Vigor Mortis

As the penumbra of the next island hits, we find a clearing to rest and start a fire for the night. I help the Templars go around collecting kindling and before long the strongest thermomancer there is acts as a glorified match to get us all started. Meals are unpacked from the wagon and cooked, and it’s actually among the best food I’ve ever had, on par with the hunter’s guild mess hall. Not that the taste of food has ever been super important to me, but it surprises me all the same.

Even more of a surprise is seeing all the Templars take their helmets off to eat. I’d been half-expecting some horrible secret to be hidden under those ever-present helmets, but no. A bunch of friendly faces greet me, normal men and women with short-cropped haircuts happily talking and joking around the fire. They’ve all been so stiff and professional on the trip so far it’s hard to remember that there are people under there. Without the helmets, it’s like that barrier is shattered, and the way they joke and chat with each other reminds me quite a bit of my own team.

Seeing Templar Dasil’s face for the first time, I find it difficult not to notice how, uh... well, how handsome he is. Short blonde hair, a soft, clean-shaven chin, and a straight-toothed grin all strike me as the signs of someone who’s had cosmetic biomancy work… but damn, cosmetic biomancy work looks great. I catch myself staring a few times, to my increasing dismay. Come on, puberty. Don’t make me fall for a Templar. That would be a really embarrassing way to die.

“You can’t possibly be serious, Hannes!” one of the female Templars laughs uproariously.

“It’s true!” the other Templar responds. “There was so much mud on my armor, they wouldn’t let me into the inner city! They didn’t even believe me when I said I was a Templar!”

“Aaahaha! That’s what you get for tripping!”

“It was the middle of the night! How am I supposed to know there’s a patch of mud right in front of me? So anyway, I have to walk all the way back to the nearest spigot— but I’m already late for completing my route, so by the time I get back they’ve sent a dispatch after me!”

“Oh man, that’s great!” she laughs. “Your captain must have been so pissed! Did I tell you about how I busted an entire gleeshroom ring by accident?”

“What? No! Elaine, how have I not heard this one?”

“It happened the other day! I was on break and heading into this medicine shop, yeah? And the guy behind the counter just takes one look at me and bolts out the back! I’m confused as hell, so I walk into the next room and… gleeshrooms everywhere! I never would have found them if he just sold me the damn pain medication!”

The Templars howl with laughter, and I can’t help but smile a little. The people I’ve been so scared of are all so… normal. It almost worries me more than if they had all been hideous beasts.

At least High Templar Gladra is the exception to the ‘people who look normal under their helmets’ rule. Her face is normal enough, although her light wrinkles are nowhere near as pronounced as I’d expect from someone who claimed to be fighting in a war forty years ago. The top of her head, on the other hand, is a terrifyingly inhuman sight. Her entire scalp, around and behind her ears all the way to her neck, is a bald, engraved chrome: solid metal. Power dances along the magical inscriptions which seem to have replaced most of her skull. It’s an intimidating sight to behold, adding a literal weight of mana density to the figurative weight of her presence.

I spend a long while listening to the Templars laugh and joke, relaxing more and more. Some of them even talk with me, asking about our hunter team and our latest mission… I guess they don’t know it was also my only mission. I have to glare at someone who seems excited at the prospect of me being a hunter ‘even though you’re so young!’ but other than that, I actually have a great time.

Yet soon it’s dark, and for once I’m not the one called to keep watch. After such a long day, Penta and I are both exhausted. I gladly start to drift off to sleep, feeling most of the Templars do the same, one by one. Though to my annoyance, I’m jolted awake when Gladra starts to move. I peep an eye open, watching her approach Dasil and pull him aside. She starts weaving a spell and once it’s cast the both of them go perfectly silent, even though their lips start to move. Bah, silence bubble. No eavesdropping for me, I guess. I try to close my eyes, but Penta keeps them open.

“Penelope can lip read,” she murmurs.

So she can too. Well, all right! My slime buddy whispers the conversation under our breath as the two Templars speak to each other.

“So. What do you think the deal is with that girl?” High Templar Gladra asks him.

I swallow. Oh, shit, that’s not good.

“I don’t know, High Templar,” Dasil says. “I’m not sure she knows either.”

“Right, but a sensitivity to channeled magic implies...”

“Animancy involvement, yes. As the most dangerous of the many possibilities, I think that would be wise to watch out for.”

Gladra claws at her chrome head, groaning.

“Watcher damnit! I just wanted to go poison Remus, take his sword and maybe melt his stupid bloody island. I don’t want to have to kill a child and get stuck in mental decontamination for a week!”

“I don’t think that’s a good option anyway, High Templar. A child somehow being an animancer is the most dangerous possibility, but not the most likely. We have evidence of animancy involvement, but no reason to believe she is the source. At least, not so far as I’m able to tell. Have you seen her cast anything, High Templar?”

“No, but if you want to go really paranoid, we might not be able to tell because we’re compromised. Fuck, this is the Ars crisis all over again! You think she’s one of his that we missed?”

“A victim? Hmm… yes, it’s possible. She’s certainly showing symptoms of being tampered with. Have you noticed her talking to herself? Suddenly changing mood? She could be a splice.”

“So we either missed one of Ars’s or there’s another animancer running around in Skyhope. Fucking fantastic.”

“Well, perhaps she is just a dual-talented girl with scouting and deathtouch abilities, like she says.”

Gladra rolls her eyes.

“Like fucking hell she is.”

“Well I don’t want to run a child through over this suspicion either, High Templar, so I advise we merely keep an eye on her for now. If we actually catch any instances of a crime, we can reconsider our action from there. In the meantime, she’s a significant asset in our mission to eradicate the Nawra.”

“Hrm. True. A talent that lets her free her damn self? Actually… if she’s a splice that could be part of her fit earlier today. Another person in her head triggering instability? Poor little thing. Either way, she and that plague mage are our best shot at a rescue right now. If she turns out not to be an enemy of the Church and state, we need to recruit her before Vesuvius does. Fuck drinking those poison concoctions every day.”

“As long as she is neither the enemy of Church nor state, and also as long as she does not get herself killed by screaming and passing unconscious in the forest.”

Gladra snorts.

“Or that. How the hell did such an insane girl survive as a hunter? If we’re right she shouldn’t even be half this coherent. Well, what the fuck. If she manages, she manages. I don’t think she’s walked into a church in her lifetime, but when we hit the edge I’ll introduce her to the big guy personally. See if we can make someone faithful out of her.”

“I have certainly seen it work before. I’ll speak with her too, and Third Lady Vesuvius as well. She has known the girl longer than we. And… High Templar?”

“Yes, Dasil?”

“If you wish her to be positively disposed to us, perhaps you should consider tormenting her less?”

Gladra snorts and simply gets up to walk away. I close my eyes, pretending to sleep. So they suspect me of something, huh? At least it’s nothing they’re going to outright kill me over, but it’s certainly not going to help me sleep at night. Agh, this is too much! What the hell am I going to do now?

"Here's a crazy idea," Penta whispers. "Just go talk to him about it."

You're right. That is a crazy idea.

"Why?" Penta asks. "Is telling him you can read lips going to make him any more likely to kill you? Besides, I want to know what a splice is. People like being right; lean into someone else’s assumptions and they’ll happily believe you. It could be a good cover story!”

Why would we want a cover story that suggests Animancy tampering? That’ll prompt them to investigate! Besides, we wouldn’t need a cover story in the first place if you didn’t keep being so obvious when you’re in control!

“...Yes, well. Not being in control is more difficult than I had anticipated. I’m sure you know a thing or two about troublesome instincts, oh fellow monster.”

I sigh. She’s got me there, I guess.

All right. I'll think about it.

"I know. Good night, Vita."

G'night, Penta.

---------------------------------------

I sleep better than I expected to, and when day breaks it doesn't take long for us and the Templars to pack up the wagon and be back on the road. I grab my spear and poke around with it for a bit before finally working up the courage to go ask Dasil for tips.

The two of us practice for a while, and I drop my pace to put us a decent distance behind the wagon after some time. Nothing dangerously far, but far enough that I doubt anyone is listening to us. I take a deep breath and go for the plunge.

“...What’s a splice?”

Penta smacks me in the leg with the butt of my spear. I guess she didn't think that was diplomatic enough. He looks up, though unlike the night before he is once again fully helmeted. I can’t tell how he feels from his face... though if the stillness of his soul is any indication, I'd say surprised.

"How did you...?"

"I can lip read," I answer bluntly. "You and your boss had quite the conversation last night."

He sighs.

"I see... how much did you catch?"

“Pretty much all of it. Thanks for, uh, encouraging the High Templar to be nicer. And also to not kill me, I guess.”

I have to say, it’s hard to stay offended at how small and young I appear to be if it’s winning me even a little bit of sympathy from someone who has ‘the Annihilator’ appended to her name.

“Ah… it was my pleasure, Hunter Vita. What you’re asking for is classified knowledge, however. I’ll need to ask you not to eavesdrop on conversations clearly intended for private company in the future, if we’re to work together.”

Ah, damn. I guess we won’t get any info out of him. Oh well, no more poking the bear. Better go back to training!

“How about,” Penta says, cutting in and taking control, “you just give me a hint, hmm? I wouldn’t want you to leak your order’s secrets, but I find myself somewhat desperate for insight.”

He sighs.

“How about you describe your abilities and concerns to me, and I’ll see if there is anything I can do to help?”

Penta scowls, and I mentally stick my tongue out at her. For that, she can be the one doing the spear drills. I’m gonna tune out.

“Works for me,” she mutters, getting into the flow of the movements.

We don’t talk about the subject any more that day, but Templar Dasil and I spend a lot of time on spear training, even sparring a few times. He kicks my ass, but not in that rough way Remus always does. He stops before any of his blows land to point out where I made a mistake. I’ve actually been learning a lot, figuring things out about fighting that I just haven’t been aware of before. Gladra also seems to be taking Dasil's advice and mostly leaving me alone, which is greatly appreciated. By the end of the day, no one has even attempted to murder me! I count that as a win.

The next day goes pretty similarly. Dasil is a patient and kind teacher. A little too kind, sometimes. It can be grating how fragile he treats me, but I resist the urge to complain. Nearly all the Templars are calm and polite, and a few of them join Dasil and I for training a few times throughout the day. One is kind of a jerk, though. Templar Fredrik.

“So, how’d they let a runt like you into the Hunters, anyway?” he asks, walking over to where Dasil and I are practicing. “They must be desperate if they’re picking up preteens.”

“I just got lucky,” I say, holding back a scowl. “I’ve got a good scout talent and they happened to need a scout.”

“Oh yeah? Wow! Nothing like a scout that screams her head off on the job! I’m sure your team must love that.”

I stop trying to hold back a scowl and just scowl.

“Did you wanna fight, or what?”

He snorts.

“Kid, where did you grow up?”

“Homeless in an alleyway, why?”

“Yeah, you have that street rat vibe,” he sneers. “Which is why you shouldn’t be dumb enough to go picking fights with people that are stronger than you.”

Asshole. I stare hungrily at his soul as he walks off. It’s all purpley and it smells like meat stew. I wanna eat him.

Penta bites the inside of my cheek on purpose.

Ow! I was kidding!

“No, you weren’t,” she murmurs quietly.

...Oh.

Dasil clears his throat.

“Sorry about him, Vita. If there’s anything I can—”

“It’s fine,” I answer, cutting him off. “I’m gonna take a break, though. Sorry.”

“Of course.”

I stow my spear and walk back towards the wagon, trying not to pay attention to my soul’s writhing and squirming as the dull ache of confinement steadily gets worse. I’m just so easily pissed off lately! I don’t like it, not one bit. Thinking about eating a guy just because he was kinda rude? Even if it wasn’t horrible, which it is, that kind of attitude will get me killed! No matter how much it hurts, I’ve got to keep myself trapped inside. I’m starting to get a little worried about what I might be. ...Penta then proceeds to spend the next half an hour berating me for only just now starting to be concerned. Bah, what does she want from me? It’s not that weird to be hungry.

A growing girl’s gotta eat.