Weight of Worlds

Kirs sat with Amalia, arms around her legs, head propped on her knees. Ten minutes after she’d emerged from the belly of the school, she still drew racked breaths and shook. Amidst the snow and dust and blood, fresh speckles of vomit crusted the hem of her pants. Whatever had happened to her in the belly of the school, Kirs couldn’t imagine.

Ayvir sat next to them, one arm around Grevor, who’d fallen asleep. Healers were still checking on him, but he seemed to be recovering from both his initial hit to the head and Saleema’s follow up when she snuck into the tower. Ayvir himself rested his head against the wall, snoring lightly.

Healers were milling around Esmund and Ranvir, they seemed at a loss for what to do. When Amalia had crawled up the stairs, Kirs had been more than happy to leave behind his mangled body. For all that his body resembled a corpse, his spirit was still well alive. In some ways, it felt like seeing a chicken walk after its head was cut off.

They didn’t care about it, though. Kasos called him Phormos. That man still stood holding the creature within the grasp of his power. It writhed and fought him, but clenched in the first of dark heavy fog it couldn’t escape.

Currently, it was quiet, hanging in utter stillness. Kirs worried it might burst into renewed action soon.

But Phormos didn’t pay it any attention at all. He only had eyes for the other one. The spirit still hung in the air. Bandages suspended in the wind, the form of a human. The two had been staring each other down for minutes now.

People were still filtering into the premises, and the triage stations were being put back into use again. Kasos came over once more, sitting down on the other side of Amalia. Putting a hand on her back, he rested it there, almost as if her spine were an armrest. Yet, she calmed. Not entirely, but her shivers withdrew.

“What’s going on?”

Kasos shook his head. “They are sizing each other up. In-depth soul-sight work. Phormos is good, almost as good as Bacenor, but that creature…” he shook his head, expression a mix of wonder and worry. “He- It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before. Near wholly a spirit, that ribbon of gray cloth is all it is. Its soul-sight is more than ours. Not as trained, but better made. Evolved in a way.”

“Bacenor?”

“That gives him a silver medal.”

Kirs shook her head. “Compared to Ranvir?”

Snorting, Kasos mouthed his name. “He is good, don’t get me wrong. Compared to people his age, I’d rate him above-average.”

“So everyone on Korfyi is close to him?” Kirs’ disbelief made her lean forward.

Kasos’ eyes widened. “My apprentices.”

Kirs leaned back, resting her back against the chill wood of the stables. The splinters tugged at her hair and shirt. The rough sanding had been hard on the lumber. “When do they begin? The ones you’re talking about?”

“Thirteen.” He shrugged and amended his statement, “Eight, Amalia started when she was six.”

“So could he become as good as,” she faltered for a moment, forgetting the names. “Him?”

“Hard to say. Arkrotasia aren’t normal people, they defy regular reason. Was Phormos always heartless, calculating, and that masqueraded as talent? Was Bacenor’s force of nature personality forged in his childhood, or was he born to it? Aren’t the stories of your Sun King the same? Born with those eyes, spiritually aligned. Whose to say?”

“Heartless? Didn’t he save…” she trailed off, worried mentioning Amalia might push her over the edge again.

“She’s not listening, not really. I doubt she’ll remember much of this day.” Kasos stroked her back affectionately. “He stopped the creature, and that did save her. But did he do it out of the kindness of his heart? Or did he sense the spirit? It would have stripped his disguise in moments, no doubt about that.”

Morphos. That tired old veteran. How much of that had been an act? How far had he gone to hide amongst them? He saved Amalia, but let Sansir and Dovar die. But she was also a citizen of Limclea.

The strips of cloth descended to the ground, the motion jarring, leaving the spirit standing on the ground as if it was as much flesh and blood as the rest of them. Others were reacting as well. Phormos turned to look toward the gate, eyes narrowed beyond his lank dripping locks.

Even Es and the healers had turned. Ayvir stirred, blinking open his eyes and looking toward the school’s portal. Kirs tentatively stretched her soul-sight forth, but she’d had it out trying to see the fight with Ranvir and he’d done something that had burnt it.

A woman stepped out, flinty eyes locked on Phormos. She sneered before passing beyond, gaze going first to Amalia, then Ranvir. Her brows rose, and she walked over to him.

The healers didn’t question her as she knelt next to him. Kirs caught a flash of ivory bone and pale intestine. Es stirred but let her touch him. Frustrated, Kirs almost got up to see what was going on.

“She’s assisting his process,” Kasos said, brow furrowed. “Guiding his attention instead of letting the venom run its course. Kyriake wouldn’t harm Ranvir.”

Kyriake, Kirs wondered, staring at the leather-clad woman. Ranvir had talked about her. One of his teachers back on Korfyi. She’d disappeared right before he started the school.

Phormos called out to her as she straightened. He gestured to the creature. Though Kyriake and he were within reach of the school’s translation ritual, Kirs was not.

“He wants her to help him dispose of the…” Kasos hesitated. “Ralith?”

Kirs stared at him. “Ralith?” examining the creature more closely, she realized that yes, it could be nothing else. Flesh-torn. But they’d always thought they were the bandaged creatures at the border. Looking at the spirit, maybe two different breeds of the same animal. Dog and wolf? But no, the Ralith hadn’t been built on the traditions of everyone else. She was drawing comparisons between birds and fish, because they both lived outside of cities. “Why?”

“Some unspecified consequence. I don’t think he knows for sure.”

“How does he know this?”

“They’ve been communicating,” Kasos said, nodding between Phormos and the bandages.

The woman’s gaze cut between the two before she stepped forward, tight-lipped. Even from her, Kirs could see the muscles in her jaw tensing. The bandages slipped close until they all three stood around the Ralith. It spread arms and did something. Even Kirs’ hurting soul-sight could tell that much.

The ralith tensed and squirmed harder, flexing and stretching until tendons and ligaments ripped off. A spray of flayed muscle and blood broke from its neck, the paper-thin skin proving no barrier at all.

Twisting and flexing, the legs grappling and twisting, stabbing for them yet remained out of reach. It gnashed its jaw, teeth audibly snapping and grinding on the limp mandibles.

Finally, with one last heave, it simply fell apart. Flesh, bone, and organs landed in a minced heap. It barely looked organic. The cloud around the creature vanished as suddenly as it’d come and the bandage-spirit rose into the sky once more.

Kyriake turned and walked away, Phormos calling after her. She ignored him as she stopped by Esmund. Though they couldn’t communicate outside the school’s zone, she made it clear he was to carry Ranvir. Then she began stamping away. Towards them, Kirs realized.

Kyriake stood over them, snapping a few words at them. This close, Kasos’ own translation charm worked well enough. She grabbed Amalia up, carrying her as if she weighed nothing more than a child.

Kirs said, pushing to her feet. She turned to Ayvir and Grevor.

“Go,” Ayvir said, waving for them to leave. “We’ll be right along once he’s right side up.”

Kirs licked her lips, but Kyriake and Amalia were already moving away. Kasos was approaching Esmund, clearly struggling with Ranvir’s larger, more unwieldy form.

“Besides, I think he’d like his family here alongside him when he wakes up.”

Kirs nodded and followed the strange woman now entering the school. “I came,” she said, waiting for Es and Kasos to catch up. “When I learned you’d asked for me multiple times at the Sentinels.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Damn right, it isn’t. Phormos could have stopped this at anytime. Instead, he was too busy playing charades.”

“Why?”

Kyriake shook her head. “If you ask him, he’ll tell you he had to. Or that the ‘plan’ needed him to. That he’s not a good person. Anything to avoid culpability. So long he can convince himself he’s a bad person, it’s okay to not be good.”

Kirs sighed and looked down at her feet. Kasos and Es were muscling Ranvir’s winged and weathered form through the door. Already, he’d stopped looking like a doll who’d had the stuffing beat out of him.

“I have called in a medical team, just in case. They should set up at Ranvir’s house at the moment.” The gruff woman began leading them across the basement.

Pashar walked over to the crater. Behind her, she felt the bandages approach. She’d done her best to eavesdrop on the two. She’d spent the last ten minutes more or less insensate drooling on the snow.

He lay on top of her in the crater, bowed over her head and weeping. Bloodstained his collar and chin, leaving a ragged clean line where he’d healed from the injury. Pashar shivered as the spirit stopped next to her, the slight rustle of the cloth the only mark of its presence.

Saif glared up, blood-shot eyes outlined in bright burning gold. “Leave me alone,” he spat in ancient Kisi. The creature’s tether-sense struck like a hammer. His eyes dulled for a moment and shoulders dropped before he caught himself. Eyes dimming, he glanced at Pashar but kept his attention on the spirit.

“Tell the Bishop that he is to clean up and prepare for an embassy.”

Pashar startled as the entity unraveled into one long ribbon shooting off eastward, toward the front lines. She averted her gaze, looking away from the pain and hurt she saw in those eyes. Despite all the years, all his training and all the hurt he’d caused her, she still felt pity and empathy looking at him cradling Saleema’s corpse.

Turning, she gazed across the field, seeing the other man. Morphos, though that wasn’t truly his name. Nor did he look like him any longer. Decades younger and much thinner, he followed the entity’s departure before turning to look at her.

His features were entirely unreadable from this distance. He turned and walked towards the portal.