88. Memory's Voices (Patreon)

The stink from the hellmouth’s body worsened as the morning warmed, reminiscent of rotten kale with a healthy dose of putrified pig offal mixed in. Going anywhere near it caused me to gag, and the poor wolves with their keen sense of smell must’ve suffered even more.

Moving to the far side of the glen helped, but there was no escape when the wind shifted. The wolves’ fur shivering usually gave me a split second’s warning. I wasn’t always fast enough to hold my breath, but it was better than doing nothing.

By the time I fully healed Scout and Mouser (my names based on the wolves’ Talents), Ikfael finished the ritual for Moonlight. The wolf stood, and there was a presence in his posture that’d been missing before. His fur was a thick, rich silver-platinum with a white blaze on his chest. His eyes were alive.

There were two wolves left to heal, but Ikfael and I were both out of mana again. I closed my eyes to meditate, but Ikfael put a paw on my shoulder.

“I’ll finish healing the wolves. You haul the hellmouth’s body away.”

“It’s not good to let the wolves suffer longer than necessary,” I said.

Ikfael’s response was to point at the hellmouth’s body. Behind her, the wolves seemed to agree, even the injured ones.

“Tsk. All right. I said I’d do it, and I will. The poison’s gone for sure though, right?”

Ikfael confirmed it was safe, and I wrapped a wet cloth around my nose and mouth before approaching the body. Sweet Jesus, the smell was worse than the dragon dung; so bad, my eyes watered.

The body was too big to carry and shaped wrong for rolling. The only way to get rid of it was to chop it into smaller pieces, stack them onto a travois, and haul them away. Thankfully, I had a proper ax now. Depending on where the ax struck though, the hellmouth’s body thunked or squelched.

Gods, but it was going to be a long day.

###

I’d hauled away the base and was halfway through the giant sprout when I spotted the shine of silverlight within the decomposing body. I reached in to pull it free, but ribbons of plant fibers clung to the walnut-sized lump, almost as if they didn’t want to let it go.

I shaved the fibers away with a knife and pried the silverlight open to make sure there wasn’t any darklight hidden within. The two tended to clump together. There were a couple grains as big as peas, but otherwise the rest was pure silverlight. I waited for the darklight to dissipate before bringing it to Ikfael.

The wolves retreated at my approach, and Ikfael waved me off. “Wash! Wash first!”

But even after I bathed, the otter and wolves wrinkled their noses when I came closer. By that point though, I couldn’t smell anything, and I’d been working hard all day. They could suffer a little along with me.

“I have the hellmouth’s silverlight,” I said. “Let’s go into the cave to split it.”

The wolves were behaving, but I didn’t want to tempt trouble if I could help it. Ikfael must’ve agreed with me, because her expression turned serious. She nodded and followed after, moving to stay upwind of me.

Inside the cave, Ikfael used her knife to separate the silverlight into two equal portions. “Do you disagree?”

“No, no,” I said. “That’s fair. The wolves don’t get a share though?”

Ikfael shook her head. “Their aid was not part of our exchange, and their involvement in the fight was minimal. It would be rude of them to lay a claim.”

“Well then, bottoms up.” I grabbed my share.

“A moment.” Ikfael held a paw up to stop me. “You are strong enough now that you can make choices.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can grow stronger,” Ikfael said, “or you can feed the silverlight to your weapons and armor. Or give a larger portion to Ikfael. Or start feeding it to the blynx. There is no one path to perfection, and each step is made of many choices.”

My brow furrowed. “But my goal’s always been to get stronger. I was taught that Level 5 is an important milestone. The path to perfection truly starts there; when the body begins to transform at dawn or dusk. Are you recommending I do something different?”

“Not at all,” Ikfael said. “What I recommend is that you think and decide for yourself. To do otherwise is to walk another person’s path.”

“Ah, okay. I can see that.” I stared at the shiny granules in my hand as I considered the options.

Magic weapons were staple in fantasy stories and games, and I certainly wished for them. The new armor I’d commissioned was a step in that direction. My bow, Princess Lily, had already absorbed some silverlight, but that was an accident. I could make it intentional in the future though. A bow that kept up with the power curve would be nice.

Yuki was already dawn, and the blynx was still a variable. I didn’t think I was being selfish by not considering them for the silverlight.

Is that right? I asked Yuki.

Mostly, Yuki said, and amusement flickered through their qi. There’s selfishness underlying your thoughts, but we don’t believe your reasoning is wrong.

Oh. I frowned. If you want--

We will take our usual share, but no more, Yuki said. You are not the only who would like you to become dawn. We can reconsider the proportions once you catch up to us.

I nodded. That made sense.

There was supposed to be a qualitative change at Level 5. The body took its first steps then transforming into something superhuman. As tempting as a stronger bow or sharper spear were, they couldn’t compare to an evolution.

I smiled and thanked Ikfael and Yuki for their counsel. Then I reached for the silverlight.

483 silverlight gathered. 435 absorbed.

The energy whipped through me like the hellmouth’s vines. The world faded and became dark, filled only with death, a creeping decay. An endless hunger that grasped for the quick, so as to make it slow.

When I regained my senses, I shivered, and my blood ran cold. Across from me, Ikfael’s fur stood on end and her face scrunched up like she’d eaten something bitter. The silverlight in front of her was gonel.

“Unpleasant,” she signed.

“And yet the hellmouth served its purpose,” I said. “Like any other creature.”

Ikfael nodded. “True.”

Ah, there was a notification blinking on my phone.

Poison Arts 0 -> 1

Poison Arts 1 -> 3

What? Was that from the silverlight?

Under the new Skill, I found memories of old chemistry and biology classes, of the chishiaxpe, of Otwei’s meditations on poison’s uses, and yes--there, like a shadow behind them--was the feeling of a cold, slow death.

“Can... can a person learn a Skill from silverlight?”

Ikfael quirked her head. “Memories are memories. Experiences are experiences. They build connections to the World Spirit, no matter where they come from. A foundation is necessary, the groundwork done, but yes, it can happen.”

“And there are memories and experiences in silverlight?”

Ikfael’s expression became confused. “You’re not insensitive. Surely you’ve felt them. You must have.”

“I have,” I said, clarifying. “I just--” How had System-Eight described silverlight? “My understanding is that the cores are the remnants of a life’s processes, the crusty stuff left over when it was done.”

“Yes? And?”

“The hellmouth’s silverlight felt more potent than that.”

Understanding dawned on Ikfael’s face. “Ah, you worry that you are somehow consuming the hellmouth’s essence? Then let me put you at ease: you are. But your understanding is also correct, the silverlight is the “crusty stuff” left over. It is both: an echo of a memory, but because it is made of silverlight, also a memory. Silverlight is the stuff from which the god’s make life. How could it be otherwise?”

I took a deep breath and calmly accepted her teaching. I turned my attention inward to examine my other Skills for remnants of silverlight. What I found was a lingering quickness hidden within Qi Body Arts. A closer look identified the sharp eyes of Kaad Keelsson, the bandit I’d killed to rescue Billisha and Aluali.

I gulped, unnerved, but kept looking. Inside Aeromancy was the unideer’s icy touch and the giant eagle’s deft maneuvers. Within Survival, the bishkawi. And there were even the false ones hiding inside Camouflage.

None of these traces were obvious until I went looking for them. I just didn’t know to look for things that were not-me inside me.

Ikfael must’ve noticed the discomfort I was feeling. She said, “Skills are constructed from individual strands of memories, experiences, and practices. They are supported by a connection to the World Spirit, through which information passes in both directions. With mastery, though, the individual strands unify into a coherent whole, including the connection to the Spirit.”

My mind boggled. “Until then, as a person goes up in Levels and Skills, they must contain multitudes. Doesn’t it dilute their sense of self? How can they stand it?”

Ikfael lobbed a question back instead of answering. “Are you already whole? Aligned and perfect? If so, then let me bow to you who achieved this feat within so few years.”

She bowed to me, but it was with a great deal of irony.

“Stop that. I’m just disturbed is all.”

Amusement flickered across Ikfael’s face. “My point is that, even without silverlight, people are disjointed. As you say, they contain multitudes--the voices of their Families, peers, leaders, and ancestors. The stories told to them. The things they experience in life. All leave their marks. So too, then, do those who we’ve slain and eaten of their silverlight.”

“So perfection is weaving them together into what? A single voice? A song?”

“A song, a tapestry, a dance--there’ve been many ways to describe perfection.” Ikfael’s smiled turned gentle. “But not everything should be included. The remnants of these voices within us must be purified, the silver taken and the dark left behind.”

“And how do I do that?” I asked.

“By living and choosing well. By making mistakes and learning from them. By practicing Skills and following your path until you can see into the heart of the world and recognize yourself in it.”

“Just that? No big deal,” I said, taking a turn at being ironic.

Ikfael smiled. “If that is a task too great, you can also make donuts and provide the glen with fish, deer, and other delectable treats.”

“Well, I imagine it’s possible to attempt to do both.”

Her smile spread. “Yes, yes, it should be.”

###

The wolves departed peacefully once they were all healed. The residue left by the hellmouth’s body--the bits too liquid to haul away on a travois--were washed clear by Ikfael with a wave of water from the pool.

It was late afternoon, and I was starving. I ate a little after the silverlight break, but my mind was whirling from Ikfael’s talk. I barely noticed what went in my mouth.

After a long bath and a deep scrub, I checked the refrigerator. Inside were just a couple of lonely squirrels. The last of the eagle meat had gone to Bihei and the kids, and Ikfael liked to raid the refrigerator during my visits to the village. Or any other time really. I mentally adjusted my schedule, so that I could devote the next day to hunting and fishing.

Fortunately, the squirrels were skinned and dressed, ready for the fire. I threw on some salt and speared them with wooden stakes for a simple barbecue.

How many squirrels did I eat in my previous life? There were summers as a kid when all I did was read books and hunt squirrels. I skinned them--the squirrels, not the books--and sold the pelts at the local flea market. The meat, I ground up for burgers. Ah, maybe I could use a mortar and pestle to break the meat down and make burgers in the glen. That sounded delicious.

To answer your question, it was 173 squirrels, Yuki said.

“That many?”

Over the course of five years. The high point was when you were 13 years old. You shot 52 squirrels that year.

“And why--”

We found the memory where Helen laughed the hardest, and it was when you told the story about Peter Wilson. Since it involved squirrels, we became curious.

I started to chuckle. “Oh poor Peter.”

###

In 1967, Nancy Soder was the reigning most popular girl at Sherwood Middle School. Her position was firmly entrenched thanks to the relentless march of biology--she’d developed well and early and drew followers like bees to flowers.

Me? I stayed away. My family had lived in the US for six years by then, and that was enough to teach me that I never stood a chance. Until she forgot her lunch one day and didn’t have pocket money for the cafeteria.

I didn’t know why she picked me. My guess was that I was closest, and maybe the burger I’d brought from home looked good. It was squirrel meat, because, while my father had finally found work, things were still tight at home. I didn’t dare tell Nancy though. I just stared in awe as she happily ate, not considering at all the other kids watching.

I managed to avoid the beating waiting for me after school. (Too slow, suckers!) But I couldn’t avoid the harassment during school. I avoided the bathrooms, of course, but the stairwell was murder. I got through the rest of the week though, and hoped things would soon settle down and the other kids forget me, like they usually did.

Except that Nancy must’ve talked to her boyfriend Peter about how delicious the burger was, because he sat down next me one day and demanded I hand my lunch over to him. What could I do? He had his gang with him, and they screened us from the teacher on lunch duty. Even if the teacher saw, I doubted she’d do anything. He was Peter of the Baseball Team, and I was this little Mexican kid.

I was mad. Of course, I was. And I got madder every day as he continued to confiscate my lunch. It wasn’t always burgers, but it didn’t matter to Peter. My lunch was his lunch. It got so bad, I complained to my home room teacher, but all she said was, “Things are tough at home for Peter. He’s probably not getting enough to eat. Let it go, dear. Think of it as helping the team.”

Well, that ticked me off, and I wanted to get back at Peter. I’d promised my grandmother though that I wouldn’t use the curses she’d taught unless the matter was serious, and...well… even as a kid, I knew that burgers weren’t serious. So I kept my promise, even if I thought she was a kook at the time. She was a scary kook, you know?

Then I had an idea for a special burger just for Peter.

Over the next weekend, I spent every moment hunting squirrels. Not all of them were boys, but there were enough to be able to insert a special treat in the burgers I made. Peter was so pleased too. The burgers were delicious after all, and it was a treat to have one every day. He just didn’t know that he was eating a squirrel penis with each one.

I certainly wasn’t going to tell him either. That was my treat.

Peter began to ask specifically for squirrel burgers after that. Apparently, he’d played really well whenever he ate one, and he came to see it as a good luck charm.

Now, I couldn’t keep up with the demand --I didn’t have the time, and the local squirrel population couldn’t handle it--but it happened enough that I earned some fame that year. And oddly enough, some protection. Peter told the other boys to lay off his squirrel penis supplier. Well, to him, they were just burgers.

After baseball season, Peter moved away and Nancy was… well, not heartbroken, but she did pout for a week. I learned later that Peter really did have a hard time at home, and I felt bad for him. But never for feeding him squirrel penises.

###

Is squirrel penis delicious? Yuki asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried one.”

We should. As an experiment.

“Some things are not meant to be tampered with,” I said, my voice flat.

Yuki pouted. At first, it felt like Nancy Soder, but then it shifted to Helen’s pout, Alex’s, and Daniel’s in order. I never pouted, so he didn’t have an example from me…. And no, I was wrong. His last one felt like me.

“You okay there?”

Yes, yes. Just playing with language.

The squirrels smelled like they were done cooking. I pulled their stakes up and called Ikfael over for dinner. I put aside my middle school drama, my thoughts about silverlight, and everything else to focus on enjoying my meal.

Ah, the taste of squirrel--it sure was nostalgic.

###

The next morning saw the kittens gamboling in the glen. Breakfast for them consisted of milk and a hare their mother caught overnight. I slept so soundly, I didn’t hear her leave or return.

Ikfael floated in the pool on her back, sometimes disappearing in the spray from the waterfall. Her breakfast had to wait till I caught it.

I grabbed my fishing spear and headed out. There was a beaver dam not too far downstream. So what have you found? I asked while on my way.

The blynx is a patient hunter, and her night vision is exceptional, both of which are to be expected. Her Camouflage uses a blend of body power and qi, different from the Hunter’s Lodge’s version, but we believe we can learn from it.

“You’re teasing me,” I said. “The Blink spell--”

Is out of reach. At least for now. The qi and mana components of the spell aren’t a problem--we’ve filled out the last of the patterns after observing her hunt. The body power portion eludes us though, and requires time to understand how her biology and instinct operate together to Blink her through space. Yuki paused to mull over the problem. The task for us is to find a way to be invasive of her biology without being too invasive and compromising the integrity of her body.

“Would it help to have an ordinary lynx for comparison?”

Yes. Yes, it would.

“All right, then we’ll add that to my To Do list.”

And we shall look for ways to emulate the effects of Body Power with qi. We’d prefer that over attempting to change your biology. Neither of us understand the consequences enough to make it wise or safe.

“I can agree with that. The other thing we have to talk about is--”

The lightning qi. There was the scent of it when we shot our last arrow at the hellmouth.

“Any idea of how that happened? We’ve tried so many times, maybe one of the early attempts was slow to bear fruit?”

Maybe. Possibly. We don’t think so. Or perhaps we didn’t go far enough… Yuki trailed off, their qi turning on itself in thought.

Far enough, eh? Likely they meant in altering our consciousness. Releasing the last arrow against the hellmouth had been a transcendental moment; not the first time I’d had one, but the most intense. The world felt like it stopped, and it was just me and my prey. We were the world, and the arrow arced between us, like from the sky to the ground.

There! That thought--it smelled like the leading edge of an epiphany--but I didn’t give chase. That’d be the fastest way to drive it back underground. Instead, I rolled up my pant legs and waded into the pond created by the beaver dam.

I lightly held my spear and watched for the fish to settle down; to get used to the feet who suddenly joined them in the water. Slowly, they returned to the shallows where I waited. They swam unaware that death loomed over them.

With a flash, I speared a beautiful trout, its blood spilling into the water. One moment life, and then death. One moment, the spear was in the air, the next in the water. Instant, but not--no matter how fast the spearhead traveled, there was a path, an attraction. A movement from what was to what will be, with the briefest flicker of the present in between. A movement from state to state.

Inside my heart, there was the briefest flicker of a spark. It didn’t hold, but no matter. I caught my prey’s scent. Now, all I had to do was follow its trail.