Vigor Mortis

Oh no. Oh shit. Act natural. Just act natural! I’m a normal kid that has done nothing wrong... wait, no, I’m not a kid! Do something natural and also adult! Damnit, I don't know what that is, I’m like the least natural person on the island! What do adult women do? Make out with Rowan? No, wait, gross…!

Ah! It’s too late! He’s already here!

"...Kynamancy license?" the Templar asks Rowan blandly. The con artist's mouth twitches in an annoyed smile.

"Right here sir," he answers, fishing some parchment out of his pocket.

Murmurs of annoyance ripples through the crowd. "Kynamancy?" "Illusion magic?" A number of people start to realize they’re being scammed all at once, departing in anger. With two words, the Templar has probably ruined Rowan's business in this part of town for a month.

"Mmm," the Templar grunts, looking the paper over. "Yep, you're clear. Sorry to bother you, sir. Just my job."

"N-no problem," Rowan murmurs back, plastering the fakest smile he can manage on his face. The Templar doesn’t seem to notice or care, handing Rowan's paper back and continuing on in the direction he was walking before.

Once he's out of sight, I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I’m going to have to work on not looking so guilty, considering how very guilty I am.

"...Well, that's probably enough work for today anyway," Rowan says glumly. "Come on, Vita. Let's bounce before someone starts thinking they can demand money back."

"We can demand money back?" someone asks.

"No!"

The two of us exit down an alleyway. I don’t complain; I’m in no mood to keep going after that scare. Besides, I’m exhausted. From the looks of things, Cragscar Island will be passing overhead soon. The yellow sky glows eternal, presumably in accordance with the Mistwatcher’s will. Clouds sometimes form and storms sometimes blot the sky, but only when other islands pass overhead does the land experience true darkness. Cragscar is a massive stone island, named as such for its tall stone cliffs with jagged swaths of blackness cutting through it like a wound. The island is large enough and moves at just the right speed for a six-hour nighttime when it passes overhead. Perfect for finally catching some sleep.

I walk back to the shack with Rowan in silence, but I’m more than okay with that. Silence gives me time to think, and thinking is something I definitely need to do.

Firstly… Mistwatcher, I have to ask. What am I? Why am I like this? The Mistwatcher gives people their gifts, yet my gift is hated by the Mistwatcher. One of those two things has to be false, fight? Or is it just false in my case? For all I know, I’m some special chosen one, granted the Mistwatcher's own power! Of course, I could just as easily be the opposite of that, created by some force other than the one that makes everyone else, some antithesis to life itself. More likely than all of that, there's just something I’m not understanding correctly, and I’ll feel like an idiot when I figure it out later.

If the Mistwatcher knows, it doesn't answer. Ugh, damn it. Religion has never fed me, and now I’m a heretic for existing. Why did I even bother to ask?

I have something now, at least. I have power, I have a talent. As frightening and horrible as it is, as much as I wish I could have any other ability… I will take it. It’s better than nothing and it’s the only bone I’ve been thrown my whole life. I just have to be careful. Zombies are a major problem. I can’t go around making them without people finding out sooner rather than later. But is there any way for someone to detect I’ve eaten a soul? Sure, I seem stronger to people with senses like Lyn’s, but people get stronger naturally as well. It wouldn’t inherently point to necromancy, even if someone notices how fast I’m growing. Eating souls is also… well, enjoyable. I want to say “tasty,” but that’s not quite right. They don't really taste like anything. They're not physical, and my tongue doesn't register them. But the feeling I get from ingesting them is wonderful. From the way they break apart sliding down my throat, to how they plop into my awaiting spirit and dissolve away into raw power... power that then becomes mine!

I shudder. "Try not to get into the habit of it," Rowan had said. That might be hard, when killing makes me feel so alive. Fuck, am I thinking like this already? No. No, I won’t just accept that that's all I am. Magic is a tool, and I am its wielder. Besides, if I let myself become a monster… I’ll be hunted down like one.

The sudden, rapidly falling night time shakes me from my thoughts, and I’m relieved it does. The massive island of Cragscar will soon block the sky entirely, casting the town into near-total darkness. As-is, we’re currently caught below its penumbra, a dark shadow of light’s absence that bends below every island. I at least don’t need to wait for my eyes to adjust, as Rowan is prepared, conjuring a ball of dim light in his palm.

Cragscar is one of hundreds… well, probably more like thousands? Maybe more? Anyway, it’s one of many islands that fly through the sky on the same predictable orbits. Just over eight hours after Craigscar passes over, the Mist Thimble will bring four hours of darkness and rain as it floats overhead. The Mist Thimble is particularly beautiful, a sort of bucket-shaped island with streams of water which pour constantly out from its sides. I’ve always wondered how it never runs out. It casts great rainbows when viewed from a distance, and the showers of warm water it pounds on the streets can be a beautifully welcome sight to the many people like me who’ve had to fight for a fresh drink. Twenty hours after Mist Thimble leaves, another island will pass over, and so on. Countless islands are visible just by looking up during the day, and I have absolutely no way of knowing how many are below our island. I’ve never been anywhere near the edge, and if I try to talk to a scholar or something I’ll probably get my ass kicked by the city guards. I doubt I’d even believe there was an edge if there weren't... you know, sky islands flying around everywhere.

I finally make my way back to our crappy little shack, greeting and jostling aside all my fellow orphan brats. Of course, I am a full head taller than most of them and quite a few years older, so I really shouldn’t be considered in the same sort of category. ...Okay, so I’m still pretty short, but you try to get tall while constantly starving to death! It doesn’t work!

Eventually I sidle myself underneath the little pile of blankets on the floor that I call my bed, keeping my clothes on for safety and warmth. A wad of extra clothing is all I have for a pillow as well, but hidden safely inside that wad is my stuffed toy bird, Rosco. I’m not sure what kind of bird he was supposed to be originally, but so much dirt and grime has collected on him that I’ve just taken to calling him a crow.

I’ve had Rosco for so long, I can barely remember where I got him. They don’t leave toys like this out where someone like me could steal one. If I recall correctly, someone was bringing their kid through a bad part of town, and the kid dropped him while their family got mugged. Everything of value was taken by the muggers, but Rosco here… well, he’s certainly valuable to me. People like me don’t get to own things. We hardly even get to like things. I had to protect this little stuffed doll with my life sometimes, steal him back from other kids when he got stolen, get in the type of fights normally reserved for the final scraps of food… all just to have something I could squeeze when it was dark outside. I squeeze him hard now, just thinking about it all. He is, and always will be, my most prized possession. My first friend. No matter how childish people think it is, they can’t understand what he means to me.

Though I can't help but wonder... if I can put a piece of my soul in a dead crow, can I put a piece in a toy crow? Can I bring my friend to life? The thought runs cold through me, a certainty in my bones. Whether it’s impossible, whether it’s some horrible facsimile of what I want… it doesn’t matter. I have to try.

I shouldn't be thinking about this, let alone doing it. I am a walking blasphemy. A danger to everyone I know. But you know what? Fuck it! Lyn said this is part of who I am! That I could use it! And if there's a whole branch of magic all about messing with souls, they couldn't possibly be as sacred as the Church claims. If the Mistwatcher has a fucking problem with that, it can get its ass up here and tell me itself!

I reach inside and splinter my soul once more, pulling out the shard, invisible to the eye yet glimmering to my heretical senses. What’s the difference between an object and a corpse, really? Slowly, carefully, I push the shard into Rosco. It fits! The little toy bird has a soul in it! I can’t resist a giddy laugh as I feel spirit tendrils expand through the little stuffed body. It twitches awkwardly, flopping its useless little wings around. I did it. Rosco, my friend, is moving. He’s alive.

"Hug," I order softly.

Grubby little black wings reach out, squeezing my all-too-thin torso. Pulling Rosco in, I hug him back, my wonderful little friend. He's been my companion for so, so long, I’ve hugged him like this so many times, and now he can hug back!

Tears well up in my eyes. After everything that happened today, after being nearly beaten to death, after murdering a man, after discovering my existence is illegal, after eating a human soul, this is what finally makes me cry.

Screw it. I’ll waste water just this once. I finally, finally, drift off to sleep.

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I wake up sweating, a terror heretofore unknown freezing my body solid. It's still pitch dark. A slimy feeling passes over me like a giant, monstrous tongue. Invisible, intangible, it drips nothingness as it winds around me. I am alone. But it's there. I feel it, searching for something, passing over and around me... until it touches Rosco. It passes through Rosco. And it plucks out that little shard of my soul I hid inside him.

Then it descends, down, down, down into the mists, taking that tiny shard with it. Half a minute later, I start to breathe again.

I sleep no more that night.