Chapter 76. A Fierce Protector
I flinched back from the screaming and the mold, slamming the door shut. I panted, and my shadow flickered on the door, cast by something burning behind me.
I looked at my hands, the nails that were cleaner than I had ever had, even when I was a kid. I could move. I never could move back in the memory. Maybe I should punch the door. Smoke spewed out from the crack between the wall and the door. That wasn’t possible. The facade doors didn’t have cracks, but the smoke was thick and black, like it had been. It wasn’t possible.
“Lina,” Minnelil called.
“Lina?” Grit called.
“Lina,” my mother’s voice called from near my feet, but I refused to look down.
“Help me,” I muttered.
“We’re here,” Minnelil said, right behind me.
“It’s the smoke, and the mold,” I muttered. “It’s happening again.”
“Stay with me,” Minnelil said. She took my hand in hers. It was warm and soft, nothing like any of the hands I had held before. The Tenorsbridge guards had worn metal gauntlets when they held me from running back into the burning village.
Fek appeared before me, face popping into my view. “Lina! Clickens is going crazy. Tell it to calm down before it hurts someone!”
“What?” I muttered.
“Aa!” Grit yelled. “It’s eating the table!”
“Clickens!” Fek said, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me.
“W-w-what does that even mean?” I said. The smoke poured out from behind him, but it sputtered, the door turning from the simple and cracked one to the polished dark wood of the facade door.
A sound like metal being ripped apart came from behind me. It continued, rising in pitch to an ear-splitting whine. I spun around. Minnelil had her hands on her ears, a grimace on her face.
A small bone cat stood on the table, its claws tore into the tabletop, gouging deep grooves to the wood. Slivers of wood fell to the floor below the table. It opened its jaw wide, screaming at me. The metal wire inside it vibrated and the sound was terrifying, a shriek rising so high it disappeared.
“There, now,” I said, approaching it with my hands held before me. “Good kitty.”
“I think it’s a bit evil,” Grit said.
Clickens screeched at her. Its other front paw cracked through the table and it lurched forward.
“Come on, take it easy,” I took careful steps toward it, talking in a soothing voice at the enraged skeleton. Clickens arched its back and opened its jaw, but it started to straighten slowly as I petted its spine. I pulled the paw out, working it free from the splintered wood. “There we go. What upset you?”
“Maybe it reacted to what you felt?” Minnelil said. “I could feel the Null thicken around you when I came closer. It could have sensed the resonance—”
“I poked it,” Fek said.
“What?” she said.
“She was freaking out!” Fek said, like it was an explanation. “So I slapped the cat. Put some mana into the bones.”
Clickens snarled at him, grinding its teeth together. I pulled my hand away from its face. The teeth really were sharp.
“Don’t mess with my undead cat,” I said.
“It worked, though?” he said. “But I’m sorry, Clickens, I shouldn’t have done it.”
Clickens snapped its jaw shut as Fek bowed to it.
“Apologize to me instead,” I muttered.
“Fek, you idiot,” Grit said, patting him on the shoulder. “Nice thinking. How do you feel, Lina?”
I collapsed back in the chair I had sat on when talking to Shalameth. “Don’t encourage him.” I groaned, feeling like when I had sprinted across the city to escape two guys coming at me with knives. Safe for now, but rattled and raw. “I’m better.”
“What happened? Was it the thing from the mountain? Is it reaching for you?” Minnelil asked, sitting opposite me. “You mentioned mold. You said that thing smelled like that?”
“It’s not that,” I said, but stopped to consider. What if it was? I had thought about my home first time in a long while, but the entity had slipped into my nightmares so often that maybe I had gotten them mixed? Had I smelled mold and it had made the screams start? “I don’t know,” I said, leaning my face into my hands.
“It’s fine,” Minnelil said. “Maybe Firgl would have some book about this?”
“Falar was reading something by Fendribalis,” I said through my fingers. “He talked about researching if the Null could have been affecting my mood.”
“That hack,” Minnelil said. “But she would be the one to have written something about this. It’s worth a shot.”
“What are we going to do about the other thing? Getting thrown out?” Fek asked.
“You’re not doing anything,” I said. “It’s my problem…” My voice trailed off as I watched the three of them glancing at each other with a knowing look in their eyes. Minnelil looked like she was about to start explaining something to me. “Fine! But I don’t know. I’ll try to think up some landmarks or something?”
“The orphanage might have kept some records of you?” Minnelil said. “Even if they wouldn’t know exactly where you came from, it would still be paperwork. If no one could say for sure, then at least that would give the school something to point to.”
“Wouldn’t count on that,” I said. “I was pretty out of it back then, but I think so was everyone else. There were a lot of us back then.”
“I’m so sorry,” Minnelil said, reaching for my hands.
I let her take them, holding my fingers on hers as she rubbed my knuckles with her thumbs. It felt right and safe, and that made it dangerous. I wanted to yank my hands away, but kept them in place, focusing on my breathing.
“We could still ask?” Grit said. “Getting word there and back would take some days. The trip is not that long, but the weather is horrible and time is so slow back in the city.”
“Sure. I can ask the Bursar to send a messenger skeleton with one of her groups. Maybe she’d do it for me,” I said, chuckling. I’d pay what money I had left to see how the orphanage matrons reacted when an undead marched in. If only I could send one created by Falar. It would sneer at them, even without having a nose.
“Any other ideas?” Fek said.
“We could ask Firgl,” Minnelil said. “The library has extensive maps of the continent.”
“Will any of this really help?” I asked. “It’ll be just my word against the word of some rich git with lots of influence.”
“Look, it’s politics. Truth and certainty don’t really matter. They have a good story about trying to protect Velonea even when they have ties to the perceived threat. Good, but risky. A war orphan trying to put her life back together, and being persecuted by people who look like the ones who killed her family is not a bad story either.”
”So we basically only need to make them look like the bad guys, make them flinch?”
“Essentially, yes,” Minnelil said.
Grit peeled a splinter off the tabletop and looked at it. “Damn, the cat really wrecked it. How are we going to get any writing done on this?”
“There are still three perfectly good sides,” Fek said.
Minnelil sighed. “It’s late. We should sleep, but I have an idea. I want to run a quick errand. Don’t wait up for me.”
I grabbed her hands tighter, stopping her from standing up. “Quick errand? You’re going to sneak off for half the night, aren’t you?”
“No, really. I’ve been skipping sleep. I should try to pay it back.”
“In that case, I’m coming with you.”
“I can manage, you should… ah, fine. I’ve learned to recognize that face already. Do what you will,” Minnelil said, pulling me up as she stood.
“Very smooth,” Grit said.
I tried to leave Clickens behind, but it kept stalking Fek so I picked it up and slung it on my shoulder. Clickens kept its eye sockets on him, riding backwards on my shoulder. The bone tail snaked around in front of my face, the metal coil twisting inside it. The noise made my temples ache.
I stood outside of the door, sniffing the air. The taint of mold was gone. I started to hope it had never been there, but I caught it again. Faint but real this time.
Clickens bumped me on the temple with its head and I rubbed it absently. “How much of a personality do undead really have? Clickens feels almost like a cat, but most of the skeletons are… well, hollow.”
“It depends,” Minnelil said. She had pulled her cowl up to guard against the wind as we crossed the grounds, cutting through the Academy. “Most don’t have anything resembling a personality. It makes them difficult to use as tools, as every instruction or order has to be given separately. Some people say that’s the safest way to handle things.”
“Sounds like that’s not the only way?” I grimaced at the wind throwing snow on my face. We could have avoided it by creeping around the walkways and staying close to the walls and their wards, but the bridge going across the building in the middle was the flimsiest thing I had ever seen. It was bolted to the ceiling with massive iron spikes, but the wood construction shook with every step and gust of wind.
“You’ve seen it yourself. Some manage to lend them more of their own personality. On some very rare occasions, Coratorus holds lectures about it, but it’s more an art than science, if I’m being honest.”
“Huh,” I said. “Never took Falar for an artist.”
“Good. I hear it infuriates him if someone does. But looking at his undead, it’s clear he is. They are amazing. Unfortunately they also seem to know it themselves.”
I stopped, hand before my face to guard it against the wind. “For real? You think they are amazing?”
“Of course. Once you know how to look, it’s impossible to ignore. I would wager good money that he will like Mr. Clickens.”
“As they are both wiry bastards,” I said, snickering and scratching its head. Clickens had turned around and was riding now on my shoulder again. It had a really good balance.
Minnelil chuckled. “Clever, but untrue,” she said, reaching to pat the skull. “Mr. Clickens is a fierce protector of things it holds dear, despite being a forgotten thing given new life and brought to our dorm.”
The grin froze on my face. “What do you even know of undead cats?” I muttered.
Clickens mewed.