Chapter 14 - Animus

It had been a long few weeks for Animus. Recovery from Stiggler’s fever was one of the worst experiences of his life. He’d spent weeks in a sick bed at the temple where he remembered little in the feverish instances when he was conscious. Not once did I see Vara.

In the last few days it had been the tall, fat priest called Zalarius. Animus cared little for the man. And it was the priest that had brought him another bowl of that awful brown soup. It was the only sustenance they brought Animus since he became conscious. More than once in the midst of eating it he’d puked it right back up again. Animus had refused to eat it when the other servants spoon-fed it to him. But Zalarius was more insistent.

Animus knew he was recovering his strength because it was the first day he had been able to speak. Animus said, “Uh-uh. Taste like pig’s bile.”

Zalarius arched two eyebrows at him. “How would you know? Spoiled shit like you’s never eating anything like that. Never had to eat spoiled meat, rations with maggots pouring from them, have you?”

Animus didn’t answer. Nobody outside his family ever spoke with such abrasion.

Zalarius pushed the spoon up to his mouth. “You’ll eat it. One way or another.”

Animus’s skin tingled. He’s not bluffing. And he’d seen with his own eyes that Zalarius was quite capable of forcing it down his throat. Animus watched the man force Leir to eat it when Animus shared a room with the ailing lumberjack. Zalarius forced the man’s mouth open as if the bear worshipper had only the strength of a child. If Leir felt as week as me, that’s all the strength he had.

Even if that had not been the case, Animus wasn’t certain it would’ve made a difference. There was something about Zalarius that sent chills up his spine. There was power in the man’s scolding brown eyes.

Animus opened his mouth, steeling himself for the rotten taste of the liquid.

“Pinch your nose. Helps to get it down,” Zalarius said.

Animus pinched. As the spoon entered his mouth, he quickly swallowed. Then gagged. He rolled to the side, certain he was going to puke. “How much longer do I have to eat this?”

The priest grunted. “Few more days. You keep this bowl down, tonight you’ll get a bowl of regular porridge. Maybe a piece of bread.”

“I don’t like porridge.”

“Another bowl of the brown then.”

Animus reconsidered. “Porridge then. But why do I have to eat this brown goo?”

“Sure you want to know?”

Animus nodded. Then immediately regretted it. He’s actually grinning.

“Spoiled shit wants a dose of the real world, does he?”

Animus nodded.

“Stigglers are worms. Tics fall from the trees and land on you, then burrow and then lay their eggs under your skin. These ticks are what cause Stigglers.”

“I don’t understand,” Animus said.

“The eggs hatch the worms, what you know as “Stiggler’s”. Little fellows start moving almost at once, so small you can’t see them without the aid of magic, burrow until they find blood. Then they feast. Grow. Think of a plant potted in fresh soil. That’s about when the pain consumes ya.”

“Usually takes a week for them to kill a man. Women it takes longer, almost two weeks, sometimes three. If it kills them at all. Seems if you’ve got a pair of tits you got about a fifty-fifty chance of beating it. Men though? Rarely survive.”

Animus swallowed. “I’m going to die?”

“Soup changes the odds. Makes it more likely for men to survive.”

“How?”

Zalarius smiled wide.

Animus could see how oddly white the man’s teeth were. The man has white teeth. Never seen teeth that white on anyone other than mother and Yayisha.

The priest spooned the soup. “It’s made of rotten meat. Ground maggots. Spoiled eggs. Rotted meat. All ground up. Liquefied.”

Animus started to gag.

The priest continued, “It’s where my magic comes in. Healing Essence takes the rot from the mix. Makes it congeal. Like blood. Makes it bearable for the body. Usually.”

Zalarius continued, “Soup appeals to the worms more than your blood. Draws them into your stomach. Maybe the acids there helps do the little shits in. If not, they’ll get stuck in the soup. Essence mixed with the soup traps them. Body won’t digest the brown. You just shit it out.”

That’s why I’ve had the squats. “What have I been eating then if I can’t digest any of this?”

Zalarius shrugged. “Nothing. Water’s all that’s keeping you alive. It’s why you eat porridge tonight. Have to feed you soon. Else you’ll die.”

“What if the worms don’t all die before I start eating real food again?” Animus asked.

“Better hope last few days of soup gets them. Else, you die.” Zalarius stood, putting the reeking soup on the bedside table. “No more babying you. Strong enough to talk, strong enough to feed yourself. Eat it or not. Your choice.” The priest jutted his hand to the tub. “I’ll have a servant fill the tub. When they do, take a bath. You smell worse than the brown.”

Animus grimaced. Yet he gripped the spoon and pinched his nose. I hate that man.

He had fallen asleep soon after he’d finished the brown, the effort of eating it having taken all of his energy. An insistent knocking at the door woke him. They never knocked before. Why now?

“Come in,” Animus said.

The door opened. His mother entered the room, hands clasped together. She smiled at him. Behind her was father, who looked every bit as somber as he was several weeks ago. Then Animus’s heart dropped into his stomach. Following them, carrying a tray of porridge, was Vara. Animus looked at the tub, which was still steaming with fresh water. He was absolutely mortified. I didn’t bathe!

Dressed only in simply green robes, Vara still managed to make herself more attractive than the prettiest of tavern maids. Lealla and Saddra can’t even compare to her. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, which she wore tucked into her bosom. As she approached, Animus couldn’t help but stare as she leaned over to place the tray on the table next to his bed. How does she get her breasts to squeeze together like that? Or do they do it on their own?

His mother drew his attention away when she sat next to him and placed her hand on his forehead. Zelicia grinned, her eyes leaving his and finding Vara, who stood straight, her hands pulled behind her back. “You’ve met Zalarius’s assistant, I see.”

It was not a question. “I—.” What does she know?

“Shush,” Mother said. “We’ve come to speak to you of other matters. Are you able to understand me?”

Animus nodded. “I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His father answered, tapping his own temple. “Sometimes the worms burrow into your skull. Leaves some missing bits of their mind.”

“You were lucky,” mother said. “Zalarius came from the South and knew how to best deal with it. We could’ve lost you.”

“Stop babying him. The boy’s fine,” Kas said. He waived his hand at Vara. “Leave us.”

Vara nodded and quickly left, chin pointing toward the floor. She barely looked at me.

The door latched shut, and Kas stood at the foot of his bed. His father folded his massive arms across his chest, something he did when Animus was in trouble. Here it comes…

“You’re mother and I have discussed your age. And lack of responsibility.”

Animus swallowed hard. He forced himself to meet his father’s eyes, felt his lips wavering. Knew I would get in trouble.

“It’s time for you to become an apprentice and learn a trade.”

“Trades,” Zelicia said. “You’ll have two.”

“Two? The other boys in town only have one,” Animus said. He was less than thrilled. He’d known he was going to get put to work eventually. Animus knew that Just learning one kept the other boys in town busy from sunup until sundown.

[/i] No more dips in the lake. Animus remembered when Baizee had suggested swimming with him one evening. Just the two of them. But he knew that had been before everything had happened. [i] Before Yayisha hurt Sterl.

“You’re our son. As such, we expect you to handle both,” mother said.

“What will I be doing?” Animus asked.

“Blacksmithing with me in the mornings. I’ll expect you in the smithy at dawn. Every day.”

At dawn? Every day?

“After lunch, you’ll come to the temple. Where I’ll see you have instruction. I’ll have tutors brought in as necessary. To instruct you when I cannot,” his mother said.

His father’s nose wrinkled. “He’s no warlock.”

Mother whipped her head toward him. “We’ve discussed this, husband.”

“Don’t mean I have to like it,” Kas said. “The boy needs to be taught more than just smithing.”

“What, you’d have him run off and join the war in the South?” Mother asked.

“I’d not send my son to fight in that infested swamp! Still, he needs to learn the sword. To defend himself,” Kas said.

His Mother’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve never used one. I can defend myself just fine.”

“A man should know how to swing the sword he carries. It’s the smith’s way.” Kas said.

“Which you’ve told me many times. Only, you’re an armorer smith, remember? You don’t make blades.” Zelicia said.

“You know what I mean. I can teach him the sword with the other boys in the afternoon. You can have him in the evening,” Kas said.

Zelicia stood. Her eyes went coal black. “This was already settled. Why cause the fuss in front of him?”

Kas scowled, not backing down nor moving. How can he not fear mother?

Kas moved his eyes to Animus and said, “Boy should determine his own way. Let him choose.”

For a long moment, one that seemed to drag for eternity, his mother and father stared at him. Green electricity crackled at his mother’s fingertips. His father seemed more imposing than ever. Each looks like they’ll kill me if I don’t’ do what they want me to.

Mother said, “Go on. Decide. Do you wish to learn the follies of war? Or the glory of magic?”

What am I supposed to say? Either way I make one of them mad.

“Well?” Kas asked. “Speak your mind, boy.”

Animus sat up straighter in bed, his mind whirling. Certainly he wanted to be able to handle himself like father. He’d seen father take on three or four men at once in bar fights. Definitely want to be able to do that. Animus wondered how good his father was with weapons. Other than seeing him teaching the older boys the basics, he had no idea. Yet he knew he wanted to learn the sword. More than almost anything. He thought if he grew stronger as a blacksmith, closer to father, then one day he could learn the sword.

Mother, though, was very powerful. What he’d seen her do to Leir with but a wisk of her hands was something mere swordplay would never able to accomplish. That and she had healed his wounds, too. What if when he was older and on his own he came across a sorceress. Or worse, a warlock? The blade would him little good.

Slowly, he rose to shaky feet and faced his parents. And he made certain he looked into father’s eyes when he spoke. “Magic.”

His father stayed silent, only huffed air through nostrils. Kas's hands tightened into fists. He glared at Animus, but slowly nodded. Does he hate me?

Kas turned his angry gaze to his wife. “Foolish woman. You’ve corrupted our daughter. Is that not enough for you? Take him then, teach him what he desires. But I’ll still teach him blacksmithing. Every morning.” He pointed his finger at his wife. “To the hells with you, woman.”

Zelicia’s smile faded, but she nodded. “As agreed, husband.”

He gripped the wooden chair at the foot of Animus’s bed and hurled it against the far wall. The chair shattered as if glass, small fragments splashing in the bath water. He yelled, “Stay up in this cursed temple of yours, woman. I’ll not share sheets with you again!”

Zelicia nodded. “But our agreement still stands?”

The anger faded from Kas for a few moments. His fists unclenched. After another huff through his nose, Kas nodded. “As agreed, so it stands.”

Animus felt his skin tingling. What just happened?

Kas faced him once more. “Soon as you’re strength his back, you’re to meet me every morning in the smithy. You understand, son?”

Animus nodded. “Yes, father.”

With a final nod, Kas turned and left the room, leaving the door open behind him.

Mother raised his hand, twisted her wrist, and the door closed. Then she pinched his cheek and smiled. “That went much better than I expected.”

Better?