The Mist and the Lightning. Part V

“So that's why you lured me here!” she darted around the room, clawing at the walls in desperation. Not letting Nikto go to her.

“Your own curiosity lured you here! I just invited you to come, and if you can, to help me.”

“I helped! I did everything that is necessary!”

“This is not enough for me!”

“Do not come close! Do not come to me!”

“You don’t have to do anything that I ask!” despite her fierce resistance, Nikto still managed to grab her, writhing, splashing her saliva. He was stronger, wringing her hands in several precise movements, grabbing a knife and slashing Emba around her wrist. Dark, maroon, almost black blood spurted from the cut.

“It will cost you a lot!” she hissed, choking with rage and pain, it seemed that only her full of hatred not blinking eyes can destroy.

“Do what I said!” Nikto again threw her on the bed to Arel. Arel recoiled in horror.

“Well, you regret it! Take it!” Emba held out her cut, bloody hand to him. “Eat, little bastard!”

And then Arel felt Nikto grabbing his hair, putting pressure on the back of his head and pushing him forward to that nasty hand.

“No!” Arel tried to escape. His lips touched warm and dry skin and something else cold and clammy. He felt his stomach bouncing to his throat from stupefying disgust. He felt Nikto throw his head back up, not letting him expel that mucus that had already fallen into his mouth.

Already flowed on his throat. And already IT was pressed to his lips again, and Arelshouted, vomiting IT out of himself, and each time his mouth was filled with IT again and again.

Chapter two

Recovery

He walked down the street; it seems that it was Lower City. Too narrow streets and pressing clutter of houses. The streets did not rise up and down, and did not loop. It looks like it was already a flat level. Arel has never been here, and now was he really where he thought he was?

And was this him? Arel did not understand. He could not even imagine that such streets exist. He never thought about what the city looks like there, on the plain. There was no difference to him? But now, now everything looked too plausible, really, and for some reason he believed that the Lower City plain was like that and no other. He just knew it, knew without a shadow of doubt and hesitation. Did his diseased brain or inflamed imagination create this world? Create everything so carefully, to the smallest detail, to every stone, every crack on a peeling wall? No, that would be too much! He could not imagine all this. It was all real, it was all real. And if he comes to himself, wakes up and goes there, for example, tomorrow, he will find these streets, see them again and find out. However, to see them, he had to peer. Vision let him down, he could not understand what was happening, at another moment, completely losing orientation in space.

It was a bright sunny summer day. He understood this and felt, and at the same time he knew that now it was not summer at all, but only the beginning of spring, and he could not be there, on the Lower City, and even on a summer day. And yet he was there.

Arel like a mole slowly walked an unknown destination, all the while keeping a hand on the walls. The houses here stood close to each other, and when one house ended, the next one started – it helped him. Several times he pressed against the saving wall, letting the horsemen pass by. They flashed in his mind as completely indistinguishable silhouettes, vague shadows, and he rather heard their approach and therefore pressed into the wall than saw them. And yet, despite all the precautions, he nearly fell a couple of times, his legs did not obey him any less than his eyes. Gods, he was lame! “All this only seems to me! It only seems! It seems to me that I am Nikto! I am he!” – thought Arel, with a kind of horror and at the same time delight.

It was so weird. The whole world around was different, it was his world and at the same time not his, completely alien. But this is probably even more attractive. His body also became different, denser, heavier, wider at the shoulders. A very strong body, but some kind of clumsy, it didn’t seem to work, because it needed “water”, “water”, “water”, “water” …

Now he felt that he had not eaten or drunk for a long time, but these feelings were somewhere in the background. Perhaps his body needed it, but the brain did not care. His brain was empty. No thoughts, feelings, emotions, just some echoes of thoughts, vague fragments that he could not catch and realize. And sheer indifference. Where is he going? What for? Arel did not know. Did not understand. And he didn't care. When he was himself, he always knew what he needed or at least he thought he knew. He knew where to go and why. What he has to do. He always went somewhere, toward a goal, did something, or did not, but also thought about it, at the same time already thinking what he would do

next, what he would do tomorrow, and what he must do. And that he had to do necessarily, but did not. And only now he understood how all this knowledge weighed and limited him.

His legs were confused, he had never walked so slowly in his life, and vague spots around him were frightening. He did not see what was happening, and it was dangerous. And if they attack him? Strangely, these thoughts did not cause any emotions, just as the thought that he was hungry and dying of thirst. Such aloofness in Arel caused some kind of incomprehensible pleasure, some kind of perverted sense of freedom. He probably still fainted for a while, as if falling out of this continuity, and then regained consciousness and realized that it was dark in the street and he could see better! And he hears nearby the murmur of water.

Arel made the sound and soon found himself in a small courtyard, and almost in the middle of the courtyard he saw a well, and he went to him. He didn’t look for water on purpose, it just happened that at that moment he caught a well. He didn’t say to himself: “Oh, here’s the water, now I’ll get drunk, then I have to decide what to do next, where to spend the night, where to get food.” So would say Arel. But he wasn’t Arel. He never said anything to himself. It was not important.

"Hey! Hey!” – he heard a shout and looked up. It was a woman. "Do not come here!" – she waved her hand in his direction. “Don’t’ waste the water! Damned tramps! Children, run, call your father from the shop!

Tell him, the tramp wants to pollute the water!”

Small obscure shadows, which he had not noticed before, flashed past, they made some screams. Strangely, he understood everything she said, but somehow, he did not understand how he used to understand. He

understood it by heart, not by reason. He understood the meaning, for him all merged together – the words, her gestures, the expression on her face.

“Don’t close the water!”

And he stopped. Perfect indifference continued to own it. Would Arel have abandoned his attempts like that? Is it not worth it to teach this sassy? How dare she not let him to come to the water! Some kind of poor thing, a commoner. How dare she stop him, prince! But … But he was not a prince! And he sank heavily on the ground, disobedient fingers in coarse leather gloves clumsily straightened the strands of hair that had come out from under the hood, hiding them. And this young woman stood nearby and carefully and waryly looked in his direction, apparently ready, if need be, to protect her well from an uninvited guest. He did not hate her. Did not feel resentment. Maybe just a slight desire. He wanted her. I wanted to stupid, just knock down and fuck. Anything more. Just because she was a woman. And yet he did not budge. He understood that it was impossible to just take her and fuck her like that. That she is afraid of him, and she has protectors who she will call for help.

With unblinking fingers, he only straightened the hood of his raincoat, pulling him even more onto his face. However, there was no face. Only now, to his surprise, Arel felt and realized that he was in a mask, uncomfortable and tough. It is strange that he had not noticed this before, and for some reason, without knowing why, he experienced relief from this. Relief from the fact that his face is closed, and this woman will not be able to see him. Relief and comfort, all feelings were too fleeting and shallow, then again indifference. Involuntarily, Arel thought that probably some animal could think and feel this way.

“Who are you?” – the girl asked a little surprised, as he thought. “Half- breed, is it? Runaway?” It seems that she wasn’t so cruel as he decided at first, because, having scooped some water in a bowl, she put it near him: “Drink. Just do not go to the well."

He reached for the proposed water: the bowl was dirty, maybe it was meant for a dog? However, he did not care, he lifted the mask from the bottom and pressed his lips to the cold, scalding water. Drinking was uncomfortable. His mouth was as broken as everything else, like legs and eyes. On the one hand, the lips did not move, and therefore icy water flowed on his chin, flowing under his clothes. Making the last sip, he strongly threw back his head and realized that she’d seen that. She saw the part of his face. His mandible is torn from the right side. He saw her eyes widen, she recoiled, apparently already regretting that she had given him water. And at this moment other people, men, appeared.

That's all he could say about them, they were lit by the last rays of the setting sun, and he could not see them. But there was no fear, nothing again.

“What happened?” – one of the men asked. He was breathing heavily, and a stick was squeezed in his hand.

“Here it is. He wanted water. I was afraid that he would pollute our well. Do you see the way he dressed? And I was right, under his mask there is some sort of tripe on his face. Maybe a leprosy or a plague! If only he did not turn out to be plagued!”

They recoiled from him, he understood everything, but for some reason did not feel the slightest desire to respond. Just tried to get up, but fell. And they bounced off him even further.

"Really sick!”

"I'm telling you! As soon as I saw him going to the well … Gods, Gods, for all goodness, protect us from the plague!”– the woman began to lament, sobbing. He really felt her fear.

"Hey, you! Get out of here! ”– the man swung his stick threateningly. Arel had a sword. Arel knew that a sword was fastened under his cloak behind his back, but he didn’t even try to get it, he didn’t even move.

And now this indifference, this desolation began to frighten him. It was necessary to act, but Nikto, in whose body he was, did nothing.

“He has white hair, see?!”

"Maybe half-breed?"

"Lost her mind! There is no such hair, he is probably gray … "

"And the half-breeds?"

"He is gray! Hey, old man, go to the temple and ask for alms there, but here you have no place!”

"But he does not look like an old man!"

"What shall we do?"

They huddled together, deliberating. He heard only fragments of their phrases: “Beggar? Old man? Maybe he fluent? Half-breed? Plague?

Infection".

And he got up. And tries to go away. And they, seeing how awkwardly he tightens his lame leg, recoiled from him even more.