When Taghna passed through the rows of imposing séarach that surrounded the glade of Séaroën, intense pain tore her chest. She felt like she was cut in half, just above her chest. The suffering palpated with each of her steps, tearing her body as she sank deeper into the forest.
Dazed, she walked randomly, pushing hard on her legs to get as far away as possible from where she had committed this abject and unforgivable act. Taghna felt it in her flesh. Part of her soul had died there, the part of herself that belonged to Séaroën. From then on, those who had raised, fed and protected her, those with whom she had grown, learned, laughed and cried no longer considered her one of their own.
The foul smell of blood smearing her hands hit Taghna hard. The image of Asgeül, unrecognizable and lying in her blood, exploded in her head. Taghna was taken with violent spasms. She fell to her knees to vomit a black and sour bile. What had happened to make her lose control of herself, to go so far as to want to kill her brataïr?
Suddenly, the prospect of death, which had frightened Taghna so much since her drowning experience, was no longer so repulsive. For she, who was inhabited by terrible visions and unbearable memories of her failures, dying would offer her the unending rest that had welcomed Muchach, the First Man.
Taghna slashed at her throat with her fingernails, hit her face with all the strength she had left, crying out loud in rage and pain. She wanted to punish herself for her madness, for her actions that had put her friends and the village in danger. Despite the droplets of purple liquid pervading her wounds, her skin, driven by the uisgaïr, closed inexorably.
Thus, Lorgá continued to impose her will, healed the people she had chosen and let the others die. In Taghna's eyes, there was no justice in Lorgá's decisions and the young woman imagined the First Woman mocking her and her helplessness as well as the choices she wanted to make.
Taghna could not escape Lorgá. She had not been able to influence the customs of the village, and she could not even take her own life. The only path left was loneliness. Alone, detached, uprooted from the customs she had been taught, perhaps she could find peace.
But where could she go?
Through the smell of her own vomit, Taghna could perceive the odours of her friends. It was stuck to the trees, plants and stones that bordered Séaroën. The familiar scents revived images that drove Taghna mad with pain and regret. She felt like she was trapped in a huge spider web made of memories.
The solution came naturally. There was only one possible direction for her, only one place that would be devoid of the history and presence of those who had been close to her: the Great Plains.
Taghna got up, but as soon as she started walking, she recognised Slavan's tracks. The durséar had not been in exile for a long time and Taghna realized that it would only take a moment to rejoin with him. It is for this very reason that she chose a different direction. Above all, she wanted to avoid the presence of her brataïr, which would only make more vivid her past memories.
As night fell, and still as disgusted by herself, she felt that her senses were playing tricks on her. As soon as she blinked, when she looked into the darkness, Asgeül's bloody face reappeared from her memory, making her scream with fear.
Taghna looked up and saw the tiny gleams floating through the foliage, shining bright on the dark background. She regretted not being able to perceive them during the day because their presence distilled in her a soothing breath.
Slightly reassured, she climbed a tree to get closer to the mysterious lights. She wedged herself against a branch and lost herself in the contemplation, not daring to close her eyes.
The next day, the pain in her chest had turned into a void, a gaping hole, as if her heart had been ripped out. Out of habit and without her wanting to, Taghna's first thought was for Færn. The pain came back, resolute, assertive. Taghna quickly turned her gaze to the slow sunrise, forcing herself to observe the changing colours that illuminated the clouds. She continued her exile.
At the end of the morning, she found again the close smell of Slavan. Either she had headed towards him, unconsciously, or he had changed direction and was getting closer to her. Taghna made an additional detour but, despite her precautions, Slavan kept getting closer. Lorgá was yet again against her.
Not having the strength to fight and look for a path that would not cross the steps of her brataïr, she decided to join him, without haste, at the speed that Lorgá would have decided. Since it was still necessary to rely on her until reaching the Great Plains, then Taghna would let herself be guided until she could leave the attraction of the First Woman.
Slavan was little more than a silhouette straight out of these stories that the néach mimicked by using the glow of the flames to cast ephemeral shadows on the walls of the buildings. He was almost see-through and despair dwelt in every part of the penguin's body: the veiled look, the insecure gait, the loose arms, the lowered neck, the fine down on his hollow cheeks, the dirty and tangled hair...
Taghna called his name several times, in vain. Slavan did not make the slightest gesture of recognition. She then decided to follow him, to simply follow him, a few steps away. This arrangement suited her. She didn't want to have to explain herself. She would not have to look for traces of her guilt in the eyes of her brataïr. She would not need to put words on the atrocity she had perpetuated and her memories would no longer torture her.
In the middle of the night, Slavan laid down and fell asleep on the ground. The cold made him tremble and hunger roared in his stomach. Taghna lit a small fire and observed Slavan asleep. All the traces of the trials he had been through had dissipated. He looked like the little boy he had always been, and this peace touched Taghna.
They resumed their silent march before sunrise. Slavan persisted in his silence and ignored the few insects attracted by the light of the flames Taghna had left to him the day before.
As they moved away from Séaroën, the images, smells and memories that beset Taghna became less insistent. The long days of walking allowed her to abandon herself in a nature untouched by any human trace and this purity washed her soul from its torments.
Slavan's presence occupied a large part of Taghna's thoughts, too. Her sharp senses were focused on the boy. She was picking up every signal from his body. Through the breathing and the sound of her footsteps of the durséar, which were getting heavier and heavier, she knew that he was weakening.
Taghna couldn't have imagined he could last that long without eating. He must have eaten nothing but the bowl of food that Asgeïl had handed him before his exile, and yet he continued, ignoring the cries of protest that his weakened limbs were sending him and that even Taghna perceived.
But as much as the mind can hold a body, the physical limits eventually emerge, implacable. As he crossed a ground strewn with roots that seemed to be swirling, Slavan stumbled and collapsed heavily. Taghna rushed towards him and saw that he was burning with fever.
She carried him, as light as a twig, until she found a place to hide. A huge trunk laid on the ground, its heart hollowed out, eaten away by insects and putrefied by age. A long time ago, it must have been a master among the masters; today, it perpetuated the cycle of life.
Taghna squatted down and pulled Slavan inside. She couldn't stand upright, but there was enough space to lie down side by side. The floor was rough and splintery and the walls were pleasantly cool. Taghna went to get wild garlic and drumar to lower Slavan's fever. She took the opportunity to bring back a good quantity of ferns. Their long leaves would provide a comfortable bed.
She found a piece of bark that she used to make a container. All she had to do was bend the sides in such a way that the bark took a concave shape capable of retaining water. As there was no river nearby, Taghna tore off several piles of heavy moss that retained a lot of moisture and pressed them over the bowl to collect the liquid.
Finally, Taghna looked for something to prepare a meal. She caught a handful of brown beetles, including a female that had eggs clinging to its hind legs. They would bring some strength to Slavan when he could eat. Taghna was still not thirsty, hungry or tired. The powers of the uisgaïr were really impressive but she didn't think about it and focused on her task.
She returned to their makeshift home. She mixed the medicinal herbs in the bowl of water and added a burning stone that she had placed in the fire. The liquid quivered before starting to boil.
In no time at all, Taghna had a hot drink that she gave to Slavan. She supported his head and made sure that her brataïr swallowed the liquid. Her gestures were full of sweetness, as she had perhaps never done before, except when Færn was wounded.
Once again, the memory of her friend, the village and what she had destroyed pierced her heart. She whispered apologies as she stroked Slavan's hair. The slow litany lasted until Slavan fell deeply asleep. That brought little respite to Taghna.
The young man woke up in the middle of the night. The fever had gone down and his eyes no longer expressed a lack of life. Taghna gave Slavan the insect mash she had prepared and he chewed silently, without looking at her. A long time passed before Slavan spoke:
- Why are you helping me?
Taghna replied nothing. She didn't know why she was doing what she was doing. Only the day before, she wanted never to see a single member of the village again. Then she let herself be convinced to join Slavan. Taghna was certain of one thing: she didn't want to have to deal with death anymore. She had failed so many times that it was the last thing she wanted.
Slavan continued, as if his thoughts had traveled before coming out of the shadows and bursting into the open:
- It's weird, isn't it?
- What's weird?
- Everything. Life. How things unfold.
Taghna didn't like unclear discussions and she didn't understand what her brataïr was getting at. She ended up answering:
- Yes. I suppose so.
- One moment, you're surrounded, you have your life, you're in a group. And then, all of a sudden, you have to go away, abandon everything you've known, he continued, visibly undisturbed by his partner's lack of respondent.
- You could have stayed. No one would have forced you to leave, Slavan, Taghna said sadly.
- Maybe...
- I wanted you to stay. I would have fought for you.
- I know, Taghna, I know. But for what purpose, to what place?
- Any place, your place. You were part of Séaroën. At least as much as that lame Séacas....
- Séacas takes care of our reserves. He takes care of the séalyar during the Hir.
- What are you talking about... In that case, you could have helped him. It's not very difficult.
- Do you really believe what you're saying?
The question shook Taghna. She was going to answer as usual, a little angry at someone who is too slow, but she realized that Slavan was not wrong. What role can a man who is not able to survive the cold, catch game or go for days without eating have in the village?
- Yes, I believe so, she ended up saying, her voice betraying her lack of confidence.
- And I can tell you that Dorséanan would have made me understand my place.
- Ah, don't talk to me about her, eh! said Taghna, whose mention of the dean caused a wave of irritation.
Slavan did not pursue. The crackling of the flames echoed in the confined space and filled the silence. Taghna thought Slavan had finally fallen asleep, but the activity of the boy's body was telling her otherwise. The heartbeat and shortness of breath were those of an alert man. Taghna, whose memories came back to attack her like the night before, could not help but share them:
- You know, I fought with Asgeül just before I left, she said in a dark, torn voice.
Like the glowing embers that remained after the end of a burning blaze, the intensity of her feelings continued to affect her and tears formed in the corner of her eyes.
- I almost killed her, she whispered.
- Ah, you two... You have never been able to get along, he said in a sigh that Taghna could not decipher.
- Slavan, you don't understand. You don't know how the others looked at me...
Her voice broke, the emotion was too strong. Far from accusing her, Slavan took an even softer tone of melancholy:
- I always knew you were different.
- Yes, I put in danger those who are close to me, I–
- Stop it, it's not that. Even as children, you were the one who pushed us to go further, higher. You always wanted to look into the smallest holes, explore the things around us. You kept asking how it was, out there. Remember when you climbed up the house beams to lick snow? Drahul must have melted the ice that had stuck to your tongue, he said with a nostalgic and laughing voice.
The evocation of this distant memory swept away some of Taghna's troubles. He revived the innocence of their childhood, their dreams, their squabbles for harmless and long forgotten reasons.
One person was missing around the fire. As if Slavan was reading Taghna's mind, he said:
- In the end, you and Asgeül may not be so different. She often told me that she was jealous of you, of what you could do without thinking about it, as if you had always been able to do it. She wasn't hiding it, at least not with me. It's true that you've always been better than us. To tell you the truth, after a while, I didn't know how to get close to you, how to talk to you. It seemed like you were far ahead of us, like a séalyar...
- But it was Asgeül whom everyone was listening to! Why didn't she give me a chance?
- Who knows. We don't necessarily follow the strongest. Look at Séabanh. Look at Dannaï...
- You know very well that they were more than capable of hunting for the village.
- Yes, but not anymore. Their role is different.
- What about Dorséanan? What do you do with her? She must be the best hunter in the village.
- But no more than Mariach, Araïg or Roséan. And yet, they are not séalyar.
- Well, yes. I don't understand it, said Taghna, disappointed.
- Also, you're not the easiest to get to...
Taghna frowned but relaxed when she heard Slavan give a little laugh before adding:
- It still makes me feel better that you're here... I hope you'll forgive me. That you'll forgive us all one day.
- Idiot... finished Taghna, because she didn't know how to take that last sentence.