Nukledeus

Olek opened his eyes and sat down. He was hungry. It was quickly getting pitch dark, the last rays of the sun were fading away on the horizon. He was slightly light-headed and had to wait before standing up. He felt weak. Hunger, dehydration, and despair as well as the cruel sun had swept away his strength.

He had cried his eyes out. He had hit rock bottom, and felt like he was numb with overwhelming pain, but he could not forget the tragic events that had brought him there, on this river bank, alone in a world of chaos.

He wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve, however, they were still soiled despite his quick wash. The sun had dried the mixture of sand, blood, and tears like a scab on his eyelids. He blinked but the new tears only made things worse.

The sting in his eyes was unbearable and he stood up urgently to rinse them with clear water. The moon that reflected in the river only threw shadows in the surroundings and he was grateful to it. He did not wish to gaze at his reflection. Was he a coward for not being dead?

His stomach protested loudly, reminding him that he was hungry. Torgny might have been able to catch fish at night, but, even at his best, the young Olek couldn't do the same. So he resigned himself to leaving the city on an empty stomach until morning.

It might still be possible for him to catch up with Torgny's group or to go directly to meet the a.d.u.l.ts of the tribe. Fergus was lost, trapped, prisoner inside the city or perhaps already dead. Nikodem and the others most likely lay on the battlefield, their corpses horrendously wounded in the violent fight outside the city. From the beginning, the Outcasts outnumbered them. His brother and friends probably didn't last very long.

Seemingly the last survivor, Olek had to return to tell their story. Their remembrance depended on him and meant a lot more than his lost love. If Nikodem only had his brother Olek to mourn him, the others had parents, brothers or sisters. Had he been in their shoes, Olek would have wanted someone to tell him what happened, how his loved ones had died.

So he set out, taking great care to avoid the combat zone. It was probably infested with Outcasts, taking advantage of the dark to bring back pieces of corpses for dinner. Nor did he have the courage to walk in this field of desolation. He knew in his heart that his weak resolve would crumble at the sight of the corpse of one of his friends.

Earlier, he had heard bursts of gunfire from the walls of the City and thought that perhaps the one who had killed Nikodem had ended up falling under the bullets. It gave him a small comfort, albeit a bitter one, but he was all alone and weak, and could not hope to avenge his brother by himself.

A deathly hush was now pervading the whole battlefield. A silent and oppressive night. Even in the distance, the atmosphere made Olek shiver. The gunfire had stopped when the light from the city had disappeared. Well protected behind their walls, the arkians were most likely sleeping, yet Olek doubted it. He had seen the terror in the eyes of the inhabitants when he made his escape. This fear existed long before his own arrival and the city dwellers had only unleashed their violence on the first foreigners to enter their city.

Ever since their parents died, Nikodem had always said that nothing bad could happen if they stayed together. His older brother had been right once again. Olek had abandoned him, and Nikodem was now dead, Fergus and the others too. It was all his fault. Tears burst out of his eyes again, blurring his sight.

He took a few more steps, his feet seemed to move by themselves, and then he fell to his knees. He was the one to blame and no one else. His remorse would be an everlasting mark of his guilt and he would have to bear this heavy burden to the tribe where he could confess everything and atone for his fault by dying by the avenging hand of a bereaved family.

He got up with difficulty and walked along the river to find the crossing point they had taken a few hours earlier. He knew no other way to cross and would feel safer on the other bank.

He was still in the middle of the ford when a tremendous lightning set the night sky ablaze. The almost orange-red glow was accompanied by a terrifying roar.

At the first signs of the explosion, Olek threw himself down on the ground in the shallow water, only his head was sticking out and he stared in disbelief at the moving fireball, which was leaving in its wake a blaze as high as the wall surrounding Ark City.

Thrown into a panic, he hastily crossed the shallow river, crawling backwards on the Lichen-covered pebbles. He could not take his eyes off the magnificent and frightening scene that was unfolding right before his eyes, while the fire kept moving towards the river at breakneck speed. At last, his foot touched a larger stone, he was about to reach the bank when a stick, or rather a wooden rod, landed rather brutally on his shoulder.

"Let's see what I caught here…"

Olek halted. He did not know this voice and in this place, there could only be dangerous Outcasts. He gently slid his hands under the water, lightly brushing the Lichen to conceal his movements and grabbed his dagger. With a sharp crack, the whip-like rod struck a violent blow on his wrist. He let out a scream. Fortunately, the water had broken the force of the attack. He had been more scared than hurt.

"Leave your blade in the water and show me your hands," the man barked.

The boy complied reluctantly. Lying face down in the shallow water, he could not see his opponent and started to feel very cold. His teeth were chattering in spite of himself, the water seeping into his boots was so cold it seemed to freeze his feet, he hardly felt his toes. He had to avoid fighting since it would definitely be doomed to failure. To get out of this sticky situation, he had to buy time, find a better angle of attack and think of a strategy.

Then he heard that someone was entering the water and felt that they were grabbing him by the collar. Helpless and frightened, he began to struggle as he was easily lifted as if he were a mere puppet. His feet were no longer touching the ground. He had just been fished by a giant and terror engulfed him.

The flames on the other bank were lighting the horrendous and unspeakable battlefield that looked like a nightmarish image from Hell. But Olek couldn't afford to mind his surroundings any longer. All he could do was hit his attacker furiously with his feet and fists. In the depths of his despair, he had recovered enough energy but what could he do, alone among these giants, his useless blade half-buried in the sand and Lichen of the riverbed?

As the group moved, his disorderly movements prevented him from getting his bearings in his surroundings. He soon found himself on the ground, tied to the inside of a stone hut where he could not stand up even with his small height. The rope binding his wrists was attached to a ring sealed in the stone. It was pitch dark inside the hut and the young boy was shivering, and not just from cold.

The hinges of the small door creaked, and a bowl appeared on the ground. Olek was hungry, his nostrils had immediately recognized a dish of fish. He took the food and tentatively tasted it, before devouring it. He emptied the bowl in an instant and drank all the cooking juice to the last drop. The juice tasted surprisingly good. Moreover, he didn't know if he could get any water later. Best take this opportunity to drink as well.

The door opened again. A hand appeared and untied the rope from the wall ring. Then, with the rope being tugged harshly and insistently, the young prisoner was forced to leave his cell. It was late at night and should be dark outside, but it was almost as bright as day. The blaze in the distance was still burning. But Olek hardly had any time to gaze at the fire. His clothes were torn off, he then was thrown on a rock, and repeatedly r.a.p.ed.

Some time later, Olek was sobbing silently. He was back in the little, somewhat sheltered, hut. His whole world, full of wide-open spaces and long and wild rides, had shrunk significantly but for now he did not need more. He was afraid, he was in pain, he was ashamed. He felt soiled in the depths of his soul and the mark was indelible. He curled up and buried his face in his arms. He wanted to die. He should have stayed by the river or with Fergus or Nikodem.

Why escape death if his life led to the horrible fate that had befallen him? His tears flowed endlessly. He felt so small and vulnerable. Abused and defenseless against the assaults he had to endure against his will. He'd cried and begged, but the brutes wouldn't stop. And it was not the end for him: the bullies had promised him to come back after a short ceremony. He could already hear footsteps and voices coming closer. They were probably on their way to fetch him.

From his hut, Olek could hear the sounds of an argument. A frail and somewhat trembling voice tried to make itself heard amid the raucous and deep jeers of the other Outcasts. The same unfortunate let out pitiful squeaks that triggered even more laughs. Another poor young boy was being beaten, but he was holding on. Suddenly, a loud voice silenced all the others.

"That's enough! Sam is right. His experience can be useful to the new novice. It's normal for everyone to participate in his training. He must be taught that it is an honor to serve the Sun God."

New sneers of approval and salacious remarks accompanied the chief's decision who then ordered Sam to serve them alcohol before fulfilling his duty as tutor.

Olek didn't know this Sam who used to be in his place previously. He just knew that this boy had braved danger and faced his fear of the other Outcasts to have the right to abuse him with the so-called "tutoring". Olek didn't want anyone to touch him, he was afraid to leave the hut.

He had struggled for a long time – as long as he could, truly – and had received many blows. He had resisted with all his might, to no avail. In the end, despair had won and he hadn't been able to hold back his tears. Be it his will, his self-esteem or his strong and cheerful personality, he had nothing left. He was broken and his torments were about to start all over again.

Sam was whistling happily under his breath as he pulled the bottles out of his hoard. He didn't want people to hear him, of course, it was too dangerous. He was happy and he had not felt this elated in a long while. At last, he would be able to quit this life of misery and torment, he was about to break free, to move on, and he felt like singing and dancing with joy. He had even retrieved the other boy's knife and proudly wore it on his belt. With this promotion, he could have his own small weapon. He was now entitled to it.

The former novice carefully chose the bottles. A unique vintage that he kept for special occasions. Prior to his capture, he had learned about wild plants and it had saved his life, enabling him to offer his new masters highly appreciated liqueurs. Everyday, he was giving his all to receive some praise and rewards and improve his living conditions. As a result, he had been entrusted with the chores. This had been the first step to raise his status from the novice level and he was about to get another step up.

Sam's predecessor had hanged himself, the one before had drowned. But Sam had found a way to persist. All this time, the Sun God had watched over him, His wrath had never been against his humble self, but against the impious arkians who worshiped a false god. They were not even men but animals that the church encouraged to consume, he despised such pathetic cattle titling their pen "the Ark".

Sam served the precious liqueur to the priests of the Sun God, then to His monks and finally to His servants. He then checked that the repairs to the fish farms were sturdy.

The arkians had done a lot of damage to the dam. It had to be repaired in haste and in the meantime, other impious enemies had taken away the freshly dead bodies, even those that still had their ears and eyelids. For a moment, Sam looked in the distance at the flames that were slowly disappearing. He took a basin of water and clean clothes, and went to the stone hut. The camp was calm and peaceful. Sam liked this silent atmosphere.

He took the key that the chief had given him and opened the door of the hut. He then hastily left the water and clothes inside, without entering, without getting any closer than necessary. With a quick movement, he cut the rope with the knife that he had sharpened. Satisfied with its cutting edge, he kept the weapon in his hand. He felt a little agitated, the time had come. He left the door half open and hurried to do the task he had assigned to himself a little earlier.

The liqueur had worked, its recipe was well-tried. The rare and excellent wild plants that he usually distilled with Lichen to give a better taste to the liqueur had lulled the distrust of the others over the years. However this time, even though it tasted the same as ever, the drink was slightly different. The unique vintage contained a clever mixture of powerful sedatives and slow poisons. One couldn't find any utterly toxic plants in the vicinity, Sam had to finish the job by himself to finally put this horrible phase in his life behind him and make a fresh start.

When Olek came out of the hut, he was feeling much better. He had washed himself as well as he could in the dark of the little hut and without Nikodem's mirror, he was wearing clean, warm clothes, he was no longer tied up and no one was waiting for him outside. He was ready to run away when somebody called out to him. It was the little and slightly reedy voice he'd heard before.

On the defensive, Olek approached cautiously. A young man, Sam, was rummaging with his b.a.r.e hands through the still steaming viscera of another Outcast. The knife given by Nikodem was slippery with blood as were Sam's hands up to his elbows. The young man uttered a triumphant little cry when he managed to extract the heart from his victim. Then, he took another small knife to slice it up and eat it raw.

Olek felt like retching and turned around to get away from here.

"Wait, I left this one for you. He's the guy who caught you," Sam said with his mouth full and dripping.

Olek hesitated a split second, then, first things first, he threw himself to the ground to grab his knife. Sam did not move at all except to put his sticky hands up to show that he was letting the other boy do as he pleased. Olek then approached the man still deeply asleep on the ground.

"You don't really have to eat his heart but it's tradition," piped Sam with his strangely high-pitched voice, before leaving.

Olek was not listening. He furiously grabbed the sleeping Outcast by the hair and slit his throat as Fergus had taught him. Clean, efficient and without frills. The sharpened blade plunged into the flesh almost until it reached the bone. Blood gushed everywhere. He then wiped his hands and his weapon on the clothes of his second victim. The wide gash through the throat drew an o.b.s.c.e.n.e smile. Unlike the one he killed in the city, he could see and feel every detail on this corpse. Olek fell to his knees to vomit the fish swallowed earlier and heard horses. Raising his head, he saw Sam with mounts and packages, ready to go. The young man didn't even bat an eyelash in front of the gruesome slaughter, after all, he'd contributed to a large part of it.

"Let's not stay here. I've heard that foreigners are searching the battlefield looking for their kin's bodies to bury them. They are not arkians nor Sun God worshipers. They certainly don't follow our rituals. They may agree to take us with them."

Olek nodded and straddled his horse. He had been used to riding since his earliest childhood, the warmth and presence of the beast reassured and comforted him. He felt a little more like his old self despite the pain, the beatings and the injuries. Apart from Sam, his companion in misfortune, no one would know what had happened to him, for that matter, he had decided that it had never ever happened.