Revision as of 21:11, 16 June 2022

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Reference text ( Maintained text, used as reference ) :
Notes: (Lanstiril, 2022-06-16)

“

Perched on a high branch of a large sylvan tree, Pü was silently unrolling his daily prayer. Above him, even closer, so far from the jungle, from its zenith, the day star was about to reach its full brilliance, and despite the thick leafy layer that separated him from the sky, the warm light managed to warm the young Zoraï's bluish skin. He had learned to forget Jena's astral imprint, however, striving to remember the cold and echo of the abyssal pits that dotted his village beneath the bark, and which allowed Ma-Duk to watch over him and his family from the heart of Atys. In any case, he had no choice: the heights were by far the most suitable place for meditation. On the ground, predators and patrolling soldiers were a constant disturbance, threatening his peace and preventing him from engaging in peaceful activities.

Thousands of miles away, his tribesmen were probably also finishing their prayers. Despite the distance and loneliness, Pü had tried to keep the same rhythm as before he left. At the first light of dawn, the village awoke and prepared for the routine work necessary for the smooth running of the community: maintenance, crafts, hunting, cooking, various meetings, welcoming the few emissaries and traders, etc. The goal was to make a complete and accurate assessment of the situation. The goal was to complete as many tasks as possible before the start of the long morning litany. This one was led by Looï, the mother of Pü, and ended with a collective meal in the heart of the refectory, a meal in which the whole tribe participated. After lunch, the Zoraïs trained in the art of combat for several hours. The teachings, intended for all, without distinction of age or gender, were very varied: hand-to-hand, white weapons, shooting weapons, magic. Indeed, the tribe was above all a clan of fighters, who sooner or later would participate in the advent of the Sacred War. Once the training was over, the families would gather for a meal and engage in various personal activities before going to bed. Pü had always attended evening classes with his mother, who taught him homin history, international relations, mastery of other languages and science. From time to time, he was accompanied by his older brother Niï. But most of the time, Niï took other private classes with their father, the Black Mask.

The child was jolted out of his memories when a sad sound broke the harmony of the trees' song. Above the treetops, the muffled roar of a Karavan flying machine had shaken the air and frightened away the javings, these strange creatures with jagged, greenish wings and whose long, black, shiny, barbed tongue was used to pierce their prey. Rising to his feet at full speed, Pü checked the strength of his lifeline and began to climb the last few meters of the large trunk that separated him from the sky. As his frail body pulled itself out of the ocean of leaves, he was forced to squint behind his mask, so blinding was the daylight. Not far from him, the infernal machine was losing altitude. The strange black matter which composed its hull reflected the bright astral glow of Jena, as if to taunt him. Despite this, Pü was able to identify the device. It was one of those small transporters that the Karavan usually used to harvest the resources gathered by its human slaves. Strangely, it seemed to come straight from one of the immense celestial roots that made up the Canopy, that as yet unexplored part of the Bark, the word by which its inhabitants commonly referred to Atys, their world of living wood, composed solely of ever-growing plant matter. Its opulent valleys and lush hills were formed by colossal roots, on which the homins had established their civilizations. The water that filled the deep root cracks gave life to its lakes, lagoons and oceans. The most inclined roots formed its mountains and extended towards the sky in a slow and inexorable rise. Certain thermal anomalies even caused the slow burning of the root mat, giving rise to deserts. And deeper under the Bark were the Prime Roots, the most mysterious ecosystem in Atys after the one that was supposed to exist in the Canopy. It formed an immense labyrinth made of verdant and humid caverns, plunging into the bowels of the plant world right into its Heart.

Pü watched the Karavan machine dive at full speed. It was a safe bet that, as usual, a rendezvous point had been agreed upon between the Karavan and its minions, and that a convoy was on its way to deliver tribute. The young Zorai felt his heart racing. Four. He was only four short. Four, and he could finally go home for getting back to his loved ones. This was the perfect opportunity. He had to intercept the convoy before it reached the Karavan agents. Pü escaped from the naked day by dropping a few feet, and landed on the branch on which he had left his belongings. He gathered them up and packed them hastily, except for a cubic wicker basket, which he handled with care. This basket contained the fruit of many months of effort. He would never forgive himself for losing it or threatening its integrity. Sure he had not forgotten anything, he checked his harness one last time and dived. Pü sank into the green abyss at a rapid pace, moving deftly between the branches, and unhooking his lifeline from the pins he had planted during his ascent with an expert hand. He crossed for long seconds the multicolored strata of this continental forest of a thousand seasons, and ended up landing with grace on its leafy ground. Given the direction taken by the flying machine, it would probably land in the clearing located further north.

With convoys most often departing from Matia, the capital of the eponymous kingdom, it was a safe bet that the one hoped-for would take the wide, man-made trail that cut through the forest to the west. Pü was both impressed and terrified by the powers of the botanists of the Matis people. He who had seen with his own eyes the colossal root wall of Matia and the immense tree-clad complexes that stretched as far as the eye could see beyond the enclosure, and had been overwhelmed by such excess. But by doing so, and by trying to bend nature to their will, the Matis people were trying to upset the design of the Kamis, and by extension, that of Ma-Duk. The Great Genitor watches behind every piece of matter in Atys. Altering nature is tantamount to travesty his Great Work. Of course, like the mastery of magnetism and writing to the Zorais, the secrets of manipulating living matter, and in particular that of plants, had been transmitted to the Matis by the Karavan.

During his long months of exile in the Kingdom of Matia, Pü had come to understand how attractive the pagan mores of the Karavan indoctrinated peoples could be. He had been ashamed at these thoughts. But it had also given him a better understanding of the whole dangerousness of these demons come from the heavens. The young Zorai wasted no time. Slipping and jumping over the roots and ramifications of the sylvan, he covered the last few miles separating him from the path in no time. The few gingos who tried to pursue him during his crossing had no choice but to give up, so deftly did he maneuver in the dense tangle of this nature free of all matisse oppression. Arrived at the edge of the path, he hid behind a wide shrub, watching for the arrival of the convoy. Whereas he was preparing to give up and to look elsewhere for the trace of the Matis, he heard in the distance ordered noises of hoofs.

Pü swallowed. His heart rate was slowly starting to pick up. Never. Never would he get used to this sensation. His brother had however assured him that his first time would be kicky, and that the sensations felt would mark him for life. On the one hand, he had not been entirely wrong. The small hands covered with blood of a Zoraï exiled as soon as he was eleven years old, kneeling alone in front of the still warm corpse of his first victim: these images were haunting him for long weeks, day and night, to lose his mind. But this last ordeal also announced the end of his painful exile. Soon, he would be back in his country, in his stump, and could hug his mother again. This cheerful thought comforted him and helped him regain his means. The convoy was now emerging on the horizon. It was soon within observation range. In its center a sturdy, heavily laden cart was pulled by two mektoubs, placid pachyderms with nimble feet and over two meters in height, brown fur with gray stripes, but most recognizable by their long, powerful trunks and earless heads. It was driven by a Tryker, like many of those that Pü had so far come across. Indeed, it was not uncommon to find Trykers far to the east of their floating cities, doing thankless and poorly paid work in Matis land. Their curiosity and love of freedom made them excellent explorers and inventors, but their small size, childlike appearance and, above all, their peaceful and good-natured character had unfortunately led them to be enslaved by the Matis on several occasions over the past centuries. And, as Pü had learned from his mother's lessons, it was during the epilogue of the "War of the Aqueduct", only forty years before, that the Trykers had last suffered such slavery.

In 2435, intrigued by the discovery, to the west of their desert, of ruins buried under the bark, Fyros miners struck a vein of acid that set the entire region around the imperial city of Coriolis ablaze. The fire, which lasted several weeks, spread to the border of the Kingdom and cut the gigantic aqueduct the Matis abhorred. The aqueduct which linked the Desert to the Lakes region run by the Trykoth Federation, the ally of the Fyros Empire. Then the war in which the alliance and the Kingdom had been bogged down for almost a century and a half took a new turn. For the Emperor was forced to withdraw his troops from the Lakes, to send them to fight the fire that threatened his people and deprived them of water. Thereupon, taking advantage of the opportunity, the Matis army invaded the Lakes region, enslaved the Tryker people and took back the city of Karavia, which the Empire had stolen from them almost a century earlier. Karavia; the 'Holy City', reputedly built on the very spot where Zachini, on the coast of the Kingdom he later founded, had first met the Karavan and the goddess Jena. Karavia; the 'Unholy City', for Pü and his tribe, the most evil place to be found on the Bark… It was within its walls, however, that the treaty was signed the following year, which put an end to the War of the Aqueduct and freed the Trykers from the Matis yoke. But this last episode had left definite traces in the unconscious of the people of the Lakes, and many Trykers had remained in the Forest as servants… like the driver of the cart, obviously dedicated to the service of the dozing Matis on the bench beside him.

Pü, at the sight of the latter, immediately identified him as a cleric of the Church of the Light, which was called Herena. The Matis was indeed dressed in his ecclesiastical costume: a white amber crown and a long toga consisting of several large capes made of coloured feathers and decorated with braids of amber jewellery. The Church of Light, founded around the cult of Jena and placed under the aegis of the Karavan, was today all-powerful in the Kingdom of Matia, and particularly in the precincts of Karavia, retroceded to the Kingdom by the treaty named after it. It was under her influence that so many homins had been convinced of the demonic nature of the Kamis…

Higher up on the cart, perched on its tarped load, a Matis armed with a machine-gun stood watching the horizon. He was not helmeted and wore the ordinary garb of regular army soldiers: a soft, tough cactus-skin suit topped with pieces of white wooden armor. Another appeared to be sitting in the back of the vehicle. The Matis were a naturally slender people, with emaciated features and pearly skin. Aesthetes, refined and ambitious by culture, they kept reminding other peoples of their superiority, even unconsciously. Surrounding the cart, five knights served as escort. They were proudly mounted on caprynis, slender quadrupedes with thick, light skin striped in some places with blue, that wore a single antler and presented a long snout adorned with a singular goatee. All the soldiers were equipped with armor of strong white wood engraved with purple patterns, bulging at the torso and tightened at the waist. The pauldrons of the armor, as rounded as they were wide, gave the soldiers an imperious look. But the most astonishing thing was their helmet, made up of an ivory mask with an azure blue jewel on the forehead, and a solid and imposing headdress, itself adorned with white amber, and whose ends made of chitin fell down to the level of the ears, thus giving them the appearance of horns. One of the soldiers stood out from the others because of the fine decorations and engravings that studded his armor and helmet. The Matis was undoubtedly a senior officer of the Royal Army, sent with the Herena to represent the King to the Karavan.

The child carefully arranged his basket in the center of the shrub and waited a few more seconds for the convoy to advance. When it was about fifty meters from his position, he calmly emerged from his hiding place and planted himself in the center of the road. Spotting him without delay, the look-out on top of the load sounded the alarm and the convoy came to a halt. The unexpected halt had the effect of abruptly interrupting the Herena's sleep, and he almost fell off the cart.

"Who are you? State your identity!" the look-out exclaimed in a powerful yet melodious tone.

In response, Pü moved forward a few feet, as the riders lined up their mounts and stood in front of the cart. The Zorai cleared his throat and got his best mateis. His mother had taught him the languages of the other peoples, with an emphasis on mateis, the one most used for international relations.

"I am an apostle of the Kamis, sent to the pagan lands to reveal to the misguided the existence of the Great Genitor, and to offer to certain chosen ones the Eternal Forgiveness. Children of the Bark, be happy to learn that by my doing, your sins have already been washed away. Before long, your souls will be purified and offered to the Black Warriors of Ma-Duk. Through them, you will contribute to their fight for the preservation of Atys. And if Ma-Duk wills it, you will witness the Sacred War and the coming of the Happy Days."

Despite all his good will, the young homin did not manage to infuse any passion into his homily. After so many months of morbid preaches, this ritual had become as tiresome as it was painful. Pü knew it, madness was waiting. The voices in his head were making them more and more present, and he was developing new behavioral troubles week after week. How many of his brothers and sisters had lost their footing while in exile? Many had never returned. Before he left, he had long judged them harshly, but now he understood. His vision blurred as a powerful headache began to manifest itself. He had to concentrate for a long time to extinguish the first mental murmurs. During these long seconds of absence, the Herena had joined the lookout on the top of the cart. Holding on to this one without care in order not to fall, he shouted to the cantonade.

"Ma-Duk? The Great Genitor? What on earth are you talking about! If we knew that savages of your kind worshipped the Kamis demons, we thought you had the presence of mind not to question the existence of our Mother, Jena! Does your infamy know no bounds? General, seize this heretic at once!"

Pü took again few steps forward, while massaging his mask.

"Be assured, then, that hidden in the heart of Zoran and behind their Great Wall, Min-Cho, his Council of Elders, and the entire Zorai Theocracy still worship your usurping goddess, he said wearily. Decades ago, the Kamis chose to reveal the existence of Ma-Duk to my tribe. Today, unfortunately, we are the only ones who recognize his nature as the Supreme Kami. But other apostles are working within the Jungle. One day, our Zorai brothers will understand the extent of the lies they have been fed since childhood, and if Ma-Duk wills, they will be forgiven for their sins."

The cleric's face turned red as he nearly fell from the effect of his gesticulations, which tangled the multiple capes of his outfit. Fortunately for him, the lookout was doing his best to avoid the Herena from humiliating himself by falling.

"Stop your infamies, savage! No forgiveness for your race of degenerates worshipping the Demons! Your skeletal faces are abominations, an offense to the Karavan! You deserve to be exterminated like all the primitives who defile Atys with their presence! Catch that savage for me without delay, that is an order!"

High perched on his capryni, the Matis general tried to intervene to calm the growing tension. It was without counting on the ardor of one of the knights, who obeyed the exhortation of the priest by dashing at full speed. Pü shook his mask to clear his last headaches and concentrated fully on the situation. From now on, everything was going to follow on very quickly. He had to silence his inner questionings. Already, the knight had crossed half the distance that separated him from the Zoraï. He held in his right hand a long hollow spear that ended in a braided amber collar. Near the horizontal bar, a handle allowed him to quickly loosen or compress the ring that ended it. This ingenious weapon was generally used to catch the future mounts of the Matis by the throat, when they were still in the wild, but was also declined to immobilize and subdue the homins without hurting them.

Pü's body was swaying slightly. It took him a few more seconds to synchronize the beating of his limbs with the gallop of the mount. When he was about ten meters away, the rider activated the mechanism of his weapon and brandished it, without slowing speed. The collar opened wide enough to encircle the masked head of the Zorai. No question, that he knew how to use his weapon. But that was taking no account of the agility of the young homin. As the soldier split the air on his right to seize his prey by the throat, Pü voluntarily dived in the direction of the attack while dodging it. Passing between the weapon and the capryni, he managed to catch the strap on the animal's side before even hitting the ground. Firmly gripping, he pulled as hard as he could, not to destabilize the speeding beast, but to throw his light child's body over the animal. He flew and landed narrowly on the capryni's hindquarters, just as the rider glanced back to see what had happened to the Zorai. As the knight met Pü's gaze, who was balancing on the animal only by the strength of his thighs, his prey, now executioner, quickly put his hands around his nape, and broke it with a sharp blow. The weapon of the Matis slipped from his right hand and broke on the ground. If Pü could not ensure his death, his paralysis was guaranteed. He let the armored body slump over him for it not to fall, retrieved the reins held by its left hand, slowed the pace and turned back. Back to his starting point, he stopped his run and jumped to the ground, to the left of the animal. The soldier's body collapsed heavily to the right. The helmet came off under the impact, allowing the Zorai to observe his inert face. The knight was a homina, and by that token, perhaps a mother. For a split second, Pü saw the mask of his mother superimposed on the face of the corpse. He closed his eyes. Three. He was only three short.

At the top of the cart, the cleric's face had changed from a reddish complexion to a much more livid white than usual. As for the soldiers, none of them reacted, shocked as they were by the violence of the scene they had just witnessed. Only the general had kept his composure. He moved his mount forward a few steps and turned back to the convoy.

"Giero, run as fast as your capryni can towards the nearest outpost! Brief the intendant on the situation and send us reinforcements. Do not underestimate the threat. Be'maty, get to the outpost too! You won't be able to keep up with Giero because of the loading, but your mektoubs are strong, so don't spare them. As soon as he has delivered his message, Giero will join you on the road. Vicho, stay in the cart! You will protect the load and the Herena with your life until Giero returns. Zani, Lichnini, Sivaldo, with me! Do not intervene until I give you the order."

The general's confident tone helped the soldiers to wake up from their lethargy. All complied without saying a word. The sentry jumped out of the cart and cocked his machine gun, the Matis sitting at the back of the vehicle replaced him at the top of the cart, which began to maneuver to turn around. Only the cleric, who was just coming to his senses, showed the intention of protesting. But the inquisitive look the general gave him dissuaded him, and his chalky pallor deepened. Usually, Pü left no survivors, for only the absence of witnesses ensured that he could continue to operate safely in these countries. Besides, he usually avoided attacking the regular army, whose every missing soldier was investigated, and preferred to attack the tribes of fanatics or the groups of bandits that dotted the kingdom. But this time, everything was different. When the firsts would speak, he would already be on his way back. He watched his four future opponents carefully, as one of the riders flung himself at full speed towards the southwest, followed by the cart. He had to avoid facing them all together. He waited a few seconds, enough time for the messenger to disappear on the horizon, and then started to move slowly. At the first step, the general shouted.

"Do not move on any further! For being guilty of the crime of voluntary manslaughter of a soldier of the Kingdom of Matia, you must appear before the royal justice. As our law requires, you will have the right to defend yourself during your trial. Now, cooperate, or we will be obliged to apprehend you by force."

Pü raised his hands to feign submission and continued to walk forward. He knew the Matis would not be fooled, but he had to gain a few yards. Right now, the biggest threat was the machine gunner. He had to eliminate him first. However, he should not underestimate the high ranking officer. Under normal circumstances, he would have been dealing with a simple squad leader, not an experienced homin of war.

"I will not repeat myself, freeze!" shouted the general again.

The Zorai would probably not manage to take another step before the general sounded the assault. He put his right hand behind his back and rested it on the small round shield that hung there. He had no right to make a mistake. If he missed now, the following would be much more uncertain. He closed his eyes again and let his senses fully open to the world. The direction and strength of the wind, the humidity of the air: important parameters to take into account to make the perfect throw. Reopening his eyelids, he turned his gaze to the gunman. If he was too far away to be sure, the position of his arms indicated that he was ready to fire. Pü took a deep breath and sprang into action. Faster than ever, he unhooked his shield and drew his arms back like a rope. It took him less than a second to validate his trajectory and propel his buckler. The projectile flew to the left of the path, giving the illusion of a missed throw. Pü took advantage of the general lack of understanding to dash off in the other direction. As expected, the gunner was ordered to intervene and engaged his weapon. With both feet firmly planted in the bark, he began to shoot at the Zorai with heavy fire. But the recoil of the weapon made it difficult to aim, giving Pü a few seconds before the shots hit. The child wiggled and jumped skillfully, trying to make it harder for the gunner to fire, as his shots became more and more accurate. At that moment, the Matis probably thought they were going to prevail. That was not counting on the impromptu curve that the shield's trajectory took. Skimming past the trees that marked the edge of the road, the shield deflected toward the shooter who was now positioned with his back to it. No one noticed the maneuver except the general, who was more astute than the rest of his squad and saw the deadly projectile as it was about to strike the back of the gunner's skull. He shouted something and jumped from his capryni. Quickly getting up, he ran towards the soldier. In response to his superior's shout, the latter had just turned towards the flying menace. Not seeing him react, the general tried to tackle him, but only succeeded in shoving him. The shield split deeply into the face of the dazed Matis who spun around and collapsed heavily on the ground.

Pü stopped his gesticulations and caught his breath. If the gunner was certainly not dead, he seemed to be passed out, and therefore was no longer a threat for the moment. While the general lingered at the side of the unfortunate, the young Zorai mistakenly thought he would have time to consider his next move. But the two riders had a different take on that, and urged each other to attack.

"General, stay with Sivaldo, we are dealing with the masked primitive!" shouted the first.

"Yes general! So far, his cowardly techniques have only worked because we were not prepared for them," added the second. "Let us avenge Tinailli's death! We promise you to honor him!"

The general protested, but the two riders flung at full speed toward the Zorai, who did not seem to mind. The last few dozen meters that separated them were swallowed up in a few seconds. But remembering the death of their first comrade, the Matis did not make the mistake of charging the young warrior. They stopped before they reached his level, jumped off their mounts and moved forward to catch him in a pincer movement. Judging by their respective behavior, the two Matis must have been inexperienced soldiers. Blinded by hatred and the desire for revenge, they did not know yet that they had just thrown themselves into the jaws of the gingo. In the distance, the general had just reached his capryni to join in urgency the two imprudents. Alone against two, the young warrior had all his chances. He had to finish it as soon as possible before the only really experienced soldier of the squad joined them. The Matis who had positioned himself at his back held a heavy, nicely ornamented amber sword in both hands, while the one facing him was armed with a long pike crowned with braided amber. Pü would have liked to read his face, but the imposing horned helmet he wore prevented him from doing so. Soon the Matis drew closer. Logically, the soldier in front of him would launch the first attack, giving the one behind him the opportunity to use a blind spot to attack. That's exactly what happened. The pikeman shouted and pierced the air with a precise gesture, hoping to impale the Zorai with a single blow. Without even moving his feet, Pü sent his right hand into contact with the spike while pivoting and shifting his pelvis to the opposite side. The protection of his forearm scraped loudly at the multiple sharp points. Abruptly twisting his wrist, he grabbed the long handle of the weapon. Instead of pushing back the offensive, he encouraged the movement, and used the momentum of the Matis to destabilize him while preserving the impetus of his assault. Deviating slightly the direction of the attack, and always without taking off the feet of the ground, he curved his back behind, and dodged the horizontal blow that the swordsman tried to strike him. He then had only to make the pike maintain its velocity so that its deadly points pierced the left thigh of the unfortunate swordsman, who collapsed under the shock while screaming. Carried away by the uncontrolled movement of his weapon, the assailant almost fell on top of the injured man. Pü seized the opportunity and helped him. Drawing his dagger with his free hand as the other dropped the spike firmly embedded in his comrade's flesh, he took a step back to regain his balance and with a precise blow drove his blade into the neck joint of the pikeman's helmet. A long spray of blood spurted out as he pulled his dagger from his opponent's carotid artery. As he expected, the soldier panicked and quickly removed his helmet to compress and heal his throat with the powers of Sap before his brain stopped getting blood. Leaving him no time to act, Pü grabbed the Matis' brown hair and delivered several sharp blows in his throat with his dagger. When the soldier's head finally separated from the rest of his body, the decapitated collapsed onto the spike, which sank even deeper into the bloody wound of the grounded man. Pü glanced back: the general would soon be here. He put away the blood-stained dagger, dropped his victim's head, and approached the badly wounded soldier who, now trapped under his comrade's heavy, still throbbing armor, was no longer able to extract the spike to magically heal his leg. The homin took off his helmet and started to moan. He must have been Niï's age, about ten years older than Pü.

"Please, don't kill me!"

Pü sincerely pitied him. He hated to kill. And especially when his opponents were not prepared for it. But now he had no choice. He was almost there, he couldn't give it all up now. The young Zoraï cleared his head again and ignored the Matis' complaint. He moved closer to him, placed his left foot gently on his neck, and crushed it with a heel strike. Picking up the sword of the now paralyzed man, he stabbed him in the throat, thus preventing any regeneration. One. He only needed one more. If the fainting machine-gunner was enough, the homin who was facing him from now on would surely not let him approach the wounded man without a fight. The general, who had indeed hopped on his mount to bridge the distance between himself and the Zorai, before jumping off a second time, was now heading towards the warrior with a decided step. Arrived at a few meters of him, he took off his helmet. For the first time in a long while, Pü had a backward movement. For a moment, the child thought he saw his father's mask. The Matis was in the prime of life, as indicated by the few wrinkles that disturbed the harmony of his facial features and the faint shine of his long ebony hair. But above all, it was the assurance and intensity of his gaze that reminded her of her father. Those piercing blue eyes were those of a determined man, ready to give everything to accomplish his will. Pü took a step back.

"It is not necessary for us to fight," he said in a troubled voice. "I have accomplished my mission. Leave the machine gunner to me and go home. Please take my advice, and join your family."

The general placed his helmet at his feet and drew a long, wide, finely decorated sword. He gave him a icy look.

"I'm not going to be able to grant your request, boy. You have just killed three of my knights. Karan Domini, King and High Priest of the Kingdom of Matia, must know why the Zorai Theocracy trains child soldiers for assassination missions."

"I tell you again: my tribe and I do not depend on the Zorai Theocracy. Please, move away!" replied Pü, stepping back a second time.

The Matis stepped forward with determination.

"Were you forced to kill? If it's normal for a boy your age to learn to fight, he shouldn't have to spill blood so young. And certainly not under these conditions. A boy your age spends time with his friends, his brothers, his sisters, his father and mother."

Listening to the words of the officer, and on the mention of his relatives, the young Zoraï was seized with a fit of rage.

"Don't talk about my family! Run away, while there is still time!"

A cold smile appeared then on the general's face.

"I seem to have struck the chord. Could it be your parents who sent you so far from the Jungle to commit these murders? A mother is supposed to teach her children love, not death!"

A violent headache pierced the child's skull.

"I forbid you to talk about my mother!"

At his departure, she had cried. And though she had urged him not to kill for his own pleasure, she had still asked him to do it for Ma-Duk. Pü sincerely loved Ma-Duk, as much as he hated Jena. The Kamis protected Atys, while the Karavan destroyed it by plundering its resources. But was there no way to prove one's love for Ma-Duk other than by spreading blood? By her words, and her status as High Priestess, her mother approved the barbaric customs of their ancestors. Worse, she passed them on with fervor. But he, who until a few months ago drank every word his mother said, was now vomiting them. How much longer would he be able to feign his attachment to his tribe's values? And if Ma-Duk , forewarned of this last thought, was already considering that he was no longer faithful to him, could he ever become the Shadow of the Black Mask? Would his father execute him when Grandmother Bä-Bä told him the news? Would his brother and mother let him? Pü was reaching his limits, his brain was boiling. Feeling the Zorai flinch, the Matis pushed him to the limit.

"So the Herena was right: you are only animals! The homins of your people impregnate their hominas and turn them into egg-laying mothers, just good for producing child soldiers to be sacrificed on the altar of your hateful beliefs!"

With these words, Pü drew his dagger and short sword and ran at the Matis, screaming. He had given him the opportunity to flee, and he had not taken it. If he wished to die, then Pü would help him, as simply as he had his soldiers. It would only take a few seconds. It would all be over, soon. He would no longer have to endure this pain. At least that's what he imagined in his fury. The general's sword lit up and the young warrior was seized at the ankles before he even understood his opponent maneuver. The experience of the Matis had spoken, and the pride of the Zorai was going to cost him dearly. He had underestimated his opponent and rushed in blindly, without anticipating the use of a magical hobbling enchantment. Roots had sprung up from the bark and were completely preventing him from moving. Given the momentum of his run, Pü had nearly stumbled forward, and it was only just that he had managed to keep himself standing. Panic-stricken, he tried to extricate himself from the magical trap by slashing with his weapons the ramifications that were now running up his calves, forgetting the caster of the spell. Suddenly, while all his attention was focused on his legs, the sky darkened. His blood ran cold as he reflexively raised his head. Above him, the imposing armor of the Matis masked the light of the day: he had taken advantage of the Zoraï's panic to arrive at hand-to-hand combat. The backlight was stressing his ferocious look, which petrified Pü on all sides. The general raised his great sword in a plunging position. His white armor lit up as the light filtered in from the change in stance, and Pü had to look away to avoid being blinded.

"Let yourself go!" said the Matis with a solemn air. "The blow I'm going to deal you will inflict a critical wound. If you move, it could be your death. I will keep you alive until reinforcements arrive. Then we'll take you to Matia!"

If the general seemed confident in his ability to bring him alive to the Matis king, Pü would rather die a thousand deaths than become a captive of the Karavan's minions. He tried to struggle again, but the roots were now hugging his waist and beginning to creep up his belly. This was how his short life was coming to an end. At last, Grandmother Bä-Bä had been wrong. He who had grown up with the idea of becoming the Shadow of the Black Mask and dying among his own people protecting his brother, was going to die alone and far from home, with Jena's dazzling astral imprint as his last sight. How ironic. As the Zorai had turned his mask to the left so that he would not have to endure the mocking reflection of the cuirass any longer, he saw a strange light source beyond the edge of the road, under the shade of the tall sylvan trees. Concentrating, he could clearly discern two spheres of identical size. They were of a dazzling whiteness and were glowing all the more brightly because they were surrounded by darkness. No, it wasn't just the darkness... Pü made out a small black figure in the shadows. His blood went icy cold again. There were not spheres, these were eyes. The eyes of the Black Kami who had appeared to him twice until then. He was here. Ma-Duk was looking at him.

No, he could not give up. He was a Black Warrior of Ma-Duk, forged by the best fighters of the Jungle and blessed by the Kamis. As long as he could fight, he would not give up. Invigorated, his body reacted instinctively as the general brought his weapon down on him to pierce his left collarbone. He sent his right arm into contact with the massive blade to protect himself, and if his short sword did not succeed in blocking the blow, it nevertheless allowed him to deflect the attack, at the cost of a part of his hand, which flew into pieces. The state of extreme tension in which the young warrior found himself had the positive effect of making him completely ignore the pain. The sword scuffed him and planted itself heavily in the ground. Taking advantage of the second's respite he was given, Pü dropped the dagger he held in his left hand and manipulated the surrounding Sap to incant a spell with both hands. His pair of magic amplifiers hanging from his belt now entangled with the roots, he could not equip himself with them. But for what he intended to do, a crude spell should suffice. So he didn't hesitate, and set his body on fire to escape from his wooden prison. He managed to free himself from the partially burned roots just as the general snatched his sword from the ground. As he launched his second attack, Pü narrowly avoided it with a roll. The Matis followed up with a series of slashes and jabs, which the young warrior dodged with various acrobatics. Disarmed, he was not able to parry the attacks. If he was much more skilful than the general encumbered with his heavy armour, this one seemed much more enduring, and had not yet suffered any injuries. Even more worrying, his blows were becoming more and more precise. For the first time in his life, Pü was fighting a master of arms in a fight to the death. The experience of the Matis was speaking, and it took him only a short time to start anticipating the movements of the young warrior.

The seconds ticked by and Pü was quickly running out of steam. Several times, the soldier managed to graze him, slashing his childlike body with the tip of his sword. Pü regularly called upon the powers of the Sap to heal his wounds and partially regenerate his stamina, but at this rate he would soon reach his limits. If he would have liked to be able to go behind the Matis' back to try to break his neck, as he knew so well how to do, the Matis would not let him have any respite. Without a weapon, he had no way to get out of this hopeless situation. While he was looking for a way out, he caught sight of a dagger hanging from the soldier's waist, hidden behind the ceremonial cloth adorning his belt. How could he not had seen her before? Pü cursed himself and imagined a plan of action, between two rolls and three contortions. He was going to go for broke. Out of breath, the Zorai waited for the perfect moment to act. Suddenly, he who was until then only backing away from the Matis's attacks, took advantage of a large strike to roll forward and pass under the sharp blade. His movement just finished, he pushed as hard as he could on his legs, and leapt on the left side of the soldier. If the Matis was disconcerted by the direction of the dodge, he reacted very quickly and returned a violent side kick to the young warrior. The child's body crunched under the soldier's heavy boot and crashed further away to the ground. Pü struggled to his feet and spat out blood. His opponent had just broken several of his ribs. But behind his mask, the young warrior was smiling: his valid hand was now armed. Although different from the daggers he was accustomed to handling, that of the Matis would do the job perfectly. The young homin took a deep breath and raised his mask towards the general. This one had turned around and was about to make a breakthrough with his sword to return to hand-to-hand combat.

"Give up my boy!" he said as he charged.

Again, Pü would have only one chance. And so far, luck had often smiled on him. Finally, maybe the Black Kami was actually watching over him. As the soldier rushed toward him, sword drawn forward, Pü waited for the right moment and threw his dagger in the air, far above him. As soon as he had done so, he infused all the Sap he could into his legs and made his thighs swell like never before. Drawing on the limit of what he could endure, he lifted a cloud of sawdust and leapt into the air with a superhomin jump.

Totally surprised by the nature of the attack and partially blinded by the fog of debris, the Matis mistakenly believed that the Zoraï was simply trying to flee. He understood too late the reality of the situation when he felt his sword suddenly become heavy on the front. Pü had just landed on the flat of the blade and was dashing like a tightrope walker in the direction of its bearer. Already very unbalanced, the Matis tried in vain to straighten up at the moment when Pü took again support on the weapon for another acrobatics. The young warrior landed this time on his shoulders, and propelled himself once more in the direction of the sky, forcing the Matis to put a knee on the ground. Pü must have been about four meters from the ground, and was flying over the cloud of dust that was beginning to dissipate. He only had to reach out with his good arm to grab the very dagger he had thrown away a few seconds before. Spreading his legs and looking down as gravity began to take effect, he put eyes on the general's face. This one had lost his terrifying look and opened wide the eyelids. Pü read admiration there. The child made another perfect throw and the dagger went straight into the skull of the Matis.

Still in the air, the Zorai prepared to receive himself properly, but his broken ribs prevented him from doing so. He collapsed heavily on his opposite side, not far from the body of the general, who was frozen on his knees in a strange position. His head was hanging back, facing the sun, and his long ebony hair was lifting slightly under the wind. Pü stretched out on his back and spread his arms. Over. His ordeal was over. He had won.

  Belenor Nebius, narrator • Cheng Lai'SuKi, illustrator

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Zoraï's Portal