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 Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2011 7:29 pm
Time spooled forward gently, only a few moments catching as they flashed past - the slow, careful 'acquisition' of flasks, scalpels, and other tools, much as they had obtained supplies for Ettore's atelier. Cleaning, vines and dust being flung out into the swamp with reckless abandon. Making traps to catch frogs. Oh, there were classes and family business, but they weren't as important. Not in the grand scheme of things. Those were shared.
This was secret, theirs and theirs alone.
Loreto spent long hours in its tower, sometimes with Ettore, sometimes alone. It practiced, it tested, it experimented; it worked its way through Zia Agostino's lessons, then went back to its tower and modified the technique, testing and trying, succeeding and failing. Learning. Loreto experimented and Ettore painted, and they shared knowing looks across the classroom.
Loreto's breakthrough came one evening; they'd taken lanterns, brought them back to the tower to illuminate the laboratory space. The light flickering on the swamp water made it everything seem even more exciting, a marvelous secret game, an adventure. Loreto had laid out two frogs on the slab, each carefully poisoned with a single leaf. One had leeches on it, the other did not.
"Why are you bothering?" Ettore asked, tilting its head at the setup. "We've already mastered this lesson. Everyone can purify this poison from the frogs' blood."
"Because I want you to see. I need someone else to be the control," Loreto said, excitedly. It grabbed Ettore's wrist and guided the other plagueling over to the slab, positioning him next to the leech-bedecked frog. "You take care of this one, and I'll take care of the other, and we'll see which is fastest."
Ettore looked bemused. "Whatever you say. Tell me when to start?"
Loreto hurried to its side of the slab and spread its hands over the leech-less frog; Ettore mimicked the gesture over his own frog. "Right. Ready... set... go!"
FEAR dribbled from the plaguelings' fingers - not much more than in Zia Agostino's first class, but more controlled now from practice. Loreto focused, sending its FEAR not into leeches, but into the frog directly, reaching down to touch the frog, tracing veins and arteries with its fingers. It could feel the circulatory system, hot blood tainted with the sharp, bitter feel of poison, and-
It opened its eyes. The frog was now covered with a fine purple sheen, like sweat; Loreto grabbed a white cloth and wiped the amphibian clean. The residue smelled of poison leaf.
"Done!"
The frog croaked and hopped off the slab.
Ettore stared; his concentration broke, and the FEAR he had been feeding into the leeches flickered and died. "How did you do that so fast?"
"If you work with the frog directly - you don't need to use the leeches, see? They're just another thing between you and the poison! It's faster, and it's more efficient." Loreto opened its beak in a wide smile; it could feel fatigue creeping into its mind, but it was less than if it had done the same exercise as Ettore had. "You use less FEAR and get the same result faster. Better for doctor and patient!"
Ettore stepped to one side as Loreto tended to 'his' frog; just as before, the amphibian sweated poison out onto the surface, was wiped clean, then hopped away in perfect health. "It really does work!"
"It does!" Loreto beamed at its friend. "A huge success! Once I perfect the technique, it will revolutionize the craft. I'm sure of it!"
"And then?" Ettore said, holding up his hand.
The clap of the high-five rang into the swamp, followed by two voices laughing in unison.
"Wings!"
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Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2011 7:30 pm
Time moved again, faster this time; individual moments turned into a blur of sensation, more knowledge than any one visible scene. Hard work, experimenting, painting. Classes, rituals, studies and procedures. Growing, growing, changing; the passage of years - not many, but enough.
Enough to bring them to this moment.
They were in Ettore's atelier. The passage of time had revealed a bit of poor planning on their parts: while the small attic space was tall enough for young plaguelings, it was a bit cramped for older ones, very nearly adolescents. They had to walk stooped, long necks bent, backblades flattened carefully against their spines - but the swirls of color and purity of ink that Ettore wielded made it all worthwhile.
"It's astonishing, Ettore," Loreto said, awed by the painting on the makeshift easel. It was a moonrise, or Ettore's envisioning of one - they'd seen moonrises from the laboratory tower, the fat golden moon rising over the swamp, but the scene Ettore had put to paper was pure imagination. The moon rode high over mountains, those mythical things seen and described only in books. The sky was rich and deep, so much so that it might have been seen through a window rather than a painting, but there was more to it than accurate rendering. That night felt lean, hungry, a view into immeasurable and unknowable vastness before which the viewer could only cower in fear.
"It is, isn't it?" Ettore agreed; the other plagueling was flush with pride, beak practically stuck open. "I was hoping you'd think so... I either think my work is wonderful or terrible, so I need you to tell me which is right!"
"You've improved so much." Loreto turned, looking down the length of the attic space. Ettore didn't take things down, so the slanting roof was now almost covered in paper, sketches and paintings peering out from every angle. It was like a timeline of his work. "Imagine if you could learn from an experienced artist..."
"Perhaps someday," Ettore sighed, "but I don't know wh-" His beak closed suddenly, with a clack. "What was that?"
Loreto crouched, one hand splayed against the floor, listening. There, just on the edge of hearing, was a low... rumbling sound?
Ettore's backblades slowly rose to stand on end. "Someone's coming."
The lanterns were quickly extinguished, and both plague doctors crouched in the dim natural light. The rumbling sound had resolved itself into the sound of hooves clattering on the floor below - not just one plague doctor, but several. And the sound was getting louder. Coming closer.
They can't be coming here. It's our secret, Loreto longed to say, but it didn't dare speak. Only swallow in sudden fear as the steps reached the room directly below.
And stopped.
"Come down from there!"
The words were sharp, angry, authoritative. The two plaguelings stared at each other in silent horror. If they stayed quiet, maybe-
Something hit the floor with such force that it shuddered powerfully; further down the attic, a board fell loose, clattering into the room below. Papers fluttered off the walls, and Ettore stumbled off-balance, falling onto his side.
"W-well," Ettore said, after a moment, his voice thin and shaky. "I guess that... won't work..."
And then there were figures pulling themselves up through the hole in the floor, figures that - even stooped - strode across the attic and grabbed them, dragging them down into the light.
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Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2011 7:33 pm
It was known that there were cells in the Casa, tiny windowless stone chambers empty of anything but their luckless inhabitants. They were not often used, being reserved only for the most serious infractions. Loreto had never seen them... until now.
The plagueling was crouched in the corner of a cell, shivering not because it was cold, but because it was afraid. A tight, painful ball of fear had taken root in its belly. It had been a game, their shared secret; they had worked hard, so hard. And now it was gone, shattered in an instant.
The door creaked open. Loreto did not look up. Rough hands pulled it upwards, pushed it ahead of them as it stumbled out of the cell, along the dimly-lit corridor that led to the antechamber of the Cirurgien family's personal dungeon. There were other plague doctors standing there, every one of them winged.
Except one.
Ettore, Loreto wanted to cry out, but did not. The other plagueling was held between two elders, his head drooping, beak pointed at the ground. He did not look up as Loreto, too, was stood up in the same position, strong hands wrapped around each arm. The room was silent other than the oddly dissonant chime of metal feathers.
One of the elders spoke first. "Whose offal was that?"
Ettore did not move. Loreto turned its own gaze down, staring fixedly at the stone floor - but the sound of a hand cracking against bone drew its attention sharply forward again. An elder was standing in front of Ettore, one hand held to one side, having finished delivering the first blow.
"I will ask again. Whose?"
A sudden sharp slap made Loreto's ears ring; it stumbled, but was held in place by the claws on its arms-
"Mine!" Ettore's voice, high-pitched and strident; once Loreto could focus again, it looked up. The other plagueling was straining forward. "Don't hurt Loreto! Everything in that room is mine!"
The interrogator turned and walked back towards Ettore. "Was yours," it said, an odd satisfaction in its tone. "It has been burned."
Loreto's beak dropped open. Burned- The sketches, the painting, that haunting night sky - gone? All gone, just like that? And more... plague doctors, like all undead, had an instinctive fear of fire. For them to have gone so far as to burn something was nearly unthinkable...
"Burned," Ettore repeated, hollowly. Then, barely audible, "Why?"
"Because it was an abomination. Wholly inappropriate, wholly improper for a plagueling - or, indeed, any denizen of this Casa. You knew this, or you would not have concealed it so." Another blow cracked through the silence; Ettore cried out, and Loreto ground its beak as anger spiked through it. "Those who dwell in the shadows of our wings must follow our traditions. Our way has served this family for hundreds of years, and we will not be denied."
The interrogator turned once more, visible now in profile as it stood between Loreto and Ettore. "The punishment is clear. Two weeks' darkness for colluding against the will of the Casa. A warning. The ritual will be held tomorrow." It nodded at those surrounding the two plaguelings. "Place them back in the cells until then."
The other elders nodded in unison.
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Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2011 7:33 pm
This isn't actually happening. It's a dream. I'm imagining it. I'm going to wake up any second now-
It wasn't working.
Loreto stared numbly out at the crowd as the residents of the Casa filed in. It was the same chamber used for the ritual of wings, and it had daydreamed many times about standing here, laying itself across the slab in preparation for the ecstasy of pain - but that wasn't the only purpose of this room. It was used for other things.
Worse things.
It was braced between two elders once more, just as before; Ettore was to its right, similarly restrained. Neither plagueling fought - what would be the point? They could only wait in silence, watching or looking away as every other plague doctor in the Casa filled the observation area. There was even a line of very young plaguelings, their masks looking oddly out of proportion, their eyes wide behind their lenses.
The two of them were to be an example.
The doors closed behind the last stragglers with a metal clang. One of the elders - the same one who had interrogated them yesterday - stepped forward, arms raised. "I regret to call you here today, my family; such a thing has not been required in many years..."
Loreto couldn't listen. It couldn't look - the eyes of the gathered plague doctors bore into it, an implacable gaze it could not meet. It kept its own gaze fixed on the floor. One flagstone had a chipped corner. A bit of lichen was splashed on another corner. Here, the floor was smoothed by centuries of hooves walking across it. There, a bloodstain that had never come out. Granite, limestone, marble-
A hand grabbed its beak and forced its head up.
"-look well, and understand the consequences of disobedience," the elder intoned. It had walked over to Ettore, had one hand over his beak and one at the back of his head. "The sentence is two weeks."
"Look well!"
Loreto saw the strap on the mask fall to either side of Ettore's head. It stared, its stomach twisting, as the elder pulled the mask away - it was not effortless. Masks were bonded by bone and FEAR to their plague doctors, after all, but what the elders had given, they could take away...
The mask broke free with a sickening pop.
A faint, mewling whine rose; the mask was inert now, cradled gently in the elder's claws. Ettore's face was gone, leaving only ear-holes and that gaping, jawless maw in its wake. The cry was distorted, unearthly.
Terrifying.
Loreto tried to thrash away as the elder came for it, but the claws on either side held it too tightly. "Please," it babbled as the elder placed one hand on its beak, the other hand undoing the catch on the back of its mask. "Please, no, please-"
Pop.
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Posted: Tue Jul 19, 2011 8:36 pm
The memory of those two weeks was not lingered on. It was rushed past as rapidly as possible, but for all that it was impossible to ignore - a cold splash into suffocating emptiness, not dark or black, but void. Sounds echoed hugely in the sightless world; touch sharpened in desperation, claws feeling against stone, memorizing every crack. Being confined to that single cell was a mercy in one sense. It did not have to stumble through the Casa, a shambling half-creature to terrify the plaguelets, but its own garbled babbling echoed so unpleasantly in that one tiny room, and no one came to listen.
The memory of void laid across Loreto's - Malodore's - personal timeline like a livid scar, dividing everything into before and after.
After began with a voice. Not its own - it was too familiar with that sound now, with its thick, mouthless moans and incoherent songs, anything to push away the void. Instead, Zia Celeste's voice came from the direction of the door, her exquisitely articulated syllables like a feast after famine.
"Loreto."
Sightless, faceless, it turned its head in the direction of the sound anyway. The door creaked open, and her hooves rang against the flagstones. There was a faint rustle of cloth. "Loreto, here..."
It registered the light touch of her hand at the back of its head before something hard was pressed over its face - and then light flared, sight-smell-taste flooding back in a crashing wave of input. Loreto stumbled backwards, pressing hard against the wall, backblades scraping in protest. Zia Celeste was crouched next to where it had been, but it couldn't make its eyes focus. "It's been two weeks. Your sentence is over," she said, quietly.
It opened its beak slowly; the mask felt oddly stiff, not quite its own just yet. Its vision was blurred, and scent awareness came in overwhelming stutters. Damp stone, mildew, old blood-
"Come on." She had come over to its side. One hand reached back to snap closed the strap on the back of its mask, and then she was urging it upwards. It stood, slowly, a wave of dizziness making it wobble on its feet. "You've been in here for two weeks. You need a bath and fresh bandages." Despite her gentle tone, there was an odd, muted ache behind her words. Loreto let her lead it down the hallway, past the shadows of the elders in the antechamber, and out of the dungeon into the Casa proper. It remained silent, staring at her back as its vision slowly began to clear.
The baths of the Casa Cirurgien were set in a small honeycomb of rooms, each tub kept separate from the rest in accordance with plague doctor modesty. Loreto was grateful that the ancient tubs were sunken into the floors of each bathing chamber - it had only to shed its coat, walk forward, and fall in.
"It takes a little while for your FEAR to re-integrate with the mask," Zia Celeste said; she reached into the tub and gently unwound Loreto's bandages.
Loreto opened its beak once again, wagging its tongue for a moment. Testing things. "How... where is Ettore?" it said, finally, the words faintly slurred.
"Well enough. I will tend to him once I am done with you. Unwind the bandages around your lower half, please."
It did so, ducking its head under for a moment. The warm water felt good against its exposed flesh. "Nobody else will help?" it said once it resurfaced, a wad of bandages tangled in its claws.
"I have experience in these matters," she said, her tone suspiciously bland. "Not in... being unmasked, but in... helping. After. So I do it."
It thought about this for a moment, then submerged itself again, opening its beak and letting some water trickle down its throat. Taste, too, was sharp and new; it snapped its beak closed at the coppery tang of its own blood in the water.
When it surfaced again, Zia Celeste was standing by the door. "Do you need help with your bandages?"
Only plaguelets or invalids required such help. Loreto shook its head.
"Very well. Return to your room after this. Your scrags-rat is waiting there for you. You will resume classes tomorrow as normal." She nodded to it, then turned and left, drawing the curtain over the door after herself.
It spent a while longer floating in the bath, then climbed out of the tub. Zia Celeste had laid out fresh bandages, a towel, and a clean set of clothes. It dried itself carefully, then slowly wound the bandages around itself, shivering convulsively when it had to shift its mask in order to bandage its head. It dressed itself quickly after that, then headed for its room.
It was normal for the many, many hallways of the Casa to be empty at any given time; there were well over a hundred plague doctors living there, but the Casa itself could have housed three times that population. Still, the corridors that led from the baths to Loreto's room seemed suspiciously empty, and it was quite sure that a few doors opened just a crack as it passed by.
When it opened the door to its room, something small and furry leapt onto the front of its coat, claws pricking through the fabric as she scrambled upwards - Parassiti. Loreto pushed the door closed and gathered up the scrags in its own claws; she squeaked at it and rubbed herself against the side of its face.
"I missed you too," it said, quietly.
Then it threw itself on its bed and cried.
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Posted: Tue Jul 19, 2011 9:18 pm
As instructed, Loreto went to the classroom the next morning as if nothing had happened. When it opened the door and stepped inside, all conversation snapped into silence, as if someone had turned it off. The other plaguelings stared at it while trying to look as though they weren't doing any such thing.
It sat down, sweeping its tail carefully behind its chair. It opened its desk. It took out a piece of paper. It took out its ink-pot and quill. It did absolutely nothing it hadn't done every morning for most of its existence, and yet it could still feel them staring.
The door opened again, and it got its reprieve as Ettore walked into the room; all the staring rapidly focused on him, a dozen curious heads turning in unison, and Loreto found itself joining in. Its friend walked with the same suspiciously perfect posture as it had affected on its own entry, as if nothing had happened - but, alone of all the plaguelings in the room, Loreto understood what Ettore had been through. It yearned to jump up and ask questions, but not the same ones the others would ask - are you all right? did they hurt you more? I'm sorry, I'm sorry-
Ettore sat down at his desk, spine ramrod-straight. He swept his tail carefully behind his chair. He opened his desk. He took out a piece of paper, ink-pot, and quill. And he stared straight ahead.
The unasked questions died in Loreto's thoat.
.................
It wasn't until after the day's classes that Loreto got a chance to see Ettore alone; while it could still feel the other plaguelings' curiosity, their fear (of the unmasked? of fraternizing with dangerous creatures? of the elders?) was a more powerful force, and they stayed away. Ettore strode through the corridors with purpose, not running but walking at top speed, heading in the direction of his room.
Loreto was the only one who dared to follow; it was vaguely surprised that none of the older plague doctors tried to stop it, given that the two of them had been accused of colluding against the elders. Perhaps they thought any spark of rebellion had been thoroughly squashed by their punishment? The thought made Loreto's stomach twist, but Ettore was only a few feet in front of it now. It reached out and grabbed the other plagueling's wrist. "Ettore!"
Ettore stopped dead; Loreto very nearly smacked into his backblades. "What?" The word was spoken without malice - without much of anything, in fact. It was blank as Ettore's mask had been after it was pulled off of his face.
"I..." It opened its beak, then closed it again with a snap. It didn't know what to say, not really; everything seemed inadequate or otherwise stupid.
Ettore lightly twisted its wrist out of Loreto's grip and kept walking; Loreto followed in silence, trying to swallow the lump at the back of its throat. When they reached Ettore's room, he opened the door and stepped inside, swinging the door closed...
... But not entirely. The door stopped before it hit the frame. Loreto hesitated, staring at the gap, then stepped forward and pushed the door open just enough to let itself in. Ettore was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. After a moment, Loreto closed the door behind it and sat down on the trunk at the foot of the bed.
They sat in silence for several minutes, neither looking at the other, until Ettore cleared his throat and straightened. "They burned it," he said, voice barely audible. "I went and checked, yesterday. After. There's nothing left. All my work... just gone."
"I'm sorry," Loreto offered; this, too, sounded inadequate, but Ettore opened his beak just slightly, the plague doctor equivalent of a small smile.
"It isn't your fault. I... I'm sorry you had to go through..." He swallowed. "That."
There was no need to clarify what that meant. "What are you going to do now?"
"I'm... I don't know." Ettore stared at his hands. "I have to think. You?"
"I don't know either." It had only been two weeks, but their heady days of sneaking off to work on their own projects seemed lifetimes away. Did it even have a laboratory to return to? Had they found the tower, or was it still there, undiscovered and unscathed?
Could it return? Dared it return?
It sighed, and Ettore echoed the sound. They looked at each other, meeting each other's gazes for the first time since before. "I have to think," Ettore said, after a moment. "That's all."
The other plagueling fell back on the bed, then, curling up on his side. Loreto lingered for a few more minutes, then stood as Ettore's eyes slipped closed. It let itself out, closing the door as quietly as it could before padding down the corridors towards its own room.
The choices were clear, sharply defined. It could go back to its tower, see if it was still standing and if the laboratory was still there. It could resume its work in secret. Or it could go back to its room, back to its elder-approved life, and be happy with leechcraft, and never have to face the void again.
Understand the consequences of disobedience.
It turned the corner and walked briskly back to its room, heart aching.
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Posted: Wed Jul 20, 2011 9:49 pm
Life, such as it was, went on. The other plaguelings stopped staring after a few days, though Loreto was aware of a new gap between itself and the rest of them. It and Ettore had sinned, and therefore were not entirely to be trusted, not entirely worthy of being included as they had been before. There was now silence in place of conversation. It was... not entirely unpleasant. Better silence than endless questions. Loreto threw itself into its studies, devouring lectures and experiments as much as their teachers would permit. That still ached - its inclination was to ask why?, to go beyond what they were taught into new territory. But it had to play it safe, had to corral that instinct and bring it sharply to heel. It stung anew every time it yanked its wandering thoughts back. But what hurt the most, unexpectedly, was Ettore. Despite their conversation that first day, the other plagueling had withdrawn, speaking only when spoken to, volunteering nothing. There was a wall there that even Loreto could not breach, and after a while it stopped trying, heart weary. What point was there in beating your head against a barrier that wouldn't break? It woke up, it studied, it went to classes. It went back to its room. It read yellowed books published centuries ago. It slept, not because it had to, but because it made time pass more quickly. It... existed. And then, one day, it came back to its room very late, having spent nearly the entire evening in the library, only to find a pink envelope on its desk. It stared at the unexpected intruder blankly for a long moment. Hasuko. Of course. It hadn't written to her for over a month, which was probably long enough to make her worry. Usually it wrote once a week. Its hand trembled slightly as it picked up the letter and opened it with one claw, letting the soft pink paper slide free. The paper was marked with the wearingly familiar blotches, words the elders had deemed unsuitable for its sight... but it was a precious letter all the same. Hasuko Loreto-kun, How have you been? It's getting warmer here at Kyurigawa. In the evenings, I can hear the tiny green frogs peep out on the muddy riverbanks. We call them uguisu-ga-eru or warbler frogs because their calls sound almost like birds singing in a chorus. It's a nice sound to listen to as you drift off to sleep. Remember how we discovered that my school year runs differently from yours? Well, my new school year started last week! So I'm in the sixth grade now. It was a little scary at first because I got placed in Mizunashi-sensei's class and she has a reputation of being very strict, stricter than Sumimura-sensei -- and he's an oni! Mizunashi-sensei is indeed strict and serious but I also think she's fair. She does not tolerate any goofing off or talking in class but she also doesn't go out of her way to be mean and always carefully answers any question you ask her. I can learn a lot from her. Today in class she handed out a survey form about what we want to be in the future. Even though we are young, she explained, it's important to think about things like that. That way you can go in the right direction to achieve your dreams! It was very inspirational when she talked about how her dream has always been wanting to help her students succeed. A lot of the girls (and a couple boys) teared up and several of them, like Midori-chan, wrote 'I want to be a teacher like Mizunashi-sensei' on their sheets. I'll admit I've never really thought about my dreams until now so I didn't know what to write. In the end, I wrote 'I want to be a doctor' since that's what my Mother wants me to be. She says it's a very honorable career and one I should strive for. You're going to become a doctor too, ne Loreto? Perhaps someday we can open an office together and help all creature of Halloween. I think that would be fun.Until then, let's both work towards our dreams! Ganbatte! <3 I hope you're doing well. Please write back soon if it's not too much trouble. I would very much like to hear from you. どうぞお元気で, Hasuko Loreto crumpled the letter against its chest. Even though it had never met Hasuko in person, it could imagine the bright sound of her voice, the tilt of her head. She lived in such a different world. She had choices, she had freedom, she had family who wouldn't tear her face off if she chose another path... it wasn't the same for her. It wasn't. And yet, reading her letter, Loreto knew. It knew what it wanted, even as the thought of the void terrified it. It wanted to learn, it wanted to experiment, it wanted to test its hypotheses to the limit, beyond the limit so arbitrarily imposed by its elders. Who had blocked out some of Hasuko's words... but not enough. Not anywhere near enough. Perhaps they had felt her letter would urge it down the 'right' path. Hah. It opened the door and strode out into the corridor again, moving tentatively at first, then picking up speed as it turned corner after corner, heading into the abandoned areas - no need for stealth, there wasn't anyone to see, not at this time of night. The lanterns were still in their hiding place, and it picked one up and activated it with a touch, heading down the tilted floors and into the dampness outside the wards. The sound of singing crickets and fat bullfrogs seemed to blanket everything. The tower was still there. Not only was it still there, it was absolutely untouched - interior already encroached upon by swamp vines, but Loreto was absolutely positive that no plague doctor other than it and Ettore had entered its laboratory. Its own private transgressions had never been discovered. Loreto put the lantern down on the stone slab and pulled away the soft tangle of vines that had grown in its absence. It could continue its work here, in secret, and push the boundaries as much as it liked. Nobody else had to know. Just it, the swamp, and its own will. And the consequences?The memory of the void made it shiver for a moment, but it squared its shoulders and forced itself to stop. It could either live within the boundaries of fear, or it could break them. It could either be happy - however temporarily - or it could be trapped and crushed for the rest of its days. ... When it thought of it that way, the choice was really very simple. Loreto stretched, tilting its head to look up at the sky through the hole in the wall. The darkness overhead reminded it of Ettore's last painting, just a little, though the moon tonight was a pale crescent. It felt the oddest urge to say something, do something to mark the moment - growth and change were always defined by ritual, but there was no precedent and no audience. "I'm choosing," it said, finally, the words swallowed up quickly by the sounds of the living swamp. Nothing answered, of course. Nothing noticed, or cared - but Loreto smiled anyway. It turned and headed down the stairs to set the frog traps. (Hasuko's letter written by her player, Frigoris! <3
Also, to be clear, words that are struck out are words Loreto would not have been able to read due to censoring.)
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Posted: Wed Jul 20, 2011 9:55 pm
A new sense of normalcy asserted itself. It wasn't much like the old 'normal', but it would do. Loreto contained it curiosity in its classes, then took the concepts back to its laboratory and expanded on them, testing and tweaking and putting a small dent in the swamp's frog population. It made for a solitary life, but a pleasant one, and it was very careful. It had no illusions that the nature of its defiance, closer to approved medicine than not, would soften the punishment at all if it was caught. The elders' 'justice' was swift; it did not discriminate. Defiance was defiance, after all.
Its pattern was so comfortable, so changeless for so many weeks, that it was surprised when someone knocked on its door late one evening, and even moreso when it opened its bedroom door and found Ettore there. It dropped the book it had been holding in surprise; Parassiti climbed out of its coat and bristled at the intruder, making a low, creaky sound in the back of her throat.
Ettore just tilted its head slightly. "Hello."
"Ah... hello," Loreto managed. "It's, um... it's been a while."
"Yes." He backed up a few steps. "Come with me?"
Loreto hurriedly stooped and picked up the book, setting it on its desk before following Ettore out into the hallway. "Where?"
The other plagueling shook his head, just slightly, and walked down the hallway, his steps brisk and purposeful. Again, Loreto followed, confused, as Ettore led it down a flight of stairs and through another series of hallways, into a part of the Casa that it had never been in before - even with their childhood explorations, they hadn't explored half of the abandoned areas of the vast, labyrinthine structure. Loreto could feel the wards fading and fluxing erratically in the walls as they walked along.
"Here," Ettore said, finally, turning into a tiny, windowless room. Wooden shelves were set into the walls, now bearing only cobwebs and a few dusty jars with unreadable labels. There was a tattered, rat-nibbled rug on the floor.
"... And?" It gave Ettore an confused look.
"Shhh." Ettore held one finger up, opening his beak just slightly in a small smile. He bent and pulled the rug to one side, revealing a worn wooden trapdoor set into the floor. It opened with a groan of rusty hinges. Ettore folded up the rug and stuck it on one of the shelves before climbing through the opening; a moment later, light flared from below.
"Come on!"
Loreto followed, pulling the trap door closed behind itself, and descended into a shining room. It had been a wine cellar, once; a few casks still sat here and there, their ancient wood polished to a dusky glow. The air here was clean and dry, reminiscent of the increased wards placed around the library. Apparently, some long-ago plague doctor had been very fond of wine, making the protections here more robust - but what drew Loreto's eye were the papers. Papers everywhere, streaked with ink and color, tacked to the wooden beams built into the walls. Wine casks formed an easel, table, stool-
"You're still painting," Loreto breathed.
Ettore gave it a defiant look, lifting his chin. "Yeah."
"After everything that happened...?"
"Yeah. I am. What about you?"
Loreto shook its head, opening its beak just slightly. "Yeah. Me too."
"So we're both unrepentant." Ettore returned the faint smile, though its gestures were stilted and awkward. Loreto could understand why - it would feel the same way, a little shameful, a little fearful, if Ettore were to come to its tower now. "I don't think we should... share, as much. Not all the time. But maybe you could come here, sometimes."
"Maybe you could come to my tower," Loreto replied, its tail swishing once. "When did you set all this up?"
"About a month ago." Ettore ran one hand over his wine-cask easel in a fond gesture. "I tried, Loreto, I really did try to be 'good', but I just couldn't. It was this or... well, I don't know. This or going insane, I suppose. Here, look."
There was a painting on the easel, a piece of paper neatly tacked to a board for support. Ettore picked up the board and flipped it around so Loreto could see. The paper seemed to be jet-black at first, a sea of ebony paint, and yet...
And yet. Loreto tensed; the seeming blackness was not only that. It was threatening, as if it might jump off the paper and drown the viewer; it was endless, thick and engulfing. It was emptiness. It was the void.
"It's astonishing, Ettore - please put it away?" It took a step back without meaning to.
Ettore chuckled and turned the piece around again, clearly pleased with his friend's reaction. "You know what it is, of course. You and all the little new-masked plaguelets... and me. I put my FEAR into it," he continued, running one finger down the edge of the paper. "Just like how we're taught to put FEAR into leeches. I did the same thing with the night sky painting."
"The technique is certainly effective," Loreto said, relaxing enough to smile now that the void wasn't staring at it. "I hate to think of your work stuck in this cellar, though, with nobody to look at it but the two of us. It deserves so much more."
Ettore shrugged, his backblades chiming against each other. "It is a hobby, for now. Perhaps circumstances will change later." Still, there was a touch of sadness in his voice. "But I can't stop. I won't."
"Then don't." Loreto settled itself onto a wine cask and gave its friend an expectant look. "Paint something for me? I want to see your FEAR technique in process. For science, naturally."
"Oh, of course," Ettore chuckled, taking the void-painting off of its easel and replacing it with a blank sheet. "Now. What will be my next masterpiece?"
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Posted: Sat Jul 23, 2011 1:42 pm
They laid their plans that evening, closed up in that secret cellar. The stakes had been raised - they were no longer first offenders. If they were caught this time, the consequences would be even more severe.
Thus: they would meet at random intervals, never on the same time on the same day, always with a minimum of a week between meetings. Outside of their meetings, they would not go out of their way to interact with each other, nor would they scrupulously avoid each other. They would not speak of their work outside of their respective safe havens.
It was agreed, and Loreto left Ettore's new atelier with mingled excitement and defiance in its heart. It was not alone any longer.
The plan worked beautifully. Every so often Loreto would knock on Ettore's door, or vice-versa, before the initiating plague doctor would head off to the appropriate part of the Casa. The other would follow a while later, and they would meet in the abandoned hallways and walk to tower or cellar together. It was simple, impossible to predict, and - so long as they were careful in their movements - practically foolproof.
Or so they thought, until the day they descended into Ettore's atelier and found Zia Celeste waiting for them, perched silently on a wine barrel.
The sight of her was so unexpected that Loreto could do nothing but stare for a long moment, trying to reconcile her appearance with the way the atelier was meant to be - empty, other than the two of them and Ettore's paintings. Only after that moment did it recoil, a belated shock of adrenaline jolting down its spine. Ettore jumped backwards into a wine barrel, which fell over in a clatter of wood and the distant gurgle of wine long since gone to vinegar.
"I thought so." Zia Celeste's voice was dull, monotone, edged with something aching and weary. "I was hoping I was wrong."
Ettore found his voice first, such as it as. "What... why... how?" he spluttered, backblades scraping against each other as they raised and lowered in uneasy waves.
Zia Celeste slid off of the wine barrel and padded over to Ettore's makeshift easel, tilting her head at the piece there; Loreto couldn't quite tell what Ettore's latest work was, not from its current angle. "You're both intelligent young plague doctors," she said, still toneless. "What did you do today, Ettore? What did you do before you went and fetched Loreto?"
Ettore stared at her, uncomprehending. "I... I came here, I painted, I finished that painting-"
A sudden cold chill ran down Loreto's spine. "You infused it with your FEAR, didn't you?"
Zia Celeste pointed at Loreto as if calling on it in class. "Yes. You-" Her accusing finger swiveled to jab at Ettore. "-used your FEAR inside the wards, you caper-witted creature! Did you think the power built into the Casa's walls was solely for your comfort?" Her voice rose with anger. "The enchantments are very thorough, if you know how to look and take the time to do so! Protection, structural integrity, climate control, and tracking, you little fool! Any plague doctor who knows how to study the ward system can feel where FEAR is being used. You are fortunate beyond telling that the elders are too confident in their own control to bother watching the wards constantly!" She glared at them both, her arms dropping to her sides, hands clenching into frustrated fists.
Loreto swallowed. "And... and you watched?"
"From time to time," she snapped. "For just such things as this-"
Ettore took a step forward and made a wild, furious gesture, sending a paint can flying into the wall. "You. You. The day we were - on that day, I tried infusing a painting with my FEAR for the first time-"
Loreto's gaze snapped to Zia Celeste's face, a sudden chill dropping into its stomach. "Zia..."
"Yes," she said, meeting their combined gazes for an instant before glancing away. "I saw the prickle of FEAR being used in an abandoned area. I informed the elders, and-"
Ettore had begun moving again after the word 'yes'. Frozen in place, Loreto blinked. When it opened its eyes again, Ettore was in front of Zia Celeste, and her final word cut off into a strangled sound as he wrapped his claws around her long neck, his beak clenched shut so tightly that Loreto could hear the bone creak under the pressure. Zia Celeste brought her hands up to claw at his forearms-
"No! Ettore, stop!" Loreto found it was able to move once more. It darted forward and slammed into Ettore's side, knocking the other plague doctor off balance. Startled, he released Zia Celeste; she staggered backwards, hands rising to touch her throat, backblades bristling like the fur of a frightened animal. Then she fell to her hands and knees and began to cough.
Ettore stared down at her, hands working into fists. "Because of her, everything I made was destroyed! Everything I had! Why?"
The two of them stared at each other, silent and shaking, the only sound the echo of Zia Celeste's rasping coughs. Loreto turned away first, dropping to its knees next to her, placing one hand tentatively on her shoulder.
"Because we are to give life, not take it," it said, quietly. "Because you are more than your anger - oh, Ettore..."
It looked up at Ettore as it spoke, and saw the fury leave him. He drooped, trembling with adrenaline and realization, then collapsed against his own easel. "Everything I worked for... I worked so hard, I..." Silent sobs shook him for a moment, and when he lifted his head again, his eyes were barely visible, tears leaking out the edges of its lenses. "Why? Just... why, Zia?"
"For your sake," she said hollowly, her voice hoarse. "Better to be caught now, for the lesson to come sure and swift... for you to learn the futility of defiance now. So you would give up, let go of your little whims, and be safe... but you didn't give up. My lesson failed." She shook her head, the movement weary and painful. "Why do you continue? You know the consequences if you are caught. You saw the long void..." Her words trailed off into another harsh coughing fit.
Ettore stared at her; Loreto could only stay where it was, patting numbly at Zia Celeste's back, the movement automatic. "Because... because I can't stop, Zia," he said, at last. "Without... without all this, without my painting, I might as well be living in the long void already, I... I'm sorry." His voice dropped into an ashamed whisper, another sob catching at his throat.
"I know, I know," she rasped between coughs. "It happens, every so often. The one that cannot be deterred. The one that can't be happy without it... she was like that. I remember." Her eyes were dull, her voice heavy with an emotion Loreto couldn't begin to read. "I tried. Nobody can say I didn't try."
"Wh-what will you do now?" Ettore asked, pulling back, fearful.
She fixed him with her gaze. "Hah. I should... I should have the elders down on your head, for this." Her hand went to her throat again. "Let alone the rest... but I won't. I won't have your fate on my hands, Ettore. Loreto. I couldn't bear it. I came to warn, not to condemn. Hah. See the thanks I get," she said, bitterly. "Play your game, plaguelings... but oh, be careful. I can keep your secret, but I cannot protect you. You understand? On the day they come for you, you will not be able to say you weren't warned!"
Her laughter dissolved into coughing once more.
"I... thank you," Ettore whispered, reaching one hand out to her before drawing it back, staring at it as if he couldn't believe what he'd tried to do just a few minutes earlier.
"They all say that," Zia Celeste managed, "eventually." She stood up, slowly, Loreto moving to one side to let her up. "Remember. Use your FEAR within the wards, and they will know. Not now, perhaps. But that, too, will happen eventually. And then the long void. And I will not have your fate on my hands. I warned you. I did."
She crossed the room at a slow shuffle, then climbed the ladder, pushing the trap door open - and then she was gone, the door slamming shut again. Her footsteps echoed on the floor overhead, fading.
Gone.
The two plague doctors stared at each other for a long moment. Then Ettore folded up, shuddering as he began to cry, great racking sobs that filled the entire cellar. Loreto crawled forward until it was at its friends side, but Ettore's grief was so great that it had no idea what to do. If anything even could be done.
It sat there and leaned against a barrel, staring off into space as Ettore's cries echoed around it, heart numb.
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Posted: Sat Jul 23, 2011 3:36 pm
Faster, faster, faster - memory moved faster now, propelled deliberately forward, skipping past the parts that didn't matter. There was only this: that, from that moment in the cellar onwards, the wall grew again. Ettore came to Loreto less and less, despite their agreement and all their secret plans. Zia Celeste was cold and brittle; the memory of the new hoarseness of her voice grated like rough stone, a twinge of long-ago guilt that would never quite heal.
Past classes, past experiments - the specifics didn't matter, not for this, only that they continued. Past a year's worth of days. Past everything.
To the inevitable.
Ettore wasn't in class.
This, in and of itself, was not unusual; there were spans of time when Ettore's attendance was erratic. Zia Celeste neither remarked nor inquired about it, and Loreto itself knew so little now. The last time it had been invited to the atelier was three months ago, when it had been shown paintings and sketches of the utterly mundane variety, prepared without FEAR. Their time together had been polite but stilted.
No, Ettore not being in class wasn't a surprise. What was a surprise was the sudden, thudding toll of a bell, loud enough to echo through the halls of the Casa, putting an instant stop to Zia Celeste's lecture on leech-breeding techniques. The young plague doctors in the class looked up toward the ceiling, towards the source of the sound, raising their voices in confusion.
Only Loreto looked to Zia Celeste first, and saw her break. She sagged downwards, burying her face in one hand, a silent paroxysm of emotion shaking her shoulders for a moment - then she saw it looking and straightened, smoothing out into a cold, impassive figure. "The Bell has rung," she announced, over the sound of both students and the bell itself. "Follow me."
She moved towards the door herself, and the students followed, asking questions among themselves. Loreto padded along with them, vaguely confused. There was a bell tower atop the Casa, and bells were rung for various occasions - before Zia Agostino's ascension to the rank of elder, the light, cheery carillon had chimed to announce the happy occasion. There were bells for warning and for celebration, bells to summon the family Cirurgien to meetings or feasts. But Loreto had never heard this bell before.
Zia Celeste led them downwards, to its surprise - down to the ground floor, and along the central great hallway towards the double doors that led to the swamp. The doors were open, tamed will-o-wisps gleaming in every lantern sconce along the way; from every staircase came plague doctors, the entirety of the Casa, all talking and hissing among themselves. Zia Celeste led them through it all, her tread carefully measured, her back ramrod-straight.
The Casa Cirurgien had a few courtyards, and the one that backed onto the swamp was one of the largest, a sweeping arc of stone that was open to the swamp on one side. Delivery boats would occasionally draw up there, but there was no boat present behind the stone docking platform. Even if there had been a boat, Loreto couldn't think of any delivery that would merit the attention of the entire Casa. The other plague doctors were filing into neat rows along the courtyard floor, smaller plaguelings hurried up to the front so that they could see... whatever was going to happen, Loreto supposed. It took its own place with the rest of its class, glancing worriedly at Zia Celeste every so often. She was staring straight ahead, gaze fixed on the stone platform. That unblinking concentration made Loreto uneasy.
At last, the great bell stopped its ringing, the silence it left behind nearly deafening all on its own. The older plague doctors stopped talking immediately, the younger ones following suit as soon as they realized. The sound of wings in the air drew everyone's attention upwards, and some of the smallest plaguelings gasped in delight.
The elders were on the wing.
Despite its misgivings, Loreto couldn't help but feel a surge of wonder at the sight of the elders, spiraling down from the heights, their metallic wings shining in the wisplight. Their movements were more stilted than the birds and bats of the swamp, but they were still... still beautiful, a word Loreto hadn't ever considered applying to the hidebound leaders of the Casa. They alighted on the platform in twos, hooves clacking as they touched down on stone. Two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve-
And then Loreto froze. The last two elders were descending together, another, wingless figure dangling between them, head down, tail limp. When they landed, they threw that figure forward, sending the luckless plague doctor headlong into the stone-
Ettore.
No-
The final elder landed last, in front of them all, its wings wide and tipped with corrosion - a near mythical figure, one Loreto had only seen a few times in its life. The Eldest and Founder of the Casa, said to be one of the original plague doctors to appear in Halloween, Durante Cirurgien. As one, the gathered family bowed their heads in respect.
"I regret to gather you all here this day." Durante's voice was harsh and grating, eroded with age. "Such a thing has not been required of us in many, many years. There are many here who have not heard the Judgement Bell's voice. Would that your innocence would not have been so shattered by its toll! Alas, sometimes such things are necessary. Sometimes judgement is necessary."
It bent down and, with almost casual strength, grabbed Ettore by the throat, hauling him upward. Ettore gagged and struggled weakly; it was clear from his appearance that he had already been thoroughly abused, his clothing torn and tattered, backblades bent sharply to either side, tail curved at an unnatural angle partway down its length.
Durante looked at him as if he were a particularly interesting bug. "Sometimes unnatural creatures are born into our Casa, creatures who seek to pervert and destroy the traditions of our most noble and ancient house. This one has taken the gifts given to him and used them to defy our laws and customs, applying the gift meant to heal to art." It spat the word like a curse, and Loreto realized what must have happened - Ettore had taken the chance, been experimenting with FEAR even behind Loreto's own back.
And now Zia Celeste's warning was coming true.
Numb, hands trembling at its side, Loreto could only watch as Ettore hung limply in Durante's grasp, coughing and gagging weakly, hooves scrabbling to touch the ground. Durante snorted. "Such a creature is not worthy of being called a Cirurgien, nor worthy of the gifts we have so generously offered. Do you not agree, my family?"
The answering shout, echoing from nearly every throat, was like running into a wall. "Aye!"
"It is the judgement of this Casa that this creature be removed from its hallowed walls, cast out into darkness and the swamp, there to die by whatever means may find him first." Durante hissed the last word with an almost sadistic pleasure. "So we have judged, and so shall it be done."
Loreto was prepared for the sharp, wet sound when Durante tore Ettore's mask off of his face, the strap snapping. It was even ready for the mewling, gurgling cry that spilled out of his friend's gaping, beakless mouth. But it was not prepared for Durante to throw Ettore down once more, the younger plague doctor groping vainly at the stone, claws outstretched. The elder lifted the now inert mask over its head and stood for a moment, majestic, framed by the sweep of its wings.
Then it brought its hands down, throwing the mask into the stone with all its force.
The mask shattered, and Ettore screamed - as much as one could scream without a face, his body convulsing helplessly as the link between him and his mask was irrevocably destroyed. Silently, the two elders who had brought him there dragged him up, holding him between them as their wings stroked at the sky, lifting the three of them upwards once more. Ettore's claws reached backwards futilely, flailing at the air, grasping for something that no longer existed except as broken shards of bone.
The two elders holding Ettore reached the stone arch that marked the end of the Cirurgien lands, hovering above the swamp water.
"Justice is served," Durante boomed.
The elders pulled back in one graceful sweep, then released. Ettore flew forwards, limbs flailing, and splashed into the water and muck beyond the Casa borders. The Judgement Bell began to ring again, its deep toll reverberating in Loreto's shaking form. Its gaze was fixed on the small, desperate form of its friend, struggling in the muck...
Durante took off, wings stretching wide as it flapped upwards. The other elders followed, soaring up and out of sight behind the walls of the Casa. The rest of the gathered plague doctors began filing back inside in near-silence; naturally the youngest plaguelings were afraid, screaming their fear as their caretakers tried to hush and comfort them. Be good! Only be very good and no such fate will come to you!
Loreto let the others move around it, rooted in place. It was numb, completely, unable to think past this moment, all visions of the future collapsed into this one terrible singularity. It could not conceive of movement, of leaving, of anything other than the bubbles rising from the muck as Ettore sank under the surface. Plague doctors could not drown, of course, but that only meant there was one less way Ettore could die...
A sudden touch on its shoulder shocked it, and it stumbled forward. It was Zia Celeste, it realized, her face as blank as Ettore's mask had been before being shattered. "I warned him," she whispered, voice tight with pain. "I warned him. You heard me. I said nothing to them. He didn't keep his promise, and they found him. It isn't my fault. It's not on my hands."
"I... no, no, it's not, I... Zia..." Loreto's words came in fits and starts, muffled as it tried to hold back the inevitable tide of grief and fear.
"Thank you." The words were brittle. "I thought I had. Yes." And then she shuffled away, head bowed, leaving Loreto alone.
It could not bring itself to follow her, not yet - inside it would have to think again, have to think and throw itself on its bed and sob and vomit out a hideous morass of emotions and half-digested food. Better to stay here for now, where it didn't have to do any of those things. It only had to stand here, silent and aching, stiff as the stone carvings that decorated the Casa's walls. Its gaze was fixed outwards, looking vainly for any sign of Ettore...
... there was something there, it realized, with a jolt. A shadow, out near where Ettore had disappeared, indistinct at this distance but still visible. Something else was out there, and it wasn't Ettore.
But the lights were going out, will-o-wisps snuffing themselves one by one. Loreto stared in vain, willing the shadows to clarify themselves, straining its hearing to catch something besides the soft lap of swamp water on stone, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
It didn't have to go inside to break, it realized, dropping to its knees.
It could do that just fine right here.
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Posted: Sat Jul 23, 2011 4:08 pm
There was a ghost of a cry, mixed in with the memory of Ettore's, and suddenly the spool of memories ground to an unnatural halt.
Ssssstop..
Her request was a desperate, agonizing hiss in it's mind, as she pulled away from it's thoughts. Her body, stiff from lack of movement, suddenly cringed into itself as she keened with the emotions. She had felt everything Loreto had felt that day, and it was too much, even for her.
She crumbled in it's arms, and cried.
There were no words for the throb of pain that filled her heart from a second-hand source, as she mourned the loss of someone she had never met. She had to pull away, and remind herself that she wasn't Loreto. She hadn't just witnessed that. These were memories, not the present. Her sudden, infused sense of loss was not her own to suffer through. It was Malodore's.
This thought did not make it easier. It made the grief her own, as she suffered the knowledge that it had suffered. Her hands wrapped around it's waist, and she held it with rough and desperate hands, clinging to it's robes.
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Posted: Sat Jul 23, 2011 7:26 pm
Riley's painful hiss threw Malodore out of its reverie with a jolt, as if it had ran headlong into a wall - if it breathed, it would have knocked the breath out of it. As it was...
It winced as a headache blossomed. It hadn't realized the entire experience would be so intense, that allowing Riley into its mind that completely would let them both experience those memories to such a vivid extent. Even though it had long since come to terms with Ettore's loss, its heart ached once more...
... Riley. Riley was weeping, folding herself into its lap. It curled over her - it had nothing to say, just a deep weariness and the echoes of old, thick sorrows. "Tutto va bene adesso, sono qui, non c'è," it murmured, automatically using Italian after so long spent hearing everything in that tongue. "E 'stato molto tempo fa. Adesso è finita."
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Posted: Sat Jul 23, 2011 7:56 pm
The soothing words and comforting presence surrounding her did wonders to help her calm down. Soon she was feeling quite embarrassed, and her determination surged through her.
I'm sorry. She uncurled, lifting her head up to brush against Malodore's before wiping the tears harshly from her face. I won't interrupt again. I promise. I just needed.. I needed a moment.
Her eyes met it's own, and her brow furrowed as the memory resurfaced in her own mind, fresh and painful. She clenched, bracing to be strong against the onslaught of sadness.
I'm sorry. It was clear by her tone that this apology was not the same as the first. This time, it was Malodore's pain that she was sorry for. She ran her hand along the length of it's neck, before taking a deep breathe and closing her eyes.
Once more entering the subconscious of her beloved, she steeled herself to return to reliving it's memories. Continue.
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Posted: Sat Jul 23, 2011 8:25 pm
"Ricordate, la storia non è ancora finita," Malodore murmured, gently running one hand down her back before closing its eyes once more.
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Posted: Mon Jul 25, 2011 6:45 pm
Surviving is a matter of moving forward - one foot in front of the other, a slow shuffle that gets easier over time, allegedly, but those first steps are so hard. They burn, the weight of them nearly impossible to overcome. But one continues forward because one must, because one cannot simply stop at the end of a single moment and let it hold them forever.
Time moves forward, and memory with it.
Loreto... existed. It moved around the Casa like a frightened bird, twitching and turning at every sound, drawn tight with tension. It dared not return to its own work - it dared not, it dared not. Just as after its own short punishment - so short, so blissful in comparison to what it had seen done to Ettore! - it was a mass of contradictions, of defiance beaten down by so-called 'justice', of fear and the urge to continue on. It could be safe, part of its mind said. Its laboratory was outside the wards. It had never been caught, itself! Ettore's own foolishness had damned him! Loreto could be different!
... or Loreto could be the same, dragged to 'justice' and thrown into the swamp to die.
It didn't return to the laboratory for two months - but it did return, slinking through the shadows, part of it screaming protests. How dare it, how dare it do this thing, risk everything so completely just to make itself happy? How selfish, how cruel! Why could it not be happy otherwise? Why could it not content itself with leechcraft and forget everything else?
Yet, as it sidled through the silent, tilting halls, it could hear the echo of Ettore's voice that day in the cellar atelier. Without all this, I might as well be living in the long void already.
Those words brought Loreto back to its laboratory, clearing away the vines that had encroached in its absence. It felt sick, remembering when Ettore had joined it here, the two of them laughing over Loreto's discoveries, over their audacity and shared secrets. But this place belonged to it, this precious tower outside the Casa's wards. If it was to be safe anywhere, it would be here.
After tidying up the laboratory proper, it descended the spiral staircase to the swamp level, where its frog traps lay sprung and empty. It carefully tied back its coat before wading into the cool water to set them again, deftly pulling back springs and setting catches to wait for its quarry. The movements were familiar and comforting, as was the feel of the water on its hooves.
Water sloshing against stone was another familiar constant here, but something about that sound had changed. Loreto froze. There was a soft splashing coming from further out in the swamp, somewhere among the crooked, moss-draped trees and the muck. The very faintest light glittered on the water as the noise grew louder - splashing, yes, more rhythmic and purposeful than mere nature could manage.
Something else was out there.
Loreto backed up, ducking under the curve of the spiral staircase - its own lantern hung on the landing, no time to extinguish it. As it stared out at the swamp, cursing its poor night vision, that faint light increased, and a shadow detached itself from the darkness, gliding towards the tower. It was a boat, Loreto realized. A very small boat, shallow and light, not at all like the larger boats that sometimes brought supplies to the Casa. The faint light came from a small will-o-wisp bottled at the front of the boat. A single figure was hunched near the back of the boat, a pole held in its hands.
"Good evening."
The voice made Loreto jump - a strange, harsh voice in rather poorly-accented Italian. The boat slowed and stopped, the waves from its wake lapping against the walls of the tower; the figure leaned against its pole with a surprisingly casual air. "It has been some time since I've seen a masked doctor outside of its Casa," the harsh voice said.
"A-ah... g-good evening?" Loreto stammered.
The figure poled its boat forward a few more feet, into the circle of light cast by Loreto's lantern, making itself much more visible. It was tall and thoroughly cloaked in black, with no visible tails, wings, or horns. Two surprisingly large crows were perched on its shoulders, one on each side of its hooded head, their eyes bright with curiosity. One of the crows fixed Loreto with a particularly piercing look.
The other crow opened its beak. "You are of the Casa, are you not?" it croaked. Loreto stared. The figure brought one gloved hand up to gently scratch the crow's belly. "Why aren't you tucked up in your safe, warm halls?"
"I-I... because I want to be out here," Loreto managed, finally looking at the figure's face. A stark white mask gleamed under the hood, but the face was not plague doctor or even avian. Instead, it was like a Reaper's face, or perhaps a human's, with blank white eyes, an aquiline nose, and delicately carved lips. The mask was inert, an inanimate object. No markings decorated its pale surface.
A faint sound issued from beneath the mask, breathy and strange - laughter, Loreto realized. The lips did not move. A moment later, the 'talking' crow opened its beak once more. "Do I scare you, plagueling?"
Loreto lifted its head. "N-no. Not exactly. I was not expecting anyone to come here. Especially not from the swamp."
"To be out here, so far away from the Casa's beating heart... you must be a shameful, wicked child." Despite the odd timbre to the crow-voice, Loreto got a distinct sense that the figure was amused. "But not the child for whom the Bell rang."
That familiar bile rose in its throat, and Loreto turned away. "No."
"He was your friend?"
The question was dangerous - very dangerous. Loreto's focus snapped back to the figure. "I... yes," it admitted, voice dropping to a whisper. "He was."
The figure leaned on its pole. "I heard a voice crying for him, weeping into the swamp. I knew he was mourned, and bitterly. He knew this too, when I plucked him from the slime and carried him home, but he could not tell me the name of that tortured soul. It is difficult to speak or write when you are so new to the darkness."
A sudden thrill of hope jolted through Loreto's mind. "Then - you - Ettore is alive?!"
The figure bobbed its head. "Yes. He is. He is alive and he is safe. Keep this secret, and I shall keep yours." The non-speaking crow cocked its head in Loreto's direction. "What is your name, child who mourns?"
"Loreto." It stared at the figure, hardly daring to believe its words.
"I am Armida." The figure gestured at its own chest, then moved to touch each crow in turn. "Odilia sees. Ligeia speaks. Together we are whole. Be at ease, Loreto." Its name sounded odd in the crow-voice. "Your friend is safe. He will be well, in time."
"Who are you?" Loreto whispered.
That odd, breathy laugh came again. "I have just told you, plagueling. Armida, reborn in the swamp's green heart, so much more alive than she was when she walked your Casa's halls." One hand rose to tap at her motionless mask. "I have no other name to give you; I cut off the rest of it long ago. Before you were pulled mewling from your pumpkin, no doubt."
"You're... you're a plague doctor?" Its beak dropped open.
"Indeed." She sketched a bow in its direction; the crows spread their wings and protested the movement. "There, there, my eyes, my tongue."
"Th-thank you. For... for saving my friend." Loreto's own tongue felt heavy in its beak, as if everything it might possibly think or say in response was stupid and inadequate. "He... he's an artist. He loves to sketch and paint and I miss him, tell him I miss him. Please?"
"I shall convey the message." The seeing-crow - Odilia - fixed its bright gaze on Loreto once more. "And what of you, Loreto? You never answered me before, not truly. Why are you here?"
It hesitated. "Because... I want to be, I do. Because I am a wicked child, just as you said, and I want things I shouldn't. I don't want to be closed up inside their boundaries. This tower... this is my laboratory. I want to do more with medicine and science..."
Armida inclined her head in Loreto's direction. "Fairly spoken. It is bold of you to continue on, having so recently seen the consequences if you are caught."
"They already took my mask away once," Loreto said, looking her in the eye - first the blank mask-eyes, then Odilia's. "I am no stranger to the long void."
"Oh, brave veteran!" Armida laughed again, and this time Ligeia echoed its mistress with its own crow-laughter, a series of mocking caws. "The touch of the void is different when you know it will end!"
"I... I know. But I have to do this. Ettore told me once that he had to keep painting, because without that he might as well already be living in the long void. It is the same for me."
"Is it so." Somehow, the speaking-crow managed to infuse its words with a thoughtful tone. "I will keep your secret, wicked Loreto-child. And we will watch you with interest, Odilia and I - and when you, too, are forced into the darkness and plunged below this water, I will pull you into my coracle and birth you anew in the swamp's secret heart."
Loreto shivered despite itself. "I... th-thank you?" it offered, unsure how to respond.
"Hah. You hide your fear well. No doubt we will meet again - perhaps even before you are thrown from the Casa." Water splashed at the coracle's sides as Armida began to pole forward once more. "It's all dead inside, you know. The light and warmth are all lies. Soon they will fade, and all that remains will be dust and bones."
Crow-laughter rang against the tower walls - and then Armida was gone, plague doctor, crows, and coracle alike swallowed up by the shadows of the swamp.
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