4

The house

Kors drove slowly along the main street of an abandoned, dead village. There was deathly silence here and there was not a single living soul. Tol’s soldiers transported people to Crimson Rock. Some peasants of Prince Arel, who had recovered from typhus, refused to cross the river and left Riverside, returning to the Estate. In the evening twilight, ruined houses looked longingly at Kors with empty eye sockets of broken windows, and Kors felt the heavy atmosphere of hunger and suffering that had reigned here quite recently. He seemed to hear the drawn-out groans of people dying in agony from everywhere, and he was haunted by an unconscious feeling of despair and hopelessness. Or were they the sounds of the wind rushing in hysterical gusts through empty lanes? This place was cursed, Kors thought. He approached one of the houses he recognized. Here he used to play “the fool” with his son and prince Arel. Then he had fun. It seemed that it was in another life, and Kors was different, also from another life. He was free, cheerful and confident. He was himself and was not defiled or touched. How dignified, proud and calm he was then! Absolutely confident that he was in complete control of the situation and nothing bad could happen to him. He was the commander of the true blacks, an unquestionable authority. He was their faithful companion and friend. He looked good and looked boldly into the future. He fearlessly approached the Demon, studying him with curiosity and not even knowing how it would all turn out. He was amused by the way the Demon scared over Arel, then Kors couldn’t even imagine, did not even admit the thought that something similar could happen to him. Not a single doubt or premonition of danger crept into his soul. He was so presumptuous! Just a fool, confident in his righteousness and infallibility.

Kors dismounted near one of the houses and climbed the porch. Here he once stood and smoked before the beginning of a meeting of commanders. And Nikto that evening first opened his face in front of people, having arrived without a mask. He was so handsome. “Kors, don't smoke. Everything will be fine,” Nikto told him. “Yes. Sly Demon, you got me through. You winded round my little finger like I was a naive child”. Kors went into the room, there was still a table, and on it lay a crumpled dusty tablecloth. He sat down in his place, just as he sat then, during the meeting. He just sat blankly, as if hearing the voices of his officers. Nothing could be returned. He couldn’t go back to that moment and do everything differently, replay, stay free. How good it was for him then, but he realized that only now. He didn’t value it then. He didn’t appreciate freedom, because it was a natural state for him, a familiar sensation, like the air you breathe and you don’t notice it until your throat is squeezed. And how thoughtlessly he gave the most valuable thing, only later realizing what it was like to breathe with permission, breathe because you were graciously allowed to do so, and to be not a person, but a thing. “Arrogant fool!” Blinded by his pride and sense of power, which turned out to be only an illusion! His whole life collapsed overnight. He understood that the beginning of this fall began long before Riverside, but here, as it seemed to him, it took final shape. At what point did he make this fatal turn in the wrong direction?

“I don’t understand why you are protecting this boy like that? Son of the Devil, here's your time! I must confess that I didn’t think he looked so much like a girl!”