Day 317

Day 317

My legs ache.

I haven't walked much today, and that's why.  The muscles are stiff and sore for lack of the usual activity.  I wonder if that's usual.

I lean forward and stare at the random spots on the stone beneath me.  I look back up to see that there still isn't a train on the tracks.

I spare the slightest glance to my right and the werebat loudly eating fruit.  It seems to notice, and extends a wing, offering me an untouched apple.
“No thanks.”
It shrugs.

She.

I've spent so long training, studying to act and think in one specific way.  I've been through long-tested practices designed to change my patterns of thought.  I wonder if I could even say how I would have seen the world without them.

No, I can at least say that I wouldn't have trusted monsters.  Not after what happened to me.  I glance at the one next to me again, and remember my trigger word.  Abandoned.
For the briefest flicker of a moment, its appearance shifts, but I can't tell into what.  The image doesn't last long enough.
I suppose that ability is lost to me.

I don't think I regret it.
I don't think I feel like I've lost anything.
I'm not actually sure what I feel.

Maybe I'm just not the sort for that.  Maybe I just do what I need to do, and that's enough.  Introspection can come after duty.

The sound of a horn in the distance tells me that I can finally stop trying to figure myself out.

---

“Ember.”
“Victor!  It's been too long.”
“Has it?”  For a moment I try to think back to what might as well have been a different life.
“Four months, Victor,” she says with all the weight that it might as well have been a thousand years.  “Yeah, it's been too long.  When are you gonna be done here?”
And we're off to the races.  “When the hells freeze over twice, give or take.”
“So you're just going to simmer in this place until you or the monsters drive the other insane?”
“Was that ever not the plan?”
“That'll be a,” she pauses for a moment, “mad dash.”

“And with that, I'm off.”  She laughs at her own joke, or me, as I turn and we both head into town.
“So where are we headed?”
“Well, I have one thing that I need to check in on before rounds.”
“We're going on your rounds,” she says, emphasizing your heavily.
“You don't have to come with me.”

“You never change, do you, Victor?”
“I do.  Rarely.”

---

“Madam.”

The figure starts and lets out a dull squeak of alarm, before slowly turning to face me.  I don't think it can do anything quickly, though.  With faded eyes it looks at my breastplate, and then slowly scans upward to find my face in increasing alarm.  “Um, I was just,” it begins, slowly slurring the words.
“I don't appreciate being lied to quickly, let alone being made to wait to hear the lie.”
“I'm sorry.”
“I don't-”

I wasn't expecting the apology.  I wasn't expecting it to bow – its body audibly creaking as it does – letting its pale hair droop forward.

“Madam, do you know where you are?”
It looks back up to me, and I swear for a moment I thought it would start drooling from its open mouth.  “The morgue.”
“Correct.  And you were planning on removing the needles from these bodies.”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone put you up to this?”
It slowly shakes its head.  A strange, unsettling scent wafts from it as it does – not unlike the scent of the morgue beyond it.

“Tell me why, then.”
It stares at me for a long moment, before its eyes begin a slow journey downward.  “I was lonely.”

I'd suspected as much.  Without the dozens of long needles inserted throughout these bodies, it would be possible to raise them as undead.  With them, any attempt is doomed to be short and horrific.  It was the only way we could continue to bury our dead near our homes without demonic energy turning our mourning to something twisted and unnatural.

I stare down at it.  “That would have been terribly illegal.  You will be exiled if you ever attempt such, am I clear?”
Again, it begins the glacial process of looking back up to me.  “You're letting me go?”
“You haven't committed any crimes.  I will be aware if you ever plan on this again, howe-”

I'm stopped by it raising its arms and advancing on me.  I hold out a hand and grip its shoulder, halting its movements.
“Thank you,” it moans.
It had been trying to hug me.

“Don't thank me.  I'm only doing my job.”  With that I let go as I walk away, dodging the unwanted contact.

I walk up the stairs, past Ember as she starts walking to join me.
“Is that how you usually handle that?”
“I don't know.  I've never had a monster try this before.”
“How'd you know it was planning it?”

I briefly consider telling her about the words.

“I overheard some of them talking.”

The questions continue well back onto the street.

---

“Well, I won't say it was fun, exactly.”
“Yeah.”
“But it was nice!  You don't get to hang out with your friends on the job everyday.”
“Yeah.”
“You should come to the main branch sometime and watch me fail at clockwork.”
“I would, but all of my downtime goes into word training.”
She stares at me, then.  Even as the train readies itself to depart.  “That's so like you.  Working away at something like that.”

I've seen that look before.  I've seen it a thousand times since I came to this place.

“You know, there's something I've been thinking for a while now-”
“Ember.  It wouldn't work out between us.”
There's surprise, certainly.  Her eyes widen, if only for a moment before her expression turns to hurt.  “Why not?”
“Because you've always wanted to be an artificer.  It's been your dream since you were what, eight?”  She continues to stare, pained and uncomprehending. “You couldn't be one if you were with me.”
“Why?”

“I'm an incubus.”

It takes her a little while to really process the words.  Affection dulls us all, even someone as sharp as her.  I wait, like a man waiting for orders.  She shakes her head, as though to denying something.  “I didn't know.”
“I didn't speak of it.  You understand why.”
“I do.”  Her voice is soft, defeated.

“I, um,” she begins, looking at the train.  “I need to think about this.”
“You don't, Ember.”  She looks back at me, confused.  “Just go.  I've been glad to have you as a friend.”

“Give professor Moore my regards,” I offer before turning back to town.

---

The young men amass at the gates, finishing their preparations.  Mothers and fathers, sisters and wives all bid farewell to them before they load up their things into the trucks.  From here they'll head north, then west.  From here, they set out to kill men.

It feels unnatural and wrong.

They climb up into the handful of vehicles, armored to defend against the monsters within our borders, not the men without.

I wonder how many of them will ever return.