Peculiar Soul

Chapter 2: A Peculiar Soul

Chapter 2: A Peculiar Soul

It is theorized that there is a rough limit on the number of people one can hold a relationship with, be it friend, neighbor, lover or enemy. It is perhaps one-hundred-fifty on average, two-hundred-fifty at the utmost. Past this, the faces blur into the crowd and become an indistinct and aggregate other; we simply are not built to consider so many people individually.

Some time ago mankind counted its billionth member. By the tyranny of simple mathematics, this means that for the first time in history it has become impossible for every man to count an ensouled among his acquaintances; even if all were to seek such a bond, the ratio makes it impossible that each might be so counted in return.

It is not so distinct a milestone that historians of tomorrow will draw a line across the page and say that it was here, right here, that everything changed. However, each generation has grown into a world controlled by people that are less and less akin to anyone they know. The line will mark the day one of them asks why.

- Leire Gabarain, Annals of the Sixteenth Star, 689.

Michael woke slowly, his mind clinging to dreams and half-remembered terrors. His arms felt sluggish and heavy. It was only when he tried to sit up that he realized his upper body had been bound in layers of tightly-wrapped bandages. He struggled against them for a moment, only to let out a groan as hot pain skittered across his back.

Sounds of movement came from his left. He turned his head to see Ricard standing over him, smiling past red-rimmed eyes. Michael opened his mouth to speak but managed only a dry rasp. Ricard helped him sit painfully upright and take a swallow of water that he managed to avoid choking on - fortunate, as he felt that trying to cough might have actually killed him. Again.

Michael licked his lips and looked up at Ricard once more. You look terrible, he croaked.

I believe weve both had better days, milord. Ricard smiled down at him, relief evident in his face. There was sadness there too, however, married with fatigue and a few subtle emotions that showed only in the glint of his eyes.

Enough to tell Michael a few things, at least. After a few seconds he let his head drop back to the pillow. It was that bad? he asked.

Ricards smile grew brittle. Its been two days since they brought you back from the Institute, he said. You were there for two more before they felt it was safe to move you.

Four days, Michael muttered, wincing as he flexed his shoulder experimentally. I have to say, Im not in great shape - but Im better than I should be, considering. I-

His words trailed off for a moment, and his mind brought him back to the lightless void and the river of souls, the crushing emptiness as he faced the end of his existence. He closed his eyes. I died, Ricard. I know I did. How am I still here?

When he opened his eyes once more Ricard was back at his side, wearing a pained expression. It was a near thing, milord, he said quietly. By the time the lamp lit you had stopped breathing.

The lamp, Michael said, his eyes widening. The last of the sleepy fog lifted from his mind as he remembered the burgeoning light under the glass. The laughter, ringing in his ears. Ghars bones, I had nearly forgotten. I have

He paused, surprised by the surge of feeling that welled up within him. Betrayal, that his hard-fought choice had been taken from him. Anger at whatever force had mocked him. And yet he was here too, with Ricard in his sunlit bedroom. Alive and some sort of well, distant enough from that hungry void that it seemed to diminish for a moment.

He looked up at the older mans face and gave him a smile that was only half-forced. I have a soul.

That you do, milord, Ricard laughed. And if I may say so, not a moment too soon.

I suppose that explains it, Michael said, flexing his fingers. He could feel no difference, and wasnt sure if he was meant to. I was thinking I was actually doing rather well for only four days of rest, but if I have my soul to thank He trailed off. Ricard was shaking his head.

Its not that, milord, Ricard said. Your soul - its not Form. Theyre not sure quite what it is, not yet, but something about it had the Institute fellows quite curious about your condition. When they saw that you werent restoring yourself, they called for their Fix.

Michael stared, wide-eyed, and Ricard coughed. Sorry, milord, he said. Slip of the tongue. They have a talented anatomens on staff, a Lady Altenbach-

I know what you meant, Ricard, Michael sputtered. But whatever you may call her, theres no way we could afford Institute rates. Father has money, yes - not enough for that. His face darkened. And even if he did I doubt Im worth that much to him.

Ricard pursed his lips, rocking back on his heels while he ordered his words. The Institute, he said, saw fit to waive their fee.

Did they. Michael blinked, letting his head fall back on the pillow. He regretted the sudden motion almost immediately, wincing against the pain. Ugh. Thats - unprecedented. And I mean that, it may be literally without precedent.

I believe youre correct, milord, Ricard said. Nevertheless, they provided their services. The only thing they asked in exchange was that you come back for an examination or two once youve recovered.

Michaels eyes narrowed. Ricard, he said warily, what arent you telling me? Why would the Institute take such an interest in my welfare?

Ive no notion of why, milord, Ricard said. Im only thankful that they have. He smiled again, small but warm. But thats not a concern for today. You should eat before anything else, I imagine youll find your appetite soon.

I believe youre correct, Michael said. He wasnt precisely hungry, but he did have an empty sort of feeling under his ribs that struck him as worrisome. Maybe something bland at first, I dont want to send myself back to bed again.

Ricard nodded, his eyes twinkling. Ill attempt to restrain Helene, he said, but I cant promise anything. Shell be so relieved to hear youre up. His face sobered, and he looked down at Michael. We were all quite worried, for a span.

Michael reached out to grab Ricards hand, giving it a squeeze. Thank you, Ricard, he said. For being here when I woke. He forced a smile. Its nice to know that someone was hoping Id pull through.

The elderly manservant squeezed his hand in return, turning to leave for the kitchen - quickly, but not quite fast enough that Michael missed the tear on his cheek. He paused just ahead of the doorway, seeming to weigh something in his head. Finally, he spoke.

He offered to pay, Ricard said. Word gets around, among we servants, and I know a few sets of open ears at the Institute. When he saw you werent recovering, he told them hed find the money, borrow it if he had to. It didnt come to that, thankfully - but he did offer.

Ricard paused, then left before Michael could muster a response - which was just as well, given that he didnt know quite what he could say to that.

In the end, after a bowl of light porridge and some diced figs that Helene had added past Ricards objections, he folded his hands and looked out the window. The sun shone down, bright and clear, and he could see a wisp of cloud scudding by in the distance.

huh, Michael said.

After a few contemplative moments Michael freed himself from his bed and washed, feeling almost awake by the time he finished. Ricard returned in time to help him dress. He set to scolding Michael for even thinking of walking so quickly after his injuries - but given the threat of his charge tottering through the house in nothing but nightclothes the manservant had been forced to relent.

Michael was actually feeling much better than a dead man had any right to feel, despite the nagging pains across his back and shoulders. None of them seemed more than superficial, no doubt thanks to the Institutes anatomens. The thought gave him a shiver. His imagination lingered on the idea of a womans fingers, bloodstained, tracing through the ruin of his back while flesh knit together in their wake.

He felt suddenly glad that he had fallen senseless; by all accounts the process was excruciating beyond belief.

After enduring a bit more fuss from Ricard he managed to walk out of his chambers looking plausibly human, albeit a rather ungainly specimen due to the bandages he wore like a tortuous undershirt. Michael made it twelve steps down the hall before he heard the rustling of cloth and the scrape of a chair from the study.

His ears barely registered the sound. The razor-edged focus of his fathers soul had flooded out into the hallway the instant before, throwing him back into the horrid white-walled room with his hands locked to a post, the lash slowly flaying his back. He smelled blood and acid on his breath, the cool disinfectant tang of the Institute and the leather of their whips.

For the young lords benefit, let us have some introductions, he said. I am Marcus Essen, director of the Institutes research into applied animetry. Michael managed to avoid reacting to the title, although it was much loftier than he had expected. His heart began to beat more quickly - what had he landed himself in, that a director of the Institute was taking time out of his day?

He wrestled his thoughts back on track in time to offer a polite nod and look expectantly to the two women as Marcus continued speaking. This is Vera Reuss and her assistant, Sofia Altenbach. Vera has been gracious enough to lend us some of her time today so that we might delve into your circumstances more thoroughly.

Michael inclined his head to the two women, but noticed that his father had gone somewhat stiff beside him. He looked up and saw that the color had gone from his face, the skin beginning to bead with sweat.

Director, Im honored, he said, his voice betraying none of his evident discomfort as he turned to face the blond woman. Lady Reuss. Its a pleasure to finally meet you in person.

She smiled again, her eyes settling uncannily on him before flicking back to Michael once more. Likewise, she said. I must admit, I was eager to make your acquaintance. There are things you can only see face-to-face.

Michaels confusion at hearing that statement from a blind woman must have shown, because her smile grew wider still. Oh, Marcus, hes delightful, she said. I cant even bear to be coy. She leaned across the table and extended her hand to Michael, who took it on reflex.

Pleasure to meet you, Michael Baumgart, she said. Glad to see youre on the mend. I had the chance to talk to the anatomens who saw to you the other day - Sofias cousin Isolde, actually. She said you were in quite a state when they brought her down.

Michael looked at Sofia, whose expression clearly indicated that she was not to be an active part of this conversation. Im very grateful, he said carefully. Are you two also?

Vera actually laughed, while everyone else in the room looked strangely discomfited. You may be the highlight of my week, she said. No, were not. Sofia is an ordinator, shes got quite a gift.

He nodded slowly, some things slotting into place. Souls on the Truth axis were rare compared to Form and Light, but highly sought-after in nearly every field. Having an assistant like Sofia meant never worrying about notes or sums, never forgetting vital information or fretting over disconnected ideas.

Michael took Sofias hint, though, and turned his attention back to Vera. And you, my Lady?

Her face took on a mischievous aspect. Why - Im Sibyl.

Michaels heart took a brief rest, then resumed beating with a vengeance. She was one of the Eight. One of the Eight was here for him. His brain fuzzed even as his mouth soldiered onward, mindful that the next word in the conversation was his.

Oh, he said weakly.

Vera let out another delighted peal of laughter, while Marcus joined in with a wheezing chuckle of his own. Sometimes thats the only good response when the Eight are involved, he said. But yes, occasionally Sofia is kind enough to make time on Sibyls schedule for us. In this case we barely even had to beg.

Its hardly difficult to get my attention, Vera said. And I always make time for novelty. Besides, its not as though its a burden on my time - I can tell you already hes not one of mine.

Marcus furrowed his brow. Degree of certainty? he asked.

Extreme, Vera replied, giving him a reproachful look. His brain activity is normal, considering his baseline and recent injuries. Responses to sensory stimuli are normal, reaction time is normal, and he didnt spot when I lied to him.

There was a moment of quiet while the men in the room frowned - Michael wondered if they were pondering her analysis or, like him, simply rerunning the conversation in their heads after her last statement.

So not Truth - and not Form or Light, I expect, Marcus mused, receiving a nod of confirmation from Vera. Well, thats that. If hes Life then I suppose well have to wait for Josef. He already had a trip planned that would see him here from Bladesday next, fortunately. It shouldnt be too hard to cadge some of his time, especially if he takes an interest.

The words skated by Michaels ears unheard after the first sentence. Souls on the Life axis were vanishingly rare, with few of the clear-cut rules that defined the other alignments. The anatomens that had healed him was one such, but others dealt with aspects of the mind or things pertaining to farming and husbandry.

Amid his thoughts, his father had gone very still once more. Spark is coming here? Karl asked, an unusual waver creeping into his voice. The Assembly restricted his trips to the mainland for a reason. There were - incidents, the last time he was in Calmharbor.

Vera shrugged. There are arrangements to be made, as ever. In this case you dont have to worry. She flashed Michael a slight smile. Ill be keeping a particularly close eye on your son for the near future, and if anything untoward were to happen to him I would know.

For a moment, as she spoke her last word, an ineffable bond was loosed and Michael was awash in Veras soul. If his fathers soul was a swarm of sharp edges, Veras was simply the profound knowledge that you were seen. Michael had felt the sensation of eyes on his back before, but now they came from every conceivable angle. Every twitch of a muscle, every breath, every heartbeat was known, observed, and eternally remembered. It was all-seeing, all-knowing, inescapable-

And then it stopped, leaving Vera smiling pleasantly across the table at his father without an ounce of warmth in her clouded eyes.

Karl recovered quickly, sketching a quick bow. I - appreciate your vigilance, Sibyl, he said, although Michael did not miss the tightness of his jaw when he spoke. I feel confident none would test it.

Youd think, Vera said, looking amused, her eyes sliding to Michael. But, a spot of good news - although Im rather useless at divining the particulars of souls on the Life axis, I can at least confirm the data from the animetry tests - whatever youve got, its potent.

Her smile faded. Very potent, she muttered. Actually, Marcus, its enough that I want to confirm something. She crooked a finger, and Sofia stood to grab a carafe of iced water and a glass from a side table. The attendant poured and handed the glass to Vera, who took a sip and smiled.

Mmm, so, she said, still looking at Michael. Her eyes sharpened, the echo of her bared soul seeming to linger in the air. There is water, and there is ice. What is the ice doing?

Michael blinked. Melting? he said.

Indeed. Slowly melting away. She stirred the ice with a finger and pushed the glass towards Michael. Think about the ice, about it becoming water. The slow inevitability of it. Envision the path from now to then.

Her words had taken on a droning quality, and Michael found himself unaccountably drawn to the glass, still spinning gently from Veras stir. The ice caught the light in gentle sparkles, and he let his mind linger on it like she had commanded.

Keep that image in your head, Vera said, and tell it to melt.

He heard his father startle beside him, sucking in a quick breath - evidently he had fathomed the purpose of the test. Michael had not, and so felt vaguely ridiculous when he stared at the ice and spoke: Melt.

It did, albeit not any faster than it had before.

Vera made a small, satisfied noise and pulled the glass back, exchanging a significant look with Marcus. Ah, well, she sighed. Had to check.

She got up from her chair, looking faintly amused as the three men in the room followed suit. Sofia rose in a more leisurely fashion, collecting a few small things from the table. Vera turned to Michael one last time and inclined her head.

I expect well be hearing much about you in the coming years, she said. Enjoy your final days of relative anonymity while they last. Or Her smile slowly crept back, and she glanced at Sofia. If youd rather get a head start on your ensouled life, I host a small dinner on Arbordays. Short notice, but my usual guests would be glad of an unusual one.

Sofia jotted a quick line of text down on the sheet and handed it to Vera, who extended it to Michael in turn. He took it - an address, and a time.

No need to give me your answer now - or at all, for that matter. The brief flutter of her soul brushed over the room, prickling the hair on Michaels neck. Im rarely surprised. Gentlemen - good day.

The two women walked out, followed after some parting pleasantries by Marcus. There was a pause while Karl stared silently out the window. His face was inscrutable, which was normally sign enough that he was worried. After another moment, he beckoned Michael and began walking towards their coach.