The Mist and the Lightning. Part II. Ви Корс

a while they say silent.

      "Fuck, I'm so tired," Squint-Eye said at last. "I'm tired of this shitty castle and its owner."

      "We all are tired," Lis said.

      "Except Orel," Squint-Eye said. "He is never tired."

      Asa asked Lis something in Unclean. He answered.

      "What are you talking about?" Tol asked.

      "She asked what we said," Lis explained. "I told her we're tired."

      Tol looked at Nikto seeking confirmation to Lis's words. Nikto nodded at his questioning stare. Lis smirked but didn't say anything.

      "Ask her what she thinks about us," Squint-Eye said.

      Lis laughed. "As if she'd say," but translated.

      Asa said something.

      "She says we're the worst of anyone she's seen, except for Tol, that is."

      "Hey, you can't say that about my friends!"

      "Come on, Tol, she's right," Squint-Eye said. "At least I won't argue with her."

      "But it's bullshit! Don't listen to her! We're the best!"

      "Yeah," Squint-Eye drawled and they laughed.

      "Why are you laughing?" Tol was exasperated a great deal. "Didn't we beat up Bey? A little more and we'll crush him!"

      "Yes, Tol, it's cool," Squint-Eye said calmly. "We beat up Bey, we're tough…"

      "Aren't we?"

      "Yes, Tol, yes, calm down."

      "Enriki, aren't we? Why are you silent?" Tol started looking for support.

      "I don't have anything to say, Tol. My arm hurts."

      At these words of Enriki Nikto turned to him, he seemed to feel like saying something but then changed his mind and turned away.

      "What do you want?" Enriki asked.

      "I don't like your arm."

      "What do you mean?" Enriki got pale. "Explain please, since you have started."

      "I'm not sure, I saw it for the last time a long time ago, when you were unconscious. But I don't like what I see now. Your fingers are black, Edin Ol's horse stomped on them so hard that it couldn't be improved, infection will spread from them further. Do you know what I mean?"

      "Ooh! It would be better if you kept silent!"

      Nikto turned away, put his head onto his bent knee.

      "I would let him look at your arm if I were you," Tol said worriedly.

      "Is he, like, a doctor?"

      "Well, he is, in a way."

      "Then let him heal himself first!"

      "But he wants to help you," Squint-Eye said.

      "Why should I ask for his help?"

      "You don't even ask, he offers it."

      "And you put him down with your refusal," Tol added.

      "What? I put him down? He doesn't care!"

      "I wonder why you think so."

      "He isn't with us, he is infinitely far away. I look at his transparent eyes and don't see anything, like there is nothing inside. He's empty and it's driving me mad!"

      "Maybe it makes you angry because you don't see your reflection in his eyes," Squint-Eye said quietly.

      "I'm not empty and I have feelings," Nikto said.

      Squint-Eye laughed.

      "Do you really love Orel?"

      Nikto kept silent.

      "He loves his gods," Enriki shook his head. "Why would he decorate himself with their images otherwise?"

      "He simply likes to draw," Lis smirked.

      "That tattoo on his shoulder, it's like a spit at our faces! You could at least have some respect to our religion," Enriki continued, "and not tattoo such openly blasphemy drawings."

      "Why that?" Nikto said.

      "Oh really!"

      "Come on, cool down. I've spent enough time with you and haven't seen you worshipping your gods even once. Though there were some of your religious holidays during that time. Or am I wrong?"

      "No, you're not," Lis laughed.

      Nikto grinned in reply, showing his filed but still impressive fangs; it was a smile of a predator admitting his strength. He'd never done that before in their presence. He showed them what they wanted to see. He was magnificent.

      "You're not a human," Enriki said. "You're not a human and you don't even try to become one."

      * * *

      When Nikto came back to his room, he saw Orel who lay in his bed with a half-empty bottle in his hand.