Secrets & Treasons

Fifth Movement: In the Shadow of the Mists

The less the danger is identified and identifiable, the greater the apprehension. As a result, the adrenaline keeps rising relentlessly, like a slow poison that is regularly distilled into the blood of the poor innocent victim who is about to be sacrificed to deaf, dumb and blind but bloodthirsty gods. That's what the young Half Moon was thinking to herself as she walked the winding road that took them away from the Troll city. Except that she would never have understood the concept of 'sacrifice to the Gods', this kind of thing was not common, the "Gods" of Innàa preferring by far a good discussion by the fire, or the heavy and heady smell of a rare incense. And anyway, the victims are always innocent and pure, that's the definition. Anyway, she had noted the reaction of the trolls present when they arrived, and those who had accompanied them on their way, encouraging them with their hands and voices until they reached the city gates. She had seen their anxiety, almost felt their fear. And she couldn't get rid of the disturbing impression of the emptiness in which they - this heterogeneous group whose sole purpose was to save the world - had been thrown into. She felt like she was being fed to the world. What were they to do? Follow an unknown path marked by invisible little white stones? And then what?

She sprawled out on her back. The men turned to her.

"Well, can't you put one foot in front of the other, woman?"

Half Moon shot her a dark look that had no effect on the jovial troll. Being back home was obviously a joy in itself.

"Beware the roots," said Childeric, helping the young woman to her feet. "The troll swamps are tricky. And I feel that the fog will not delay to show itself. I really hate this Walk... Did you hurt yourself?"

"No, I'm okay..." Half-Moon said as she was dusting off her traveling pants from the dust of the road, "I just succeeded in making a fool of myself in less than one day, I beat all my records!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," he replied, chuckling lightly, "it's nothing after all! You already look very "local color" all dressed in gray!"

"Hilarious! I feel that I hate this walk as much as you do, if not more," she continued more seriously. "Until today, I'd only ever gone through it, and in a hurry at that, but now... "

"Yes, we'll certainly have to go through it in greater length..."

"Do you have any idea where we'll start?"

"A vague idea," he said thoughtfully.

"Really?"

Childeric walked away. He stubbornly refused to answer the questions that the girl would inevitably ask him. But she was not the style to give up so quickly. She caught up with him by the sleeve, he resisted and then finally let himself go, turned around, gave a sigh of irritation, and supported her glance, the hands on the hips. Whatever she might say, he didn't breathe a word, sticking to his guns.

The group had outrun them by a few lunials, but their absence was beginning to be felt to the point that some were stopping and wondering what could be keeping them away. Bud was already retracing his steps. They were in great conversation but the wind was diverting the animated discussion away from him, in the other direction; Half Moon was animating in vain, for Childeric, with his arms now crossed over his chest, was looking at her in silence. He was fighting internally against his rising irritation. Out of the corner of his eye, Childeric saw Bud approaching quickly. He grabbed Half Moon by the arms and shook her firmly. She glanced in Bud's direction and became silent. Bud hesitated and slowed his pace, questioning the legitimacy of his intervention, after all, their conversation might have been purely familial.