The Mist and the Lightning

Chapter 6 ​                       Kors woke from the haze of memories and sat up abruptly on his camp bed. Yes, he left then, succumbing to Varakh’s persuasions, he left for the Black City to start a new page in his life. He had forgotten the past, and later didn’t match either the place or the time. He hadn’t even bothered to think that the white half-blood from Komra was just about as old as his lost child would have been at the moment. Kors had completely forgotten about everything, and, without looking at the boy, by an evil irony of fate, he identified his son in the trash. He branded him as a slave, dooming him to death, or at best to a humiliating existence as a living thing. And ten years later he made him his lover. Kors put his head in his hands. Varakh knew something, he said: “I didn’t want to upset you even more, you were already crushed by the loss of Inness!” It would be better if you upset me, stupid Varakh! Do you see what your silence has led to? Dying Kamiel Varah, lying on the bed, looks at Kors from the black wells of sunken eye sockets, he looks, as if already from the other side ... “Vitor, I didn’t tell you then, I hid it… I didn’t want to hurt you even more, you were already crushed by the loss of Inness… Vitor, I don’t believe it, because I saw…” “What did you see? Why didn’t you tell me?! Was it that terrible?” Varakh caught up with the rider who was carrying the child to the witch. He caught up with him and... “Vitor, I don't believe it, because I saw…” What did you? Kamiel Varakh was sure that Nik was not the son of Kors, and all the arguments that his former friend gave him couldn’t convince him. Because he saw with his own eyes something that left him in no doubt – Nik was not the son of Kors. What did you see, Varakh? WHAT? Kors remembered the morning at the inn near Prince Arel’s Estate, when Nik, Arel, and Lis had come for him. They needed the mercenaries that Kors brought with him, the victory of Lis depended on his soldiers. And Kors at the beginning was glad that they came for him themselves. He was pleased, he longed to amuse his vanity and planned to make them long to persuade him. But things didn’t turn out the way he had hoped. Instead of begging and persuading, and preferably begging and kneeling down, Nik habitually impudent, as if he were under interrogation. Realizing perfectly well how much they need these soldiers and how important it is for him to agree with Kors, he didn’t ask for anything and behaved defiantly. Kors demanded that Nik take off his mask while talking to him, and when Nik, habitually snarling, nevertheless did so, Kors saw a “smile” painted on his face in black paint. And how much it then pissed him off! It was Nik’s small revenge for Prince Arel, a reminder to Kors of his past. The shameful “smile” that went far beyond the contour of the lips, so bright on the white skin, still stood before Kors’ eyes, he had only to imagine it. At that moment, he barely restrained himself from hitting, throwing Nik out of the room. By some miracle he recollected himself and politely asked to wipe off the paint. Luckily, Nik stopped sneering and wiped off the dye. Kors remembered his pale, haggard face, “decorated” with tattoos and piercings. It was noticeable that Nik was seriously ill, his inflamed scar, roughly seized with iron staples, was frankly shocking. It was disgusting, ugly, unacceptable. And Nik, noticeably stoned, wildish, ruffy, didn’t even think to humbly ask and try to enter into some kind of dialogue, but only snapped in stupid bravado. Kors was literally knocked off his stride by such disrespect and such inadequate behavior. Their whole conversation seemed to him complete absurdity. And Nick – and Kors knew it now – Nik was just teasing him a little in his usual style. Kors smiled sadly. Yes, from the very beginning of their acquaintance, Nik didn’t value him at all, but still... in exchange for the army, he let him talk with his son. Kors also remembered this conversation very well: .“But the way you move, what's wrong with your arm?” “The same as with the leg, something is broken, I don’t know. I was very rudely and hastily dragged out of your wife, Inness. The witch told, they pulled by the arm, by the leg, twisted something, damaged it. She said, they thought that they had killed her, and, upset, they also threw her away from themselves onto the floor, like a useless thing So Varakh caught up with this red one and saw that the baby was crippled? And didn’t tell Kors about it, and? What next? Did he leave the child in the woods? No, this is absurd! Firstly, Varakh at that time was a young warrior, he didn’t know anything about babies. He was not a doctor to understand whether a baby was ill or not. And he would never have been able to leave it there, he would have brought it to Kors. He would have brought anyone, anyone... only if... only if he wasn’t dead! Only this reason could force Varakh to remain silent, so as not to upset his friend even more. Varakh thought that the child had died? He was so sure Nik couldn’t be Kors’ son. Why was he so sure of this? Why was Varakh ardently proving this to him? Because he saw Kors’ son dead? But he could be wrong! So what? Even if he decided for himself that the baby was dead, did he leave a lifeless body there on the road? Did he bury him under a bush? No, Varakh would never do that. And Nik is the son of Kors, Kors is sure of this by some inner instinct. He just knows it, and it doesn’t require any proof. Nik is his son. He looks like Inness, looks like himself, so much so that Zagpeace noticed this similarity, and the difference in hair and eye color didn’t interfere with it. Nik and Karina are like brother and sister.  The son said to him: “But I didn’t die, unfortunately. I was sold. The witch bought me and didn’t know they treated me so rough, I was strong. She liked me. You have a healthy hardy baby, too hardy. Your family is fine.» What happened there, on the forest road? What did Varakh do? What a pity that Varakh died, and in his head there are no more thoughts and memories that Kors could see and read. And why later Varakh continued to keep his secret, helped Kors look for a child? Why, knowing what really happened, and seeing how his friend was dying of grief, didn’t he tell the truth? Didn’t think it would all go this far? Didn’t tell him at first, and then was just afraid to admit it? Or did he feel guilty for some act of his, and understood that Kors wouldn’t forgive him for this? How now to know the truth? Kors got up heavily from the bed. Enough to think about it! It’s all pointless, and to hell, what’s the difference! Nik is my son. And it means, by some miracle, he survived, that’s all. Kors called Adrian and ordered him to heat more water for him. The unclean one brought in a deep wooden tub, which served Kors as a camping bath. For the comfort of the sir Tyutya covered it from the inside with a white linen sheet. While waiting for everything to be ready, Kors watched as Adrian brought bucket after bucket and poured warm water into the tub. Despite his thinness and obvious signs of exhaustion, Adrian brought two full buckets at once. And Kors saw him holding a heavy bucket in each hand and lifting them rather easily, pouring out the water. Adrian didn’t spill a drop, and Kors didn’t know where his strength was coming from. “He is very hardy, strong, he quickly recovered,” thought Kors involuntarily. The tub was big and deep. It took a lot of water to fill it up. But Adrian didn’t seem to get tired, and he lifted the tenth bucket as confidently as the first. “Adrie, has it stopped raining?” Kors listened to outside sounds, not hearing the usual pounding of drops on the cone-shaped roof of the tent. “No, sir,” Adrian replied. “Really? Why can’t I hear it?” “It has gotten weaker, sir, but it continues to drizzle.” Well, then Kors can take his time. Until the rain stops and the weather improves, they won’t set off on the road, and Nik at such an early time is unlikely to call him. Kors didn’t even want to check how he was. He was probably sleeping, as usual. Has he at least taken the medicine? Has he changed his bandages? Fuck, to hell! In the end, he is not alone there, his favorites Prince Arel and Verniy are with him, so let them take care of him! Ungrateful bitch! “It's all ready, sir,” said Adrian. He couldn’t leave until Kors let him, but signaling that his work was done, he backed away, making a clear movement towards the exit. Kors looked skeptically at his hair set in the form of a Mohawk, but said nothing about it. “Adrian, you’re very thin,” he remarked, “go to the supply wagon, tell Parky that I ordered, have him open it for you. Take milk there, there are cheeses in the box below, take them and have a meal.” “Thank you, sir.” “But when you take milk, take it from the jug that stands on the shelf behind the other jug, and between the jugs to the right. There is also a jug with a strip, and a bowl covered with a lid. Don’t drop anything. There is fatter milk in one of the jars, don’t touch it, take it from the jug from which I told you. And take the cheese that lies in the box, you can cut off a piece of it for yourself. It is wrapped in wax paper, next to it is similar one, but more greasy, don’t touch it, but take the one that I told you about.” “Thank you sir, I’m not hungry,” Adrian replied quickly. He stood in front of Kors in his clothes, which hung like a bag on his thin body, and, as always, stared at the floor, as if carefully examining something very important to himself. The oval blue piece of glass protruded unsightly on his lower lip, and Kors liked it. “Damn, what’s the matter?! I myself offer you! I say: “Take it!”. Did I explain something incomprehensibly?” Kors raised his voice, clearly starting to get irritated. “Sorry sir, I’m just not hungry at all. May I go, sir?” “Go!” Kors threw with displeasure. “Why am I trying for you! I want to do the best for you, but you turn up your nose! Well, go to hell! Ungrateful creatures!” Tyutya brought him breakfast. She did everything exactly the same as in the Ore Town: she brought a tray of food, put a cup of coffee on the table. Kors lay in warm water, enjoying the bath. “Give me coffee,” he ordered, and the girl brought a saucer to him with a cup on it. Here’s another ungrateful creature. She shows off her ring that a stupid wolf gave her, just as Nik showed off Kors’ gift. And Kors is no better than a foolish wolf, he gave Nik so many expensive jewelry, clothes, but what did he get in return? Instead, he was kicked in the head. Gods, how tired he was thinking about Nik every minute! Yesterday he wasted all day, and today is the same! How tired he is! What to do – wait for him to call, and then what? Will he be humiliated again? And Kors wanted Nik to ask for forgiveness and say that he was wrong, to kneel down and kiss Kors’ boots... And Kors would unbandage his face and see what’s with the scar, and then pick up the right treatment. And he would give him a slap in the face, so that Nik, as usual, would bend down, shrink. And then he would put him next to him and say that Nik must remember once and for all that the younger belongs to the older. And for Nik to agree with this... and snuggle up to him ... and then Kors would pet him for the right behavior. Fuuuck… Kors ordered Tyutya to leave and got out of the “bath” in annoyance. He looked at himself for a long time in a small mirror and carefully rubbed his body with emollient oils and anti-hair growth agents. “Against the background of recent events, I completely neglected my appearance,” he scolded himself, “the last thing I need is to be covered with hair in a human form, as if the animal one wasn’t enough for me!” Finally, satisfied with his well-groomed body, Kors calmed down a bit. Unlike Prince Arel, Kors liked his swarthy skin, he liked Nik’s white face, but he also loved and accepted his own swarthy skin, considering it beautiful. And he didn’t at all want to paint over his face with gray dye, highlighting it the way Prince Arel did. Kors was not annoyed by the tattoo that Nik made him, it seemed to introduce him to the world of the unclean ones, but at the same time, in his opinion, it was quite moderate. Kors dressed in the clothes that Verniy had brought him. The dog really carefully dried it and put it in order, didn’t spoil the expensive leather. Finally, feeling obvious hunger, Kors was able to eat. He was in no hurry and did everything slowly and carefully, but the minutes still dragged on endlessly. Kors mentally called Parky to report to him about the situation in their camp. His captain, as usual, with calm indifference, reported that everything was in order, and again didn’t give Kors a reason to use his iron rod and occupy his time with this. It seemed to Kors that Parky understood perfectly well that the commander had nothing to do, and he understood that Kors would demand him to his tent today and try to find fault with something. But the unclean one treated this with a kind of philosophical humility. Kors yawned boredly. “Call Tyutya, maybe, let her take away the dishes, do the cleaning here,” and now Kors, to his surprise, finally caught a short emotional outburst from Parky. Parky wasn’t afraid for himself, but he was worried about his fox! Kors laughed contentedly. “What are you up to? Are you jealous? I won’t do anything to her. And as a woman, she is absolutely not interesting to me!” Like any other woman, Parky thought quickly, but Kors heard him and froze. For a while they were silent. “You are free,” Kors finally said with some effort, “and call Tyutya.” She appeared almost immediately, clearly was somewhere near her wolf, and collected dishes on a tray. Kors lay on the bed, bored, smoking, looking up at the ceiling. “So that’s how my captain dares to think of me...” Kors turned his gaze to the girl modestly covered by a cape. Leaning slightly, she carefully swept the floor. “What does this bitch think of me? What if to look not at her fucking childhood, but at what happened in Ore Town, when she also served me, look at myself from the outside?!” This thought seemed interesting to him, and Kors tried to penetrate the thoughts and memories of the slave, and... saw nothing. The surrounding world and all objects were covered with a gray veil, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t understand anything and see through this dense veil. There were only vague shadows around. In addition to this, Kors began to suffocate, he didn’t have enough air and there was absolutely nothing to breathe. For a moment, he even got scared. “No-o-o, that’s not going to work, stupid slave!” It dawned on Kors that he was looking through Tyutya, but with his own eyes, and the cape that covered her face interfered with him, preventing him from seeing or breathing properly. He tried to penetrate her head harder and look around through her eyes. The guess turned out to be correct. Accustomed all her life to walking with her face covered with cloth, the girl oriented herself in space much better and didn’t suffocate from lack of air. Kors was even amazed at how well she saw everything, although, as he understood, the fabric on her face was quite dense. And according to the laws of the Reds, she always remained covered from head to toe, for life without the right to open her face, eyes and body, because she was not a person, but a thing. Kors saw another covered woman in front of him, and it seemed that she was the head of the slaves, because she could speak. The main slave turns to Tyutya with obvious excitement: “If these black gentlemen are dissatisfied with something, do you understand what it threatens us all with?” Tyutya only bows low and nods frightened. The mistress gives her a colorful album with pictures and names of dishes. Oh! Kors remembers it well, it always lay in their dining room. This is a menu, and a very good one, by the way. In general, he liked the cuisine in Kudmer’s palace, how the cooks cook, he really liked the wine. Kors several times a day ordered something from this list for himself, his boys, for Nik… Da-a-amn ... He circled the picture or wrote the serial number of the dish on paper, without going into the details of the verbose and magnificent names in red. He put a number, marking how many servings he wants to order. Most often it was a variety of meat dishes and bottles of alcohol. Tyutya understood everything, and, taking the menu with his order, she ran to the kitchen. Very soon, she already learned all his preferences. “Yes, but they interacted well and understood each other!” Kors felt funny, so that’s what she remembers about him! What food did he order! It’s funny. And what else?