Reminiscences
Posted: Fri Nov 18, 2022 8:03 am
84th Day of Ash, 122nd Year of the Age of Steel
“It’s a bit grisly but it works, and it gives you an edge.” Emerande was saying. Masagh stood beside her high backed officiate’s chair in the Grand Hall, arms crossed and nodding. He tried to keep the mild grimace from his face as she spoke.
“Wouldn’t it be hard to… you know, grip the ground in those?” He asked hesitantly. He was a ghoul, he ate the flesh of humanoids to survive. Skin rotted from him and bone and muscle was exposed. But this seemed a bit much, even for all that.
“No no, the entire boot doesn’t need to be made from the skin. Just a suitable portion to imbue the thing with their skills, you can even waterproof it.” Emerande went on.
He grunted as people began to file into the hall for the meeting. “I’ll take your word for it, mother.”
“No, you won’t.” Emerande smiled. “We’re going to go make a set after this.” She said with the air of unveiling a treat. “I thought it would be a fun little mother-son project, no?”
“Ah, yes of course.” Masagh said, putting on a smile as well. “I’m eager to learn how it’s done.”
She beamed at him. “Great, I’ve got a master burglar in the laboratory. He was executed after robbing nine mansions in the city. I think we can work with that skill!” She said eagerly and he saw in her eyes that she was truly looking forward to the project time with him. It was both endearing and oddly horrifying.
“Right, well, I’m going to take my seat now.” Masagh said, stepped down as Cyran and Parthena climbed the dais to their own seats.
Masagh climbed down past them, his mind preoccupied with the grisly image of boots made from human skin. He went to sit with Sabrione and Riah where they were saving him a seat. Sabrione was leaning back and rubbing her temples. Riah smiled at him, hiding an exhausted visage with false bravado.
“What did she want?”
“She wants to make boots from human skin.” Masagh muttered, raising his eyebrows at Riah. She grimaced.
“What? She’s looking for volunteers? Haven’t you given up enough skin this season?” Riah asked, nodding her chin at his new limb. He snorted as Emerande stood up.
“No, it’s our next project in the laboratory. Since my arm is still weak and I’m useless to you two.” Masagh whispered.
“Gods below, we need to get you strong again.” Sabrione said, still covering her face and rubbing her temples.
As Emerande made the opening statements of the meeting and gave the announcements Masagh leaned in to Riah. “What’s her problem?” He nodded to Sabrione.
Riah made a face and shifted her gaze between them. “Oh just tired you know… We’re stretched pretty thin since, you know.” Riah looked down at her lap. Masagh knew this. He shouldn’t have asked. Cleon and Calliope’s deaths had hit them all, and Sabrione arguably the hardest. She had been responsible. He turned to her about to give voice to his empathy.
“When are you going to get that fuckin’ arm ready, eh?” Sabrione hissed before he could say anything. “I’m out here working double patrols, Riah barely knows what end of the sword to hold, and you’re over here making skin dresses with our mother?” None had heard her words, but Emerande paused in her announcements to shoot them an annoyed look.
“I’m sorry I got my arm cut off, Sabrione.” Masagh hissed back. She was looking tired and a bit manic. “Next time I’ll ask them to cut my leg off instead.”
“You know what you should have asked them to cut off?” Sabrione wagged a finger at him.
Masagh opened his mouth to retort but Riah snorted loud enough to draw the attention of the room back to them. They both glanced at her and suddenly the three of them were trying to hold their laughter in check while the rest of House Creth gazed curiously their way.
“Everything alright over there?” Emerande said, a dangerous edge in her voice.
“Yes, just discussing Masagh’s new limb.” Riah answered innocently and the attention shifted back to the announcements.
“You’re an ass. I want to come back as soon as possible.” Masagh muttered to his sister.
“I know, I know.” She said. “It’s just been tough finding recruits. No one wants it after we lost Cleon and Calliope in one night. I don’t want you to push it, recover, make skin suits, or whatever it is the Bonecasters do in there. Then come back when you are healthy enough to.”
After the meeting Sabrione and Riah moved quickly out of the Hall to get some rest before anyone came over to speak to them. They were both looking tired and strung out. Masagh waited by the edge of then dais for his mother while she spoke to a cluster of ghouls all needing her attention.
“What were you and your sister giggling about over there during my announcements?” Emerande asked wryly when she was done. It was a mother asked her son, not a Matriarch asking a subordinate.
“Sabrione was teasing me for this.” She smiled faintly, holding his arm up.
“How is she?” She asked. “She hasn’t had much time to sit with me and talk since we lost them.”
“Tired, worn out, probably feeling guilty.”
He saw her mouth curve faintly into a sad frown, a reflexive empathy for her youngest daughter. She reached out and gently touched his new hand. “You will recover in no time and be able to join your sister.” She gave it a slight squeeze. “And neither of you bear the blame for what happened.”
Masagh pulled his hand away and rubbed his opposite thumb into its palm. “It was my idea to take the risk.”
“It was you who reminded us of the oath and proposed an action to better equip ourselves to act upon it.” Emerande said gently, her voice tender. She clasped her hands in front of her instead of reaching out to him. They were alone in the hall.
“It was Sabrione who saved her youngest and most inexperienced knight.” Emerande went on firmly. “And it was Calliope and Cleon who chose to stand to their oaths. I won’t have you carry guilt over that. They knew the risk and they still stepped into that fight.
“We had no chance, they tore us apart.” Masagh said. He looked down and saw the grass of the Rosenholz in his mind’s eye. She was there, clear as the night it happened, though he couldn’t make out the face. Would he eventually forget it?
“It is an impossible task, to fight something new no one understands.” Emerande consoled, but he didn’t hear her.
“Do you forget their faces, mother?” The words carried a tentative tone. Once again he was a young boy afraid of the dark, seeking reassurance. Emerande breathed a long breath out and a sadness washed over her.
“Forget whose faces, dear?” She asked, but he sensed she was just stalling.
“The family from before.” Masagh said. Cynfael, Vasile, Cleon, and Calliope’s faces ran through his mind. Cynfael still returned clearly, or perhaps the memory of the details had faded along with the details themselves. Someday would there be some vague blurry image there that his mind convinced him resembled the mentor that had been so formative in his youth?
“Oh, well I can’t say I remember every family member’s face. There was a time when we were much stronger, with many in every city in the Empire…” Emerande reminisced. “But I remember the ones that had an impact on my life. My mother, my siblings, your… well.”
“You aren’t worried that what you remember is just a faded and recycled version?” He looked at her, searching for some denial of it. “To be so long lived… It’s been many of my lifetimes since you even saw any of them.”
“Is it so important to have their face crystal clear?” Emerande stopped his line of questioning. “What weight does a face have in memory. I remember their lessons, their words, their love. And perhaps it fades, but things bring it back on occasion. They continue on in our memory, whether we can find it at will or not.”
She reached out and touched his sword arm. “Cynfael lives on in this. He will always be the one who first showed you how to grip a sword, and each time you do so, there he is. These are the important things. The way they changed us, the things they taught us to value.”
Masagh stared down at his own good hand. He gripped it.
“What’s all this about, son?”
“I’m worried about us.” Masagh looked up at her. “Sabrione and Riah out there alone, shadow things ripping us apart. I’ve never felt so useless before.” He admitted.
“Then don’t be useless.” Emerande said. “We can’t control the world, only ourselves. If you feel useless without the sword, then put more tools into your toolbox.” She was taking on a practical tone. He sighed.
“You mean necromancy… and skin boots.”
“I do mean necromancy, and skin boots.” Emerande said, ushering him along. “Although skin boots sounds so macabre, they are practically leather by the time they are done. It is really a practical side of necromancy. You can’t always be taking days and days to-“
Her lecture on the merits of necromantic crafting went on as he followed her from the Hall towards the laboratory. Masagh had the distinct feeling she was filling the space with shop talk to distance the conversation from talk of the deceased. He was grateful. He had been consumed with the dead for days now.
However many he felt he had, the ancient Emerande must had so many more. Lost souls that might only exist in her memory now. A court of ghosts who deal in nostalgia and unrealized dreams. What a crowded mind the ancient must wield. He followed his mother, endeavoring not to ask her such questions again, and to appear excited about the boots.