Chapter 23
The rooms in Tsukikage’s hospice were kept insulated from sound to allow the patient a peaceful recovery.
Lying in bed with his limbs still twitching uncontrollably, Harrow felt nothing but peaceful. His muscle fibres contorted and relaxed at random as he shuddered, resisting the urge to yell for another dose of tranquilising spells. I can take it. I can take this pain. This is nothing.
He squeezed his eyes shut as a fresh wave of spasms racked him, trying every mental trick he knew. Trying to analyse the situation, breaking it down, dissecting it with logic. My system is rejecting Rendanshu. Elven physiques react differently than a Po’ Tun’s when taking the Pale Flask- aaaggghh!
His ki was circulating wildly, and it was impossible to rein it in. Still he worked his mind, the only muscle he had left at his disposal. How can the Pale Flask interact with ki? Is it because of the muscle contractions affecting my blood flow? Nord scholars have written about how the Thu’um is controlled by the-
Then his pectorals flexed inwards and nothing else mattered but the agony. He couldn't move into a more comfortable position as his skeletal muscle system was completely disabled, and even the simple act of swallowing was beyond his grasp. Saliva was dripping from his mouth and pooling on his pillow. Autonomous functions dependent on smooth and cardiac muscles still went on, so he could still breathe and his heart still beat, but his limbs and torso fought him every step of the way.
He would have smiled bitterly if his facial muscles were under his control. Now even my body is forsaking me. Just like Mother. Just like Father. Just like how the rest of the village eventually will.
His inguinal ligaments tightened, pressing against his bladder, and he felt warm, liquid humiliation running down his legs. He wanted to scream. Reduced to such a pathetic state.
No. No, no, no. I can take this pain. A shinobi does not have pride. A shinobi does not need pride. What others call honour is mere restrictive foolishness. Throw it away for the sake of survival and completion of your assignment. That has always been the way of the Shadeclaws-
-but you’re not a Shadeclaw, are you? A tinny voice, mocking him from the back of his head. You can’t even withstand the Pale Flask. You don’t even have claws. What hope do you have of ever becoming as proficient as Jorra, or Master Mokko, or even the rest of Year 182? Face it, boy, you were doomed to mediocrity the moment you were born.
Somehow he managed to grit his teeth through his drooling. Eighty-seven point five percent chance of success, eh, Master Torako? Typical, how I barged right into the other twelve point five percent.
His jaw slackened, almost choking him with his own spit. Closing his eyes again, he thought back for the umpteenth time the morning he had made the mistake of drinking out of the Flask.
No. Not a mistake. I need this. I need to keep up with the rest of them. I need to be a good shinobi. A good shinobi endures.
I can endure.
I can take this pain.
‘…your bone structure will be lightened but strengthened at the same time, and your joints will become far more durable. As you approach this phase, you will need to partake of the Pale Flask to ensure you remain mobile. We will discuss the full effects of the Pale Flask in due time. Now please, line up and take a flask.’
They weren’t herded into an enclosed room this time, as there was no waste for them to eject. Harrow winced as the memory of the rancid cubicles rose up as sharp as ever. The same seemed true of Ambarro. The dunce was scratching his hindquarters uncomfortably.
Torako laid a hand on his wrist as he reached for the ivory flask. ‘Are you sure about this? There is no inherent risk for the White Flask even when we account for the differences in skeletal structure, but taking it means that you will need to take the Pale Flask as well to compensate for your stronger bones with more powerful muscles. The differences in muscle fibre layout is much greater in this case, and there is a chance for… adverse side-effects.’
‘Only slightly above one in ten,’ Harrow said confidently, grasping the little bottle. ‘I’ll take those odds if it means I can leap further, land from greater heights, and deliver blows with greater force. A Shadeclaw needs to take every edge, no?’
‘Always so obsessed with being the perfect shinobi.’
‘What else can I be, Master Torako? Tsukikage is a village of shinobi. All of us have our duty to perform. Bengakhi-ra is always fond of saying that.’
‘Bengakhi-ra is… very fixated on success. Both his and that of other Po’ Tun. Don’t forget that Tsukikage is also-’
Harrow tilted the flask and drained it. It tasted like ashes.
The changes were not immediately noticeable. There had been no obvious effects on his body like with the Clear Flask, but as the weeks progressed he had found himself feeling lighter, a new spring in his steps. Then the transformation had proceeded to his joints.
There were moments where he thought he could feel the ligaments compacting, the sockets thickening. By the end of the month, he was beginning to feel rigid and clumsy as he struggled to even walk. Small wonder that Shadeclaws needed to take the Pale Flask, it would be impossible to move as they used to otherwise.
The Pale Flask revolved around increasing the strength of the individual muscle fibres of the body. Recipients could then project up to five times more force while retaining their original muscle mass, allowing a Po’ Tun to be faster and stronger while still looking unassumingly slim.
But he was no Po’ Tun.
The entire class had heard of his possible incompatibility with the Pale Flask by the time they lined up to take it. Diia had even apologised for some reason. He had accepted their consolations with his usual calm smile and polite bow – after all, they meant well and courtesy was an important discipline.
Inside, he had been seething. I don’t need your pity, he had raged silently.
To rub salt on his wound, Master Torako had asked him in front of all the other kits if he was certain he wanted to go through with it. He had allowed a small bit of his annoyance to bleed through as he answered.
He glared at Ambarro as he picked up the clay-coloured flask, daring him to make a snarky comment. The black-furred kit had a strange expression about his face as their eyes locked. Probably satisfaction. Happy now, are you, that you’ll finally come out on top? Don’t count on it.
With that resolution, he gulped down the contents of the Flask. It burned as it went down, but other than that, for a brief ten minutes there had been nothing wrong. Then his muscles twisted like dying snakes and he collapsed to the floor as his seizures began.
His skin itched as he tried to glue the fur to him. The triangular ears he strung on top of his head flopped down again, refusing to stand upright. The snout he pressed against his nose fell off like the cheap imitation it was.
Takarro sighed, his whiskers ruffling with disappointment. ‘It is as I feared. You will never truly be one of us… elf. Nord. Whichever you prefer, but you are not Po’ Tun.’
He turned, trying to speak, only to see that everyone in the village had their backs to him. Bengakhi shrugged noncommittally as he crossed him out of the shinobi list. Shiyo and Io shook their heads as they looked away, calling him ‘Harrow’ without any honorifics. The silhouettes of the other kits grew smaller and smaller as they walked on, leaving him behind. Leaving him alone. Just like Arngrimur and Valesse had, barely a day after his birth.
Ambarro grinned mockingly as he tossed him a pack of his belongings and booted him through the moonstone gates.
‘Fat lot of good all your books and your studying did you in the end, eh?’
Diia waved as even the two of them began to disappear into the distance.
‘Goodbye, Harrow-to! Don’t worry, we can manage without you!’
A chorus of insidious whispers hissed at him from the village as they all left him there, kneeling mute in the snow, a futile hand outstretched.
You are not Po’ Tun.
We can manage without you.
We don’t need you.
You’re not wanted.
Gasping, he woke. Night had fallen, and the spasms had finally stopped. He felt a rush of pleasure as he realised he had done it. He had ridden the wave and now the Pale Flask could begin to do its work. The healers had come in as the seizures abated, telling him exactly what had happened.
Due to the discrepancies between your physiology and that of a Po’ Tun’s, the Pale Flask induced growth in areas where there was initially no muscle and temporarily paralysed your tendons. Don’t worry, it will pass – and you will emerge reaping the same benefits as the other kits. The process you go through will be more painful than theirs, though. The pain suppression effects of the Flask didn’t seem to be replicated on you.
If only I had never been born to a Nord and an Altmer. For the first time in his life, that poisonous thought crossed his mind.
Raising a trembling hand, he slapped himself weakly, horrified with his own insolence. He had always held Father and Mother in the highest regard. I shame their memory.
But the thought persisted. He struggled to raise his neck and look at his shaking fingers. If only I had brown or black fur for camouflage, like everyone else. If only I had claws to use alongside Whispering Fang. If only I had their potential.
‘If only you’d stop whining,’ a very familiar – and irritating – voice snorted. ‘Yes, you said that last bit out loud. No need to look so surprised. By the way, you know talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, right?’
‘What are you doing here, dunce?’
‘Master Mokko sent me to check if you were in “fit shape to attend training tomorrow”. I can’t believe it; he’s actually telling you not to push yourself. I’m guessing that-’
‘Tell him,’ he snarled, forcing himself upright. ‘That I will be there at the usual hour.’
‘Are you crazy?’ Ambarro gaped. ‘Lie back down before you hurt yourself.’
‘No.’ Harrow’s arm swung around limply for a few times before he regained control and clamped it down on his nightstand, dragging himself to his feet. More of his foolish pride, more unnecessary obsessions with dignity, but he could hold it back no longer.
‘You listen to me, dunce. I won’t lose to you. Ever. I will prove to everyone in Tsukikage that my place here is earned, not given out of pity. That I will never become dead weight.’
He cried out as his thighs twitched. His knees buckled and he fell.
‘Do you really think we care about any of that?’ Ambarro demanded. ‘As far as I’m concerned-’
‘If I’m no good to the village, I might as well freeze to death in the Jeralls,’ he panted. ‘Your own words.’
‘Since when did you pay attention to what I of all people say? Come on, up and back to bed.’
Harrow shoved his proffered hand away, slamming his fist onto the floor.
‘I can stand on my own,’ he growled.
‘I know you can,’ Ambarro murmured. ‘But you don’t have to.’
‘What is this?’ Mokko tilted his head at him. He did not look pleased.
‘I am here…’ Harrow groaned, forcing his posture to remain straight. ‘To train, Master Mokko.’
‘You can barely stand.’
‘I’m standing just fine, Master.’
‘You are entirely incapable of training right now.’
‘Master, if the dunce can manage to squeeze in one hour of practice even when he’s starving to death, I’d wager that I can do a fair bit better.’
‘I don’t have time for your teenage angst or your misguided rivalry!’ Mokko shouted, angrier than he had ever seen him before. ‘You will not be able to retain any knowledge or muscle memory with your body in such a condition. In fact, now that I look at you, you shouldn’t even be up on your feet! You only delay your own progress by forcing damage to your tissue and sinew. You should know better, especially with how intelligent you always try to come off as.’
‘With respect, Master-’
‘It’s high time you learned what that word actually means instead of blindly following tradition and using pretty words!’ Mokko roared, bringing the heel of his hand chopping down behind his student’s head. Harrow collapsed, unconscious.
‘Take him back to the infirmary,’ the instructor snapped at Diia and Ambarro, who had stood up, shocked. ‘And see that he stays there. Tie him down if you have to. I will be talking to the Grandmaster about this.’
‘Have you ever seen Harrow-to act so recklessly?’ Diia whispered as they carried him out of the dojo.
‘He’s been acting strange ever since we took the Clear Flask,’ Ambarro replied, also troubled.
‘I still can’t believe he dragged himself all the way out here. You know him, Ambarro-to. He never does things without thinking them through. He even calculates the amount of times he chews before swallowing.’
‘Maybe he’s getting worked up over Rendanshu? I don’t know.’ They dropped Harrow off at the hospice, relaying Mokko’s orders to the healers. The white-robed Shadeclaws nodded grimly, and took the elven boy back to his room.
‘At least he’s going to be all right.’ Diia prodded Ambarro teasingly. ‘It almost looked like you were getting worried for a moment there.’
‘For Harrow? Hah! I am not… all right, maybe a little. Did you see Master Mokko? He looked like he was about to gut him where he stood.’
‘Is there no way to convince you otherwise?’ Jorra asked, stricken.
‘I have to take it,’ Harrow said, his jaw set. ‘I need the enhanced reflexes and reaction time the Flask can offer me.’
‘You’ve already passed the three basic Flasks of Clear, White and Pale,’ Torako said, even more quiet than usual. ‘For many Shadeclaws, that is more than enough. The Pale Flask almost killed you, Harrow. It would have if it affected more than just your skeletal muscles.’
‘The Yellow Flask is a natural complement to the Pale Flask,’ he answered stubbornly. ‘The extra speed I can move at will not be as potent if my mind cannot keep up. Besides, no Po’ Tun in Tsukikage has stopped before taking five of the Flasks in more than three hundred years, if my memory serves me.’
‘I’ve revised my projections,’ Torako continued. ‘The chance of adverse effects goes up to ninety percent for non-Po’ Tun taking the Yellow Flask. It could even be permanent. There is also the risk of death. This is your brain we are talking about here, not just your muscles.’
‘You haven’t even reached your fifteenth birthday yet, Harrow,’ Jorra looked up, his eyes rimmed with red. ‘Arngrimur and Valesse-ko did not sacrifice themselves to have you throw your life away.’
‘Then I promise you,’ Harrow met his gaze. ‘I will not die.’
This completely illogical statement was so unlike him that Jorra had to stare at him with disbelief for a few seconds.
‘Did you not hear what Torako-jo just said?’
‘A shinobi clings to his life, no matter how wretched and vile.’ He appeared not to have heard. ‘And I am a shinobi.’
‘Of course you are.’ Jorra grasped him tightly by the shoulders, blinking hard. ‘You don’t need to prove anything to me.’
The usual lecture in the hall. The healers with their potions on the tray. Lining up to take the Flask.
‘Harrow-to, are you sure you want to go through with this?’ Diia looked quite alarmed as he closed his fingers around the Yellow Flask.
Harrow did not answer, nodding firmly at her instead. He yanked the stopper off and drank, the thick amber cream clinging to his throat as he swallowed.
The other kits stared at him with bated breath. After a while, it seemed as if nothing was wrong, and the day continued as the potion began transforming the kits’ central nervous system starting from the individual neurons.
Harrow did stumble a little as he exited the hall with the rest of Year 182, but that was to be expected given the dizziness and drain in mental faculties as the Yellow Flask did its work.
Jorra found him still in bed the next morning, blood seeping from his eyes. He wasn't moving.
Comments
Hope Harrow comes out of this alright.
Hope Harrow comes out of this alright.
...in other words, cheating, like Lissette-ko says. XD
...in other words, cheating, like Lissette-ko says. XD