The Index travelled

  through the jungle and its path, from season to season, moved like a mad

  snake, feeding the earth with minerals stolen from the mountains,

  soaking the soils and leaving an abundance of life in its wake. The

  Index descended to the fertile plains of Ternoulie, where its caresses

  had seen the birth, over the seasons, of a mighty city-state.

  The

  river that flowed through its heart, ringed by a multitude of bridges,

  fed an important trade with the rest of the continent. From the point of

  view of a winged creature, the city appeared like a huge red speck

  marbled with green in an infinite ocean of jungle. It really did look

  like a heart.

  All

  around the city, rice paddies reflected the sky, followed by outskirts

  and settlements where foreigners, merchants and travellers lived. A

  thick wall of brick and compacted earth then delimited the city itself, a

  dense tangle of buildings, streets, gardens and temples. The denser

  southern part of the city was home to most of the population, as well as

  popular markets, temples, warehouses and workshops. The great gateway

  to Yaloumbalis was also located here, named after the city where, almost

  a thousand kilometers to the south, the road that began at Ternoulie

  ended. To the north of the Index, beyond the bridges, stood the most

  impressive temples and pyramids. It was also the administrative and

  diplomatic heart of the city. There were palaces, libraries, baths,

  gardens and markets where the most precious goods were traded. In the

  center, a terraced palace housed the family of the King of Ternoulie and

  diplomats who came to defend the interests of their city or kingdom.

  From

  the roof of the three-storey building where he stood, in the shadow of a

  canvas screen that draped him in bluish light, Pastel observed the

  imposing silhouette of the royal palace, flanked by towers and pyramids,

  which, despite the distance, remained the central visual element of

  Ternoulie.

  "Imagine how many people gave their lives to build this palace and these temples." Pastel asked aloud.

  "Definitely

  too many," Tamo replied, grimacing as he changed a bandage on Pastel.

  Red hairs had stuck to the fabric. "It's disgusting."

  "You didn't have to do it. I can take care of it if you find me too repulsive."

  "Repulsive?

  Never!" Tamo, who had been leaning over Pastel's paws, moved toward his

  face. Pastel shuddered when their whiskers met, their wet muzzles

  against each other. Pastel looked into the big brown eyes he knew by

  heart. Deep inside, he discovered something new. Something cold,

  something serious. "He's changed," he couldn't help thinking, before

  swatting the idea away like a fly.

  Tamo

  moved his body closer to Pastel's, who felt his warmth. "But is it

  contagious?" Tamo whispered in his friend's ear, who was dying to hold

  him close without the shackles of his bandages and clothes.

  "I don't know." Said Pastel, who felt Tamo sigh into the fur of his neck.

  Tamo stepped back, his eyes shining. "New priority number one: finding you a cure."

  "Isn't priority number one to go back to the steppes?"

  "That's

  the ultimate priority, but the cure is the first step." Tamo

  approached, held out his hand and pretended that a pain prevented him

  from touching Pastel. He collapsed to the ground dramatically and said,

  "You see, I can't build a resistance in this state. I'm dying for your

  skin."

  Pastel burst out laughing. "Maybe he hadn't changed after all," he thought with a smile.

  "I can't believe you're here." said Pastel, still amazed to have finally found the chestnut-eyed fox.

  "Me

  neither." Tamo replied, still lying on the ground, suddenly pensive. He

  directed his gaze to the veil above him. "From flame-covered plains to

  mountains, then basket houses. Everything has changed so fast. Even the

  dead seem fake. I don't even know which is more surreal, my dreams or

  reality. And now a city full of dinosaurs... and monsters."

  "Aren't dinosaurs monsters?" Pastel said jokingly.

  Tamo

  gave him a serious look: "If only the doudou were the only monsters,

  Pastel. If only they were. Monsters are people like us... like you.

  Panthers, dogs and even foxes. Traitors. Who exploit kill and... in a

  mad game scheme to take more and more." Tamo sat down and glared at the

  palace skyline. "The monsters are dogs who wear multicolored veils and

  decorate their fur with glitter of pure gold. Pastel if you knew what

  we've seen here, what I've learned from those who rule here and the

  absurd wars they persist in waging. The same species that burned our

  cradle is ravaging this jungle!" His voice choked.

  Pastel

  remained stunned, his throat constricted. He leaned over Tamo and

  stroked his back. Tamo's angry words "The monsters are dogs" echoed in

  his head.

  Pastel

  hated seeing his friend like this, his tail rolled between his legs, his

  fur bristling and his ears pressed against his skull. But suddenly, he

  thought of another coat, gray this time. In a flash he saw his father in

  the mountains again. Batto, who turned and looked at his son, his left

  eye as ice but his right eye golden like his son's eyes and as

  comforting as a summer breeze. His father, the dog who loved him. He

  remembers the confusion and anxiety he felt then.

  Love,

  pain, anger, melancholy. These emotions filled Pastel in a jumble. He

  shook his head as if to banish them, and looked up at Tamo, who was

  suddenly on his feet and holding out his hand to help him up. "Pastel we

  have... I must leave you, I'm going with my father and some lemurs to

  meet a weapons merchant. We'll be back before dark."

  "You talk as if you didn't want me to go with you."

  "Oh

  Pastel it's not that I don't want to, it's that... it's complicated.

  It's dangerous we haven't explained everything to you yet, the work we

  do with certain guilds, mercenaries, lemurs, you know?"

  "I see..."

  "Why don't you go and get yourself treated. Ask Tabi."

  Tamo raised his hand to stroke Pastel's left ear.

  "See you later, then. Don't die." Said Pastel sketching a small smile.

  "Of

  course not! Besides, I'm not allowed to die before you're cured!

  Ultimate priority!" Tamo climbed down the stone stairs into the building

  that housed the clandestine foxes.

  Pastel

  was once again alone on the roof, under the tropical sun. The sun had

  moved across the sky and the blue shadow had shifted. He looked up.

  Between the clouds, silhouettes of birds. Pastel wondered what the world

  looked like from these heights. He wondered how his steppes would look

  from up there.

  "What a privilege it would be to see the cradle from the vantage point of the clouds."

  ***

  "You're

  ... you're not coming with me?" Pastel asked, observing the large black

  rectangle that pierced the base of the pyramid. They were on the

  outskirts of a public square where makeshift stalls had been erected.

  The merchants, who seemed to sell just about everything, seemed to have

  settled into a dense cluster that was difficult to navigate, but which

  had the advantage of remaining in the shadow of the pyramid for a good

  part of the day.

  "I'm

  not allowed... hihi. I was banished after stealing a jade statuette

  when I was little. Besides, we lemurs worship a different God. But don't

  worry, it's a refuge for all the needy and it's cool. Ask for asylum,

  show your wounds and a mage will help you."

  "Good. Thank you then, Tabi."

  "It's my pleasure! Thats what friends are for!"

  Pastel stepped into the white stone shadow and turned to ask: "And this statuette, is it in your village?"

  Tabi,

  who was already moving away, replied, leaping backwards: "No, I've lost

  it!" She stuck out her tongue and disappeared into the human tide of

  the market, just as Pastel had already seen her disappear into the dense

  foliage of the jungle.

  Pastel

  returned to the shadows and his vision quickly became accustomed to the

  absence of any light source in the opening, which became a long

  corridor, like a rectangular cave with walls decorated with fine

  bas-reliefs rich in animal and plant silhouettes. Soon he emerged into

  the largest interior space he had ever entered.

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  It

  was an immense, rectangular room where the only light came from a few

  copper basins where wicks burned in oil, but above all from skylights on

  either side of the room which, as Pastel stepped into the space,

  projected what appeared to be columns of light that crossed the room

  diagonally. The contrast with the voluminous stone columns created a

  strange effect of positive and negative volumes juxtaposed. Between the

  full and the empty.

  The

  air smelled of humidity, incense smoke and burning oil. The space,

  which at first had seemed empty to Pastel because of the contrast with

  the bustle outside, was in fact well and truly occupied. Panthers, dogs,

  birds and capybaras occupied the space, but in silence. Along the side

  walls, altars were set up in angular alcoves, with people kneeling in

  front of statuettes on large carpets. Elsewhere, people murmured and

  drank tea. A little further on, someone seemed to be napping.

  At

  the far end, a large black and glossy statue represented a grimacing

  creature whose morphology was a mixture of feline, reptile, bird and

  rodent. A streak of light landed on the stone creature's legs,

  illuminating a carpet of greenery. Curious, Pastel moved towards the

  statue, but someone nearby suddenly stopped him.

  "Tssss tssss! Stop right there! Your paws!"

  Pastel turned to see a capibara dressed in a long green toga.

  "I beg your pardon? My paws?"

  "You

  must wash your paws before leaving the gate. Come along." The dark-eyed

  capibara with his heavy eyelids guided him slowly towards a small

  fountain that lined the opening to the outside and which Pastel hadn't

  noticed on entering.

  "Wash

  your paws here and dry them on the carpet. First time in a Syra temple,

  isn't it? Come on. Syra welcomes you." The fountain was a small,

  open-mouthed stone panther, and water poured from its open mouth and

  eyes into a small basin. The capibara gestured for Pastel to step into

  the basin and wash his paws. The soiled water then flowed slowly to an

  opening beneath the panther, this time in the shape of an open-mouthed

  fish.

  "Good. Good" approved the capibara before guiding Pastel along the temple wall, over a mat, then up to an altar.

  "Eeeeh, you... are you a temple mage? I've come to seek asylum and to be helped to heal a wound."

  The

  capibara nodded slowly, closing his eyes and said, "Like all of us.

  Like all of us. I'm not a mage but a simple servant of Syra. Syra will

  heal your wounds with the echo of your prayers. Each of these altars

  will heal a different wound in you. You must have healed each of your

  wounds before approaching the central altar of Syra".

  "... I understand, but I also have... physical wounds. On my skin, you see? An infection."

  "Good,

  good. Make your way along the path and if you still need help, perhaps a

  mage will come along." The capibara walked slowly away, eyes

  half-closed, leaving Pastel a little confused by the little statue.

  "'Right,'

  said Pastel simply, looking around. He then noticed how the others,

  sitting by the statuettes, spent a few minutes before walking slowly to

  the next one and so on. On either side of the long hall, eight altars

  followed one another. "I don't suppose they'll want to treat me if I

  don't comply with their rituals." Pastel thought with a sigh, walking

  over to the altar to kneel on the wool carpet. He looked at the

  statuette of a black snake and the bas-reliefs all around, which,

  illuminated by the basins, were sometimes covered in tallow that

  accentuated the contrasts in the motifs.

  "Dear

  serpent spirit... or god. Dear Syra, whoever you are, thank you for

  welcoming me into your home... and protect my people... I hope you get

  on well with the spirits of the plains... thank you" Pastel murmured,

  not quite sure what to say. He thought of Mamalou and wondered what she

  would have done in his place. "How can you pay homage to a god other

  than your own? The spirits of the plains protect the plains... Syra

  protects the jungle and its inhabitants." he thought. He thought back to

  the first impression the jungle had made on him as he left the

  mountains. His impression of entering a living organism, powerful and

  chaotic. "Here, too, the spirits protect me."

  He

  rose to his feet and prostrated himself before the other altar, each

  time carrying other thoughts with him. Finally arriving at the far end

  of the temple, he turned towards the huge black statue. Only then did he

  realize that it was so shiny and lustrous not only because the black

  stone was polished, but because a fine drape of water ran over it,

  flowing from the creature's eyes and from some hidden orifice in the

  beast's impressive details. The water flowed over the statue and landed

  at its feet, on a huge stone base covered with a vibrant green wet moss.

  Pastel stepped forward, fascinated. The moss seemed to absorb the water

  like a sponge. The fluffy carpet of moss came to a sudden halt at the

  edge of the large rectangular block around which the water flowed into

  small channels that carried the water back into the shadows behind the

  statue.

  Pastel

  thought of the stone under his armpit. It was warm. The fox closed his

  eyes and concentrated on what he was feeling. In his chest, the weight

  had dissolved a little. His thoughts were less erratic than they had

  been that morning, less carried away by worry and speculation. He

  realized he could silence his inner voice and simply observe the

  movement of his impressions, just as his gaze had earlier observed the

  delicate moss. Something brushed against his arm and his heart suddenly

  leapt.

  "Excuse me,"

  he heard a soft voice whisper. He opened his eyes. Next to him, a raven

  in a green toga was leaning over the pedestal, and with a pair of

  tweezers in his hand, he was delicately trimming the edge of the moss

  slab before depositing the tiny scraps in a small black bowl. Finally,

  he turned his head towards Pastel. His dark plumage glistened with

  purple and blue reflections.

  "Hello

  I..." Black eyes watched him silently with intelligence. "I've come to

  seek asylum and the help of a healer for the wounds on my skin."

  The

  raven nodded and placed the small tongs in the small bowl. The green

  toga slipped over his arm, revealing his long black feathers, like a

  second cape.

  "Of course. Syra welcomes you. What is your name?"

  Pastel hesitated. "Pastel. I'm Pastel"

  "And I'm Paleato, minor mage of the temple."

  "Minor

  mage," Pastel murmured, following the winged creature as it slowly

  guided him to an opening at the far end of the room. "I invite you into

  the sacred courtyard," Paleato said laconically as if in prayer. His

  outstretched arm was edged by long feathers. Pastel then noticed that

  under the raven's wrist was hidden in the feathering a second joint and

  another segment of wing, folded against the arm.

  The

  mage's every gesture was slow and measured. In the half-light of the

  temple, he seemed almost to fade into the background, but his dark

  plumage occasionally reflected a few flashes of color from the darkness

  where he moved, in the rustle of his toga and plumage. He first placed

  his bowl on a small table, then guided Pastel through a series of rooms

  that suggested just how immense the temple was.

  Without

  words being exchanged they finally arrived in a carpeted room where a

  skylight battled against the shadows; a prism of light illuminating a

  green carpet and cushions.

  "Good."

  The raven finally said, sitting down on the floor. Pastel followed him.

  " Do I feel intimidated?" he wondered, trying to understand why his

  heart was beating so fast. The raven, with his gestures, despite seeming

  barely older than him, reminded him of Mamalou's during ceremonies. The

  bird interrupted his thoughts.

  "You

  have a buzzing energy, Pastel. Perhaps you're compressing something

  vast." Pastel thought of steppes and horizons. Paleato continued,

  enigmatic: "You can't let the volumes of light disappear." At Pastel's

  look of incomprehension, he added, smiling for the first time: "You've

  probably noticed, in the great hall of the temple, the columns of light.

  The stone columns support the weight of the temple and the pyramid. But

  it's the columns of light that support us from within. It's a

  metaphor." He rested his hand on his chest. "We live in the volume that

  light carves out of the shadow that inhabits us. You need to rebuild

  your temple of light."

  "I'm

  trying..." said Pastel half aloud. Not sure he completely understood

  what the crow was trying to teach, but he got along with it.

  "Show

  me your wounds." Said the mage, this time taking a lighter tone, with

  his soft and deep voice. Pastel stood still, looking puzzled, wondering

  if the raven was still speaking metaphorically.

  "Your real wounds. Your physical wounds you spoke of"

  "Ah, yes!"

  Pastel

  hesitated for a moment, remembering that the dye he always wore on his

  face and hands didn't cover his arms. He lifted his tunic, revealing a

  ruddy coat that disappeared in places, fading to a blistering red skin.

  The raven stretched its neck to observe, without commenting on the

  difference in shade between the fox's face and limbs.

  "It's

  a fungal infection. Unfortunately common in the jungle. It's caused by

  humidity. Your fur is not made for these climates. You need to brush it,

  bathe it and dry it carefully and often."

  "And you have a remedy?"

  "Of

  course I do. Syra has a remedy for everything. Have you seen the sacred

  moss? It's a very rare moss that we grow thanks to Syra and that cures

  many ills."

  The raven

  stood up. "But before you can receive the privilege of Syra's caress on

  your skin, you'll have to start by bathing and..." Paleato smirked "and

  remove that dye from your coat."

  Paleato

  moved towards a large stone tub dug into the floor of the room beyond.

  Against the wall another panther statuette was this time dry-mouthed,

  but when, with a gesture, the raven withdrew a piece of wood from a hole

  in the carving, water began to flow and fill the vat. "Take off your

  clothes."

  Pastel

  stood still for a second, then, blushing, removed his clothes one by

  one. When he reached the long tunic, he hesitated, then pulled it over

  his shoulders. He was completely naked, but Paleato's gaze hadn't

  changed. As he crouched to enter the vat, the raven stopped him, its

  hand on Pastel's shoulder. Feathers brushed his bicep.

  "You

  forgot something, didn't you?" Paleato looked Pastel in the eye, but

  Pastel knew he was talking about the stone. Though unobtrusive, the

  string that held the small pouch under his armpit was visible on

  Pastel's shoulder.

  "Don't

  worry, you're safe here. You can trust me. Your burden will stay close

  to you. No one here will take it away from you." Pastel slowly untied

  the string. The raven's words echoed in his mind, "burden." How did he

  know?

  As if he could

  read the thoughts on his face, Paleato added: "I can see the weight this

  object represents for you. Whatever that pouch contains, you seem to

  value it as much as a life." Pastel, half in the vat of lukewarm water,

  couldn't hold back an impressed look. "You're very transparent, you

  know?" said Paleato, smiling. "Your eyes are speaking." Pastel blushed

  and averted his gaze to the tank where he had settled. The water rose

  against his body and momentarily relieved the burning of his wounds. He

  sighed with relief.

  "Good,"

  said the raven, still close to him. Pastel felt uncomfortably helpless

  without the stone. He glanced at it, then at Paleato. His black eyes,

  darker than the black of his feathers, were turned towards him, their

  vertiginous depth like a cloudless sky.

  The latter suddenly asked. "It's magic, isn't it? I feel it too."