"These frigging goddamn geezers!" Nyell snarled, kicking the mammoth rug in a corner of his room. "I still can't believe my ears. The shit that came out of their mouths!"
A muffled chuckle resounded behind him, and Nyell's bad temper flared up. Allen was getting on his nerves just as much as the elders.
"Get out!"
"You know I can't do that. I promised your father to watch over you tonight."
"You got eyes, don't you?" Nyell growled. "Can't you see that the sun is still up?"
"Indeed, I can't."
"You're asking for a beating."
"I honestly, truly can't see it," Allen smirked. "Everything is in shades of gray for me, and I can't differentiate between the moonlight and the sunshine. Lights are always reflected the same way: pale gray."
"…Ah."
Nyell had heard of shamans whose eyesight was devoid of colors, a side-effect of their weak physical constitution. He just hadn't expected this bastard to be among those, just like he hadn't expected Layla to be mute. What about Myrven, then? Was he deaf? No, probably not. He heard Allen call for him last night, and he came right away. He didn't seem to be reading lips either. Nyell felt like he was getting paranoid, but nothing was ordinary about these three!
"Anyway," Allen pretended not to notice Nyell's glare, "the things after your tribe have it out for your family. Sorry, but I won't let you out of my sight until we get them."
"You're too much! I can defend myself just fine, thank you." Nyell gritted his teeth. "Go join Myrven and Layla. Keep an eye on my family instead."
"No can do. It's your father who's going to kill me if I leave your side."
Nyell felt a headache coming; Allen was right. His father seemed kind at first glance, but Nyell got his nasty temper from him, so he knew better.
"Even if I were to join my aides, I'd be nothing more than a deadweight. They're far stronger than me."
"So what? You're a walking healing elixir, so you have your usefulness."
"Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment!" Nyell spat out. "If you're not going to leave, you're sleeping on the rug!"
Allen eyed the poor thing that had been tossed aside. Though it was soft to the touch, it wasn't thick enough to turn into a makeshift mattress. He would surely be sore all over by tomorrow morning if he used it.
"Why can't I use the bed? Isn't it big enough for two adults?"
"No, it isn't!"
Nyell would rather die than share his bed with Allen. He hadn't gone over his embarrassment from what he had done last night, just before the White Moon chief tribe came to find him. The smell was still lingering in his room, permeating his bed. If they were to sleep next to each other, Nyell knew his body would react again, and Allen would notice it.
But perhaps he was worried for nothing. Anger had been clouding his mind since his meeting with the elders, so his body might not be in the mood for horniness.
The elders had lived up to their trash title. They didn't tell them anything useful, just saying they were overreacting. Their tribe didn't do anything wrong, and the daemon was a crazy thing. It was out for blood just because it could.
And as for Huliem, she died of illness. Why would it be otherwise?
"Stop asking questions!"
"You're being unreasonable."
"We told you, we haven't done anything wrong."
"Go do something more useful than bother us!"
"The daemon won't surrender."
"You better find it before another person goes missing."
To put it bluntly, they avoided answering their questions, insisting that whatever they asked was inappropriate and that they shouldn't doubt their words. They had better things to do than interrogate the elders of their tribe.
Did youngsters not know how to respect their elders nowadays? They were being rude.
If it hadn't been for Allen holding him by the wrist, Nyell would have shown these geezers just how rude he could get.
"I thought the elders in my tribe were a pain to deal with," Allen admitted, "but it seems like yours aren't any better.."
"Are you trying to comfort me? Because you're failing miserably."
Nyell let himself fall on his bed. He buried his face in his hands, wishing he could pluck the information out of the elders' mouths.
They made excuses instead of telling them whatever dark secrets they were hiding, even though the lives of their comrades were in danger. Keeping things hidden from the group that was investigating the disappearance cases was no better than killing the missing persons themselves. The elders cared more about their reputation than their people.
Unlike what the elders said, daemons didn't attack people at random. Their tribe must have done something, but what?
"If you want," Allen smiled, "we can always invade one of the elders' dreams tonight and 'gently' interrogate them. I can even make it so that they don't remember it."
Nyell lifted his head, and a chill ran down his spine when he saw Allen's innocent, kind-looking smile. Why did this man look so pure, angelic even, when he was inwardly so black?
But, well, the proposal did interest Nyell.
"I've been wondering, but are there things you can't do as a shaman?"
"Not really? I am the chief of a tribe mostly composed of shamans. I do have to be powerful enough to keep these unruly brats in check."
"You're not keeping them that well in check," Nyell mumbled, remembering his numerous encounters with the White Moon tribe's hunters. For a second, he couldn't help but wonder if Allen knew his people beat up kids.
"…?"
"Nothing. So, about invading one of these assholes' dreams…"
.
.
It was a desolate realm. Black trees stretched as far as the eyes could see, their naked branches rustling under the breeze. The sky was gray, and two pale moons hung in the middle, casting a pale light over the forest.
Crows let out shrill screams as they poked at dead bodies with their beaks, some tearing apart pieces of flesh and others clawing their way inside the corpses' abdomens. They were feasting, throwing blood and bits of organs around.
There were men, but also women and children piled up together. A few had been hung onto trees, a rope around their broken necks.
Even though it was a dream, Nyell's nose was still assaulted by the heavy smell of blood.
"What the fuck," Nyell muttered.
"It seems like we won't even need to interrogate your elder," Allen commented with his usual lazy smile. "Guilty consciences make it easy to pry into someone's mind through their dreams. I have a hunch it's already showing us what we want to know."
The White Moon tribe's chief pointed at a man who looked to be in his forties. He was kneeling, head buried in his hands. His short black hair was a mess, while his body and his tattered clothes were covered in dirt. It felt like he clawed his way out of a grave.
"This isn't what we wanted," he wailed. "It's not our fault. We didn't do anything wrong."
"If you didn't do anything wrong, why are you wailing?" Allen asked as he approached the elder. In real life, he looked older, well over sixty years old. Now, he looked like a man in his prime. "What did you do?"
The man, Tuppel, didn't seem to hear him, his eyes locked on Nyell. Fear crept onto his face, his pupils dilating. He lost balance and fell on his bottom.
"No, no, no, no."
Tuppel shuttered. Panic rendered him useless, and words he'd typically keep to himself flew out.
"You're dead! You're supposed to be dead! Hulien killed you!" He seemed to lose all his strength as he added, "What are you doing here, you monster?!"
Nyell pointed to himself, wondering what bullcrap Tuppel was spouting. Why would his mother have killed him…?
And since when had he been a monster?