Vigor Mortis

Chapter 70: Feelings

“What is a festival?” I ask the August.

I’ve been living with the old man (it turns out that’s why he’s wrinkly, that means a human is old) for a few days now. I’ve been very careful about it, and I haven’t bitten him even once.

After all, he’s kept every promise that he’s made. …So far.

He doesn’t try to touch me or see under my disguise. He doesn’t order me around. He talks to me and teaches me things when I want to know, and he leaves me alone when I want him to. At the same time, however… he doesn’t obey me. He only does what I tell him to if he feels like it, and often reprimands me for making demands at all. I can’t force him to obey without revealing myself, either. It’s a frustrating stalemate.

I still find myself coming back to this home with him, however. I even feel comfortable enough to risk letting on that I don’t know things that humans should know. Hence, my question about festivals.

“Have you never been to a festival before, Lark?” the August asks.

“I have never heard of a festival,” I grumble. “That’s why I’m asking you what it is. You said this was a festival mask, right? The mask is the bit that covers my face. What is the festival part?”

The August chuckles, shaking his head a little. Then he stops suddenly, frowning to himself and appearing to think.

“A festival is when a lot of people get together to celebrate something,” the August answers slowly. “It’s a happy event where lots of people have fun together. We live here in New Talsi, but we still celebrate the upcoming festival about the founding of Skyhope, our capital. The sky itself bestowed on our island a great blessing of metal and glass, which made the crater that Skyhope was built in. We give the Mistwatcher our thanks with this celebration.”

I frown, understanding most of the words but trying to figure out how they fit with the ones I don’t.

“I don’t understand what that has to do with my mask.”

“It is tradition for people to wear those masks to the festival.”

I sigh.

“What’s ‘tradition?’”

This goes on for quite some time, and I learn many more new words. Many of the words are stupid or nonsensical, but I learn them anyway. Currently, the August and I are at the place the August sleeps. I like to watch him sleep. I don’t go onto his bed or get anywhere near him, but it is easy to open the door to his room and watch him in the night. At first, I was concerned that the August would go back on his word. I was afraid that he would try to do something against me while I was away. I don’t know why I care. Ultimately, he is food. No matter what he does, he will end up in my belly. I do not have the Claretta anymore. When I start to bite someone, they will inevitably die. I suppose that is why I stay my teeth. The August is useful. Maybe even trustworthy. Maybe he won’t betray me like the Claretta did.

I feel a spike of irritation for even thinking about this. He’s food. I keep having to remind myself of that. The August and I walk towards town together, as we have every morning since I first decided to stay with him. Sometimes he asks me to help him sell things, and when I do he gives me weird stuff afterwards. He calls them ‘toys,’ which apparently means that I am supposed to ‘play’ with them. All of them are made out of wood and some have interesting aspects like moving parts or funny names. One of them, the ‘pinwheel,’ spins when the wind hits it.

I like to say its name. Pinwheel. Pinwheel. Pinwheeeeeel. The August says that it will also spin if I run fast enough, but I am afraid to run anywhere humans can see me. They might catch on if they see my true speed.

I do not want any of my prey catching on before I decide how best to hunt them.

I haven’t eaten for days. The hunger inside me roils, clambering and screaming for a fractional, temporary relief. It is infuriating. I know that humans and almost every other potential meal eventually start to suffer and die if they do not eat. I have no idea if or when this will happen to me. I do know that the longer I go without eating, the more ravenous my urges become. I don’t want to eat lesser meals, however. Maybe if I have to, or there is some other creature that catches my eye. I have been tempted in the past to catch and eat large numbers of birds, so that one day I can fly.

After learning the origin of my name, however, I don’t really like thinking about birds. Humans it is.

The August sets up his shop as he does every day. I stick around for a short while asking more questions and learning more words. Soon, though, I depart, not interested in trading my time away for more strange wooden trinkets. Today I have worked up enough courage to believe that I will not be found out should I enter the city proper. Well, enough courage and enough hunger, anyway. I do not think I can spend many more days starving alone with the August.

The city is so much duller in color than the forest. The August says that this part of the island has so much salt in its soil that plants (trees and flowers and grass, which are somehow the same category of thing) cannot grow here. This makes it very difficult for the humans to get food, as they apparently eat plants somehow. The humans here trade the salt they pull out of the ground for plants that other humans pull out of the ground so that the humans here can eat and the humans and other places can… I don’t know, have salt for some reason. The August bought some salty meat and said it tasted better that way, but to me it just smelled the same as every dead thing.

It still startles me how many humans are here. I used to think all humans looked exactly the same, except for the strange detachable skin they wear. I’m starting to learn that they change the skin almost every day, and I have to figure out which human is which by using differences in their faces. It is not going well at all. The August is very wrinkly, so that helps a lot, but it turns out there are lots of humans that are wrinkly. I have accidentally talked to the wrong human more than once, though thankfully they never chase me when I run away afterwards.

Hmm… I am letting my mind wander again. I should really stop thinking about humans and start thinking about how to eat humans. They really are very interesting, though. As my feet patter slowly into the nest of stone buildings, the sheer variety of these delicious creatures stuns me anew. How am I supposed to figure out a hunting strategy when every single human appears to be doing something completely different? I guess… I’ll hunt the humans one at a time?

It seems obvious now that I’m thinking about it. It’s not as though I’m going to catch a bunch of them at once. I am more than a little frustrated how slow it will go and how long I will probably have to wait between meals. But how am I supposed to pick one human out of hundreds? Or is it thousands? The August told me more words for numbers, but I haven’t actually counted the humans here. It is not as though I’ll be able to figure out which ones I’ve already counted anyway.

“What’s that in your hand?”

A small voice interrupts my thoughts and I turn to meet face-to-face with one of the humans that are my size. I glance down at the wooden figure I’ve been fiddling with. As much as I love my pinwheel, The August gave me something new recently. I haven’t let go of it since.

“It’s a toy,” I answer.

“It’s neat! Where did you get it?”

The small human grins broadly, showcasing a missing front tooth. I feel a moment of discomfort, imagining how awful it would be if I’d lost a tooth too. I shudder a little, letting the feeling pass. I haven’t lost any teeth, so who cares? Besides, human teeth are so wimpy and blunt that they can’t be worth much of anything to the poor creatures anyway.

…Oh no. Eating humans isn’t going to blunt my teeth, is it? No. No, surely not. None of my other kin that I’ve run into have ever had their teeth changed, no matter how much they ate other creatures, and my other kin seem to eat much more indiscriminately than I do.

“August made it for me.”

“Who is that? It’s cool! It looks like a bird!”

My fingers clench, and I almost crush the object right then and there. Almost.

“It’s a lark,” I answer, my voice carefully even. “August is a nice h— um, man. No, wait, that still sounds like…”

I swallow nothing but words, shutting up. Shutting up is really my only reliable skill when it comes to pretending to be human. Thankfully the small human laughs, which… I don’t know what that means exactly, but it has never preceded something bad happening to me. So far.

“Can you introduce me? Do you think he would make me something too? What’s your name? I’m Sharif! Does your toy move?”

“Um.”

That was a lot of questions! I’m supposed to be the one asking questions! It would probably be weird not to answer, though.

“Yes, I can. I think he would make something if you paid or worked for him. My name is Lark. It does when I move it.”

Reluctantly, I demonstrate. Lifting up the wooden bird, I wiggle a lever on its back, somehow causing it to flap its wings up and down. The next time the August makes something like this, I am absolutely going to watch. Despite my distaste for its form, I’m very curious to how it moves. Are there strings inside? I could make a trap that moves something to the left when you pull a string down, so I can sort of imagine how it would work, but I don’t remember the August ever working with threads.

This Sharif human makes a bunch of strange noises, opening his eyes wide and putting his face up close to the bird.

“Can I play with it?”

“No,” I say immediately. “It’s mine.”

The human’s expression drops into one I’m much more familiar with. It’s not exactly the same as the expression on Claretta, but she had always had her mouth twisted downwards like that.

“Come on! Didn’t your mom ever teach you to share?”

“I don’t have a mom.”

The small human blinks, opening its mouth and then closing it again without any sound coming out. It looks away from me.

“Sorry,” the Sharif mutters quietly. “U-um, you have a very cool mask.”

“Yes.” I am glad the small human recognizes my superior choice.

“So, um… why are you wearing it?”

I tilt my head slightly.

“Because I am hiding my face,” I answer.

“Why are you hiding?” The small human gasps. “Are you wanted? Like an outlaw?”

I freeze, my heart almost skipping a beat. Something about that question puts an ache in my chest. I have no idea what an ‘outlaw’ is, but…

Are you wanted?

“I… I don’t think so,” I stammer. Not by the one person I want back, anyway.

“Well, okay! We should play together! You can keep your mask on and be an owl! Do you want to be friends?”

Do I want to be friends? I don’t even know what that is. I have heard the word only once before.

“You made me choose between torturing my friend and watching her die.”

My whole body shudders at the memory. I get an urge to scream myself raw just like I had that night, but I clamp down on it.

“I am going to take you to August now,” I say, not sure how else to answer. I don’t trust myself to have a human-like response. Thankfully the Sharif seems satisfied with that, practically bouncing along behind me as I turn and exit the stone-built section of the human colony. Maybe the August can help me figure out what I’m supposed to do in situations like this. I should probably be scoping out a human that I want to hunt instead, but… well, I soon find myself back at the August’s stall anyway, the Sharif trailing closely behind. Whatever. The Sharif is too small and doesn’t smell like a good target at all.

“This is August,” I say pointing up at the wrinkly old man. “He is very good at answering questions.”

The August is messing with… well, I guess the word is probably either ‘whittling’ or ‘carving’ a piece of wood, but there is apparently a difference and I have no idea what the difference is. He looks up at my words, peering down from behind his shop stall. The sides of his mouth turn upwards as he looks over myself and to the Sharif.

“Well, I have to be,” the August says. “You certainly give me a lot of practice, Lark. Who’s this?”

“This is named Sharif,” I answer, pointing at the Sharif. That question is easy. I can answer that one.

“Oh, wow!” the Sharif exclaims. “Toys and festival stuff! This is super cool!”

“The August will give you things if you put on a mask and start yelling.” I pause for a moment before amending that. “Well, you have to yell at the things he tells you to yell, specifically.”

The August laughs and shakes his head.

“I don’t need any advertising right now,” the August says. “I appreciate it, Lark, but why don’t you two go play? You should spend time with other people your age.”

My age? Oh, maybe the human is small because it has not lived for very long and so it hasn’t eaten enough yet. That kind of makes sense, although plenty of my siblings my age are much, much bigger than I am. Does age really matter?

“How old are you?” I demand, pointing at the Sharif.

“Six years old!” The Sharif exclaims with what might be a hint of pride. I recognize pride, I think. I was proud of a lot of things I had. I don’t have any of them anymore.

“What’s a year?” I ask.

“Um, ten months?” the Sharif answers hesitantly, after a brief period of thought.

“What’s a month?”

“Thirty days!” It proclaims much more confidently.

I do some quick math in my head.

“Why are you so small?” I ask, scowling behind my mask. “You’re way older than me, but we’re the same size!”

The Sharif seems surprised, its confidence instantly shattered. I snort. Maybe humans are just really bad at eating.

“I-I’m not small!” it insists incorrectly.

“Yes,” I correct. “You are.”

“Now Lark, it’s not nice to make fun of people for their height.” The August insists, butting into our conversation. “Sharif is a perfectly normal size for someone his age.”

I wrinkle my nose, not that anyone can see it. It’s hard to believe that this tiny human has been alive for over ten times as long as I have! I suppose I should just accept it, however. Maybe this is common knowledge among humans.

“Okay,” I answer simply.

“Now, apologize to Sharif.”

I look up at the old man. Is this human trying to order me around? I guess… I don’t actually know the answer to that question.

“What’s an apologize?” I grumble, narrowing my eyes.

“It’s where you say sorry to someone you hurt, and promise to try not to hurt them that way again.”

What is this stupid human talking about?

“I haven’t touched Sharif,” I point out. “He isn’t hurt.”

“He’s not hurt physically, Lark. You hurt his feelings. Look at him.”

I look at ‘him,’ which I assume means the Sharif. Some humans are ‘him’ which means they are a ‘man’ and some are ‘her’ which means they are a ‘woman’ and I have no idea what decides that. Anyway, his face seems a bit weird, but he looks fine otherwise. He’s not even crying. There must be something I’m missing.

“What’s feelings?” I ask.

The pause from the August that comes afterwards almost makes me fear I’ve said something horribly wrong. However, the August simply stands up, exiting his stall and putting up a small sign. He waves to a human behind the stall next to his, asking if the other human can “watch over” his things. After an affirmation from the second human, he kneels down next to the Sharif and I and looks us over.

“Sharif,” the August starts, “is your mother or father around?”

“No,” Sharif answers. “I’m with Nana today. But I ditched her in town.”

“How about the three of us go find her?” The August offers. “I’ll show Lark how to apologize to you, and then you two can play.”

We walk together for a while, back into the collection of stone structures where most of the humans reside. The August is quiet at the start, as he often is before starting an explanation that will end up taking a long time. I want to tell him to hurry up, but that never really helps so there’s no point in trying. When he finally speaks, his words are slow and even, a carefulness to them that exceeds even his usual clarity.

“Feelings, which are also called emotions, are something that all people experience, all the time,” he starts. “They are that hard-to-specify state of your mind that occurs as a reaction to your situation and the people around you. Words like ‘happy’ or ‘sad,’ ‘angry’ or ‘jealous,’ ‘love’ or ‘hate…’ those are feelings.”

I frown, and this time I’m the one taking a long time to respond. My mind churns through meanings, associations, and guesses. I don’t need to know every word to start understanding.

“Like the bubbly, shaky thing that makes water come out of eyes,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road and trying my best not to think about the only time I cried. “Or when I want to hurt something that hurt me, even when I know I won’t survive it.”

There’s a pause. The August is probably giving me a look, but I can’t understand his expressions so I don’t bother taking my eyes off the road.

“…You’re describing sadness,” the August explains. “And anger. Those emotions have their time and place. They can be helpful to feel. They can teach you, show others you need help, or push you to act when you might otherwise be frightened. But they are not good emotions, generally. Jealousy isn’t good either, nor hate. Jealousy is when you feel bad because someone else has things that are good, things you want. Hate is… darker still. When the simple thought of someone makes you angry, when you want every success another person has to turn to failure, when you wish nothing but suffering on another. That is hate. No one but the very worst of us deserves to be hated, but plenty of weaker people hate for poor reasons, or no reason at all.”

People are going to come for you, and they are going to kill you, and there is nothing in the entire world I want more than that. Claretta wants me to suffer and die. She hates me, then. Does that mean she is weak, or does it mean I’m… I’m…

“I don’t think I like feelings,” I choke out.

“Oh, ah, sorry Lark,” the August says quickly. “There are bad feelings, yes, but there are positive feelings too. Happiness is the most fundamental of them all, the state where you just feel good. Happiness comes from things like… a warm bath, a hard-won victory, or the presence of a good friend. It’s a beautiful feeling, something that all people ultimately strive for. Everyone wants to be happy. If you take someone’s happiness away, that is a kind of pain. You don’t want to be sad any more than you want to fall and skin your knee, do you Lark?”

Under my cloak, I claw at my chest with a hidden hand.

“…No,” I confirm. “I do not.”

“Then you should apologize to Sharif for making him sad.”

I turn to the small human. I don’t really want to apologize to him, because promising not to point out how small he is seems like a hassle. It’s just true, it’s not something to feel bad about. I apologize anyway, because the August tells me to and because the Sharif felt bad no matter what I thought he should have felt. That’s how humans work, I guess, so that is what I will do.

“I’m sorry, Sharif,” I mumble. “I won’t call you small again.”

The definitely-not-small-even-though-he-is human nods, apparently already back to his former energy.

“It’s okay, Lark! I forgive you!”

I nod, deciding to assume that concludes this odd human ritual. I just have one more question.

“How do I be happy?” I ask the August.

He chuckles, showing his teeth at me. I’m fairly sure it’s not a threat when humans do that. I find myself making the same expression under other circumstances, so I’m going to assume it’s one of those.

“That is a question many people spend their whole lives trying to answer, Lark,” the August tells me. “But I’m very old and I’ve had a long time to think about it, so I’ll do my best to give you a head start. The most wonderful and beautiful part of being human, if we can harness it, is the fact that we can be happy by bringing happiness to others.”

He kneels down, staring intently at both myself and the Sharif.

“The more you spread happiness, the happier you will be. And the happier you make those around you, the more they will return that happiness to you. Be kind, children. Think of others before yourself. It’s not an easy thing to do. Start small, with those you love. But I promise you, there is no greater joy than from kindness. Trust in an old man who has tried everything else.”

He stands back up and we start to walk again, leaving me with yet more questions. I’m not sure where to start asking them though. Soon, we arrive at an open area, and although I’ve made no progress on finding a human to eat, we do find the Sharif’s ‘Nana’ and he and I start to play.

At first, the game is simple. I am supposed to touch him, and then once I do I am supposed to not get touched in return. It is a good game. Good training for survival, although the Sharif is exceptionally bad at it. He would be dead if he went into the forest. I suppose that’s probably why most humans don’t live there.

“This is—” the Sharif gasps for air, leaning over with his hands on his knees. “This is too hard. You’re too fast! If you don’t slow down, I can’t catch you.”

“Yes,” I say blandly. “I’m not supposed to get caught, right?”

“It’s not—it’s not fun if I can’t win.”

I suppose this is kind of boring.

“Okay,” I agree. “I won’t use my legs.”

“What!? That would be way too easy!”

“No it won’t,” I insist. “You’re slow, but you’re not that slow.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and just starts chasing me again with renewed vigor. I squat down and start scuttling around on my two visible arms, taking care to store and hold my wooden lark with one of the hands hidden inside my cloak. This is much more difficult, and I find myself grinning under my mask as the Sharif gets closer and closer to ‘tagging’ me. Before I know it, more and more of the small humans my size have arrived, joining the Sharif in an attempt to catch me. I experience a brief moment of panic as they surround me, moving in from all sides, their hands getting closer and closer until eventually…

…They tap me lightly. It doesn’t hurt at all. Nothing bad happens to me. I stop moving, clamping down on the instinct to bite them in retaliation. I just sit there, doing nothing. I can’t eat anyone with so many humans watching.

“You’re supposed to tag us now!” The Sharif reminds me.

Oh, right. After a moment’s hesitation, I scuttle after some nearby humans. They shriek with laughter, scattering every which way. After a little while, I feel something bubbling up in my chest, and without any conscious attempt from myself I start to laugh as well.

Oh. So that’s what it means. This is what it feels like. A grin wider than any other blossoms under my mask. This is fun. It’s like outwitting dangerous prey, or learning interesting things about humans.

I’m happy. That’s what this is. Faraway islands pass lazily overhead as time flies away, my squeals of laughter joining that of the smaller humans. How am I supposed to eat them now? If they die, how will they play with me? Sometimes, a tall human comes and takes a member of the game away, which is… annoying. But it doesn’t matter, as long as the game goes on.

“Sharif!”

A tall human I’ve never seen before stomps towards us. Most of the small humans stop running, staring at the newcomer with the wide-eyed look of prey realizing a predator has arrived.

“What are you doing here!?” the new human demands. “Look at you! You’re filthy, there’s a hole in your new pants, you’re associating with this disgusting riffraff… I can’t believe this. This is exactly what you promised not to do!”

“But mom—” the Sharif protests.

The tall human struts right up, grabbing the Sharif by the wrist and yanking him away from myself and the other small humans.

“No buts, young man. This is unacceptable.” She turns to the human the Sharif calls ‘Nana.’ “This is your fault too. We pay you explicitly to prevent this.”

I move forward as it drags the Sharif away from us, glowering behind my mask. How dare it take him away? Without that one I wouldn’t have started playing at all! And now the other small ones are scattering!

“Hey!” I snap. “Leave him. We’re having fun.”

“Don’t talk to us,” the human orders. “Stay away from my son.”

I watch them move away together, stewing in what I can now call rage. I suppose this solves my problem, at least.

I know exactly which human in this colony I’ll eat first.