Chapter Twelve: Revelations
WHEN NILHIN RETURNED to the dormitory to prepare for the beginning of his lessons, he found that his trunk was turned over, and his bed was both a mess and sopping wet. He didn’t want to think of why that was, but he flipped his trunk over. It was empty. His trunk carried his uniforms, and his most precious possession. He looked around the room, at the other boys and men that were standing and observing his reaction. Kveda stepped up.
“We heard that foxes scent mark things,” Kveda said. “We were just trying to tell you that this isn’t your place.” Nilhin didn’t care about their dramatics.
“Where’s the book that was in my trunk?” he asked, remaining polite but no less demanding that someone who wanted their most valued treasure. Kveda motioned to the wet bed, and Nilhin pushed the mushy blankets aside to see that the rest of his clothes as well as his book were all covered in the same liquid -- more urine by the acrid smell of it. He didn’t care about his uniforms or the bed itself, but the ink would smudge if it got wet. He grabbed the book and opened the pages. They were ruined, all of the ink bleeding. His mother’s wonderful calligraphy was gone from him in just a few moments.
“Oh, he’s making a sound,” someone said.
“He’s growling,” Kveda confirmed. “Like an animal. Like the beast he is.” Swords were drawn around the room and pointed at Nilhin. “What are you gonna do now, beast?”
He held the ruined book of his mother’s poems. Of course he had remembered them all, he could recall every single one of them, from her other volumes as well, but it was different if he wrote them. He wanted her penmanship, he wanted the love and anguish she poured into the pages. It let him believe that he was still connected with her in a way he no longer could be since her death. It was the only damn piece he had of her since she had gone, and these men had ruined it. Why had he expected anything different?
But what could he do? He was at a great disadvantage, especially since they had been nearly told that through all of Nilhin’s actions, he was a fox paragon -- arguably one of the most wanted and hated creatures. He would surely be executed as soon as his newfound secret got out, and these idiots now controlled when that information was revealed to the Hvit Clan whether or not he liked it. If only he had known the truth, maybe he could have planned better. Maybe he could have gone into the Hvit Clan knowing what he did now, and being able to combat any of this suspicion because he could have hidden his… gifts better.
“I’m going to the library,” he announced, shaking the piss from his book like a dog might shake the rain from their fur.
“What are you gonna do there?”
“I’m going to rewrite these poems,” he said, not looking at Kveda or the other men of the Orikani subunit, or what was left of them. “Then I’ll see you at our lessons.”
“We don’t want your kind at our lessons,” Kveda said. “You should be killed, if not for being what you are, then for killing Ogar. You murdered our captain in cold blood!”
“Your captain deserved it,” Nilhin whispered.
“What did you say?” Kveda demanded, pushing the tip of his claymore beneath Nilhin’s chin. Nilhin’s head was forced up, as if he suddenly wanted Nilhin to dare to look up at him. Nilhin tilted his head back and away from the blade. He slapped the side of the claymore away from him, and the others stepped closer with their blades, as if they expected him to break Kveda’s sword yet again. Kveda reared back and slapped the broad side of the sword against Nilhin’s face.
“Ogar deserved what happened to him,” Nilhin repeated, louder this time. “I thought you would have heard me the first time I said it, after the fox beast attacked him.”
“What fox beast? It was you!”
“I thought you knew that all fox beasts are women,” Nilhin said. “I didn’t see any women there that night, but like I said, I had my eyes closed. She was just too quick. I’m not ashamed to say that the fox beast tricked me. They have tricked far stronger men than I. Only a fool would believe that they wouldn’t be outsmarted by a beast like that--” Nilhin tilted his head to the side-- “After all, you were fooled by a beast like that, too, weren’t you?”
Kveda was silent and still for a moment, like a statue, or a man lost in a moment of utter confusion. He suddenly rushed forward, and stabbed Nilhin with his claymore, piercing his stomach. Nilhin felt blood well up in his throat, and he coughed it up just so he could return to breathing properly. His breaths, no matter how hard he tried to remain controlled, were ragged as Kveda jerked the blade from his body. Nilhin collapsed against the ground, holding the hole in his torso, trying to ebb the profuse blood that was spilling out of him.
“You’re in mortal danger,” Kveda said. “Show yourself. Just prove to us--”
Nilhin’s lips quirked up in a smirk before he parted his lips and let out a horrid wail. The other members of the Orikani held their hands over their ears and staggered back. Nilhin had never let out such a gut-wrenching, terrified sound, but it wasn’t as hard to mimic now that he had no other choice to save himself. He clearly had more lucidity than someone else who was dying, but he could also feel himself knitting together, like a patchwork of organs being stitched back into place by ghostly spiders. He also felt the starvation that twisted him and wrung him dry returning faster than it had over the rest of the past week as his body healed itself.
The best strategy Nilhin had for survival was to play his weakness and helplessness, his fragile and delicate appearance, to his advantage. He only had to prove he was trying to be stronger, that he was attempting to help himself, to endear those much stronger to him. It had worked well with Gronjas, who had taken care of him when he was ‘drunk’ the previous night.
Disciples from outside of the room came rushing in. Kveda dropped his sword and held his hands up.
“I-I didn’t mean to…” Kveda tried.
“Don’t punish him,” Nilhin said, gasping for air as more blood leaked from his lips. He inhaled wrong, and blood travelled into his lungs, causing him to lurch forward into the grip of the confused and frightened older disciples. “He was just upset over our captain’s death.”
“He stabbed you,” one of the older disciples pointed out. They put Nilhin on his back, and pushed his tunic up to expose his wound. They used the same sort of healing magic that Ogar had when he sliced his face open. Blood didn’t stop flooding Nilhin’s mouth, choking him in the process. They had healed him, but only superficially.
“He won’t bleed out, we need to take him to the healer,” another disciple said, one that wasn’t a part of the Orikani. They picked Nilhin up and let him spit up the blood that was caught in his throat before they started to walk him to the healer. Nilhin had never been to the healer, but he supposed this was the only reason he would really need to see them. He was carted through the fortress and eventually, rested on an elevated mat. A man came towards him reeking of tea tree and garlic -- things that Nilhin particularly didn’t care for. The man felt around Nilhin’s abdomen once the guards had left to deal with the Orikani. Nilhin hoped that they were punished, finally, he just wished he hadn’t had gotten stabbed in order for the world to take action against their bullying behaviour.
“How old are you?” the healer asked, looking at his ribs.
“I turned fourteen almost two seasons ago,” he said.
“Have you not been eating?” the man asked. Nilhin didn’t get to respond before the man shook his head. “I’ve healed your internal energy, but you’re definitely malnourished. I don’t usually see this, not even in recruits. They’re usually young masters, sons of noblemen or they were born into the clan itself. You need to eat at every meal, and drink as much milk as you can stand in between. Do you understand?”
“I don’t really like milk,” Nilhin said, sitting up and wincing because while he was healed, the spot was still very tender to the touch, and his jostling movement pulled his newly mended flesh uncomfortably. “I eat at all the meals, too.”
“Well, you’re so malnourished that your body can’t even grow or mature like it needs. You’re fourteen, but your body, in every way I can check without removing your clothes, appears far younger. You’re fourteen, and there’s no hair on you and there’s no musculature on your body despite the lessons you’ve surely been attending. You need to eat more fats and protein to help these things develop.”
Nilhin sat up and crossed his legs with a little scowl every time he jostled his injury. He finally leaned forward and looked at the healer.
“But I’m eating all of those things. Is there another way I can help those things?”
“I’d need to do a full physical scan in order to tell what’s the matter… I do have the time now, if you’re comfortable with it. The sooner we can clear up why you’re so deficient, the quicker we can get you healthy and on the road to being a great warrior,” the healer said.
The healer was a round man with intricately braided hair, both sprouting from the top of his head and twined into the long bear that hung down to his chest. The man himself wore lighter robes than the others, off-white linen, like it simply hadn’t been stained or dyed by the sun, dirt, or pigment. He wore no rings or jewelry on his hands, but his nose was pierced like a working bull with a large ring, and his eyes were large but sunken in and so impossibly blue that Nilhin may as well have been looking at the sky. The healer seemed like a kind man, and the fat on his cheeks only gave the impression that he was an upstanding fellow.
“Alright,” Nilhin said. “We can do the tests now. I need you to undress fully -- and keep in mind that I’m a healer, so if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable it’s not my intention, but please tell me and I’ll try to avoid it the best I can.”
Nilhin unfolded his legs and slid off the mat before he grunted, holding the closed stab wound. There was a knock at the door as soon as Nilhin began to unlace the trousers that came with his standard uniform.
“I’ll answer that, but I won’t let anyone back here,” the healer said. Nilhin nodded, and the healer disappeared to the front of the infirmary while Nilhin continued to strip. When the healer came back, there was sweat on the side of his face, only barely could Nilhin see it from where it peaked out of his thick facial hair, but he smelt it better than anything. He hadn’t been sweating earlier at all, so what had he been told? Nilhin covered his privates with his hands and leaned against the wooden frame the mat was on.
“Is everything alright?” Nilhin asked.
“Yeah,” the man said, too quickly for Nilhin’s comfort. The man was hiding something from him. Nilhin’s lips twitched, his smile, always polite, must have grown sharper. “Yeah, General Gronjas just wanted to tell me something. It wasn’t important.”
“Gronjas is here?” Nilhin asked. “Did he not want to come in?” Nilhin didn’t even regard his naked body when he asked this. The healer looked up at Nilhin, but averted his eyes before theirs met, like he was afraid of what might happen should it occur.
“I told him to stay out there. Would you be comfortable allowing him back here? You’re… exposed.”
“I trust Gronjas,” Nilhin said. “He’s my friend.”
“I’ll bring him back then, if you’re sure?” the healer asked. Nilhin nodded, and the healer left again. When he returned, he came with Gronjas in tow. Gronjas looked at Nilhin, his eyes combing over what parts of him he could see, the protruding bones from his starvation (despite him eating at all the meals he attended), that only grew worse and worse. Gronjas stepped forward, and Nilhin pressed as far back from him as he could. Gronjas’ eyes were not kind or warm or welcoming, they were harsh, his eyebrows angled down, as he observed Nilhin not like a friend, but an enemy.
“Check him,” Gronjas said, and the healer sighed.
“Let us see your back,” the healer said. Nilhin bit his lip. Was it wise to show them his back? He did it anyway, and when rough hands brushed against his shoulders, he shivered and tried to pull away from them. This was not a gentle appraisal, they were looking for something. Fingers jammed into his lower back.
“There’s a seal here,” the healer said. “It’s too powerful for me to remove.”
“How long have you known, Nilhin?” Gronjas asked.
“Known what?” he asked in response, keeping his voice airy.
“I refuse to believe you came here knowing what you were, so how long have you known you were a fox paragon?” Nilhin’s spine went rigid, and he rushed forward, jerking away from the healer and jumping on the wooden frame. He held his hands against the wall. He had been attacked before, he had been cornered and caged, and he had escaped. He would do it again, if he had to, he refused to die. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Gronjas held his hands out, and the healer backed towards the door, putting himself and all his massive bulk between Nilhin’s way to freedom. Nilhin felt his teeth growing sharper in his mouth, he had known this could happen, he remembered now better that he could hunt animals and rip them apart without his hands if he wanted to. He didn’t know how he could have thought he was anything different with so many of these odd occurrences. It seems like he should have known all along, but who would have thought anything was wrong with them? Who would have thought they were born a monster in the eyes of the world, and hated for being born at all?
“I swear I didn’t know until after Ogar,” Nilhin said, thick spit coating his mouth, readying himself for the need to bite and latch on. The spit itself was bitter, but not as bitter as the fact Gronjas had come after him, his friend. Were all of the friends he made destined to turn on him?
“Okay,” Gronjas said. “We can work with that. So Ogar was an accident. You probably didn’t know until we talked about it at the banquet, right?” Nilhin nodded, rather pathetically if the softening of Gronjas’ eyes meant anything. Gronjas held a hand out. “Why don’t you come down from there, so we can talk? You know, like friends.”
Nilhin looked at Gronjas’ hand, and shook his head.
“I don’t trust you not to lock me up,” Nilhin said, “Or kill me.”
“Friends don’t do those things,” Gronjas said.
“Friendships occur between humans, and we’ve both established that I’m not,” Nilhin said. He glanced at the door a few times. “Just let me go. I’ll leave the clan. I’ll never bother any of you again.”
“Where will you go?” Gornjas asked, and Nilhin could have sworn he was expressing real concern. “Please, I just want to help you… I didn’t come here thinking it was true, but now that it is… now that it is, I’m not going to just kill you or lock you away. I want to help you.”
“Why?” Nilhin asked. “Why would you help me? A--” he hesitated, his lip trembled, “A monster?”
Gronjas sighed again, and then he surged forward, grabbing Nilhin’s wrist and dragging him from the frame. Nilhin smacked against his chest and immediately sunk his claws into Gronjas’ arms, trying to force him to release him. Even the taut and thick muscles of Gronjas’ biceps, covered by a leather of fur, leather and fabric, couldn’t withstand the shredding power of his nails. They sunk through his clothes and deep into his flesh until the tips of his fingers were seated beneath his skin. Gronjas cried out, a sound of anguish and pain, but all lumped into a muffled groan. It was the sound of a man being injured but trying not to lose his reputation because of a little (a lot) of pain.
“I’m trying to help you,” Gronjas said again. Nilhin’s eyes watered on their own accord, likely another one of his handy defenses. Crying did make him seem weaker and less able to protect himself. He would certainly be able to garner some sympathy, or he had the best chance of doing it, while tears leaked from his eyes.
“Please, I just want to help you,” Gronjas repeated. The man looked down at Nilhin, and despite the nails digging into his body, he winced and forced a grimace from his face as he reached up and cupped the side of Nilhin’s face. Gronjas leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, and Nilhin ripped his claws from him just to use all of his force to push him away by his chest. Gronjas hit the back wall and slumped over. Nilhin picked up his tunic from the ground and pulled over his head. He turned to the healer.
“You don’t want to kiss me either, do you?” he asked.
“Not really,” the healer said. The man paused. “You’re only fourteen, and I can’t let you leave knowing your body’s on the brink of devouring itself.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Nilhin said with a bitter laugh. “Unless you think they’ll make an exception for this fox spirit because I’m fourteen instead of the usual age they kill them. What age was that? Five or six, I think. I’m not a child, I’m a monster, right? You have no moral obligation to help something so unwanted, something so… so…” Nilhin’s words failed him, and more often than not, his words and what he did with them were all that he had. “Move out of the doorway.”
“I can’t,” the healer said.
“You will,” Nilhin said. “Please--” he added in a softer tone, less of a command and more of a plea-- “I don’t want to hurt you, but I have to leave.”
“If you leave, they’ll hunt you down,” the healer said.
“Then I have a chance. If I stay, it’s certain death,” Nilhin ran forward, hoping to get around the healer’s legs, except the man easily reached down and scooped him into his arms. Nilhin kicked at him, flailed in his grip. He didn’t feel nearly as threatened by this man as he did Gronjas because this man seemed to understand the basics concerning the murder of unwell children at the very least, but he was still an enemy, and a threat. Nilhin planted his feet firmly on the healer’s chest, and bent himself in half to grab the back of his head. The healer squirmed in his grip as Nilhin pressed their lips together.
Why did he do such a thing? He hadn’t thought about it, but he knew that he could save himself this way. Maybe it was some repressed, animal-instinct part of his brain, the one that humans try to ignore in themselves. He inhaled, sucking the breath from the healer’s lungs, but it didn’t stop. Burning heat filled him and soon he was on the ground. The healer was too weak to hold them. Nilhin’s fingers dug into the man’s body, and his legs parted to more easily perch on his chest. The man’s strength, energy, and body alike all drained, withering him in turn as if he had been left to rot beneath the sun for millenia.
There was something around his chest, hands on his shoulders and arms. Nilhin felt the sounds rumbling from his chest -- sounds that humans didn’t make -- but his growling was ignored as he was pulled away from the healer, from his meal. He felt fingers against his body, jabbing him, and then he stopped feeling at all, and then he was forcefully removed from the waking world.
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