Vigor Mortis

Chapter 77: Family Feast

“I thought you weren’t supposed to play with me.”

For a couple days, the Sharif avoided me. Not on purpose, I don’t think. The larger human with him, known as ‘Nana’ would always pull him away. Not a huge problem, I suppose. Playing is fun but I have other things that I need to do as well. Stuff like learning human facial expressions, and asking August questions.

“Well, um, I think maybe as long as I don’t get dirty it should be okay?” The Sharif answers. “My mom doesn’t get done with work until the Sand Flower gets here.”

“What’s the Sand Flower?”

“Oh, um, it’s that island up there,” the Sharif explains, pointing. “Have you not learned all the days yet? That’s okay. There’s hundreds of them! It’s a lot! The Sand Flower is tonight.”

I look up, seeing a tan sky-ground surrounded by swirling particles that makes it seem as though the island is constantly disintegrating. Interesting. Every single sky-ground has a name?

“So you are just going to hide from this ‘mom?’”

“Well, not hide, but… anyway, let’s play a game! How about hunters versus monsters?”

I tense. Hunters? Monsters? What does he know? The Sharif just keeps talking, though, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort.

“One of us pretends to be the evil monster, and the other is the hunter! We get to make up our cool talents or monster powers and then we pretend to fight! But don’t actually fight, it’s not good to hurt people. We just pretend to, like… Boom! Pew pew bam kaplowie!”

The small human jumps around, making hand motions as if he was casting a spell, though no actual magic comes out and I feel no telltale pinprick of danger. Pretend, huh? As in, plotting for a potential future event? Learning to combat opponents of arbitrary ability? That does sound like a useful game, but…

“If the fight is pretend, how do we know who wins?”

The Sharif stops hopping around for a moment to look at me with what I’m pretty sure is a confused expression.

“Well… the hunter always wins. They’re the hero! They kill the monster and they save everybody.”

I take a step backwards, second set of hands clenching the inside of my cloak hard enough to hurt.

“I don’t think I like this game,” I breathe.

“W-why not?” the Sharif asks.

“I don’t want to play a game where I always die,” I answer.

Once again, the Sharif gives me that funny, confused look.

“You don’t have to play the monster every time, silly. You can be the hero, too! Do you want to start as the hunter?”

I blink. Me?

“Come on, Lark! What is your cool hunter talent?”

I frown, but after a moment’s thought I pantomime the motion that death slayer used to draw her bow. I turned my body sideways, imagining pulling the string back, creating the force and tension necessary to carve a hole through any enemy. The weapon I fear and respect more than any other.

“I’ll use a bow,” I answer. “It’s super awesome and it never misses and it can smash trees.”

“Oh yeah, well… I’m a huge monster bigger and stronger than even the tallest trees! Your bow can’t hurt me!”

“Yes it can!”

And so we begin. We fight without actually fighting. It is a complicated system of imagined backdrops and exaggerated movements, where the rules change constantly. Yet the animated descriptions of the Sharif and the fascinating puzzle of fighting a creature that can apparently make up new abilities whenever it wants captivates my attention. I like the Sharif. I like that the Sharif sought me out when he thought he was able, despite possibly risking trouble for doing so. That means he actually likes me, right? He’s not just pretending.

I look forward to ensuring he won’t have to worry about getting in trouble anymore.

The Sand Flower is upon us before I know it, time passing by so fast I could have assumed I’ve been in torpor. The ‘Nana’ soon collects the Sharif—or, I guess it’s just ‘Sharif,’ technically—and it won’t be long before darkness falls. I remove myself from the stone-structure part of the human colony, returning to where I know August waits. He is where he is every day, getting ready to pack up his stall and return home. I don’t say any words, simply moving in to assist. He smiles down at me, and together we finish converting the cart. I ride on top of it as August pulls the entire contraption out towards the forest. I suspect I am a lot stronger than August is, but I am not tall enough to reach the handles that would allow me to help. I have considered using webbing to help pull, but I am still afraid. Humans don’t have webbing.

“Thank you, Lark. How was your day?” August asks kindly.

“It was fun,” I answer. “Sharif came back. We played hunters and monsters.”

“Did he? That’s great news! I’m glad you and your friend can keep being together.”

“Yes. I like Sharif. He never tries to grab my cloak or take off my mask. The other kids always bother me about it, especially when we play tag.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry, Lark. They shouldn’t be touching you like that.”

“It’s fine. They don’t actually touch me. They’re way too slow.”

August chuckles.

“So I’ve heard! You must have quite the powerful talent. You’re very, very young to have one so developed. I’m sure you’ll grow up strong.”

I frown under my mask. I have mostly picked up from context what a ‘talent’ is. Fancy, special powers that make some humans more dangerous than others. It’s little wonder that fighting humans is always so different. I stay silent at the comment, not at all wanting to get into a conversation about what I can do. I doubt any of my abilities are talents at all. August, as usual, doesn’t press the point. He lets me be quiet when I don’t want to talk. The degree to which he is comfortable not knowing concerns me. I, after all, am dangerous. If he displays such a lack of curiosity to all dangerous things, he will be killed! Stupid human.

…Though I suppose if he was more curious, I wouldn’t be staying with him in the first place. Now I’m conflicted.

“Are you hungry, Lark?” August asks after we finish putting his stall-cart away.

He asks this every day, which is frustrating because I cannot answer. I am hungry, obviously. But when I say so, he gets human food for me, which I cannot eat. Then he starts asking why I’m not eating and so on and so forth, all of which delves into topics I have no interest in speaking of to a human. Today, however, he presses the issue.

“Lark, you need to eat something. Please? It’s not good for you not to eat.”

I suppose he’s probably right. I’ve been getting more and more sluggish as I go longer without food. I’m confident I have the information I need to complete my hunt. There’s little sense delaying it past nightfall.

“Okay. I will eat something.”

I turn and start walking away from August’s home.

“Lark, wait. I have plenty of food. You don’t have to go. I can go somewhere else while you eat if you’re worried about taking off your mask.”

“I will get my own food. I promise I will eat tonight.”

I turn and start to leave, but August approaches me. He seems… afraid. But if he’s afraid, why is he approaching me? Oh. He’s not afraid I’ll hurt him, he’s afraid of something else.

“Lark. It’s safe here. You don’t need to go get food somewhere else. Please stay and eat something.”

I stare up at the human from behind my mask.

“Am I allowed to leave whenever I want, or aren’t I?”

The old man sags a little, nodding his head slowly.

“You are allowed to leave. Of course you are.”

I turn and do just that without another word. Uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. I don’t like these questions that I feel I should not answer. They make me unhappy. They make August unhappy. I wish I could just tell him everything. I wish I could show him what I look like and cry to him about Claretta. But even though I know nothing he can do can injure me, I am afraid of being hurt.

Night quickly falls as I make my way back to the town of New Talsi. Over the past few days, I have learned that humans greatly struggle to see things at night. Why this is, I don’t know, but I am thankful my diet has not cursed me with a similar weakness like it did when it replaced my warm, safe chitin with this terrible, floppy skin. I am not overly bothered by the change in lighting, but I suppose even if I was I have the route to my destination memorized.

The being known by Sharif as ‘mom’ sleeps, like most humans, in one of the stone structures that litter New Talsi. Unlike most humans, this particular stone structure dwarfs the others of its kind, like half a dozen different human dens smooshed together and stacked. Walls surround the structure from quite a ways away, a significant portion of empty space between it and any other human den.

As interesting as this is, however, it impacts my objective today very little. The ‘mom’ sleeps near the top of the structure and near the back, a hole in the stone leading directly into the room from the outside. It doesn’t seem like a very safe place to me if predators can just walk right up the outside walls and get into the sleeping areas, but as a predator myself I’m not going to complain.

Hidden in a nook by the outer walls, I stash my disguise. I spend a short moment stretching, reveling in the freedom of motion I now have with my lower arms. Then, it’s time for the hunt. Getting in close is easy. Climbing is easy. I could shoot a web all the way to the top of the structure and hoist myself up that way, but instead I opt to use tiny spurts of web from each finger like an adhesive, scaling up the side of the wall on my fingertips. As expected, the mom is sleeping within the room. To my surprise, however, another human is sleeping next to her. How fortuitous! More food.

I slip in through the window, creeping silently closer to my prey. Humans are like katzels in that if you capture one they’ll start to make all sorts of noises. I should probably bind them by the head first, force their jaw closed, and finish trapping them afterwards. There are way too many humans nearby for me to want to risk them calling for more.

I weave some simple gags, leaping onto the pair of humans and binding them down by the face before they know what’s going on. This wakes both humans, but I have a few brief seconds to finish my work before they’re aware enough to retaliate. Tearing the covers off the bed, I repeat the process with their legs. One of them, who I’m fairly certain is a man, is lucid enough to attempt to kick me, but he’s far too slow to make a difference. The screams start, but not in time to make a difference. They should be muffled enough, and with just a few more threads, the humans are bound tight.

I crawl over the bed and my prey, holding them steady as I layer more and more webs to ensure I am not bothered during my upcoming feast. They squirm and struggle, horrified, muffled noises accompanying the creaks and shakes of the bed as I finish my preparations. Once ready, however, I make the mistake of looking into their eyes.

I have been working a lot over these past few days to learn human expressions and tell the difference between human faces. The latter is still more than a little difficult for me, but I’m figuring out other ways to tell humans apart which help me compensate for that. Smell is a big one. Everyone smells differently when I pay attention to the subtle distinctions, and I almost always know if I’m meeting someone I’ve seen before or not as long as I get close enough to them to tell their smell apart from the countless other humans around. Expressions, however, don’t require me to understand the difference between human faces. I only have to compare memories of other expressions which seem to be the same among almost everyone. A smile is a smile. A scowl is a scowl. And the wide-eyed look of mortal terror on these two humans is especially recognizable to me.

I just didn’t care before.

The eyes of the ‘mom’ flick randomly around, pupils dilated in terror as she struggles almost randomly to find an escape. I think it’s a she, anyway. I’m kind of starting to figure out the difference, and she has many more of the female traits then her sleeping partner seems to. He struggles with much more purpose, eyes locked furiously in my direction, looking away only to glance for anything nearby he could use to his advantage. With each and every attempt, each failed idea for potential escape, I watch the hope and anger drain from his face, to be replaced with increasing horror and despair. I remember something similar to it on the face of the Fulvia. Or just Fulvia, I suppose. She went through the same thing, albeit much more slowly. I remember her expressions clearly. They started with fury and wrath, devolving more and more into fear before finally resting on almost nothing at all. Expressionless despair, lacking the energy to even hate me anymore.

I shake my head. These people aren’t anyone I care about. They hold back a friend of mine. I’m helping him. This is nothing like Claretta and Fulvia. These two will be dead before morning.

So to that end, I start to eat. The woman is first, starting with her foot and working quickly up. I’ve no time to savor my bites, as without Claretta my meal will quickly die and become worthless. The faster I eat, the better.

The man makes this difficult. Emboldened by some newfound strength, his screams and struggles double in intensity, bloodshot eyes locked on me as I sever bite after bite of meat, juice, and bone from the woman next to him. Not that I have any more compunctions about his distress, as I’m far too busy enjoying glorious, glorious food after too long without. I greedily chew my way up one leg, drinking down blood before moving onto the next in a gleeful frenzy.

There’s a thump on the door. Human voices from the other side. Annoying. I look up long enough only to make a quick layer of webs in front of the door, then return to my bloody feast. Right about when I feel my first victim die, the door is busted open and two men holding swords and wearing armor charge into the room, only to immediately get tangled in my trap. Good. More food. Unfortunately, they shout before I can bind their mouths, but after closing the door and layering some webs to hold it shut, I’m confident I at least have enough time to eat what I have available. The two new humans smell even better than the ones in the bed! Since the ‘mom’ has bled out already, I move to them next.

The armor is chewy and tasteless, but it doesn’t serve as much of an obstacle to my teeth. These humans struggle more, being much stronger and also tied up standing instead of bound to a bed, but they’re dead in less than half a minute as well. Humans can be frustratingly frail, and it’s so very difficult to get a full, satisfying meal out of them as a result. I’m used to it, of course, every meal of my life having always left me wanting more. I hear more pounding outside the door to the room, but I ignore it and move on to what will probably be my final prey of the night.

I devour the man on the bed. It is only after my feast is done and my desire to retreat to safety wins out against the haze of hunger that I think about how the man’s face held perhaps the most striking representation of unbridled hatred that I have ever seen. Tears are in his eyes as well. How many different emotions can the damn eye-water signify?

Another slam hits the door, and the wood splinters. I suppose I’ll take that as my cue to leave. I leap out the window, scrambling across the yard and over the outer wall before any more humans see me. Unfortunately, I’m a bit covered in blood, so I’ll have to sprint to a nearby well and wash myself off before recovering my things. That doesn’t take very long, however, and soon enough I get my disguise back on, returning to August’s house.

The old man is asleep, as he tends to be every night. I feel a lot more inclined to rest than usual as well. Something about eating a significant percentage of four different humans after such a long fast has me feeling quite relaxed. I’m still hungry, since I’m always hungry, but I no longer feel debilitated. The hunger is now merely an urge, not an encroaching threat. The humans are no doubt looking for me. I had to avoid no small number of them rushing about the town near the home of my prey. Yet here, in August’s home, I can rest. Here I am safe, and for the first time since arriving I truly feel that. I make my way into the room in which August sleeps, curl up on the floor, and descend into torpor for the rest of the night.

Morning arrives too soon. August nearly steps on me when he gets out of bed, no doubt surprised to find me since I normally sleep in the other room. I have no interest in moving yet, however, still enjoying my rest, so I let him think I’m asleep and start his day without me. He goes through the same routine he does every morning, washing himself and making food and leaving out a plate of things that he never says are for me but always are. Not that I can eat the food I’m offered here. Then he spends the morning carving or whittling or both for a while until the sky is completely clear from the island overhead. It is only then that I rise, ready to follow him now that I know he will be setting up his shop.

“Good morning, Lark,” August says.

I nod at him.

“Good morning, August. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, yes,” he answers, smiling. August is the one who taught me that I’m supposed to answer ‘good morning’ with ‘good morning,’ so perhaps he’s pleased that I’ve started doing so. “Yourself?”

“No, I did not. But I found food. I feel much better now.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” he says.

I nod again, smiling under my mask. I made him happy, and that makes me happy. It really does work. The two of us prepare his cart and walk it to his usual spot. I’m looking forward to spending the entire day with Sharif without having to worry about that ‘mom’ person, but it might be fun to spend some of the morning with August. I suppose we’ll see.

As we reach the smattering of carts and stalls that August works by today, a human I recognize but don’t know the name of runs up to us. I’ve seen them buy things from August before, and sometimes just drop by to chat with him.

“August! Did you hear what happened last night?”

“No? What happened?” August asks, looking up from his work. The other human seems worried, and that immediately makes August worried too.

“The Lord and Lady Taftan are dead!”

August drops what he’s doing, face twisting to shock.

“What? Truly? How? What of their son?”

“Third Lord Sharif is unharmed, thankfully. But nobody knows what happened! Some say it was a monster attack, others say assassination! I hear they died in their bedchambers… anyway, they’re holding a public funeral at the church! I just thought you should know, in case you wanted to pay your respects.”

August nods.

“Yes, yes of course. Give me a few moments to lock everything up, then I’ll join you. Lark, would you like to come?”

“Will Sharif be there?” I ask. They mentioned his name just now.

“Almost certainly, yes,” August confirms. “The poor thing. Since you two are friends, I’m sure it will be good for him to see you.”

I’m not entirely sure I understand, but I nod.

“I’ll come with you, then.”

August, the unnamed human, and I walk together to a place that most of the other humans on the street also seem to be headed. Soon, I see our destination: a massive building, not as tall as the place I hunted in last night but much, much wider. Columns of stone carved to look like tentacles curling around each other adorn the entryway, and inside is a single room so massive that I bet every human in the marketplace could fit inside at once. Apparently, they seem to be trying.

The overwhelming density of humans here makes me a bit uncomfortable, but not one of them is looking at me. They all look solemn, many of them crying but most simply staring with blank expressions. We’re all gathered in a huge, clumpy line, slowly moving forward as people in front of us leave and people behind us enter. We all seem to be heading towards the front of the room, in which a small candle burns in front of a portrait of two humans, whom I recognize as the two humans in the bed I ate last night.

Oh. This is all my fault. …It’s probably not that bad, right?

Eventually, we make it to the front of the room. Rows and rows of benches line either side of the clump of people moving forward, and sitting in the final row of benches is Sharif and his Nana. Tears pour down Sharif’s face, soaking his collar and chin as surely as if he fell in a puddle. He looks… sad. But why is he sad? It’s not like he’ll be yelled at for falling in puddles anymore. Or anything else! I walk up to him, ready to remind him of this fact, but something about his endless tears makes my steps slow and my heartbeat heavy.

“Um… Sharif?” I say hesitantly, approaching the bench. “Hi. It’s me. Lark.”

He looks up at me, clearly seeing me, but his tears prevent him from making a response. I really, really hate tears. They’re still difficult for me to understand. Everybody else seems sad, but… maybe he’s crying tears of joy?

“Are you happy, Sharif?” I ask. “You don’t have to worry about your mom taking you home ever again. She’ll never yell at you. We can play, and play, and play. As much as we want.”

His breath catches, halting the tears for a moment as he stares and abject horror, only to have them start anew with far greater intensity. His Nana stares at me in a mix of anger and… something else. Something not quite fear. In fact, many people nearby are now staring at me, and none of them look pleased.

“Lark!” August snaps, even his voice carrying that disturbed tone.

I freeze, filled with the terror I don’t understand. He kneels down next to me, glaring in a way I almost wish was aggressive, but it clearly isn’t and that’s somehow worse.

“Apologize to Sharif,” he demands.

“S-sorry,” I say automatically, not even thinking to chastise the human for giving me an order.

“That’s not an appropriate thing to say at a funeral,” August tells me. “Do you understand?”

I swallow.

“No,” I squeak softly.

His face softens, but only a little. Apologizing again on my behalf, he leads me back out of the large building before speaking again.

“Do you know what we were all doing in there?” he asks.

“You said it was a funeral,” I answer slowly. “…What’s a funeral?”

He sighs, kneeling down again.

“Sharif’s mother and father both died last night,” he says.

I nod. I knew that already.

“A funeral is where people gather to grieve those that have passed on back to the Mistwatcher. When people die, they are gone from this world forever. We celebrate their lives, but we also mourn their passing. Death is a sad and solemn event, Lark. You can’t treat it like a fortunate occurrence.”

“But… it is!” I protest, scowling. “Sharif has never talked about his mom without complaining about her! Why is he sad that she’s gone?”

August looks at me in a very strange way, one I still can’t fully interpret. It’s sort of like sadness, but… different. Like he’s sad because of something I say or do because he thinks it hurts me, or because he thinks I still don’t understand something.

“I’m sure that Sharif loved his family,” August insists. “Maybe he didn’t always agree with his mother, and maybe he wasn’t always happy with her, but you can love someone and still be frustrated with them. His mother loved him very much, and he loved her. Now she is gone forever, and no matter how many play dates she won’t interrupt now, that is a person he can never get back again. He will always, for the rest of his life, have an aching pain where his mother should be. And while that grief might heal and lessen with time, it never goes away. The people in our lives are special, and all people are special in someone’s life. That is why every death is a tragedy. That is why every death must be treated with respect and reverence.”

He stands up, and holds his hand out to me. Hesitantly, I take it, and together we return to his shop. More and more, I think of Claretta. I still don’t think I understand, but as with all things, I will remember his words with perfect clarity from now until perhaps forever.

The next day, I learn that Sharif has left town to live with family in another city. I’ll probably never see him again.