/n/jackal-among-snakes-1520/c-68
chapter-67

Argrave approached Anneliese, who’d slumped against the wall, and put his hands on his knees.

“Feeling queasy, or is it something else?”

She nodded to his open-ended question with her hand still covering her mouth, so Argrave did not know what exactly was wrong. He knelt down, perplexed, and looked to Galamon. He did not seem to have any idea of what to do, either.

“Those creatures,” she finally said, her voice no louder than a whisper. Argrave turned his head back to her. Her gaze was locked to the ground. “Do you know what they are?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” Argrave replied. When she didn’t answer, Argrave said awkwardly, “Erm… well, they’re creatures made by necromancy.”

“Are they alive?” she asked, her amber eyes finally lifting from the ground and locking with Argrave’s own. “Can they feel?”

“They’re a soul locked in a vessel,” Argrave explained. “That’s the foundation of necromantic creatures. These ones have been sculpted to resemble horrors to damage morale. They’re usually made from the corpses of the Order of the Rose’s enemies.”

“No. I have seen other necromantic creations, fought against Veidimen who turned to the darker magics in search of greater power. Normal necromantic creations felt nothing and displayed no emotion—they were but a vessel for the soul and magic.” She ran a hand through her hair. “These things… they felt. They had emotion. They were alive.”

Argrave bit his lip, unsure of what to say for a time. He thought back to the creatures. Their appearances had been all but engraved into his memory. He felt an instinctual disgust seeing them in a new perspective, but he had been mentally preparing for that inevitability for months. He supposed that clinging to the notion that they were merely souls in vessels had been helpful, but Anneliese’s insights unsettled him somewhat.

When a long period of silence passed, Argrave tried to understand further, suggesting gently, “Be that as it may, they were trying to kill us—surely their emotions couldn’t be dissimilar to those during war. After Barden, you were fine… what’s different?”

“It’s not the same,” she shook her head. “Not the same at all.” She lowered her head once more, staring at the ground. Argrave knelt there, unsure of what to do. Eventually, Anneliese broke the silence.

“When a child is born, they lack all the usual methods of communication we possess. They cannot speak, nor understand speech.” She stared at Argrave. “As a consequence, the only way they understand others is through facial expressions, body language, or tone. One can make a baby cry by scowling alone. They experience emotions more intensely, and project them the same way.

“All I saw in each of those creatures was confusion, fright, dread, and… pain. Each was projected with a childlike innocence. It…” she lowered her head in defeat. “…it probably sounds ridiculous, having seen them. They are abominations. You said so yourself, and I myself do not deny they appear and act abominable. But there is something in them that is unwitting and unwilling. Something with all the naivete of a baby.”

Argrave shook his head. “It doesn’t sound ridiculous.” Anneliese looked up at him, some measure of surprise on her face. “I won’t act like I understand because I don’t. I won’t act like I felt it too, but I trust your abilities enough to believe you. That, at least, you can be sure of,” Argrave lined it out plainly.

“I see,” she said, voice cracking. She stared for some time, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

“The question is…” Argrave sat down. “What do you want to do about it?”

When posed with that question, Anneliese’s demeanor shifted. Her back, slumped against the stone wall, straightened, and her shaking slowed. Argrave had hoped it might have that effect. Rather than focusing on what she’d seen, she would focus on what could be done—drastically different lines of thinking, and perhaps the route to recovery.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and looked at Argrave levelly. “Do you believe we will see these creatures again?”

“Inevitably,” Argrave nodded. “Ruins of the Order of the Rose are everywhere, and many of them are inhabited with creatures like we saw and worse. In the future, I must enter more of them.” Argrave turned his head to the stone door they’d left. “And once Gerechtigkeit has more influence in this plane, they will roam beyond the ruins. Their creators are all long dead, and he will assume the role of their master.”

“Then I would like to know about them,” she said resolutely. “Their makings, from beginning until end. Their creators, and if they knew their creations felt this way. I am certain their emotions are genuine, but… beyond that, they are foreign.”

Argrave nodded. “Then I will tell you what I know. Perhaps, in time, you can learn even how to make them yourself. I can make that happen,” Argrave spoke calmly. The words made Anneliese frown, but Argrave carried on without heed. “I would not suggest it. It would be a waste of your talents.”

“I would never create such things,” she said firmly.

“Oftentimes one cannot fully understand something until they do it. I certainly didn’t,” he reflected, thinking back to the month he’d spent learning magic.

His words sent Anneliese into a deep introspection, her amber eyes growing distant as she was lost in her own head. Argrave waited for a time, and then eventually spoke again.

“I will explain all of what I know of the Order of the Rose and their nameless creations. If you still feel unwell, we can rest and talk for an hour or so. Otherwise, we will ride slowly back to Jast, and I will explain what I know.”

“Dusk will be here in an hour,” Galamon finally broke his silence.

“We’ll be fine,” Argrave dismissed. “Don’t let that concern you. If you need to rest, rest.”

Anneliese shifted, and then rose to her feet. Argrave stared up at her from the ground. “Your words and consideration towards me are respite enough. I will follow your example.” She offered a hand to Argrave.

Argrave took her hand and pulled himself to his feet. “Then let’s be off.”

Anneliese walked past Argrave, meeting with Galamon and moving towards the horses. Argrave cast one last glance at the stone door.

“Babies, huh,” he muttered. “Just when I was getting used to sleeping better.”