Vigor Mortis

Chapter 97: Heretic House

“You don’t need to do anything, Theodora. You just need to watch.”

Ironically, the person least excited to be performing animancy is one of the two people here who happens to be animated by it. Theodora seems to quite enjoy the biomancy research she and Penelope have been getting up to most of every day now, but messing with a living man’s soul crosses a line for her, apparently. Penelope, who has been trying to convince her to help, turns slightly to give me a meaningful look.

I suppose it would be trivial to get Theodora to help. As poorly as my shard has integrated with her soul, it’s still in her and she cannot change that. Not unless, ironically, she learns animancy. And she knows that. It’s part of why she agreed to help us. Seeing the terror of the man we have tied up in our basement who we intend to use as a learning experience, however, has given her cold feet. Still, it’s clearly best for her to stay. Having her watch here would help us out immensely, and it would also bring her closer to her own goals of being free from me.

“Don’t look at me,” I say. “I’m staying neutral on this.”

My whole life I’ve had to fight to keep the clothes on my back. Every trinket, every coin, every chunk of bread that was ever mine was a struggle against death. Everything I call my own is precious to me, be it a home, an object, or a person. Theodora is mine, and she wants to make her own choices. So I’m going to let her.

Though ironically, that seems to be the best way to control her.

“Th-thank you, Vita,” Theodora says, her appreciation giving my shard the purchase to grow deeper within her. “Penelope, you have to know this isn’t the animancy that we wanted to make. This isn’t something I want to be able to do.”

“I don’t disagree,” Penelope answers soothingly, an expertly-crafted smile on her lips. “It’s a horrible temptation, one that we would be better off without. But we have been making no headway. One must understand the basics before they can develop their own methods, is that not so?”

Margarette stands next to me, even less inclined to join the conversation than I am. Her mix of irritation and open jealousy in Theodora’s direction is probably caused by how she considers Theodora’s valuable talent to be rightfully hers. Margarette told us back in Litia that she had to fight dozens of her own kin for supremacy inside Theodora’s body. It must’ve been one of the first things she ever did after being born, considering that at the time every Nawra besides Penta and the one controlling Remus would have been less than a couple tendays old. What must it be like to have someone else’s memories but consider them all your own?

“You know I hate when you’re right about these things, Penelope,” Theodora grumbles.

“And you know I rely on you to make sure I really am right,” Penelope responds, her words both truth and carefully-calculated manipulation. “If I am wrong somewhere, you’re the one I need to point it out.”

“No, you’re right,” Theodora sighs. “Of course you’re right, and you’re going to do it whether I help or not anyway, aren’t you? Fine.”

She glances hesitantly at me, but starts casting mana sight and, for the first time while I’m around, soul sight… though she avoids looking my way.

“Okay!” Capita says cheerfully, clapping her hands once. “Now is the family blasphemy session, yes?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Margarette snorts. “So would you be Auntie Capita in this fucked up found family?”

I raise an eyebrow at her. I don’t remember adopting Margarette.

“Vitamin said we’re sisters,” Margarette answers defensively.

I guess I stand corrected, apparently I have adopted Margarette. She gasps and hops excitedly as I smash a small chunk of myself and pass her the resulting soul dust. I can’t help but crack a grin at the sight. The former slimes are quite easy to please, and it never stops being cute.

“Let’s begin,” Penelope says, attempting to get everyone back on track.

Capita nods, a grin splitting her face as tiny purple threads of soul creep out from her broken core. She turns to face our bound and gagged victim, who squirms futilely at the attention.

“A man looks in the mirror,” Capita intones, stepping forward and leaning close to the bound man, “and he sees his reflection. He does this often, always checking, lest he forget what he looks like.”

She wraps one hand around the struggling man’s neck, though she does not squeeze. His fear alone causes his struggles to cease, and he stares at her in motionless terror.

“Why does he check? Perhaps he is obsessed. Perhaps he is cursed. But always, he checks the mirror, over and over, and what he sees there he knows to be himself. But what happens when I change the reflection?”

Her threads slip into the disgusting soul of the man who failed my family, slithering in through minuscule cracks and channels, like a snake hunting moles within their own tunnels. She pushes into him, violates him, and prepares to break him from the inside.

“Shall I make the reflection look like a frog?” Capita coos. “I could do so, but no matter how beautifully the reflection croaks, what would happen when the man sees it? If your mirror showed you a frog, would you believe yourself to be a frog? No. You still have the wisdom of a man. But if your skin was just a little greener, your tongue just the tiniest fraction longer, would you notice? Or would you believe what you see in the mirror to be strange, new, but still clearly you?”

“Wait, cognimancy can’t actually turn people and frogs, can it?” I ask.

“No, obviously not. She’s just saying major changes don’t take,” Penelope explains.

Capita frowns, swaying slightly as her soul sparks, trying to form her thoughts into something coherent.

“…No. The mirror is important,” she insists. “The mirror is always there. What separates cognimancy and necromancy is the presence of the man. The dead are but a reflection, burned into glass. Twist the reflection, and there is no viewer to disbelieve the mirror. Necromancy is power, necromancy is control. Whereas cognimancy is subtlety, cognimancy is patience. It is to make an illusion so real it ceases to be an illusion at all. Yes?”

I frown, trying to parse that.

“You’re saying that, if I could put one of my shards into someone currently alive, it wouldn’t make them devoted to me because they would be able to… what? Notice that something was affecting them and change their soul back?”

Capita gives me a smile of confirmation, her hand briefly squeezing tighter on the man’s neck as his shivers of discomfort start becoming more serious twitches. Her hold lightens again when he calms down, enabling the man to take a gasp of air.

“Perhaps. The living have two selves, the mirror and the man. Each can change the other. This is how people grow. To mold and control a mind, we do not force the result, we control the growth.”

Penelope nods thoughtfully.

“That makes a lot of sense. Biomancy is similar, in that making massive or rapid alterations to the body only does more harm than good. Biomancy spells must be applied with patience, as their effects take a while to bear fruit.”

Capita nods back happily.

“Except perhaps for the masters of our disciplines, this is so. The artist’s skill is incomparable to his sketches, but I only teach you what I know. To that end… watch.”

Her threads have invaded deep into the soul at this point, and one has finally found what she seems to have been looking for. The tip of the thread digs into the soul, carving a purple gouge inside it. Theodora flinches.

“Scratch the reflection. Simplicity itself,” Capita hums, turning to smile at Theodora. “Do you see, scholar’s soul? That is the first spell.”

Slowly, Theodora nods, her eyes flicking in different directions as her talent rapidly processes information in a way that no one else can.

“It’s not… it’s not one hundred percent replicable,” Theodora mutters slowly. “Whatever you’re doing to reach into the soul isn’t a spell, only the scratch is.”

Capita nods.

“The soul is a plant. Mana is water, the body is soil. You hold power over fruit, but not the plant itself. There are some things only your Queen’s ilk can grow. But! Fear not, the artist did his weaving without a single thread. There is a way, though I cannot teach it.”

Theodora swallows, her body going through with the nervous gesture despite no longer being able to make a single drop of saliva or digest a single grain of wheat.

“Valka has a king,” she says.

Capita shrugs.

“You don’t.”

“As interesting as this all is,” Penelope interrupts, “we ultimately do not care very much about using cognimancy to control people. We are only interested in acquiring the spells necessary to manipulate a living soul, regardless of whether the manipulation affects personality or memory. Ultimately, we want to be able to remove and replace souls from one body into another without harming or killing them, not any of the rest of this. If anything, we want to be able to remove the sorts of manipulations you describe.”

Capita quickly cycles through surprise, consideration, and excitement as Theodora sends Penelope a thankful look.

“A pleasant ambition,” Capita giggles. “Then I shall cut my lessons as short as my sister, and skip to the meat.”

“Hey!” I snap.

She laughs, and from there she moves on to a series of quicker demonstrations, adding and removing parts of the soul at Theodora’s request. Penelope watches intently, only occasionally glancing my way to look me in the eye with soul sight active. It’s embarrassing, but I focus on Capita’s lessons, learning everything I can about cognimancy. A couple hours later, Capita declares that she’s shown everything she has to offer, to which Penelope asks her to demonstrate her teleportation talent as well.

“For this favor,” Capita answers slowly, “I would wish a favor returned.”

“Not content to offer anything to your little sister after all?” Penelope presses.

“Penelope, don’t call me that,” I grumble.

“‘Tis not the work of art who requests this of me, and ’tis not her I request the favor from. Oh woman of armored heart, noble master of the body, I wish from you a boon.”

Penelope raises an eyebrow.

“I assume you mean me?” Her face remains impassive as she starts rapidly deciding exactly how much she’d be willing to trade for a teleportation spell. “What exactly do you want?”

Capita scratches her cheek, embarrassed and hesitant.

“I am of the understanding that you, too, are an artist. One of flesh, rather than spirit.”

“I would not describe myself as such, but much of my personal wealth has been gained from spells I use to manipulate appearance, if that’s what you mean,” Penelope answers tersely. “Were you looking for a makeover?”

“Yes…” Capita murmurs, “but not for me. I beseech you to shape the Sky.”

She nervously taps her fingers together while Penelope makes a slow, incredulous blink.

“Your lover and I openly despise each other,” Penelope points out.

“Yeeees…” Capita hedges, “but what if… you didn’t?”

“Just like that?” Penelope answers flatly. “Oh of course, let’s break out the scones and tea for the person that wants to kill my entire family. We’ll sing nursery rhymes and play hopscotch together right before you both assassinate the King.”

“Yes!” Capita agrees happily. “Yes, exactly! And then he won’t kill you and then none of us have to be sad!”

My eyes narrow, tentacles clenching for war. So he plans to kill Penelope? He’ll regret ever even thinking about it. Penelope, for her part, just gives an unimpressed huff.

“You will be sorely disappointed if you attempt to convince me with threats,” she says firmly.

“Not… not threats!” Capita insists. “Fears. The sky is as vast as his anger. But you are the work of art’s. You must be spared, and… well, you are one of the few that could change wrath to gratitude. It is… for both of you. Please?”

“Sky doesn’t even know you’re asking this, does he?” I realize.

“Favor to me,” Capita agrees. “But all for him. Please, flesh shaper. Make him himself.”

Penelope pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Assuming you can even put the two of us in the same room without starting a fight, what do you want me to do exactly? Make your lover look more like a man? It’s obvious that Sky isn’t even a man in the first place.”

I blink my eyes in surprise as Capita narrows hers dangerously.

“He is,” she insists.

“Is that really a lie you want to tell to someone you’re asking to perform biological modifications?” Penelope fires back immediately. “Honestly, think long and hard on that one, I know you need time to get your head working.”

Capita hesitates at that, drumming her fingertips together as her soul struggles to come to a decision.

“Are there not… famous true nobles that opted not to disclose the content of their trousers?” Capita murmurs in answer, squirming uncomfortably.

“Yes, quite a few, but I imagine they still told any biomancer that needed to muck around with their hormones!” Penelope snaps. “The scale of the task alters rather drastically depending on whether or not your lover has any testicles. I can’t give you an answer unless I know.”

Capita scowls, refusing to look Penelope in the eyes.

“He is a he,” she insists.

“Okay! Fine!” Penelope snaps. “But…?”

“But… his second belly button might be more of an innie than an outie,” she hedges.

“You guys are doing the thing again,” I grumble. “Could someone explain?”

Capita gives me a worried smile, increasingly uncomfortable to have to explain any of this and terrified of what my answer will be.

“His soul does not match his body,” Capita says.

“Oh. Yeah, I feel that,” I answer honestly. “That really sucks.”

“I think your situation might be a little different, Vita,” Penelope says dryly. “Anyway, my answer is no.”

Capita makes a pleading face.

“What? Why?”

“Because you can’t afford my time,” Penelope says, crossing her arms. “I’ve done something like this once before, you know. It wasn’t easy, it wasn’t complete, and it wasn’t worth the paltry sum exchanged for either me or my client because most of what I did started reverting itself, at least partially, without continuous treatment. Which they couldn’t pay for! One favor isn’t worth the time you’re asking of me if you expect me to cast on Sky every other day, and if you want me to do anything permanent I will need time to research it. It will take months of my time, at minimum, and if you haven’t noticed my research schedule is currently rather busy.”

I only half-listen to Penelope’s whole explanation because I’m busy trying to parse the pulse of emotion she’s trying to make as obvious as possible. Leave it to Penelope to figure out a way to turn my lie detector into a secret messaging system. She wants me to contradict her.

“You should do it anyway,” I say, seeing no reason not to go along with her scheme.

Penelope false-scowls.

“Why? Immortality research is obviously more important.”

“But this is more immediate,” I argue, and find myself believing it. “Better to have Sky like us, isn’t it?”

Being stuck in a shitty body sucks. Also, it would help us since we’re planning to doublecross him before the truce ends. If anyone can convince him to lower his guard, it’s Penelope.

“You don’t think that your situation is very different after all, do you Vita?” Penelope asks, chewing on the inside of her lip.

I start to try to figure out what I’m supposed to say but realize that her question is honest this time. Does she mean the body thing?

“I mean, yeah I guess,” I admit. “It sounds the same to me.”

Penelope looks between me and Capita, then back to me.

“Do you want me to… alter your treatments?” she asks.

I blink.

“You mean to look like a man? No? I mean, I don’t really care. You can if you want to, but you can also not if you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter if I look male or female, I still don’t look like me.”

The feeling of revulsion at myself has been growing slowly ever since I hatched, but there is nothing Penelope can do to fix that. It’s not that my body is wrong, it’s that I don’t want a body at all. I just don’t think about it wherever I can. Somehow, it’s both easier and more difficult ever since my soul spread through the inside of my body: on one hand, I’m significantly more me-shaped, not because my body changed to look like me but because I changed to look more like my body. On the other hand, I now have to more intimately feel this increasingly disgusting meat vessel, and it is less than pleasant.

Penelope stares thoughtfully at me for a while longer before finally turning back to Capita.

“Fine,” she says. “I make no promises, but I will look him over and see what I can come up with. If nothing else, it will be an excellent learning experience.”

With a squeal of joy, Capita immediately starts teleporting circles around Theodora before finally teleporting next to Penelope and scooping her up into a big hug.

“Thank you, spiky bubbles!”

“Get off of me before I give you more warts than hair follicles!”

This has been my weirdest weird mask day yet.