Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 329: Blood Makes the Body Whole

Argrave and Anneliese sat atop some temporary bedding—specifically, a large tarp splayed out across the flat grass with some fur blankets atop it. Anneliese was already delving into A-rank magic. She had two books on her knee—one projected the strange, incomprehensible full-body matrix exclusive to A-rank spells, and the other was a more mundane book. Argrave, however, was poring through letters. He rubbed his forehead to ease his headache.

Elenore was there, too, lying down just before them with a blindfold over her face to keep the sockets clean. She squirmed, continually raising her hands near her eye sockets and then pulling them away. They were in a private tent, Galamon just outside on guard with the others. Durran was sleeping with his bear.

“It itches so bad,” Elenore said with clenched teeth, then grasped the blanket over her body to relieve some of her frustration. “I can’t stand this. I feel like my blood has been laced with pepper. It’s like my hands need to sneeze—my whole body.”

Argrave narrowed his eyes. “There’s worse,” he promised her, glancing at Anneliese. They’d promised to keep her company until this was over.

“Tell me, please. Give me anything to distract from this,” his sister pleaded earnestly, much more emotion on her tone than usual.

“But you know the story behind my heart,” Argrave pointed out, adjusting his posture until he was comfortable. “Anneliese told you.”

Anneliese closed both of the books on her lap as she said, “She heard it from my perspective. I empathized with your pain, but I never felt it.”

“You were probably more conscious of things than I was, then,” Argrave pointed out, searching for another topic. What Elenore needed most, he felt, was something that made her think hard, something that consumed the mind.

“How about we talk about Atrus, the plans for the future?” Argrave suggested.

“You know them. Place those who surrender in resistance debt, sell these debt contracts backed by land to patricians to repay their stake in the war. Beyond that, we distribute the lands along the North Sea that we promised to Relize,” Elenore recited mechanically. “Refining that plan further would be frivolous until we have all information on-hand.”

Argrave sighed and fell to the ground, looking up at the tent above them. “Well… okay. How about Traugott? Any news?”

“None,” Elenore said simply. “Even if there were, I would not trust work from one whose blood is boiling. Usually I’d mean that metaphorically… but let’s stray from long-term planning. I can’t make good decisions right now.”

“You are picky,” Argrave reflected. “Anne, do you have any ideas?” he asked, looking towards her.

“Let us talk about He Who Would Judge the Gods, and the coming change to the world,” Anneliese said. “You have informed me amply. Elenore knows much… but she could always know more.”

Argrave rubbed his face. “Old Gerechtigkeit, huh? Part of me hoped we could talk about something happy.”

“You say that when you mentioned both Atrus and Traugott first?” Elenore pointed out, her constant writhing somewhat lessened already even after brief conversation.

“So sassy,” he clicked his tongue. “Well, you should know. We found out not too long ago that the boundaries between worlds have weakened enough for spirits to break past.”

“Spirits?” Elenore repeated. “Like dead souls?”

“Not mortal souls,” Argrave shook his head. “Spirits are broken gods—you might consider them the souls of gods, but the two don’t really compare mechanically. If you ask me how they broke, I’d say it depends… but they’re little fragments of a god, broken into symbols they bear atop their head. You might consider them fragments of power. They exist here, there, and just about everywhere. Some of them are small, powerless, and dumb. Others are intelligent and ambitious. The ones here on this realm are usually the dumb kind, controllable by shamanic magic.”

Anneliese inched closer to Argrave, sitting above him cross-legged as he stared at the tent’s top. “What makes them different?”

Argrave focused on her. “Strength,” he said. “Silvic, the wetland spirit… when Orion killed her, I’m sure she left some spirits behind. What they’d do, I can’t really say. Maybe they’d linger here. Maybe they’d reform on another realm. What defines a god isn’t entirely clear.”

“What were the game mechanics?” Anneliese pressed, her own curiosity leading her to forget that they talked to calm Elenore.

Argrave stared at her funnily now that she adopted terms like ‘game mechanics.’ “Well… there’s shamanic magic, like I said. It was mid-game content. Beyond learning the spells, you have to manage your supply of spirits. You could only find them in certain areas, and they didn’t respawn… so, it was a big money sink to sustain them. The spells are good,” he admitted.

“Does it have broader implications?” Elenore chimed in.

Argrave put both hands behind his head as a pillow. “For us mere mortals? Hardly. The gods like spirits. Some spirits like to become gods—see the Vasquer pantheon. Although… some might argue they’re not gods quite yet. Who knows? I certainly don’t. Spirits were almost a sort of currency at times, to trade with higher powers. Though from my perspective as someone who now lives, breathes, and eats in this realm… it’s not worth getting overly involved with the gods. I can’t predict them.”

Anneliese looked like she had more to ask, but she closed her mouth when she noticed something. “Elenore… what troubles you?”

Argrave looked over at his sister. He couldn’t really see what Anneliese was pointing out, but he trusted her.

“What do you think?” the princess shot back too quickly.

“Come on,” Argrave touched her elbow lightly. “We’re just talking here.”

Elenore didn’t answer. Argrave said nothing, and nor did Anneliese. The silent waiting must’ve gotten to her, because she started squirming faster before she eventually said, “I hate how much you know.”

Argrave sat up. “Why is that?” he asked.

“It feels like I’ve been… stolen from,” she said quietly, then huffed. “Forget it. You won’t understand.”

“If you give up trying so quickly, yeah,” Argrave agreed.

Elenore raised her hand up to her face, tugging at the blindfold she wore as she resisted the urge to itch near her eyes. “I don’t know, gods…!” she said in frustration, clearly infuriated by the feeling pervading her body. “It’s just… I don’t know. Whenever I share something personal, I always regret it. Could be my favorite book, could be something that happened in the past… I just hate it after. But you… you already know it all. And I hate it. I feel I can’t look you in the eye.”

“You haven’t yet,” Argrave pointed out, then wondered if that joke was a bit mean-spirited.

Elenore sighed deeply. “Forget it. Go back to talking about spirits instead of my ridiculous idiosyncrasies. I’ll get over it. I always do.”

Argrave thought about the merits of going along with that advice… but when he looked to Anneliese, her face clearly demonstrated she didn’t wish to drop the matter.

Bunching his knees together in his arms, Argrave said, “Hey, I get it. You trade in information. Maybe that’s why you feel stolen from. You have been, in a way.”

“Maybe,” she admitted. “It’s a bad mindset. I’m your lackey now, not some bird trapped in a cage.”

“Lackey,” Argrave repeated beneath his breath, laughing slightly. He stared at her quietly. The way she’d phrased it… it wasn’t merely about him, he realized.

“I haven’t shared much of anything with other people. Anneliese has gotten fragments, I suppose,” Argrave admitted, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I should apologize for that. But she’s the soul of discretion.”

Elenore tilted her head sideways. “Don’t you look to her every time you want to gauge someone’s reaction?”

“I like to think I’m the lone exception to her policy of discretion,” Argrave coped.

Elenore huffed once, then turned away. “Whatever. What’s the point…”

“You’re concerning me, talking like that,” Argrave narrowed his eyes.

“I meant the point of thinking about it,” Elenore turned back. “Don’t waste your concern. If I chose to live after getting my eyes and feet removed, I can certainly keep choosing to do so when my know-it-all brother blabs to his woman.”

Argrave shook his head. “Such a way with words. You must get that from me.”

Elenore opened her mouth, then closed it again, hesitating. “Do you really… view me as your sister?”

Argrave hadn’t been expecting that question, but he quickly managed, “Considering how much I know of you, it’s almost like we grew up together.”

“Or… you watched me grow up, from afar, through a window,” she said. “I can’t imagine how you could view me as family, experiencing me in such a manner.”

“I view Anneliese as family. Durran and Galamon, too,” Argrave said calmly. “You’re not so different.”

Elenore swallowed. When next she spoke, her voice was tight. “And if you had to choose between us?”

Argrave was taken aback by the words… but then felt rather sad for Elenore. She always acted so indomitable, but she was rather insecure deep down. He’d seen that in the visions Vasquer gave him, and he knew that from his own experiences. All he could feel, then, was a deep sadness.

As the silence lengthened, Elenore shifted and turned her body away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say things like that. That’s a child’s question, not an adult’s.” She rubbed at her face, then muttered, “What’s on my…?”

“They’re tears,” Anneliese said curiously.

Elenore stopped moving. She rubbed just below her eyes, then pressed her fingers together. Argrave could see the glistening wetness now, too, just below her blindfold. The princess’ fingers started to shake even fiercer than before.

“That’s not…” Elenore began. Then, with her body trembling, she sat up and reached for her blindfold. She lifted one eye up, and Argrave saw eyelids flutter close—a flinch. Her breathing started to quicken as she pulled the whole thing off.

Elenore’s eyes were not fully reformed, yet—they were red and raw on the edges, and seemed milky gray as though they were blind. Argrave could tell immediately, though, that she could see something. She reached a hesitant hand out and tapped Argrave’s knee.

Elenore choked up immediately. Argrave leaned in, slowly, so as not to alarm her, then gave her a hug. “Congratulations, sister,” he whispered quietly as she trembled like a frightened animal.

She shook once again, strongly… then clenched him tightly, like she held on for dear life.