Chương 71: The Open Cage

The cage had no bars. That was what made it insulting. Zayn spent the first part of the night sitting beneath the low tent, his back against a post, the blade absent from his hand, the half-mask resting on his knees, and the empty bowl of water beside him. Around him, the camp breathed. Not like a human village. A human village creaked, coughed, spoke too loudly, prayed too quietly, and hid its fears behind closed doors and locks. Here, the night did not hide so many things. It distributed them.

Silhouettes on the platforms. Wolf-dogs near the fires. Children pulled back under the tent-skins. Hunters returning without announcing themselves because everyone had already smelled them. The open cage stood near the inner palisade, within sight of almost every watch post. Three poles marked its space. A low tent. A bowl of water. A worn hide. Nothing else. He could walk away. In theory. Three steps beyond the boundary, two wolf-dogs slept across the path.

Higher up, the raptor-man perched on the platform did not seem to blink. A little farther away, a young wolf-man pretended to sharpen a blade while looking elsewhere every five seconds. Very subtle. Zayn slowly put his mask back on. The leather covered the upper half of his face. His mouth remained free. The cat-woman who had captured him passed by the cage again in the middle of the night, a waterskin in hand. She set it at the entrance without stepping into his space.

"Drink slowly." Zayn looked at the waterskin.

"Do you often give advice to prisoners?"

"Only when they look stupid enough to die after being captured." He took the waterskin.

"I'm beginning to understand why your negotiations with humans must be difficult." Her tail gave an almost imperceptible movement. Not a laugh. Perhaps the local equivalent of not putting a spear through his throat.

"My name is Saeva." Zayn lifted his eyes to her. The cat-woman had taken the spear from her back, but she had not set it far away. Her ears moved slightly at every sound in the camp. Her eyes followed the slightest movement of his hands, his breathing, the tremor in his leg. No trust. But a hunter's curiosity.

"And the wolf-man who walked me here?"

"Odran."

"He always talks this little?"

"He speaks when words are useful."

"Terrible concept." Zayn drank a sip. Slowly. Then set the waterskin down.

"Tomorrow the elder will speak to you."

"The elder?" Saeva gestured beyond the central fire toward a round tent covered in white markings.

"The one who hears lies before they grow legs."

"Charming."

"If you lie badly, she will know."

"And if I lie well?" Saeva tilted her head.

"She will know that too." Zayn stayed silent. Then he nodded slowly.

"I appreciate the lack of options. It simplifies strategy." Saeva turned away. Before leaving, she added:"Keep your mask on if you want to sleep. The children will want to see your face in the morning."

"Are they that dangerous?"

"No." She looked briefly at his mouth.

"But you don't like being seen." She left without waiting for his answer. Zayn watched her until she disappeared between two tents. Then he touched the edge of his half-mask. He hated that she was right. Morning came with smells. Smoked meat. Wet hide. Turned earth. Clean ash. Fur. Old blood. Warm milk. Crushed herbs. Zayn opened his eyes before anyone entered the open cage. Not because of a sound. Because of the silence. The camp had stopped around him.

When he sat up, at least twenty pairs of eyes were already fixed on his tent. Children. Mostly children. Ears pricked, tails still, eyes too wide, muzzles barely marked on some, more distinct on others. Two little wolf-boys. A girl with round bear-ears. A thin boy with raptor pupils perched on a crate as if staying on the ground were a personal humiliation. They were looking at him the way people looked at a creature that had been described around the fire the night before.

One of the little wolf-boys whispered:"Demonic human." Another said something in their language. The children snickered. Zayn remained seated. He could have snarled. Scared them. Thrown out some dark sentence. Instead, he slowly raised a hand and touched the edge of his mask. All of them leaned forward a little. Zayn pretended to remove it. The children almost held their breath. He stopped halfway. Then said:"Admission costs money." Silence. The children did not understand. Perfect.

He lowered the mask again and lay back down on his side. Behind the group, a broad woman with round ears appeared carrying a bucket. Value 38. Not a warrior? Maybe. Or maybe here, even the women carrying buckets had enough soul strength to crush an average human soldier with a bad look. She barked an order. The children scattered at once. Not far. They scattered like crows pretending they were no longer watching a carcass. The bear-featured woman entered the open cage without asking. Zayn sat up sharply. Too fast.

His leg protested. She set the bucket down on the ground and looked at him.

"Calm." Her voice was low, heavy.

"If I wanted to break you, you wouldn't have time to get up." Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

"People have been telling me that a lot lately."

"Because it's true." She placed a bowl in front of him. Broth. Meat. Roots. Fat. Zayn stared at the food. His stomach contracted violently, but not from disgust. From need. He did not move. The woman noticed.

"You waiting for it to bite you?" He looked up at her.

"That's an underestimated possibility." She snorted. Not like the wolves. Heavier. Deeper. Then she said:"You smell of forbidden meat. You don't trust good food anymore." Zayn stayed still. She did not phrase it like an accusation. More like a medical observation. That irritated him more.

"Do all of you have a natural talent for saying unpleasant things before breakfast?"

"You're still talking. So you're not hungry enough." She stood.

"Eat. If you vomit, clean it. If you hide food, the dogs will find it. If you refuse, we won't force you." She went out. Zayn looked at the bowl. Then at the wolf-dogs. Then at the broth. He slowly lifted the bowl to his mouth. The first sip was warm. Not scorching. Not acidic. Not toxic. Warm. His body almost froze at the information. Then he swallowed. A shiver ran up his spine. He drank again. Not too fast. Never too fast. Then he ate the meat. Normal meat. Smoked, boiled, tough.

It did not taste like a sin, or a corpse from the depths, or a decision he would have to justify inside a nightmare. Just meat. His hand trembled slightly around the bowl. Zayn lowered his eyes.

"Pathetic," he murmured. But he finished everything. The elder came when the sun was already high. She was small. That was the first thing that surprised Zayn. In a camp where even the adolescents seemed to carry more vital density than an average human soldier, the elder had a bent back, a reduced stature, thin fingers, almost dry. Her gray hair was braided with black feathers, polished bones, and tiny amber beads. Her ears, shorter than the wolves', vanished into her hair.

Her face was wrinkled, but her eyes remained a pale yellow, almost too sharp. Value: 33. Not enormous. But the moment she stepped into the open cage, the two wolf-dogs lowered their heads. Not in fear. In recognition. The old chief at 46 stood behind her, arms crossed. Odran and Saeva as well. Several other adults remained in a circle around the space, at a distance. The elder sat down in front of Zayn without asking. He did not move. She placed a small flat stone between them. Then another. Then a third.

Zayn looked at the stones.

"A game?"

"Memory," she replied. Her voice was clearer than expected. She spoke the human tongue slowly, but correctly.

"You place what you want believed here." She touched the first stone.

"What you refuse to say here." The second.

"What you hide even from yourself." The third. Zayn stared at the stones. Then at the elder.

"Do you really want to do this before I know your refund policy?" No one laughed. Except for one child too far away, who was immediately dragged back. The elder did not blink.

"You are Zayn."

"Yes." First stone.

"You are human."

"Technically." The old woman tilted her head.

"That word smells bad."

"A lot of human words smell bad. You get used to it."

"You were summoned by humans." The sentence struck several people around them. Saeva did not move. Odran neither. The chief simply looked at Zayn more carefully. Zayn remained silent one second too long. Then said:"Yes." Murmurs. The elder touched the first stone.

"Truth." She touched the second.

"Incomplete." Zayn smiled faintly.

"You're very demanding for a free conversation."

"Were you a human hero?" This time, the word had weight. Not because they believed in it. Because it came from another culture. Among humans, hero was a title, a weapon, a prayer, a poster on walls, a tool in the kingdom's hands. Here, it sounded almost like a foreign object dropped into mud. Zayn thought of the summoning chamber. Of the status windows. Of the others. Elias. Lena. Mira. Jonah. Then of his own title. He did not say it. Never. Not here. Not now.

"I was summoned with the heroes." The elder watched him. For a long time. Then she touched the first stone.

"Truth." The second.

"Very incomplete." Zayn felt his jaw tighten. She went on:"Why did humans try to kill you?" The version was ready. He had built it during the night. Simple. Useful. True enough not to collapse.

"Because something went wrong during a mission in the east. Rhel-Fosse. The Ashen Circle wanted to recover me if I was obedient. Bleed me if I was contaminated or resisted." This time, it was not a lie. Not really. The elder laid her fingers on the first stone. Then waited.

"And?" Zayn did not answer. She touched the second stone.

"You leave something in your throat." The word throat made the mark on his tongue warm. He hated his body for that reaction.

"I resisted."

"You killed."

"Yes."

"Humans?"

"Yes." Harder murmurs passed through the circle. The chief did not move. The elder asked:"How many?" Zayn looked at the stones.

"Enough that they sent more men." The old woman stayed silent. Then nodded slowly.

"A survivor's answer. Not an innocent's answer."

"I didn't claim to be innocent."

"No." She fixed him with her gaze.

"You only claim to have been betrayed." Zayn felt something cold tighten in his stomach. Not fear. Aggression. The yellow-eyed woman had just placed a claw on exactly the right place. He answered softly:"The two aren't incompatible." The elder gave a tiny smile.

"No." She touched the third stone.

"That is why you are dangerous." Silence. She continued:"Humans betrayed you. Maybe. Humans tried to kill you. Yes. But you also did things before, during, after. You want us to smell only their fault. Not yours." Zayn did not speak. His tongue burned. No transformation. Just the mark. He could feel every gaze. The wolf-dogs. Saeva. Odran. The old chief. The children hiding too close. The warriors judging whether this conversation would end with a rope or a blade. The elder tilted her head.

"Here, a lie to protect your life may be tolerated." She raised one finger.

"A lie that puts the clan in danger is paid in blood." There. A simple rule. Zayn almost preferred simple rules. They had the courtesy to say exactly when they would kill you. The elder pointed at his half-mask.

"Why hide the top of the face and leave the mouth?" The circle became even quieter. Zayn answered:"The full mask got in the way."

"For breathing?"

"Yes."

"For vomiting?" He did not answer. She touched the first stone.

"Yes." Then the second.

"For biting." Saeva slowly turned her eyes toward Zayn. Odran growled very low. Zayn stayed still. The elder did not seem shocked. Only attentive.

"The Ashen Circle wanted your tongue." This time, he could not stop his gaze from changing. The elder saw it. Of course she did.

"Why?" Zayn smiled. Not broadly. Not well.

"Because they don't like what it can say."

"And what has it said?" He thought of the system. Of the Fall. Of the accepted flesh. Of the black mark. Of Succession whispered by the dead tower. No.

"Things I won't give away for free." The elder looked at him. For a long time. Then she touched the second stone.

"Incomplete lie. Complete fear." Zayn did not answer. The old woman rose slowly.

"Take away whatever cuts. Not what hides." A young wolf-man stepped toward the open cage. Zayn tensed. Saeva immediately laid a hand on her spear. The young man stopped. The elder looked at Zayn.

"If you attack, Odran breaks your good leg. Saeva pierces your belly. The chief decides after that whether you scream for long or not." Zayn turned his eyes to Odran. Then to Saeva. Then to the chief.

"Very visual. Thank you." He slowly drew the knife taken from the Ashen Circle. Set it on the ground. Then a small blade hidden in his boot. Then the curved fragment of blade from Rhel-Fosse. Then the firestone. The young wolf-man picked them up carefully. The elder waited. Zayn stayed still. She said:"The pincers." He froze. Around them, no one else seemed to understand. Except perhaps Saeva. Zayn stared at the elder. She did not move. At last, he drew the Ashen Circle's pincers from his satchel.

The ones meant for his tongue. He set them on the ground. More slowly than the other objects. The chief looked at the tool. His expression darkened.

"Humans," he said. One word. Not a question. Zayn answered:"Yes." Odran sniffed. Saeva looked at the pincers as though she had found an insect in her food. The elder let the young man take the tool. Then she said:"You keep the mask." Zayn blinked slowly behind the leather.

"Why?"

"Because a prisoner who keeps one piece of shame is easier to read." Saeva had already told him almost the same thing. So it was not just a phrase. It was a cultural rule. Terrible. Useful. The elder turned away, then stopped.

"You will not be killed today, demonic human."

"Excellent news. I'll try not to celebrate too loudly." She did not smile.

"Do not rejoice. Here, living creates debts." Then she left the cage. The chief remained a few seconds longer before Zayn. He was tall, but not enormous. Old, but not weak. His 46 now seemed less important than the way the camp rearranged itself around his silences.

"I am Korr of the Mist-Fangs," he said at last. The name settled in the air like a post driven into the earth. Mist-Fangs. So that was the clan. Not the whole people. Not the whole west. A fragment. A border camp. One mouth among many others. Korr continued:"You eat our food. You drink our water. You sleep under our hides. Even as a prisoner, you create debt." Zayn replied:"Can I leave to avoid the bill?" Korr looked at him.

"No."

"I suspected as much."

"You live in the open cage. You speak when asked. You do not touch the little ones. You do not hide forbidden flesh in the camp." Zayn went perfectly still. Korr caught the reaction. Not the same way as the others. But enough. His gaze dropped to Zayn's satchel.

"Give it." The word was not loud. It did not need to be. Zayn thought of the wrapped pieces. Provision. The mark on his tongue warmed. For one second, something in him wanted to refuse. Not out of immediate need. Out of possession. Out of fear of lacking. Out of the simple fact that what he had carried through hunger now belonged to him in an ugly way. Then he looked at the wolf-dogs. Saeva. Odran. Korr. The barless cage. He slowly drew out the cloths. One by one. The charognard meat.

The dark flesh from Rhel-Fosse. The remains he should never have kept. The beastmen recoiled at the smell. Not in fear. In disgust. Even Korr wrinkled his nose.

"Burn that outside the camp," he said. Zayn felt his fingers close around emptiness. No more provision. No more reserve. No more guarantee when normal food stopped being enough. He should have felt relieved. He mostly felt hungry. Korr saw that too. His face did not change.

"If you need to eat that to live, say it before you die." Zayn looked up.

"Is that your version of compassion?"

"It is my version of not letting a thing die in secret in my camp. Secrets smell worse afterward." Zayn remained silent. The sentence was almost beautiful. In a very unpleasant way. Korr turned away.

"Saeva. He is your problem until tomorrow." Saeva sighed.

"I could smell that coming." Zayn murmured:"I'm delighted too." The cat-woman looked at him.

"You still have humor."

"It's probably infected too." This time, she smiled. Just a little. But genuinely. Then she stepped out of the cage. Later, when the camp resumed its movement, Zayn remained alone beneath the low tent. Without weapons. Without forbidden flesh. Without map. Without pincers. With water, an empty bowl, a half-mask, and far too many eyes. He should have felt more like a prisoner. He felt strangely lighter. Not free. Never that. But the satchel no longer weighed against his hip like a wet secret.

He almost hated the relief. Outside, the children gradually returned. Not too close. One of them, an adolescent wolf-boy with gray ears, taller than the little ones but not yet grown, crouched at the edge of the cage. Value 18. His hair was black, his ears an unusual pale gray, and his look carried the clumsy aggression of the young who wanted to be dangerous before understanding what it cost.

"So are you really a human hero?" Zayn leaned his head against the post.

"Bad opening for a conversation."

"Saeva says you were summoned with them."

"Saeva talks too much."

"Saeva says you talk to avoid answering." Zayn slowly turned his head toward him.

"Saeva really talks too much." The adolescent showed his teeth. Not a real threat. A provocation.

"My name is Narek."

"My condolences."

"What?"

"Nothing." Narek frowned.

"You smell less strong since they took the meat." Zayn closed his eyes behind his mask.

"Thank you for that delicate analysis."

"But you still smell like demon."

"You don't lose everything in one morning."

"Then what did you eat?" Zayn opened his eyes again. His gaze behind the half-mask turned colder. Narek noticed. But he did not step back. Not immediately. Zayn answered softly:"Something that did not want to be eaten." The young wolf-man stayed silent. Then asked:"Was it good?" Zayn stared at him. One second. Two. Then he let out a dry laugh. Not loud. Not joyful. But real. Narek looked surprised. Farther away, Saeva turned her head. Zayn caught his breath again.

"No." Narek seemed to think seriously.

"Then why?" Zayn looked at the sky through the tent hides. The long answer would have spoken of Rhel-Fosse, fever, hunger, clean death, bodies that refused to yield, systems that gave names to what you became too late. He chose the short answer.

"Because there was nothing else." Narek remained crouched at the edge. For the first time, his aggression seemed less simple.

"In our camp, eating what is forbidden can get you driven out." Zayn smiled without showing teeth.

"With humans too. They just use more paper." Narek did not understand all of it. But he stayed. And for a while, the gray-eared boy looked at the demonic human as something other than an odor. Not a friend. Not yet. Not even safe. But a story that was still breathing. Zayn, for his part, looked at the adolescent through his half-mask and thought, despite himself, that he might have found the first person in this camp foolish enough to ask him questions without pincers in hand. It was little.

But in the west, apparently, dangerous things sometimes began with little.