Heartworm

“You want me to kill you?” Nessyndra asked, her glossy eyes blinking at me in perfectly spaced intervals.

“It’d be doing me a favor, as strange as that sounds. The alternative is forcing me to swim to the surface while perpetually on the verge of drowning. That’s pretty high up on the list of things that I never want to have to experience. Especially not when it could be avoided.”

‘Cowardice does not smell good on you. Nor does the ever-present stench of fish in this place.’

“So you’d prefer to be killed and carried up to the surface?”

“If you think you can manage that.”

“I… I suppose? I don’t believe murder to be sewn into the tapestry of my making.” Nessyndra spoke nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the thought of having to kill another creature. It appeared that aside from the especially cruel moments of Cyndri’s memories, violence wasn’t a very common occurrence. They had even mentioned previously that due to a low rate of convictions, they rarely imprisoned Crutia in the Uroro jail.

“You don’t? You’ve already proven yourself capable of it.” I replied, wondering if Nessyndra had realized the full scope of what she had done in the jail cell.

“You’ve killed someone, Nessyndra?!” Kyrsta was utterly shocked by my words.

“I did?!” Nessyndra was equally floored by my words.

“When you shoved the soulstone in my head you sure as hell put me down.” I gave an awkward smile to the horrified looking scaled woman. Her seaweed-like tail immediately deflated as she stared at me.

“I killed you? No jokes abound?”

“No jokes abound.”

“Oh…” Nessyndra looked to her mother, a thick atmosphere of shame hanging in the air between the two of them. “I was worried about running out of time. I knew you could not die so easily, so I didn’t think twice when I so hastily implanted the stone in your head.” I could feel a lilt of guilt dancing on the edge of each of her words. I’d heard it before. It was the same tone that I croaked out of my mouth when I found the body of Greg splattered across the floor of the church I awoke in.

“You only sort of killed me. Had I not been Deathless, I’d have been dead. But you knew I was, so it’s not like you’re really killing anyone.” I did my best to reassure her.

“I dislike how easy it was.”

“That’s good. It’s best to keep it that way.”

The shame that lay upon Nessyndra’s face like a mask gave me the answer to my question before I even asked it. I couldn’t ask her to kill me once more. Even though I didn’t really consider that action to be murder, since I’d be back in ten, it clearly rattled her.

“Kyrsta…?” I asked, choosing not to ask the entirety of my question. I made the assumption that she could piece together what I was about to ask without having to spell it out. There were certain things that felt like they could cross the culture barrier with little issue.

“I’m afraid not, Ester. I have only just now started to let go of the hate that I held for far too long. I do not want to reignite any feelings or add any scars by ending a life. Even momentarily.” Kyrsta let me down as easily as she could. I was not about to beg and plead for either of them to do something that they were clearly very unsettled by.

“Bummer. Looks like I’ll have to DIY to DIE.” I shrugged.

Nessyndra tilted her head to the side. “Dee-eyewhy? I’ve not come across that Kistrin word yet.” The scaled woman muttered and furrowed her brow. I could already tell that she was adding the word into a mental vocabulary for herself. It was best I corrected her before she added it to her vernacular.

“Oh, no it’s not a word. Not fully. It’s just a way of saying ‘do it yourself’, there were a lot of books I read in Varenthell that spoke about that. Different ways to become self-sufficient in various fields.”

“Oh! I understand now! You engaged in more jest, utilizing the similarities between the word DIY and the word die.” Nessyndra’s smile was intoxicating and infectious. It was futile to resist offering even a small smile in return.

“My jokes become substantially less entertaining the more you explain them.”

“But if I do not untangle their meanings, how am I meant to enjoy them?” Before I could even begin to reply to her question, Nessyndra spoke again. “If your jokes are not for me, then who are they meant to elicit mirth for? Do you jest only for your own enjoyment?”

Her question slipped between my ribs to push the breath out of me. It was a blunt question, but one that provoked many questions I had no intention of answering. “Y’know… good point. I guess I don’t think too much about the audience for my jokes when I say them. I guess they’re just for me?” I shrugged. I suppose the jokes I made were for my own sake? A lilt to cut the tension of a beleaguered life, maybe.

‘Is that so. Here I thought you intended for my death via a thousand unpleasant jokes.’

Are you saying I could be rid of you with enough jokes?

‘I’m saying I can only take so much. Eventually I will take control of our body and sew our mouth shut to be rid of your pheasant jests.’

“Will you truly endeavor to end your life, as transient as that fate might be for a Deathless as yourself?” Kyrsta’s question was soaked in more concern than I imagined she could display for someone such as myself. She knew Deathless were immortal. Even if she doubted the tales, she had witnessed it herself right before her mother died.

“I’m not jumping at the bit for it, no. But I think it’ll be easier this way. I’d rather not waste any more time, though. Nessyndra, you’re sure that you’re capable of hauling me to the surface?”

“Why would you be leaping at bits? What is the nature of the bits?” Nessyndra asked, clearly latching onto the turn of phrase that befuddled her. I had already let out a hefty sigh before thinking to stop myself. The sigh seemed to communicate everything I was moments away from saying, as Nessyndra tapped at the side of her head and continued speaking. “Nevermind, an explanation for a time less wet than this. To answer your question, I am entirely confident in my abilities to get you above the water. Once we reach the surface, however, I would suggest you swim alongside me towards the edge of the lake opposite Urden.”

“Makes sense. Once I regenerate, I have no problem swimming on my own. I’m not an expert or anything but I should be able to tread my way to the lake’s edge.”

“Excellent! You will only need to follow me for a few hours.” Nessyndra smiled and grabbed the extra bag from Kyrsta to latch it around her back, just below her own personal bag.

“...hours. Right.” I admit, I had forgotten just how large the entirety of the lake was. I could only hope my stamina would last me the journey. That, or I could potentially swap with Lilith if she felt more capable with the task.

‘For the last time, fledgling, I am listening to gibberish akin to Phern’s ramblings. Your thoughts are all I have to parse, and they are vague as always.’

Swimming, Lilith. I’m talking about swimming. Can you tread across the surface for a few hours?

‘You’d exchange our positions in order for me to do hours of physical labor for you?’

Yeah, yeah, I see how it sounds. I can manage on my own. Just forget I asked about it.

‘I accept.’

I already told you to forget I asked Lilith you don’t have to- You accept?!

‘Is that not what I said? Is your fishy language causing you to unlearn Kistrin?’

No, I heard you. I just don’t understand you. I’ve been around you enough to understand you don’t act without intention. That you don’t agree without recourse. Why would you agree to this?

‘To stretch our body. You do not take good care of our body, little morsel. It’s a biologically preened weapon, and you let it rust away by forgetting to stretch, to dine, to use it as it was meant.’

Sure… if it gets me out of swimming for hours.

“A few hours. Got it. I’m ready when you are, Nessie.”

“Ready is the gown I wore this morning.” Nessyndra responded. Her words lacked any sense, but her smile made me assume it was a confirmation in her own strange way.

“Be safe, Nessyndra. I feel as though I lose you now, but I couldn’t bear to lose you a second time if you never returned.” Kyrsta backed away from the plenda barrier and steeled herself for the departure of her daughter.\

“I’ll tell you all about the surface, Mother. Every detail of what my grandmother yearned for. Where flowers bloom, and eagles cry. I’ll write it all down to share with you.” Nessyndra extended an arm towards Kyrsta as a form of goodbye. It felt terribly awkward to ruin the intimate moment between the two, but all that was left for us to leave was for me to take a lunch break from the mortal coil, as it were.

I moved my right hand towards my chest and shifted it into the menacing claws of my Deathless form. The transformation reminded me of the persistence of the new tail that hung limply between my legs. The tail was something completely new, and something that I had not quite been able to dismiss the same way that I could my other features. Was it only a matter of time before my hands would resemble these frightening claws all of the time? Would that make anyone feel safe around me? Would Cecelia even be comfortable getting close enough to hold me with razor sharp claws at the end of each digit? Cecelia needed to be alive to even have an opinion on the matter. I’d figure it out later, once she was safe.

I braced myself for the brief but acute pain, and sunk my right claw into my chest where I felt the beating of an undead heart. An insurmountable chill began to spread through my body as I collapsed to the floor. It wasn’t the cold embrace of another death that truly racked my soul, however. It was the fear that I’d already taken too long to find and save Cecelia. I needed to reach her as soon as I could, no matter how many deaths it took.

Determination lingered in my chest for as long as my heart remained beating. Which was admittedly not long at all.

* * * * *

“...there we go.” I lifted my hand away from Cecelia's chest. As gently as I could manage, I placed the mortiaroot on a small tray to the right of Cecelia’s ‘bed’. My metallic arm vibrated with the fears of man. While the contraption was near perfect, my earthly flesh was anything but. The quivering of my body extended into my right arm as I placed a small lid onto the tray to cover the plant. I could scarcely believe that Phern had handed me that plant so carelessly. To imagine the situation we would find ourselves in if I had grabbed the plant with the wrong hand and forced Phern to care for two perishing bandits.

With the mortiaroot contained, I felt a momentary relief. With the ephemeral sense of calm that would last until the next cycle, I leaned over to my notepad to add another notation to the top category. Once I had finished marking the latest cycle, I reached over to click the top of one of my inventions. The portable timer immediately started to tick down from twenty minutes.

It was crude, the setup that I had put together around Cecelia’s near-lifeless body. My inventions were scattered across the campsite, thrown across the ground in a panicked fervor. Time was our most precious resource, and I was willing to make a mess to conserve it. That being said, I wasn’t at all happy with the state of the campsite. While waiting for the twenty minutes of each cycle, I would clean up some of the mess. It was the scant task I could find to make myself feel normal in such a perilous time. Phern had been gone for most of the day, leaving just me and Cecelia under the watchful eyes of every star in the sky. Phern said she needed to scavenge for more local herbs in order to pull together some remedy. I had nothing more than blind faith she would return. With how vast the forest seemed as we entered it, there was no way to know if she was caught by any number of animals. I’d been lucky no animals had made their way to the campsite during the night.

Thirty seconds on, twenty minutes off. Phern had given clear instructions, and I was best-in-class at following instructions. Instructions were a delight. They suggested authority on a subject; implied an expertise that you would do well to follow. If someone gave you definitive instructions on how to prepare soup, you would expect them to know a thing or two about soup. Phern seemed to know a thing or two about medicinal plants. She acted with the confidence of expertise, although to my recollection, she has been confident in everything she does, even if she is not an expert.

But Cecelia mattered to her. An unshakeable sense of self within myself knew that she was doing everything she could to prevent Cecelia’s untimely demise. Phern’s sorrow did not linger in her words, nor did it flash across her eyes. Instead, I could see it weigh on her heart. There was no bounce in her step, no airiness to her sways. She was grounded. It was heartbreaking, in the same way that you might feel looking at a butterfly that was pinned to the dirt by a needle.

“Sebil.” Phern startled me. How had she managed to get back to the campsite without me hearing? Just how long had she been here watching me daze off into the night sky?

“Sorry, love. My thoughts captured more of my attention than I had known.”

“Thinkin’ bout your Marked buddy?” Phern read others like they were bleeding out transcripts from their hearts into her palms. I hadn’t said a word about Lucas since yesterday, yet she could tell almost instantly that all of my idle considerations found their way back to him.

Instructions had been the subject of my moonlit daydreams. But that was not truly that subject I was considering. Instructions cut through doubt; a blade of light that splits the darkness in twain to allow you to see again. When you have clear instructions to follow, you may put aside your curiosities about what to do, and focus solely on the how.

Instructions were comfortable. That is why I love them dearly. But Lucas also loves instructions. They are all he seems to follow. His life seems but a string of tasks assigned to him that he completed to the specifications required by the Empire. I was having trouble rationalizing the differences between the two of us. The both of us found comfort following examples set by those that walked the path before us. I am who I am today because of the lessons followed by scientists and inventors before me.

I wonder, could Lucas and I have worked better together if he were not born a Bestille in the Empire gaze? Could a love now lost have been salvaged if I acted differently?

Love. Had I confessed that to myself? By intention or not, the word had stained itself onto my heart for me to bear.

“Yes, Phern. A little too much thinking. A distraction from his face would do me good.”

“Do I have the thing for you, then.” Phern smiled, floating through our conversation with a level of effortless tact that you wouldn’t expect from a sledgehammer of a person such as herself.

“A remedy for Cecelia?”

“In a way.”

“Unconvincing, but do continue, love.”

“It’ll help to preserve her further, until we can find either the right plants, or someone capable of specialized healing.” Phern unraveled the knot at the top of her bag as she spoke. The herbs that she retrieved from the bag could have been the exact same as one another for all I knew.

“Phern, we have been preserving her. All we’ve managed to do so far is to keep her from slipping into the vastness of the afterlife. If we don’t do more than slowing her death, it will inevitably occur.” I urged. The mortiaroot I had been tasked with using was a dangerous last resort. Exposure to the plant under normal circumstances was incredibly deadly. A puncture from one of the thorns, and the poison of the plant would seep into your bloodstream and send your heart into overdrive. Within thirty seconds of a puncture, your heart rate would accelerate to the point of collapse, quite literally bursting within your own chest as it fails to slow its pace. Phern had explained an alternate use of it that I had never before heard of. Something quite ingenious, coming from an inventor such as myself. By plucking all of the thorns of a mortiaroot, you could use the poison in a slower fashion. Pressing the root to skin would have the same effect as before, but at a much slower rate as the poison seeps through the skin rather than through the bloodstream. I’d been placing the root to Cecelia’s chest to forcibly raise her heart rate when it started to slow, only to take it off at thirty seconds before her heart rate got to a dangerous level.

It was a solution that was working to keep her from dying, but wasn’t doing anything else to help. We needed a fix. Something more than prevention.

“I know, sparkplug! But I can’t fucking find any! WHAT ELSE DO I DO?!” Phern snapped, her body shaking with a level of fury I’d never imagined could be packed into such a tiny woman.

“I-I’m not sure…” I lowered my voice and pulled away from Phern. If space was required, I would comply. “Perhaps it’s best if we-”

CRACK

It was more than a twig that snapped in the distance. It sounded like an entire branch. The small game in the area did not have the weight to snap a length of wood that size.

CRACK

Another. This time accompanied by a horrible scraping sound as bark was peeled away from a tree. The splintering sounds of wood caused both Phern and I to slowly prepare for a threat. Phern moved over Cecelia, ready to take whatever damage required to protect her friend. Meanwhile, I slowly wrapped my right hand around one of the larger branches within the fire to hold up a flaming branch. The heat would have been unbearable for any other, but my metallic contraption allowed me to hold my makeshift torch without any concerns. If the threat was a wolf, perhaps the fire would be enough to dissuade it.

“Don’t let it get to Cecelia.” Phern whispered, reasserting her priorities as clear as day. I looked at my scattered assortment of inventions lying about the camp, including the timer that gently ticked away through the silence. With as many resources as I had available to me, I was confident I could stop any threat.

“When it touches the light, it’s as good as dead, love.”