“
- "I'm going to exterminate them. All of them. Down to the last one."
- "Very well, then. And what do you intend to do, my boy, once you have overcome this adversary? What are your plans for resuming the course of your life? I wish for you to aspire to reconstruction, rather than destruction."
Pü stared for a few seconds at his palms, which were soaked in haemolymph and shell fragments. His plans for resuming the course of his life? He didn't know. Since his tribe had been wiped out, his life had lost all meaning. As usual, the Voice that had accompanied him since the massacre had been right on target. And although she had proved extremely invaluable just a few weeks ago, helping him to combat the suicidal thoughts which were constantly inhabiting him, things were different now. Because for the young Zoraï, the advices lavished to him by the inner voice had gradually moulted into reproaches, the slightly haughty tone it adopted accentuating this impression. So, still full of the adrenalin of the fight he had just led, Pü replied curtly.
- "I don't feel like answering your rhetorical questions, so shut up. Shut up, or go haunt another mind."
- "Haunt another mind? I doubt very much if that is conceivable, my boy. However, no one can claim to know all absolute truths. To dispel any doubts, perhaps you should consider going in search of those who survived? That would allow us to fully assess my abilities. What do you think?"
Ignoring the Voice, Pü wiped his hands on the cold moss covering the ground, picked up his weapons and rose to his feet. All around him, the massive bodies of the insectoid creatures oozed a greenish liquid, a sticky haemolymph that dripped down the broken carapaces and spread abundantly over the plant cover, turning the frost into steam. Staring at the enemy's carcasses, he thought back over the weeks that had just passed.
Shortly after Pü had left the stump of the sky-tree in which he had always lived, now sealed into a gigantic tomb, a particularly harsh winter had fallen on the Jungle. A strangely calm Jungle, which he had expected to be infested with creatures. Deep down, he had hoped that this abnormally cold wave was the answer of Ma-Duk to the swarm of monsters. After all, as guardians of nature, the Kamis could master the elements, and during the winter most insects went into hibernation. Unfortunately, this was not the case: the creatures had not returned to the depths of Atys but had simply moved back to the nests they had built on the surface... Pü remembered the words of his father, who was convinced that the invasion of the monsters was intended by Ma-Duk to put their tribe to a test. Then he remembered the words of Grandmother Bä-Bä, who had told him that Ma-Duk had nothing to do with it, and that the invasion was in fact affecting the whole of Atys.
For the time being, what he had seen over the last few weeks proved the venerable ancestor to be right: on the road to Zoran, the country's capital, he had come across a few villages, all destroyed and empty of life. So far, the journey had gone smoothly. With the war, at least in this sector of the Jungle, totally won by the invaders, their troops had left. For all that, the monsters had not decided to abandon this territory. Quite the opposite, indeed. Very quickly, a large number of new creatures had invaded the region. Including those he had just got rid of. These specimens were more imposing than the lively soldiers with their brown carapaces and darted abdomen, arched under their legs and streaked with yellowish highlights, who had made up the bulk of the troops in the first wave of the invasion. But they were less so than the black and yellow-spotted monsters of the second wave, who had massacred his tribe, and even much less so than the huge, gleaming commander who had killed his father, uncle and brother... With no stings, fangs or organs for excreting noxious substances, these other creatures were fairly harmless. True, they had a powerful pair of mandibles, reddish like their six legs. But as far as Pü could see, this oral appendage was only used to cut up the vegetal matter on which they fed, and to gather resources which they stored on their broad, flat, moss-covered heads, in order to transport them to the heart of the large nests of which they seemed to be the main workers.
Pü was deeply angered to discover that after the carnage had come the looting. Had his loved ones been killed simply so that these new creatures could harvest the surface's resources in peace? Was Atys not generous enough to share its riches? But, as if to punish the idealism of this naive question, his memory soon brought back memories of the history lessons his mother used to give him as a child: the War of the Aqueduct began when the Fyros Empire was hit hard by drought, after the Kingdom of Matia had dried up the river Munshia and increased the taxes it levied on Water Route convoys crossing its territory. The longest war in homin history began with a quarrel over water, a resource that was nevertheless present in abundance in the Wide Puddle. At all times, access to the resources of Atys had been a matter of conflict... So why not imagine that these intelligent creatures were driven by the same motive?
This incongruous idea was just one of many. It was the delirious product of a sick mind. Broken. Forever scarred by pain. Ever since that terrible day, Pü had not stopped brooding. Nothing had ever succeed made him think about anything else. He tried to understand why his loved ones had been taken away from him. And finding no satisfying answers - none of them could be - he let hate consume him. Usually so calm and measured, he swore on Ma-Duk to eliminate every insectoid monster he would came across, gradually forgetting the search for survivors and the quest that the dying Grandmother Bä-Bä had entrusted to him. This madness had almost cost him his life and, used to the placidity of the harvesters, he had gradually let his guard down. Because, in fact, not all the enemy soldiers had left the Jungle. He made this discovery after slaughtering several workers busy cutting the bark off a large dorao tree, one of these slender, smooth-trunked trees whose tops formed the main bulk of the area's luxuriant canopy. As he prepared to leave, he spotted a group of creatures in the distance, similar to those in the first wave of the invasion, but with a more streamlined abdomen, like a scorpion's tail, and a carapace coloured green and white rather than brown. Well... it was rather the creatures in question who spotted him. Completely ignoring the herds of herbivores in their path, the monsters rushed towards Pü, as if they had been stalking him for a while already. Although the Zorai's first instinct was to draw his weapons, the Voice convinced him that he could not defeat the six giant insects at once. Unable to match their running speed either, Pü had no choice but to climb to the top of the dorao and flee into the canopy. And although the two smaller specimens managed to follow him, they proved far less agile than a human when it came to leaping from branch to branch. Over the following weeks, Pü came across these creatures on several occasions, identifying them as members of patrols exclusively hunting down homins who would have survived the swarm. This was a behaviour that again demonstrated the collective intelligence of this insectoid species that came from the depths of Atys...
Breaking the flow of his thoughts, the voice inside echoed in his head.
- "If that is what you really want, my boy, I can quite remain silent. However, I don't think solitude suits you very well. In fact, after all the effort I've put in, I'm afraid you'll sink again."
With his eyes still fixed on the carcasses of the monsters he had just slaughtered, Pü felt his throat tighten. Once again, she was right. Annoying as it was, that mysterious voice was still a precious ally. His only ally. Whether it really belonged to someone, or was a figment of his imagination, it was the last link binding him to the vanished hominity. For he now seemed to be alone in the world.
At this thought, the Zoraï's heartbeat quickened and his hands began to tremble. Not from the cold, but from fear. I'd rather die than be alone. Anything. Anything but loneliness.
-–—o§O§o—–-
- "You're getting very close, my boy."
From his perch atop a tall dorao tree, Pü was making the city of Zoran ot in the distance, built between the shores of the gigantic Temples Lake and the delta of the Ti-aïn, its tributary river. Following the watercourse, which meandered from the north-west, the Zoraï's gaze fell on the Great Mountain. The colossal root structure broke the skyline with its hugeness and cast its protective shadow over the western part of the country, known as the Dark Jungle. The source of the Ti-aïn, it was also, and above all, the only known departure point from the Canopy, several hundred kilometres wide and extending upwards until it melted into the network of celestial roots. Raising his mask to the sky to follow the course of the aerial ramifications, Pü was suddenly dazzled by Jena's astral light, which the drift of a cloud had just released. He shook his head and took one last look at the Temple-City. It was time to leave.
The homin fled the naked daylight by letting himself fall a few meters and landed on the branch where he had put his weapons and canvas bag. In this latter he kept, among other things, the relics that Grandmother Bä-Bä had entrusted to him before she died: the amber cube containing the secrets of the Black Cult, the set of orange dice she used to catalyze her power, communicate with the Kamis and foretell the tribe's future, her ceremonial dagger and the tattooing kit. To this day, Pü still didn't know what he should do with these relics, especially the dice, which he had tried to make work over the last few weeks, to no avail. He was desperate for answers, and with each passing day, the silence of the Kamis grew crueler and crueler... Having collected his belongings, the Zoraï finally set off northwards, leaping from branch to branch through the thick snowy foliage.
Two hours and twenty kilometers later, Pü was perched on the summit of another great dorao, this time overlooking the capital of the Zoraï people. The Temple-City had been built almost three centuries earlier inside an immense crater-like node of the Bark, like so many others in this labyrinthine region of the Jungle. The knot's circular flanks rose steeply to a height of around two hundred meters, and were overhung by a thick wall. In 2328, while the War of the Aqueduct was in full swing, the troops of the Fyros Empire arrived at the gates of Zoran in an attempt to bypass the Matis' southern front, and, as Emperor Krythos was convinced that the Theocracy was allied with the Kingdom of Matia, they tried to force their way through its ramparts. Unable to do so, and harassed by the Zoraïs Self-Defense Forces, the Imperial Army resolved to besiege and pound the capital with its powerful artillery, before setting off again a few days later to the north, where its main objective was. Observing the ruined state of the city walls from afar, Pü knew at once that Zoran had not escaped the cataclysm. If the city had always been able to repel homin invaders, it had been no match for the despicable insects from the depths of Atys... Examining in greater detail the closed doors and the large breach through which he intended to infiltrate, Pü noticed that some structural damage seemed to have been caused by deflagrations, as if the Zoraïs Self-Defense Forces had used powerful explosives against the invaders, with no regard for the city's infrastructures. Unless, of course, this was the work of a type of creature Pü had not yet encountered. Finally, having checked the surrounding area one last time, and made sure there were no monsters patrolling the perimeter, the Zoraï descended from his perch and climbed up the side of the knot in the direction of the makeshift entrance he'd spotted. If the city was still inhabited, taking one of the twelve staircases leading up to its gates would have attracted far too much attention.
Once he reached the foot of the wall, Pü found confirmation of the explosive nature of the attack that had caused this part of the enceinte to collapse. The ground was blackened and hollowed out over a distance of some ten meters, and the thick section of wall had simply been reduced to dust. He doubted, however, whether Theocracy weapons had been responsible for the damage. For all he knew, the Zoraïs Self-Defense Forces didn't possess such firepower. As relations between the Theocracy and the Pü tribe were extremely tense, the latter kept a close eye on the development of the Theocracy's weaponry. Just in case. And its spies had never revealed the existence of such weapons. Stepping into the breach, Pü recalled the only time he'd ever been to Zoran, accompanying his mother to a congress organized by the Council of Elders and bringing together all the country's Kamist tribes. At the time, the city's alleyways were teeming with passers-by, some of whom had copiously insulted the emissaries of the “Cursed Strain” - whose tattooed masks they despised - as the guard escorted them to the meeting point. But from now on, if he wanted to, Pü could go wherever he pleased. No guard or passer-by could stop him. For in front of him spread a Zoran in ruins. A Zoran that smelled of death.
Overlooking the circular city, Pü gazed for a few seconds at the destroyed dwellings built on the inner flanks of the knot, then directed his gaze towards the Zo'laï-gong, the most imposing Kamist temple in the country, enthroned proudly at the bottom of the valley and the pride of its inhabitants. The Zo'laï-gong was a pyramid with a square base housing a maze of prayer halls, where bonzes and sages received their followers, trained their disciples and attempted to invoke Kamis, as well as the main offices of the central administration and the private apartments of the Great Sage Min-Cho and his advisors. The top of the pyramid was flat, forming the Grand-Place, where the Elders gathered to discuss with the people and where important meetings were organized. It was here, in fact, that the tribal congress was held, to which Pü's mother had been invited as a representative of her tribe, and which Pû had attended. In short, Zo'laï-gong was not only Kamism's first place of worship, but also the seat of central power and the country's main institutions.
To honor the Kamis and affirm the greatness of Zoraï civilization, two centuries earlier the Theocracy had undertaken the construction, overlooking the Zo'laï-gong, of a gigantic architectural work completed fifty years later: an inverted pyramid floating some twenty meters above the Grand-Place, on which a smaller amber pyramid rested. This monument, even more impressive than the temple it crowned, rested on ambers with electrostatic properties, enabling the immense structure to levitate. In this, it put into practice the knowledge that the Karavan had transmitted to the Zoraïs in the past. For this reason, it was abhorred by the tribe of Pü, who had always dreamed of its demolition. All the more so as it was not merely decorative. In fact, the monument also had a large shaft of light running through it, originating in the upper pyramid, designed to amplify astral light, and extending into the dark depths of the temple thanks to a complex interplay of mirrors. According to the tribe of Pü, this edifice also honored Jena, the Goddess of the Day Star. The usurping goddess who came from the sky, a stranger to Atys, whom the Zoraï Theocracy wrongly worshipped as the Supreme Kami.
So it was with a sense of joy that Pü, when he looked up at the Zo'laï-gong, saw the state of the temple. The pyramid was partially shattered, and the floating monument, once so majestic, was no more. In its place was an immense cloud of debris, made up of blocks of varying size, some of which, having lost their levitating properties, had crashed heavily onto the temple. Pü didn't know by what miracle the insectoid creatures had managed to demolish the heretical edifice, and as his indoctrinated mind was about to thank them in thought, he was painfully reminded of the fate the same had reserved for his tribe. If the swarm of monsters had invaded the whole of Atys, then every homin had been affected by it, through his own death or that of a loved one. Friend and foe alike. In such circumstances, did rejoicing at the misfortune of one's adversaries still make sense?
Still overlooking the city, Pü gazed pensively at the cloud of debris for several long seconds, then turned his attention to the Grand-Place. And as he gazed at the top of the pyramid, something suddenly caught his eye. Given the distance separating him from the temple, he couldn't make out what was currently on the Grand-Place. No matter how hard he squinted beneath his mask, he couldn't make it out. Yet a strange feeling had sprung up inside him, and was now gaining in intensity. What had caught his attention was not of the visual kind, but of the psychic kind. Of spiritual significance. Something was waiting for him at the top of the Zo'laï-gong. Something was calling him. Or rather, someone. Yes, someone. He was quite sure of it. Someone dear to his heart. But who? All those who mattered to him were gone. The Voice tried to tell him something, but, caught in a kind of hypnotic trance, Pü barely heard it. Throwing caution to the wind, he hurtled down then the city's alleyways, at full speed, swallowing up the miles without even looking at his surroundings. When reaching the foot of the Zo'laï-gong, he leapt up the staircase facing him and climbed the steps two by two. As on several occasions during his frantic race, the Voice tried to call out to him, but to no avail.
When Pü finally reached the top of the pyramid, he was out of breath. Focused on his objective, he had mismanaged his stamina and made poor use of the Sap that irrigated him. Leaning forward, his hands resting on his aching thighs, the Zoraï watched the center of the Taki-hay, panting. He was looking at the back of the one he had come to find. The first living homin he'd seen in several weeks... Given the mahogany color of his hair, he was certainly a Fyros. But was it the one Grandmother Bä-Bä had asked him to find? Pü's heart soared, and at the same moment, a hand grasped the scruff of his neck and the blade of a dagger slid against his throat.
- "If you move, I'll sever your head from the rest of your body, is it quite clear? I don't want that to happen, so don't play dumb. The boss is going to be disappointed if I kill you."
From the way the dagger was held, Pü knew at once that his assailant was less experienced than he himself was. Nevertheless, he had had the merit of bringing him back to his senses. The voice inside him immediately echoed in his mind.
- "So that's it! Despite my advice to be more discreet, you've been very careless, my boy! The barricades, the hanged soldiers, the barely cooled mass graves: the city is still populated! And not just by mere survivors, if you ask me."
Alerted by the threatening whisper of his acolyte, the Fyros turned around. Rather puny, he wore a long braided beard, and held a bottle of liquor in his hand.
- "Anybody here? Hey, who're you?" gabbled the Fyros, obviously drunk.
- "Come and help me, I've caught a big fish!" replied Pü's assailant.
Pü stared at the homin and wondered again if he really was the Fyros he was supposed to find. Drunk, the stranger took a clumsy step forward and accidentally dropped his bottle. Pü followed the object with his eyes, and it shattered on the floor of the Grand-Place. Right next to a small, motiononless black shape, previously masked by the Fyros' body. A black shape with a strange spear stuck in it. A deep black shape with two small white spheres imprinted on it. A Black Kami, impaled. Instantly realizing that the Fyros had nothing to do with the psychic call he'd heard, Pü was overcome by a feeling of anger. Had these homins dared to attack a Kami? Neither thinking twice, he grabbed the arm that threatened to slit his throat and broke its wrist to disarm it. With his free hand, he caught the dagger as it fell and threw it at the Fyros, who received it in full chest and fell backwards. Finally, he grabbed his attacker's bruised arm with both hands and swung him over his shoulder.
Casting his gaze for the first time on the face of the man who had attacked him by surprise, Pü recoiled and let go of his arm. That face, or rather mask, was riddled with deep scars. Worse still were his horns, all cut flush with the skin. If this wasn't the first time Pü had encountered a Zorai wearing this type of mutilation, he'd never imagined he'd come across one here. What was an Antekami doing to Zoran? Like the tribe of Pü, the Antekami formed a tribe violently opposed to the Zoraï Theocracy. A tribe populated by Zoraïs who had never been able to accept the National Story and way of life imposed by the Cho dynasty over the past centuries. Yet the two tribes were not allies. Far from it. Unlike Pü's tribe, the Antekami rejected not only Jena, but all Kamis. Where the Theocracy and the tribe of Pü could at least agree on their common love for the Kamis, the Antekamis shared nothing with their people, apart from this blue skin and this mask whose growth they had never been able to prevent. This mask they mutilated to death as a symbol. On closer inspection, the Antekami were the exact mirror image of the Theocracy. The very negation of the Zoraï people.
Full of hatred, Pü grabbed the Antekami by the throat and lifted him with one hand. He had to kill this heretic. According to the teachings he had received, there was nothing worse than an Antekami. They were the dregs of hominkind, and deserved to be exterminated to the last one. As if by reflex, Pü began to strangle the Zoraï who was trying in vain to free himself. Then he met his gaze. A gaze filled with terror. Inspecting the man more closely, he realized he was dealing with someone rather young. The Antekami must have been around fifteen.
- "Is that really indispensable, my boy? Probe your heart, you don't want to."
As usual, The Voice had hit the nail on the head. His father and brother were gone. His mother and Grandmother Bä-Bä were gone. His tribe was no more. Did leading the Sacred War still make sense? Over the past weeks, the question had often haunted him. On his deathbed, Grandmother Bä-Bä had enjoined him to wage the Sacred War "in his own way". What did that mean? Pü stared into the Antekami's terrified eyes for a few moments, as if searching for an answer. And while he found none, he did know what he didn't want to do at that very moment: kill another homin. His last murders, dating back to the time of his exile in the Kingdom of Matia, still haunted him. Then Pü brought his mask close to the Antekami's own.
- "Zoran has fallen, he whispered. Min-Cho and his band of Sages are certainly buried under the wreckage of Zo'laï-gong. The Theocracy is no more, so your fight is over. And if the Kamis have allowed you to escape death, it's only so that you can spend the rest of your life in an act of penance. I will respect their choice, and for this reason, I will not kill you."
With a powerful gesture, Pü threw the Antekami backwards, who collapsed piteously on the staircase leading to the top of the pyramid.
!!! WIP !!!
В настоящее время еще 100 10 статей находятся в стадии подготовки в Категория: "WIP"Статья находится на стадии подготовки. Пожалуйста, дайте автору закончить его, прежде чем вносить изменения.
Последнее редактирование было из Nilstilar на 16.09.2024« Mon garçon, au lieu de prodiguer un prêche, auquel vous ne souscrivez d'ailleurs pas, vous auriez dû demander au jeune homin la raison de sa présence en ces lieux.»
Pour toute réponse, Pü se dirigea vers le Fyros d’un pas assuré. Toujours au sol, celui-ci avait retiré la dague de sa poitrine et semblait éprouver des difficultés à utiliser les pouvoirs de la Sève pour soigner sa blessure. Arrivé à son niveau, Pü s’agenouilla auprès du blessé et plongea deux doigts dans sa plaie. Le Fyros hurla de douleur. De son autre main, Pü effleura la fourrure du Kami. Elle était étrangement rigide. Le Kami était comme paralysé. Statufié. Entravé par cette lance noire constituée d’une matière brillante et sillonnée de fines lignes verticales et horizontales. Pourtant, ses deux yeux blancs semblaient le fixer.
« Qui es-tu ? demanda-t-il à sa victime sans même la regarder. Qu’est-ce que toi et tes camarades faites ici, et qu’est-il arrivé à ce Kami ? Réponds-moi !
— Pitié, me tue pas ! gémit le Fyros. Je m’appelle Lygridos, moi et les autres on s’est échappé de la prison de Zoran après le départ de la Karavan ! Ils ont pilonné la ville avec leurs vaisseaux, la moitié de la prison s’est écroulée ! Putain j’ai mal, arrête !
— La Karavan ? interrogea Pü en quittant le Kami des yeux. Qu’est-ce que la Karavan faisait à Zoran ? Est-ce la Karavan qui s’en est pris au Kami ?
— La Karavan est venue aider les habitants de Zoran à fuir ! Beaucoup ont été évacués dans de grands transporteurs. Beaucoup d’autres ont été abandonnés sur place, comme nous ! Après l'évacuation, ils ont pilonné la ville pour tuer un maximum d’insectes, sans se soucier des victimes collatérales ! Je t’en prie, arrête ! »
À ces mots, Pü comprit pourquoi la cité était en ruine : les dégâts étaient moins liés aux insectes géants qu’à l’action de la Karavan. Il se demanda ensuite si les Kamis étaient à leur tour intervenus.
« Parle-moi du Kami ! Que faisait-il à Zoran ? Que lui est-il arrivé ? hurla Pü en enfonçant un peu plus ses doigts.
— On sait pas pour le Kami ! On l’a trouvé dans une rue, dans cet état ! Y’avait des agents de la Karavan en petits morceaux à côté de lui. On sait pas ce qu’il s’est passé, mais c’est pas nous qui l’avons planté, j’te promets ! »
Pü approcha sa main libre de l’entrave, la frôla du bout des doigts, et sentit son crâne vibrer. La lance semblait agir sur sa graine de vie. Il retira ses doigts de la plaie du Fyros, l’attrapa par le col et le releva sans ménagement.
« Sais-tu si d’autres Kamis étaient présents au moment de l’invasion ? En avez-vous croisé d’autres ?
— Non, aucun autre ! Ni vivants ni morts ! On en a discuté entre nous, et on dirait que seule la Karavan est intervenue pour aider les habitants. Pitié ! On l'a simplement monté ici pour rigoler !
— Pour “rigoler“ ? Je vais le libérer, et nous verrons bien si tu as menti. Si c’est le cas, toi et tes camarades en payerez le prix. »
Pour toute réponse, le Fyros gémit et chancela en direction de l’escalier où l’Antékami avait chuté. Pü attendit de le voir disparaître avant de reposer son regard sur la lance. Deux sentiments de colère l’habitaient. La colère de voir la façon dont ces barbares avaient traité le Kami, et la colère de savoir que les Kamis n’aient pas daigné sauver ses proches.
« Je vous recommande vivement de ne point toucher cet objet, mon garçon. Vous vous exposez au risque de connaître un sort similaire à celui de ce Kami. Ou pire encore. »
La Voix avait certainement raison. Mais en fixant une nouvelle fois les yeux figés du Kami, et malgré la rancœur qui l’habitait en cet instant, Pü sut qu’il n’avait pas le choix. Il approcha ses deux mains de la lance, ferma les yeux, calma sa respiration et repensa aux préceptes que son oncle lui avait enseignés de son vivant. Alors que son crâne se remettait à vibrer, l’un deux lui revint à l’esprit.
« Ma-Duk nous offre l'ultime douleur pour que nulle peine au monde ne puisse atteindre jamais ses soldats. »
S’il n’avait jamais été proche de son père, il l’était en revanche de son oncle. Ke’val était son maître d’armes. Il était celui qui lui avait tout appris, sur le plan martial, et qui avait fait de lui un guerrier accompli. Il était celui à qui il aurait dû succéder. Celui qui lui avait donné les clés qui lui permettaient d’endurer la douleur présente. Car à l’instant même où Pü saisit la lance, il crut sa tête exploser. Puis des vagues de douleur se propagèrent depuis son crâne et inondèrent tout son être. Comme durant la pousse de son masque. Cependant, en réaction, son corps réagit autrement, et tous ses muscles se figèrent instantanément. Il essaya de se dégager, mais cela ne fit que démultiplier la douleur. Il nageait à contre-courant. Pourtant, il n’avait pas le choix. Alors, comme durant la pousse de son masque, il se concentra sur sa graine de vie et accepta la sensation. Elle lui était familière. Il arrêta de nager et plongea dans cet océan de douleur. Et, petit à petit, les mains serrées autour de l’objet maudit, il exerça un mouvement de tirage. Millimètre par millimètre.
Au moment où le dernier centimètre de la lance se dégagea du corps du Kami, l’effet s’arrêta soudainement et Pü put libérer ses mains. Finalement, il lui avait fallu moins d’une minute pour retirer l’entrave, bien qu’il eut l’impression que le supplice avait duré des heures. Exténué, il tomba à genoux. Quant au Kami, il se répandit en une flaque de poils noire, dans laquelle flottèrent les deux sphères blanches. La créature divine avait perdu toute consistance. Soucieux, Pü tenta d’interagir avec elle, mais le tumulte qui surgit depuis les flancs de la pyramide le convainquit de se concentrer avant tout sur son propre état. Quelque chose arrivait. Le Zoraï se mit debout, chancela légèrement, puis essaya d’infuser de la Sève dans son corps. Malheureusement, il peina à manipuler comme il le souhaitait le flux qui l’irriguait. La douleur avait laissé place à une sensation d’engourdissement général : son corps répondait mal, ses sens semblaient altérés et ses pensées étaient confuses. Comme si sa graine de vie n’était pas totalement remise du maléfice de l’entrave. Et si son état s’améliorait doucement, il savait qu’il ne serait jamais remis à temps. Car le vacarme montant, qui mêlait voix et bruits de bottes, était désormais à portée.
Pü jeta un coup d’œil au Kami, toujours flasque, puis dégaina son épée de sa main gauche et accrocha sa rondache à son bras droit. En épargnant les deux individus, il leur avait permis d’aller chercher du renfort. Il devait en assumer les conséquences et protéger la créature divine coûte que coûte. Essayant d’optimiser le temps qui lui restait, Pü ferma les yeux et se concentra autant qu’il pu sur sa régénération. Plusieurs homins étaient déjà arrivés au sommet, d’autres se rapprochaient de lui. Il les entendait. Quand il rouvrit finalement les yeux, une petite cinquantaine d’individus l’entouraient. Si plus de la moitié étaient des Zoraïs, tous n’étaient pas des Antékamis. Quant au reste du groupe, il était composé majoritairement de Matis et de Trykers. Les Fyros étaient minoritaires, tout comme les homines. De vifs coups d’œil, Pü analysa ses adversaires. Certains portaient des tenues de prisonniers, et tous étaient armés. Pour autant, une minorité seulement avait l’allure de combattants. Un Antékami, notamment, se distinguait. Non pas du fait de la large croix boursouflée qui déchirait son masque, mais par l’accoutrement qu’il portait : tenue constituée en partie de pièces d’armure de la Karavan. Trapu et plutôt petit pour un Zoraï, sa main crispée au bout d'un bras musculeux serrait le manche d’une grosse massue à la tête hérissée d’épines. Pü dévisagea quelques secondes l’individu. C’était la première fois qu’il voyait un homin équipé comme le sont habituellement les Agents de la Karavan. En guise de réponse, celui-ci inclina son masque et s’avança vers le centre du cercle. Arrivé à trois mètres de Pü, il posa le manche de son arme sur son épaule et prit la parole. Son ton était narquois.
« Au début, je ne les ai pas crus. Mais finalement, ce n’est pas surprenant. Qui d’autre que toi aurait pu survivre à cette catastrophe ? Je n’ai jamais connu quelqu’un d’aussi tenace que toi, Sang. »
En entendant le nom de son père, Pü fut d’abord étonné. Comment pouvait-il le connaître, et surtout, comment pouvait-il le prendre pour lui ? Puis il se rappela du masque qu’il portait désormais. Pour honorer le souvenir de sa tribu et respecter les dernières volontés de Grand-Mère Bä-Bä, il avait accepté le titre de Masque Noir, et s’était tatoué en conséquence. L’esprit toujours engourdi par l’entrave, Pü répondit sans se poser plus de questions.
« Je ne suis pas Sang, je suis son fils. Qui es-tu ?
— Son fils ? Ainsi, Sang a passé le flambeau à son aîné ? Je ne pensais pas voir ça de mon vivant. J’espère au moins qu’il est mort pitoyablement. »
À ces mots, la mâchoire de Pü se serra. Non parce que l’Antékami avait insulté son père, mais parce qu’il l’avait confondu avec son frère. Son frère, qui avait toujours été destiné à devenir un jour le Masque Noir. Son frère, qu’il aurait pu sauver ce jour-là… Pü pointa son interlocuteur avec son épée et reposa sa question.
« Qui es-tu ? »
L’Antékami rigola, leva les bras puis tourna sur lui-même. Sa massue semblait ne rien peser.
« Je suis qui, les gars ? »
Alors, en chœur, le cercle d’homins leva ses armes et hurla.
« Zunak ! Zunak ! Zunak ! »
Les cris continuèrent jusqu’à ce que l’Antékami abaisse ses mains et s'avance d’un pas vers Pü.
« Voilà qui je suis. Ton père t’a parlé de moi ? »
La réponse était non. Pü n’avait jamais entendu parler de cet individu. Sa tribu étant en guerre ouverte contre les Antékamis, il n’était pas, après tout, étonnant que son père connaisse certains de ses ennemis. Mais à cet instant, son identité lui importait peu. L’état du Kami ne semblait pas s’améliorer, et lui-même n’avait pas totalement récupéré. Il devait réfléchir à une issue, et gagner du temps.
« Non, mon père ne m’a jamais parlé de toi. Mais je serai curieux d’en savoir plus.
— Ah ? Je suis déçu. J’étais l’un des meneurs des Antékamis avant de finir au trou. Ton père et moi entretenions une relation… passionnée. On s’est promis à chacun plein d’horribles choses. Maintenant, je suis le chef de cette petite bande. Et aussi le nouveau dirigeant de Zoran.
— Est-ce à cause de mon père que tu as terminé en prison ?
— Oh non, pas du tout. Il aurait clairement préféré me tuer, dit-il en avançant d’un nouveau pas. »
Pü analysa la posture du dénommé Zunak, qui semblait prêt à attaquer. Dans le dos de l’Antékami, il surprit deux prisonniers se faisant signe de la tête. C’étaient le Zoraï et le Fyros qu’il avait épargnés un peu plus tôt.
« C’est mon armure que tu regardes comme ça ? renchérit l’Antékami. Je l’ai récupérée sur le corps d’un Agent de la Karavan gravement blessé par un kitin.
— Un kitin ?
— Ouais, c’est comme ça la Karavan nomme les insectes géants. Donc, l’Agent était vraiment en mauvais état, il avait besoin d’aide. Bien sûr, je ne l’ai pas aidé. J’ai simplement récupéré son équipement. T’as déjà vu un Agent sans armure ? Le plus choquant, ça a été quand j’ai enlevé son casque… »
L’Antékami s’appuya sur sa massue et fixa Pü sans rien dire. En vérité, Pü était intrigué. Comme beaucoup, il s’était longtemps questionné sur l’apparence réelle des Agents de la Karavan. Comme les quatre peuples homins, ils possédaient deux bras, deux jambes et une tête. Ils maîtrisaient aussi chacune des langues atysiennes et exhibaient généralement des manières d’être et de faire homines. En cela, ils était pour beaucoup bien plus facile de s’identifier aux Agents de la Karavan qu’aux Kamis, avec qui il était souvent compliqué de communiquer. Mais les Kamis avaient pour eux de s’exposer tels qu’ils étaient au monde, tandis que les Agents de la Karavan restaient murés derrière leurs imperméables et froides armures. Zunak s’avança et continua. Il était désormais à un mètre de Pü.
« À mon avis, on doit pas être beaucoup sur Atys à avoir vu le visage d’un Agent. Y’a deux choses qui m'ont étonné. La première, c’est l’impression de familiarité. En le regardant, j’ai eu l’impression d’avoir toujours su à quoi il ressemblait, alors qu’il n’était ni matis, ni fyros, ni tryker, et encore moins zoraï. C’était comme s’il appartenait à un autre peuple d’homins. C’était vraiment très étrange. La seconde, c’est la manière dont il a réagi… »
L’Antékami fit une pause et serra plus fermement le manche de son arme. Pü, bien que suspendu à ses lèvres, préparait sa contre-attaque.
« À son regard, j’ai compris qu’il était terrifié. Et j’ai vite compris pourquoi. En fait, il n'a pas fait long feu. Il s’est mis à suffoquer, comme s’il n’était pas capable de respirer. Ou plutôt comme si l’air qu’il respirait était du poison. Car rapidement, il s’est mis à tousser du sang. Puis le blanc de ses yeux est devenu rouge et la peau de son visage s’est mise à pourrir. À noircir. Je dirai que ça à duré même pas une minute. Juste avant de crever, des poils avaient poussé au travers de sa peau nécrosée, et j’ai même eu l’impression que son crâne était en train de se déformer. Puis… »
Et sans prévenir, Zunak envoya la tête de sa massue en direction du masque de Pü. Préparé, ce dernier fléchit les genoux et esquiva sans peine l’attaque. Il prit ensuite appui sur sa rondache pour libérer sa jambe gauche et balayer les jambes de l’Antékami. Alors que celui-ci s’écroulait lourdement sur le sol, Pü s’était déjà relevé, prêt à accueillir ses nombreux adversaires, d’ores et déjà en train de se ruer sur lui en hurlant. Même s’il le redoutait, pour protéger le Kami, il était prêt à tuer.
« Mon garçon, en dépit de vos compétences, il vous est impossible, en votre seule personne, de triompher d'une cinquantaine d'individus armés. Vous devez vous résoudre à prendre la fuite. Vous n'avez guère d’alternative ! »
Fuir ? Et abandonner le Kami ? C’était inconcevable. Pourtant, la Voix avait raison. D’autant qu’il n’était pas encore totalement remis du maléfice de l’entrave. Car si Pü réussit à mettre hors d'état de nuire les premiers ennemis arrivés à son contact, il fut vite submergé par une nuée de lames et de pointes. Dans la confusion, il entendit Zunak hurler à ses sbires de ne pas le tuer, qu’il voulait s’en charger lui-même. Cela explique sans doute pourquoi sa poitrine et sa tête furent relativement épargnées, ce qui ne fut pas le cas de ses membres, lacérés de toute part. Lorsque deux lances lui embrochèrent finalement les cuisses, Pü fut contraint de céder et tomba à genoux. L’un des prisonniers, plus téméraire que les autres, en profita pour lui planter sa hache dans le ventre. Un éclair de douleur traversa le corps du Zoraï, dont la vision se troubla. Il avait atteint les limites de son endurance à manipuler la Sève. Il n’était plus en mesure de se soigner. Il aurait dû fuir. Revenir plus tard. Pour le Kami. Pü lâcha son épée, et dans un dernier sursaut, lui jeta un regard. C’est alors que la créature divine entra en convulsions.
Dans une vision dérangeante, un tentacule noir surgit d’elle et transperça d’un coup précis le cœur du porteur de la hache. Puis la masse gonfla et d’autres tentacules suivirent. La confusion s’accentua et les hurlements guerriers se muèrent en cris de panique. Toujours cloué au sol, Pü se débarrassa des lances qui l’entravaient et chercha du bout de ses doigts son épée. Un Fyros s’effondra alors devant lui. Lygridos, le soûlard qu’il avait épargné. Dans sa tête, la Voix lui hurlait quelque chose. Mais Pü ne l’entendait pas. Il était totalement sonné par la boucherie chaotique qu’était devenue de combat. D’autant que le Fyros hurlait lui aussi. De peur et de douleur. Il hurlait la perte de ses jambes, totalement prisonnières du Kami. Ou plutôt de l’ignoble fente bardée de dents qui avait pris forme sur son corps gonflé.
« Mon garçon, vous devez toucher le Kami ! Il vous le demande ! Ne l’entendez-vous pas ? »
Le toucher ? L’entendre ? Bien que n’étant pas certain de comprendre ce que la Voix voulait lui dire, Pü lui obéit. Il attrapa son épée, s’appuya sur elle pour se relever et enjamba le Fyros, dont les hurlements de douleur s’étaient mués en cris d’agonie. Si la plupart des homins avaient fui la Grand-Place, certains étaient encore présents, dont le jeune Antékami qu’il avait sermonné. Il était aux prises avec un tentacule essayant de l’étrangler. Dépourvu de peur, Pü tendit lentement sa main vers la monstrueuse créature, sans cesser jamais de fixer l’Antékami. Lui était transi de peur. Finalement, il aurait dû le tuer. Sa mort aurait été plus douce. Aussi douce que la fourrure noire du Kami, dont il venait de saisir les poils. Aussi douce et chaude que la vague de Sève qui venait de le traverser. Sur le moment, Pü crut que le Kami était en train de guérir ses blessures. Puis des lignes ambrées étincelantes se superposèrent au masque de l’Antékami. Puis à son corps. Puis à tout ce sur quoi Pü porta son regard. Le Kami, particulièrement, avait troqué sa fourrure noire contre un éblouissant habit de lumière. Confus, le Zoraï le fixa quelques secondes, puis leva la tête. Dans le ciel d’Atys, les racines de la Canopée s’étaient transformées en artères flamboyantes et battantes. Pü les suivit du regard jusqu’à trouver la Grande Montagne, elle aussi gorgée de lumière, et dont la base venait se perdre dans la mer étincelante qu’était devenue la jungle. C’est en baissant le masque qu’il comprit que l’altération touchait avant tout la matière vivante. La Cité de Zoran, et notamment ses bâtiments, rayonnait bien moins que les arbres qui bordaient sa large muraille. Le phénomène s’accentua alors que les éléments les moins brillants de son champ visuel s’effaçaient, profitant aux branches les plus incandescentes du réseau lumineux qu’il distinguait désormais parfaitement. La vision hallucinée s’amplifia lorsque Pü regarda ses pieds. Se rendant compte qu’il était dorénavant capable de voir au travers de la matière, il fut pris d’un terrible vertige et manqua de chuter. Debout sur le vide, il observait de nouvelles artères flamboyantes et battantes, semblables à celles de Canopée, situées cette fois-ci dans les profondeurs d’Atys. Toutes semblaient irriguer la Jungle de leur chaleur. Et toutes semblaient prendre source au même endroit. Un lieu situé au centre de tout, à plusieurs milliers de kilomètres de là. Un globe palpitant, composé de lumière, plus éblouissant encore que l’astre maudit de Jena. Le cœur étincelant du monde. Ma-Duk. Émerveillé, Pü fixa l’étoile abyssale. Elle lui brûlait les rétines. Puis, un chant liturgique s’éleva. Il était temps pour lui de partir. Temps pour lui de le rejoindre. Alors, Pü bascula en avant et s’enfonça dans le Zo’laï-gong, comme si son corps avait perdu toute consistance. C’est en tout cas l’impression qu’il eut avant de perdre conscience.
— Belenor Nebius, narrator
