, ça va... On en serait pas là si t'avais pas eue l'idée de dire ça.

- Bon. Qu'avez-vous à proposer, donc ? Contre ce stock de viande volé.

- Ça représente même pas ce qu'on a amené de viande d'Armadaï, grommelle Eeri.
Pardon, je sais, ça ne change rien, ajoute cette dernière, baissant les yeux.

O'Teelo semble réfléchir.

- Vous savez quoi, vous pourriez peut-être nous rendre service...

- On ne peut faire que ça. On a rien d'autre à offrir.

- Une mission de livraison. Vous pourrez garder la viande, et aurez même un petit supplément pour le ... long détour que vous devrez faire.

- Ça passera par là où on a planqué la viande, demande Azazor ?

Eeri lui redonne un coup de coude.

- Aza... ça c'est un détail.

- Si vous ne vous rendez pas au point indiqué, je le saurai. Soit, cela signifiera que vous êtes morts en route, soit, cela signifiera que vous avez préféré nous arnaquer une seconde fois en continuant VOTRE route. Si c'est le cas, tâchez de ne pas repasser par l'Avant-Poste à votre retour... Tachez aussi d'éviter Sentinelle et la Citadelle....

- Où se situe la livraison?

- Au sud, sur la côte. Le réseau de Zinuakeen ne couvre pas encore le sud-ouest du désert, ce qui rend compliqué la communication avec nos chasseurs de reliques.

- ça ne pourra pas être pire que de retourner à la Halte d'Oflovak. Nous le ferons. J'imagine que tu es d'accord, Azazor?

- Faut livrer quoi, demande t'il en ruminant ?

- Une babiole.

- À une condition, répond Azazor. Il nous faut une carte de ce détour.

- Ça peut aider... Au moins savoir où on va.

- Évidemment. Je ne compte pas vous envoyer à la mort, dit O'Teelo, un sourire satisfait aux lèvres.

Les deux fyros, toujours assis côte à côte en face de la Trykère, ont du mal à cacher leur soulagement.

- Pendant qu'on sera là-bas, vous avez besoin qu'on vous ramène quelque chose en particulier, demande Eeri ?

- Peut-être que quelqu'un vous confiera une autre mission de livraison, effectivement. Libre à vous de l'accepter ou pas. Mais me concernant, je vous embauche uniquement pour cette livraison.

- akep. euh... merci.

- Moi ce qui m'intrigue, c'est comment tu sauras qu'on a fait cette livraison, demande Azazor... C'est quoi cette babiole ?

- Je le saurai, car si vous y arrivez, il y aura une nouvelle Zinuakeen.

Azazor hoche la tête, tâchant de cacher son extrême intérêt pour la "babiole".

- L'objet, en soit, n'a pas une valeur particulièrement importante. Ça m’embêterait de le perdre, certes. Mais le problème principale reste la livraison dans ces terres hostiles.

Eeri préfère ne pas savoir de quoi il s'agit, et est presque souriante devant O'Teelo.

- Donc nous sommes libres de partir ?

- Si vous voulez qu'on réussisse cette livraison, il va nous falloir du matériel, coupe Azazor.

Eeri pouffe légèrement, reconnaissant bien là Azazor.

- On va pas en demander trop, non ?

- Je dis ça dans l'intérêt de la mission, dit Azazor, qui prend un air sérieux.

- Vous êtes libres de retourner travailler en cuisine. J'ai encore deux trois choses à régler de mon côté avant votre départ. À nouveau, je ne vous envoie pas à la mort. Vous aurez ce qu'il faudra pour voyager jusqu'à la côte, aussi bien en terme d'informations que de matériel. Mais c'est surtout sur votre débrouillardise qu'il faudra compter. Ce faisant, O'Teelo range la fiole d'Eeri dans sa poche.

- Faites attention, avec la fiole. Et je dois vous donner autre chose. D'une part, un antidote. Et d'autre part, un conseil... Ne touchez jamais cette dague sans mettre un gant avant. Eeri ajoute, en hochant la tête, parce que je vous aime bien, finalement.

- Quelle dague ?

- Celle qui est dans la boite, sur la table, là.

O'Teelo ouvre prudemment la boite et observe la dague. Eeri montre de nouveau la paume de sa main.

- C'est une arme matis. Dans nos régions, ils sont assez fous pour rendre les armes plus dangereuses pour ceux qui les portent que pour ceux qui sont frappés avec. Il n'y a pas d'antidote pour le poison du manche.

- Hum, d'accord. Maintenant que notre "amitié" est scellée par un contrat, pouvez-vous me dire pourquoi ce voyage ? Simplement la science et la soif d'aventure, réellement ?

- Combien tu paies pour ce renseignement, demande Azazor ?

Eeri soupire.

- Azazor tu es désespérant.

- Eeri, on a des marchands face à nous. Alors on marchande.

O'Teelo sourit.

- À combien estimez-vous sa valeur ?

- Une armure maraudeur. Mais on peut négocier.

- Une armure ? Hum, ça me ça.

- Une chacun ça va sans dire, vu qu'on a tous les deux une raison différente d'être ici, rajoute Azazor.

- Peu m'importe. Ce n'est pas grand chose.

- Chez nous, ça a beaucoup de valeur. Même que des maraudeurs font la guerre à d'autres maraudeurs pour les obtenir. Mais je veux pas cafter...

O'Teelo se gratte la tête.

- Si ça peut vous aider à comprendre pourquoi on s'est fait une mauvaise idée sur vous... ajoute Eeri.

O'Teelo se redresse sur le fauteuil et regarde les deux fyros d'un air concerné.

- Le Clan des Égorgeurs, le Clan de la Sciure Noire, le Clan des Cendres, et plus généralement tous les sbires d'Akilia, ne représentent qu'eux-même. Enfin... C'est mon avis. Que tous ne partagent pas. Une chose est cependant certaine : Akilia ne représente pas, dans sa conduite tout du moins, l'ensemble des Maraudeurs. Si par miracle, vous trouvez un moyen d'accéder à la Citadelle, vous pourrez le voir de vos yeux. Nous ne sommes pas des sauvages. Et je déteste savoir que certains pensent ça de nous, alors qu'à l'Est, nombreux sont ceux qui luttent jours et nuits contre les Kitins.

La cheffe pose alors ses coudes sur la table et lève le menton en direction d'Azazor.

- Si j'ai ta parole, alors va, dit-il. La raison de ma présence ici est d'aller jusqu'à la cité perdue de Coriolis, dans le désert de mes ancêtres. Je tiens à percer le mystère de l'incendie relaté dans nos chroniques. Par ailleurs, je compte étudier les kitins de là bas, et bien sûr faire une carte des lieux. Un petit plus également, même si je n'ai pas trop d'espoir, c'est d'établir un premier contact avec les maraudeurs pour un éventuel échange de savoir, entre l'Empire et les Maraudeurs.

Eeri prend à son tour la parole, après avoir légèrement tourné les mots dans sa tête.

- Ma raison ne sera pas simple à comprendre pour vous, j'imagine. Par chez nous, je suis Trytoniste. On nous appelle aussi les chercheurs d'Elias.

- Je vois, répond O'Teelo.

- J'imagine que je n'ai aucune raison de cacher mes convictions ici. Je cherche à vérifier certaines anciennes théories, des preuves. Tout comme Azazor l'incendie de Coriolis, entre autres. Aussi à rencontrer des scientifiques, à l'est. Et... Un vieux rêve. Je ne voudrais pas mourir sans avoir vu de mes yeux la cité de Fyre. Ou ce qu'il en reste...

O'Teelo prend un air sérieux.

- Vous savez que vous avez pourtant de très grandes chances de mourir ? La Route d'Oflovak n'est qu'un parcours de santé par rapport à ce qui se cache après la Citadelle.

- Nous sommes fyros, dit Azazor.

- On verra en temps voulu, dit Eeri, haussant les épaules.

- Non, vous êtes surtout des homins des Nouvelles Terres, habitués à être ramenés à la vie par les Puissances. Que vous le croyez ou non, cela impacte votre manière d'agir et de penser. Je ne veux pas vous manquer de respect, mais vous avez grandi dans un monde "sous cloche".

- Après plusieurs années sur la route, je peux vous assurer que ça change, dit Eeri.

- Possible oui, mais le jour où nous reculerons n'est pas encore venu, ajoute Azazor.

- Je dis ça en connaissance de cause. J'ai vu la nouvelle génération, à Sentinelle et à la Citadelle, commencer à s'habituer à la résurrection... Cela change la manière d’appréhender la vie.

- Vous avez la résurrection à la Citadelle, manque de s'étouffer Azazor ?

O'Teelo hausse les sourcils.

- Akilia et ses sbires auraient apporté le système de résurrection des Maraudeurs sur les Nouvelles Terres, sans que celui-ci existe à la Citadelle ? Cela ne fait aucun sens. Enfin bref !

O'Teelo se lève, et se dirige vers la porte, faisant signe aux gardes de partir.

- Aux cuisines !

Eeri chuchote à Azazor :

- C'est Ostini qui va faire la tronche...

- Ouep, tant mieux.

Eeri sourit de toutes ses dents. Azazor lui rend son sourire.

- Au fait Eeri, t'es une bien piètre marchande. L'info sur la dague, fallait la vendre...

Azazor sort de la pièce en sifflotant, suivi par une Eeri trop soulagée pour protester.

Eeri s’arrêta de tirer sur la corde et fit signe au mektoub de s’arrêter. Puis elle s’assit, ignorant les gémissements qui résonnaient sur les parois, pendant un moment.

— Arrête de gesticuler, cria-t-elle finalement !!
— Mais alors qu'est-ce que tu fais? Remonte moi !
— La corde est coincée, ne bouge pas. Je gère.

Eeri resta sur place, sans bouger, un oeil sur la hache qu’elle avait posée à terre plus tôt, alors qu’elle sortait une corde en catastrophe pour secourir le fyros.


Il suffirait d’un coup sec, murmura-t-elle. Comme pour les frippos.

Le laisser là? Azazor avait bien failli les faire tuer.

L’hésitation. En combat, on hésite jamais. On frappe, là où l’on sait que l’ennemi aura mal. Mais non. Lui, une hachette à la main, il se contente de parer les coups, sans contre attaquer.

Contre une pique, c’est quitte ou double. Armé d'une hachette, on peut profiter de la longueur de l’arme adverse et du moment d’inertie après l’attaque pour lancer un coup où ça fait mal. En l’occurrence, au niveau de la ceinture, ou au niveau du cou. Deux fois il a eu l’occasion de frapper. Il s’est contenté d’attendre, laissant à ses adversaires les secondes nécessaires pour comprendre ses mouvements. Enfer de fyrak de ramèch, je n’aime pas frapper les homins de dos. Mais là, c’était ça ou laisser Azazor se faire transpercer une fois de plus.

Les deux restants, sans doute plus jeunes, se sont contentés de partir en courant lorsqu’ils ont vu le second homin s’écrouler. Ce n’est pas bon signe, ça veut dire que s’ils ont pu aller alerter leur tribu, on va se retrouver avec d’autres homins sur le dos. Si Azazor avait pu s’en sortir seul contre son adversaire, j’aurais pu me faire les deux autres. Un coup de hache bien placé, et on poursuit l'autre et le termine à la dague. Mais non, j’ai du faire volte face pour sauver Azazor. Quel gâchis.

Et quand j’ai dit qu’on devait s'attendre à ce qu'ils rameutent leur tribu... Il n'a rien dit, mais il doit sans doute paniquer, et maintenant il ne regarde plus où il pose ses pieds. S’il me refait le coup, là où on va, je vais me faire tuer, c’est sûr. Alors pourquoi pas le laisser là? Mais non, quand même, je vais devenir folle, si je continue seule. On est arrivés ici à deux, on doit continuer à deux. Et puis si la corde doit péter… Remarque, un coup sec… Non, quand même. Mais…


— Qu’est-ce que tu fous ???

La beuglante du fyros sortit Eeri de ses pensées. Elle se leva en soupirant, donna une grande tape sur le cul de Run-dun, et se remit à tirer sur la corde.

— Ça vient, ça vient. Tu pèses ton poids, tu sais…

A few days later, the two homins were still walking a few meters away from the precipice, in order to keep a good view on this piece of desert, below. The landscape was changing little by little, becoming more rolling, as if roots under the ground were pushing and sculpting the sawdust. In the distance, what O'teelo had called "Umawaka" appeared in the mist: an impassable mountain range, a tangle of gigantic roots that delimited this desert to the south, and which, if one believed the map of the Clan leader, extended up to the Citadel. With each step they took, this mountain range seemed to grow more and more gigantic, as if it had emerged from the bowels of Atys. In some places, sharp, bare peaks of bark loomed up the sky. In others, they were covered with vegetation, so much so that they wondered if they were not the beginnings of a canopy in the making.

The meeting point could not be far away, as she had described it as near that mountain below. They stopped for a moment to scan the horizon and the desert, hoping to make out a village or any trace of homin life. Eeri came dangerously close to the edge, to observe the cliff face they were overlooking.

"Azazor?"
"Hmmm?"
"You think too much. If this is going to happen again, think that it's either them or us."
"I wasn't prepared to fight. Not this way."
"Next time, hit. Block, and hit. Where it hurts, where you would not like to be hit."
"All right, that's all right, I know."
"The surprise, the speed. Them, if they fight, they know that it is at the risk of their life. They won't hesitate."
"But the counter-attack implies taking risks. It was okay at home, but here... How did you stay so damn cold?"
"For years I've been working hard to learn to fight in a way so that I don't have to call on the Powers. With the idea that maybe one day Trytonists would manage to bring freedom to the hominity. Keeping a cold and analytical mind is the first thing."
"Do you still believe in it? Freedom?"

The Fyrossa straightened up and took a few steps away from the edge.

"No, I don't anymore. I have no hope anymore for the nations. Now I think it's enough to get away. Or become a Ranger... Or a Marauder. Maybe it's the same thing. But freedom, no. That doesn't exist, even here."

Azazor hesitated for a moment:

"But then, you don't believe in anything anymore...?"
"I believe in survival. I believe that if you jeopardize this journey again, I will leave you in the lurch and go on alone."
"You what???"
"But I like you nonetheless. I couldn't have made it this far on my own."
"Hrmf... Yeah. akep."
"And the trouble with being alone is that you don't have no more anyone to blame for the shit you do."

After these words, Eeri sat down with a smile.

"Come on, relax. I've got a proposition for you, about the delivery."

Azazor did not move, keeping scanning the horizon.

"I'm listening."
"Given the cliff, if there is no path, we can't risk our mektoubs."
"So you want to go down alone. I knew you'd suggest that."
"It's less risky."
"What if you don't come back?"
"Or you can go down and I'll keep the mektoubs. That's OK with me too."

Azazor grunted something unintelligible, his eyes still fixed on the distance. Eeri added a layer, grumbling:

"But I've seen your talent for climbing..."
"We'll talk about it when we find out where to climb down," answered Azazor, putting his bag back on his shoulders.
"You're right. Let's not dawdle."

The two Fyros set off again, heading south, without even glancing behind them to see if they were being followed or not. The evening wind was starting to blow, but they were still able to walk for a few hours.

In front of the desert that appears before him, Azazor can't help but have a whiff of nostalgia for his own, the one he left years ago. The sawdust seems coarser here, or is it his memories that are getting muddled? The wind, coming from the east, seems to rush to the foot of the cliff, causing the agitation of the two mektoubs tied not far away. Their mooings seem to answer the whistling of the wind in a kind of mournful lament. He has never felt melancholy in his own desert. But here, everything is different. At the same time so far from his relatives, and so close to his ancestors.

It has been three days since Eeri left. Three days since he saw her abseiling down the cliff, clinging to a rope whose attachment to a root sticking out of the sawdust she took care to check before harnessing herself to it. It was as if she had been doing this her life long. Will she come back? Are the Marauders in this clan as friendly as those in the Diplomatic Outpost? Actually, "friendly" is a bit of a strong word. Let's say civilized. With a certain sense of honor. There is no reason for Eeri to be badly received. Doesn't she bring them the "trinkets" necessary for the functioning of their zinuakeen?

Their camp has been set up in the wreckage of a large Karavan ship. This one, as seen from here, is well over fifty meters long. How was it destroyed? It's hard to say. Would kitins be able of such a destruction? Or the Kamis? Besides, the wreck, as far as he can see, must date from the first Great Swarming. Part of it seems to be buried in sawdust, or rather covered by it. From afar, the carcass of the vessel seems quite dark. He is unable to recognize any of the ships that can be seen in the New Lands. Perhaps it is an old model, formerly used in the Old Lands and whose specimens are now all crushed into ruins, for some obscure reason. After the wreckage north of Fort Beacon, from which the Rangers retrieved what they needed to build the lighthouse's lighting system, this is the second Karavan ship ruin he comes across, and the first he sees with his own eyes. Here, the Karavan seems very fragile, as if in decay. Besides, he hasn't heard of the Kamis either. It seems that the Powers have deserted these places. Only the homins survive, reappropriating the ruins of the past, building new cities, not losing hope. He had decidedly misjudged the Marauders. At least those living here.

Eeri must be down there with them now, probably in one of the rooms of the ship rearranged as a living space, sipping a baba or slurping a piece of fire-roasted varinx. Maybe they're laughing, thinking how lucky they are to have run into her, that she'll teach them how to cook meat, that they need a butcher, that she could stay… He wouldn't even blame her doing so. He knows that it will happen. He has seen the look in her eyes when she talked about these homins, about the harshness of life here. She likes that. Here, though she denies it, she would at last feel free. This is the life she has always dreamt of. So why should she continue to bother with a fat, clumsy Fyros who can't take down a mere bandit? He doesn't deserve her..

Azazor observes the dunes behind him. Dunes that are already very dark, standing out like silhouettes against the purple sky. That's where they come from. If they have been followed, that's where the attack will come from. For three days he's been dreading the possibility that they'll fall on him. If that were to happen, he would not fight and would go down the rope, leaving the mektoubs. In the past, he would have stayed to fight, shouting cal i selak at the top of his lungs, banging his hatchet against his shield, convinced he was an exceptional warrior, sure he could kill Fyrak itself, because the fear of death was not yet part of his conceptions. But not anymore. Since the Titus episode, and especially since his fight with those bandits, he knows what dying means. And that haunts him. You think you're brave, but you don't know what it is until you're actually near death. What he hopes is that one day he too will be able to face death, to defy it by hitting his shield. Like Eeri… Eeri who will not return. For he has nothing left for himself. Not even the respect of the Truth. And she knows it now, since he told her his secret, his lie, which he has been carrying like a burden for decades…

Five days earlier, as Eeri and Azazor stopped in the shade of a dune to eat their lunch ration and take a break…

"Eeri, I have to confess something to you."

The Fyrossa looks up from his grilled yubo paw, looking laughing.

"What? Your parents were Matis?"
"I'm serious."
"Oh… Come on, I'm listening."

The Fyros takes a deep breath, as if he was about to reveal some dark secrets.

"I lied… once.
"Hahaha, just once? Well, that's okay then, exclaims the Fyrossa, relieved."
"No, that was a big lie."
"What do you mean?"
"I made someone believe that I was his father."

Eeri remains silent, her eyes wide open.

"There was this little Trykera, found by Rangers in Silan. Galdor, a friend of my parents and who raised me after my father's death, took her in and raised her as his daughter. When I learned of her existence, when she was about ten years old, I had an idea.

The Fyrossa reels in her hand, as if to tell the Fyros to continue.

"I thought to myself that at that age, one was easily manipulated. So with Galdor, we started to tell a completely different story. He thanks to his daily contact with her and I through letters I sent her. A story claiming I was her real father, but that I couldn't raise her because I was too busy. And that her mother had been killed by Matis. That the Empire was the most beautiful, the greatest.
"A nice indoctrination…
"That's it.
"And what did this Trykera become?
"I gave her a mission when she reached sixteen. To infiltrate the Kingdom and give me information.

Eeri raises her eyebrows in surprise.

"A spy of some sort?"
"Yes. I didn't think she would do so well. Before we left, she had managed to become a subject of the kingdom and was considering becoming a servant to a noble house."
"You mean she's still spying?"
"Yep, at least when I left she was. I told her to pass on her future reports to Naveruss."
"'Big thighs' knows about this? Well…"
"The worst part is that she still thinks I'm her father. I betrayed a fundamental pillar of the Empire by lying to her."
"If the truth were really the value of the Fyros Empire, it would have collapsed by now. Sometimes the important thing is just to believe in something. The truth, I gave up long ago."

With that, Eeri looks thoughtful and says nothing more, just rolling the half-gnawed yubo thigh between her fingers. She too would have things to confess. The Fyros notices this and looks at her with insistence.

"Do you have something to tell me? I can feel you worrying."
"dey, I was just thinking about our old home," lies the Fyrossa.
"Ah…"

Azazor stirs the sawdust on the floor with his foot. He too thinks a lot about his old home.

"So, did you ever feel like telling your spy the truth?"
"Yes, several times I thought I should tell her. But each time, she gave me good information. I told myself that if I revealed the masquerade, she would take it badly and stop doing the job. A job she's good at, too."
"Oh, you think she's going to take it the wrong way if you tell her that the guy she thinks is her father for years is actually an imposter who's manipulating her? I don't know why you're saying that…"
"All right, stop with the irony. I have a guilty enough conscience as it is. The worst thing is if I tell her and she starts talking…"
"What are you afraid of? That the Matis would be angry with you? I reassure you, it is already the case. You all the same insulted the king's mother in front of her son on the day of her funeral. So, them learning that you tried to spy on them…"
"Mm, yeah…"

Azazor remains pensive for a few moments, keeping his eyes lowered towards the sawdust. Shame gnaws at him, the lie being for him like a stain. Finally, after a silent moment, he raises his head and looks Eeri straight in the eyes.

"If I die, will you tell her?"
"That you are not her father?"
"ney. Her name is Be'Lauren."
"ney, count on me. But you'll tell her yourself, because you're not gonna die."
"If you say so…"

Yes, he'll tell her everything. Whatever Eeri says, the truth is sacred. Without it, the Fyros people can only let themselves die.

Eeri stuck her pickaxe into a piece of bark that was sticking out of the sawdust and pulled herself up, once again. For several hours she had been climbing, losing hope of reaching the top of the cliff. It had been impossible for her to find the place where she had left hanging the rope she had used to descend part of the cliff. She had to climb up without any clue as to the path ahead. At each piece of bark or each crevice in the sawdust, she repeated the same process: plant the pickaxe, pull herself up, wedge one of her feet where she could, and try to locate the next support, higher. For hours. Until she hesitated, so different did the piece of bark seem from the others, at this place. It was a Fyros arm.

"Grab my hand!"
"Aza!! Grab my pickaxe rather!"

The Fyros hoisted Eeri, who breathed a sigh of relief before collapsing a few feet from the edge. She asked him for a moment of rest in order to catch her breath, before answering all his questions. Yes, she had things to tell about her few days down there. Starting with the place. An old Karavan ship. Relatively large, at least larger than the ones they could usually see on the New Lands. Quite different in appearance, too. Abandoned for years, maybe centuries. A relic of the first Swarming? It had crashed there at an angle, in the sawdust. This group of Marauders had settled there for an indeterminate period of time, and their plan was to head back north, leaving a few homins garrisoned on site. The delivery was a key element that they were waiting for in order to finish their work.
Their leader was Li-Yon, an imposing Zorai with a mask tattooed entirely in black, with a disturbing look, although he had been relatively friendly with Eeri. A researcher, as he introduced himself, just like most of the homins here. He explained that it was not really a clan. Rather, several homins from different clans, recruited according to their technical knowledge. In fact, many Trykers and Zorais, some Matis who seemed to be assigned to guard duties. Few fyros.

Eeri was allowed to stay for two nights, before resuming her journey. She was given a small, rundown looking room in the ship, furnished with a small bed propped up by pieces of wood. The whole structure being slanted, it was not so easy to move from one room to another, other than in the parts the Marauders had already refitted. Here and there, the walls were covered with colored protrusions, little red or green pushers, surfaces made of a strange smooth, greenish material. All this must have had a function, but seemed to have been out of order for a long time. The Zoraï gave her a tour of what was left of the ship, avoiding the central room, under the pretext that the homins who worked there needed a lot of concentration. He remained relatively vague on the nature of their works.

"So, did they give you something to eat? To drink?"
"Hmmm, nothing too fantastic. I offered to cook their meat our way, but they refused."
"It's better, they would have kept you."
"I'm thankfully dey! Friendly, but suspicious, and then almost only homins. They seemed really happy to get these trinkets, so their leader was courteous enough to leave me a room with a door that locks. Also to keep an eye on me, I think."
"It's true that you tend to get pregnant at the wrong times," Azazor said, shaking his head.
"And they're not bad... but they're not very talkative either," continued the Fyrossa without picking up on Azazor's remark.
"What did you expect?"
"Nothing special. Deliver the thing, and leave."
"But you surely asked them some questions, didn't you?"

Azazor looked at Eeri with a pout he had developed over the course of the trip, which he pouts every time he was not convinced by what the Fyrossa was telling him. He let her continue to speak, without commenting anything. Eeri answered with a smile:

"I have asked some, but you know me. I'm too direct, I never manage to get information discreetly..."
"Nothing at all?"
"I... think they have an almost working Zinuakeen. And then, what I already told you. Oh, and yes, they did give me some tips on how to continue the journey towaeds Sentinel. Nothing too difficult for the path. This way..."

Eeri pointed east, towards the mountain range.

"That we already knew."
"And another thing too: a few hours' walk away, there's a path, on a root, to the south. Marked by a beacon."
"What is it for?"
"An access to the Wide Puddle. Li-Yon thought we might be interested in seeing it. It's another day's walk. There is a root that crosses the mountain."

The next morning, Azazor and Eeri finish repacking their makeshift camp on the back of the two mektoubs. The waves have calmed down a bit this morning. During the night, they rocked them, making them live their most beautiful night for a long time. While Eeri picks up a few seashells as a souvenir on the shore, Azazor finishes harnessing the last mektoub. In a joyful mood, he gives her a smile. The Fyrossa gives it back to him without forcing herself. Behind her, the stretch of water brings a breeze coming from the sea which raises her red hair. The Fyros, in front of this vision, cannot help smiling even more. He had not felt this feeling for her since this torrid night in the Baths of Pyr.

Suddenly, behind Eeri, the water starts to swell and a titanic creature emerges. It opens wide a mouth filled with sharp teeth. This one closes on Eeri, whose superior part of body is soon completely swallowed in the mouth of the monster. Azazor rushes towards the Fyrossa and grabs her legs before the monster was able to take her to the bottom. Resisting as he can, he does not manage to retain it and is himself dragged in water, pulled by the superhuman strength of the creature. While he screams at the top of his lungs all the rage of despair, he manages in a last effort to pull Eeri's body from the beast's grip. He then falls backwards, slumping his buttocks in the water. The prakker, because such is the name of the beast, plunges back in the water in a whirlwind of wave. Completely distraught and still clinging to Eeri's legs, he pulls her hastily out of the water.
Only when he finds himself dry on the shore, he finally notices that the girl has been literally cut in two at the level of the waist, the monster having carried away the other half in its stomach. A trail of viscera is visible on the beach, where the upper half of Eeri's body has been taken. Looking with horror at the bloody legs of his friend, Azazor lets out a howl of terror. Eyes rolling back, not able to stop staring at the legs that are bleeding on the beach, he falls to his knees, while the prakker fades away on the horizon.
Death here is irrevocable, he knows it. He lets out another howl to the sky as Eeri's lower body lies there, dripping his guts and spurts of blood onto the knees of the now hopelessly alone Fyros.

                
Alone.

Alone!

Alone!!!

Thoughts fly in his head. With his mind muddled, he stands there, kneeling on the shore, his eyes bulging.

She is dead. Eeri is dead. DEAD! She will never come back. You don't rez here. You're all alone when death strikes. Still clutching Eeri's legs, he cannot bring himself to leave them there. Still warm, bloody, falling to dust...

To dust? Yes, Eeri's legs disintegrate before his eyes. Becoming dust again. Evaporating in the morning breeze...

Disappearing...

[...]

But then ?

[...]

BUT YES !

She is alive! She could rez! Probably near the Zinuakeen! SHE COULD REZ! HAHA...

???

What? She could rez? One needs to have a Marauder crystal to be rez'd at Zinuakeen. And Eeri never told him she had a...


"RAMECH! BITCH MATIS!!!" he yells all of a sudden.


This is why she wasn't afraid of death! "Yes, I fight like it's my last fight. Yes, I've been training. Yes, I'm such a badass and you fatty are a two week old yubo."

Bitch! Bloody degenerate Matissa! She's had a goddamn Maraud' crystal all this time! So yes, she can play the fearless warrior, my ass! Liar! Traitor!

He gets up with a leap, sweeping away the pile of dust that covered his legs with a wave of his hand. Then, talking to himself, he goes towards the mektoubs.

"Oh my dear Eeri, wait until I find you! You are going to know the Fyros fury. You'll see, now I'm going to strike as if it were my last fight. Don't worry about, Maraud': the fat Azazor's going to teach you to hide things like that from him!"

Pulling the two mektoubs without any care, the Fyros takes again the way crossing the cordillera, direction the Marauder campsite. A carnivorous smile to the lips, he is in a hurry, oh yes he is in a hurry to see again the dear red head of his "friend" Eeri. To discuss, exchange, knock and more if affinity.

                
She was awakened by a bucket of water on her head.

"You're back? You were missing us?

Eeri vomited, then collapsed on her back. The light was burning her eyes, and it took her a moment to make out what was surrounding her and come to her senses.

"You had to take a bad fall," Li-Yon said. "You were lucky you had that crystal."


***


Ever since that talk with Azazor a few days earlier, the Fyrossa had been thinking about the secret she would take with her if she fell off that cliff. The truth? No. Her life was now a huge web of lies, driven by her clumsy attempts to fix her past mistakes. She walked along, fiddling in her pocket with the Marauders Zin crystal she was carrying since the New Lands. What if it worked? Ever since O'Teelo, at the Cloudy Cliff Outpost, had told them about the presence of a teleporter network in the Old Lands, the Fyrossa had felt slightly reassured. Perhaps that was why she had fought those bandits and risked so much. But that was still something she could not tell Azazor about. A stupid imprudence that she disguised under a facade of arrogance. And the luck of having fallen on untrained homins. And if only this crystal worked, she would have to synchronize it with a teleporter first. This was a detail that the homins of the New Lands, accustomed to wandering these regions, no longer thought about.

No more imprudence. Especially not now.

In the end, the descent proved to be less laborious than Eeri had imagined. She threw an "oren fyraï" to Azazor, her voice slightly distorted by her apprehension, which she tried to hide as best she could, then launched herself. The idea of keeping a pickaxe in her right hand, which she stuck into the sawdust to swing from root to root, worked. Without that, she clearly wouldn't have found enough holds. Azazor would have managed too, no doubt, but someone had to guard the mektoubs, who obviously wouldn't have succed in climbing down. However, the apprehension was there, the fear of going down alone, without any help in case something happened.

A flood of memories came back to her mind, as she lay there on the ground. That moment when she had been able to approach the Zinuakeen, while the Marauders had their backs turned. Then the climb back up to Azazor. They had resumed their road, and decided to make this detour, to go and see this legendary immensity of water. After these days spent in the desert, taking a bath was worth one or two more days of walking. The moving and agitated waters of the Wide Puddle, so unlike those of the lake of Fairhaven. Then that night of calm, as if the predators had decided to give them a moment's respite. The next day... Had she not woken up? No more memories, everything was blurred, except for an image that seemed to encrust in her memories, a shell. Was it really a shell? She had never seen one like it before.


***

Eeri vomited a second time, which earned her a second bucket of water on her head.

"Where am I?"
"Back at the Zinuakeen."

Eeri sat up and rubbed her eyes, still feeling groggy. Yes, she knew where she was, there was no doubt about it, but she had asked the question for comfort. Li-Yon, in front of her, was looking at her from behind his black mask, twirling the crystal between his fingers.

"You could have told us you were one of us," the Zorai said after a moment that seemed like an eternity.
"I didn't think it would make much difference," Eeri replied.
"Really?"
"I tought that many of you here hold the Marauders of the New Lands in low regard. And especially their adoration for Akilia."
"And if even that was true, we weren't going to kill you for that."
"But you could do it now because I lied to you?"

Eeri made out a smile behind the Zorai's mask. He gave her back her crystal:

"No. We are only scientists."
"This is the first time I've been brought back since I left. It's been years..."
"Maybe our Zinuakeen aren't as comfortable as the ones where you come from."
"It's probably because we're not used to those here..."

Yes, it had to be lack of practice, thought Eeri, who had never used this crystal before. To say that was no lie.

"You can spend one more night here. I imagine you're looking forward to seeing your companion if he's still of this world. But after what you've just been through, it's best to rest. I must also thank you. Thanks to you, we know that the Zinuakeen is functional. That's lucky for you. So, with everything you've brought back, we can already start looking for where we'll set up the next one. Further north from here.

Eeri didn't answer anything but a nod of thanks, so much she tried to control her nervousness and trembling. She had to face the fact that she had not come far from never coming back. She still didn't understand how all this could have happened. Azazor... Let's hope he's safe. If he had seen her die and her body dematerialize, chances were he would understand where to find her. And she could always tell him she'd picked up a crystal at the camp here. Considering the present state of the truth between them... If not, he had probably come to terms and had go on his way. It would take her days of walking before she could catch up with him, without mektoub.

If only he were still of this world.

                
Azazor was here, sitting. He was waiting, looking at a campfire he hadn't even bothered to light in front of him, a few meters from the two mektoubs. This time, he did not extend his arm to help her, as she came, panting, to the end of her escalation. At the top, she stretched, then went to sit down opposite him, silently. He didn't move, but Eeri knew that he was silently ranting.

"You will excuse me, I had a small hitch," she said.

The Fyros raised his blue eyes towards her. Icy eyes.

"I owe you some explanations. I know I screwed up again. And that I'm very lucky."

She expected him to explode at any moment. But she took advantage of the quiet to continue.

"I'm glad to see you. I didn't know if you were still alive. I didn't think I was coming back either…"

Azazor exploded. He abruptly grabbed his axe as he stood up and threw a blow toward Eeri. With vivacity, she got up to dodge it, and moved back a few steps.

"RAMÈCH MATIS! SCUM OF THE BARK! YOU SLUT!! WHEN DID YOU INTEND TO SAY ME ABOUT YOU HAD BECAME MARAUDER?"

Eeri dodged another blow from the axe. Hitting his chest with his fist, he continued:

"THEN, GO AHEAD, HIT ME ! ME, I DON'T HAVE ANY CRYSTAL. IF I FALL, I FALL. I DIE. AND YOU WILL BE ALONE HERE. TRAITOR!! LIAR!!"

Azazor, enraged, attacked the Fyrossa again, who jumped aside and grabbed his shield hanging on the back of one of the mektoubs.

"KILL ME, YOU WILL SEE THAT I DO NOT HAVE CRYSTAL, ME! I KNOW WHAT IT IS TO FEAR DEATH!"
"And then, what does it change? I have a Marauder crystal, ney, so what? You should be happy to see me.

"WHAT DOES IT CHANGE?" he belched. "WE HAD A DEAL!!! NO MORE LIES!!! I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE A MARAUDER OR IF YOU FOUND THAT CRYSTAL IN A MEKTOUB'S ASS, BUT YOU LIED TO ME!"

Azazor attacked several times, Eeri tried to dodge his blows as she could. He finally planted his axe in the shield, and the Fyrossa took the opportunity to take a side step and grab the handle of Azazor's axe, in order to immobilize him. She added, a few centimeters from the Fyros' face:

"I am not a Marauder. I just did what was necessary to be able to use their technology. That's all."

Azazor yanked his axe out of the way, using all the strength he could muster, and sent Eeri flying a few feet away.

"I AM A DRAKANI," she shouted, crashing into the sawdust.

Azazor planted his axe in the campfire, exploding it on several meters around.

"Yeah that's for sure, you don't have anything of a Fyrossa anymore ! Lying so much, you became the shame of our race!"

"You want the truth, but you are not able to hear it," added Eeri. "Yes, I have a Marauder crystal. And I synchronized it down there, without even knowing it was functional. Do you think I'm proud? I was just lucky we were still in range of the Zinuakeen. I don't even remember what happened at the Wide Puddle…"

Azazor ranted, still clutching the handle of his axe, ruminating that she had lied. She added:

"And then, why did you come back here? Did you come back to whine because I lied to you? To prove to me once again that only your way is right? To blame me for the people I've been with? SO WHAT? IF YOU ARE NOT HAPPY TO SEE ME, GO ON ALONE!

The Fyros didn't answer anything, just looked coldly at the Fyrossa.

"But you have to be completely crazy… What did you think? That I was going to make such a trip without preparing anything? We were going to the Marauders! Do you really think there was any other option?"
"You just don't get it, do you? I don't care about your methods. You prefer manipulation, that's your choice. I'm even willing to admit that having a Maraud crystal was a good idea."

Eeri raised an eyebrow, taken aback.

"But you lied to me. Once again. One lies to enemies, not to friends."
"It's an obsession with you, right?" she said, sarcastically.

The Fyros did not raise and, after a deep breath, said in a surprisingly cold and calm voice:

"You can continue with me if you want. But know one thing, Eeri: I will never trust you again. You are no longer one of us and I no longer owe you the Truth."

Searching for words, he added:

"You are now… only a homina."
"Well… It doesn't change anything, you already didn't trust me. And I wasn't planning on coming back within the Empire, don't worry.

Azazor walked over to the mektoubs and began to pull them eastward. They didn't say another word until nightfall.

                
On the way to Sentinel, a few days after their altercation, they came across a group of three varinxes intent on making them their next meal. Azazor stopped but did not even take out his axe. He just stood there, placid. Until now, he had said almost nothing, only grunting when he had to communicate with Eeri. But this time, to the astonishment of the Fyrossa, he opened his mouth and said:

"Take care of them, immortal."

Eeri grumbled something in protest, but had no choice but to take out her axe as the varinxes were coming towards her, and managed to get rid of them. Fortunately, they were young males, probably expelled from their pack by the dominant male. Without much hunting experience, they only managed to bite Eeri's armor without hurting her. Once two of them were killed, the last one didn't have to be persuaded to skedaddle.

"You could have helped me," said Eeri.

The Fyros didn't answer and went back on the path to Sentinel, shooting the mektoubs without care.

***

Two days later, one morning, a new dramatic event occurred. Eeri had to go in search of a mektoub that during the night had managed to untie its harness to to go grazing a hundred meters away. Nonchalantly chewing the liketim that was growing thickly that winter, it was looking with a torpid eye at the homina coming towards it. When Eeri started sinking into what was obviously some shifting sawdust, he gave a slight moo and took up his meal where he had left it.

"ramèch!" said the homina, trying as best she could to get out of the sawdust's grip. But the harder she tried, the deeper she sank. The shifting sawdust was up to her waist when she decided to call for help to the fat Fyros who was eating his dried meat as a morning meal in the distance.

"Azaaa! Bloody mek... I'm sinking in shifting sawdust! Come and help me!"

The Fyros got up and approached Eeri, without haste.

"Wait, take the other mektoub with you and give me its tether. He will pull me out."

But the Fyros continued to advance towards the Fyrossa, watching where he put his feet. When he got as close as he could to her without having to put his feet in the shifting sawdust, he ducked down to her level. Eeri was then sunken up to the chest. She had stopped moving not to sink more, having understood that the more she would move, the more she would sink.

"What the hell are you doing? You think you can pull me out without the mektoub?"

He looked at her gravely but did not stretch out his hands towards her. His gaze was fixed on the Fyrossa trapped in the sawdust.

"Oh, okay, we get here? Is it the time you let me snuff it? What do you want? For me to apologize?"

The Fyros didn't move, still staring gravely at the Fyrossa.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't have any apologies to offer you. So let me die here if it makes you happy, but don't count on me to beg."

Azazor then took out a Marauder crystal from his armor pocket and showed it to the Fyrossa.

"What... Is it mine? When did you take this from me?"

"Last night. I've always slept with one eye open. And today you'll understand something."

Eeri looked at him defiantly.

"What makes us different is that I know what it is to be afraid of dying. And in that, I know true courage."

"You are crazy! Definitely crazy!"

"oren fyraï, Eeri."

He got back up and turned his back to her. Then he picked up the first mektoub and went to the camp to pick up the second. He took his time to harness them and when he had finished, he took a quick look at the Fyrossa still stuck in the sawdust and went back on the path to Sentinel.

- You're completely crazy!! DETAL!!!

Realizing that she would have to fend for herself, Eeri tried to slowly move her chest closer to the more solid edge. But while her upper body could still move, her legs remained frozen, as if embedded in the wood. Even though her bust movements were as light as possible, they had the effect that she sank a little further. The sawdust now reached almost to the base of her neck and she kept her arms raised above her. She screamed, with difficulty, hoping that some homin would pass by. But this path was not very frequented. She might as well hope that a varinx would come to her aid.

An hour passed without her sinking any deeper, but without managing to get even an inch out of that sawdust. That's it, she was going to end up like that. A head and arms sticking out of the sawdust, waiting to die of thirst or to be eaten by who knows what beastie. Death. The inevitable death was waiting for her. And this time, no more crystal to resurrect her. Anyway, even with one, she wasn't sure being close enough to a Zinuakeen for that.
She didn't think Azazor would do such a thing to her. He was resentful, sure, but enough to want to kill her? Even when he had attacked her with an axe, she had felt it was more an explosion of rage than a real attempt to kill her. But here, using trickery to kill her? He must have been really angry with her. You're not one of us anymore, he'd said. You're just a homina. She should have known better. If she was now nothing more than a homina, he could get rid of her. He had the crystal, he could pretend to be a Marauder. He didn't need her anymore. ramèch, yes, she had screwed up. And she was going to snuff it there, alone, and she didn't even know when...

Suddenly, a rope fell before her eyes and she grabbed it. Looking up at her benefactor, she saw a fat Fyros in Marauder armor and a weathered face. Azazor. He had tied the rope to the two mektoubs and was busy moving them forward to pull her out of the shifting sawdust. Eeri felt as if they were breaking her legs when they pull her along, but finally she managed to get out and found herself gasping for air outside the sawdust. Azazor didn't help her up, didn't ask her how she was doing, or even check to see if she could stand up on her own.
He simply took the mektub's reins and told her docently:

"The moving sawdust obeys, like any fluid, a simple principle. The vertical force directed upwards is equal to the weight of the volume of fluid displaced. You couldn't sink down enturely." 

Then, after a short pause, he added:

"Now you know what it is to be afraid to die.

Before the Fyrossa could say a word, he continued:

"And yes, I am crazy. So beware of me. Because one day I will let you die."

He dropped the Marauder crystal to the ground and pulled the mektoubs towards the east.