Inxazelo

Ce chapitre est le premier de l’histoire « The Badger’s Revolution ».

Inxazelo s’aplatit sur le sol. Il craignit soudain d’être repéré. Il opéra un demi-tour pour se retrouver sur le dos. Au moins si quelqu’un se pointait il le verrait et pourrait tenter de se défendre.

Il attendit quelques minutes, mais personne ne vint. Alors il se redressa, sa dague à la main. On ne l’avait pas entendu. Ni attendu. Sa cible avait continué à marcher dans le champ de blé et de fleurs.

– Mince il va falloir que j’accélère, il m’a distancé, se murmura-t-il à voix basse.

Ix commença à se faufiler dans le champ. Il faisait ça depuis longtemps il avait de la bouteille. Les gerbes de blé et les pousses de fleurs n’étaient que des fils verticaux ondulants, entre lesquels il fallait danser sans mouvement brusque.

Son père lui avait appris cet art, tout comme celui du maniement de la dague. Son père l’avait appris de son père avant lui. Et ainsi de suite. Une tradition familiale en somme. Il n’avait jamais vraiment compris, mais cela semblait important pour sa mère, son père… tout le monde en fait.

Alors Ix se répéta le mantra de sa famille, celui des Badger de la purple road, comme un automatisme : « L’héritage du samouraï est vivant dans mon esprit ».

Il couvrit rapidement l’écart qui le séparait de sa cible. Heureusement. Parce qu’elle se rapprochait dangereusement de la frontière avec Trivalquem. Et les missions extraterritoriales étaient toujours plus dures et plus risquées. Et donc normalement mieux payé. Mais pas là.
Il grimpa dans un arbre, et accéléra en passant de l’un à l’autre. Bientôt, il put entendre la respiration de sa cible. Une tortue marchant sous l’égide de Trivalquem. D’où son retour au pays. Mais pourquoi la mission avait été vendue comme une mission du pays de Zébulyt ? Quelque chose clochait. Bref sûrement un problème de paperasse administrative. C’était comme ça, un monde technologiquement avancé, mais la transmission d’informations se faisait toujours par papier. Il s’arrêta sur une branche, haute, devant sa cible. Il sortit sa dague. La cible était sous lui.

Il se laissa tomber avec agilité.

Il fut percuté en plein vol.

This chapter is the first in the « The Bager’s Revolution » story.

Inxazelo flattened himself on the ground. He was suddenly afraid of being spotted. He turned around and found himself on his back. At least if someone showed up, he’d be able to see them and try to defend himself.

He waited a few minutes, but no one came. So he straightened up, dagger in hand. No one had heard him. Nor waited. His target had continued walking through the field of wheat and flowers.

– Damn, I’m going to have to pick up the pace, he’s lost me, he muttered to himself in a low voice.

Ix began to thread his way through the field. He’d been doing this for a long time, he was a veteran. The sheaves of wheat and the flowering shoots were nothing but undulating vertical threads, between which he had to dance without sudden movement.

His father had taught him this art, as well as that of handling a dagger. His father had learned it from his father before him. And so on. A family tradition, in short. He’d never really understood it, but it seemed important to his mother, his father… everyone, in fact.

So Ix repeated to himself his family’s mantra, that of the Badgers of the purple road, like an automatism: « Samurai’s legacy is living is my spirit ».

He quickly covered the gap between himself and his target. Fortunately so. Because it was getting dangerously close to the Trivalquem border. And extraterritorial missions were always harder and riskier. And therefore usually better paid. But not here.

He climbed a tree, accelerating from one to the other. Soon, he could hear his target breathing. A turtle walking under the aegis of Trivalquem. Hence his homecoming. But why had the mission been sold as a mission from the land of Zebulyt? Something was wrong. In short, it must have been a problem with administrative paperwork. It was like that, a technologically advanced world, but the transmission of information was still done by paper. He stopped on a high branch in front of his target. He drew his dagger. The target was beneath him.

He let himself fall nimbly.

He was struck in mid-air.