Jackal Among Snakes

Upon seeing Durran clutching his head and howling at invisible enemies, Argrave first assumed the worst—that he had made a mistake, and he had fed poison to one of the most important people in his kingdom. He had survived the Fruit of Being, but others unrelated to the Gilderwatchers might not be able to endure its power. Or, worse yet, he’d been fooled by Gerechtigkeit, somehow.

With guilt and trepidation both in his heart, he approached the panicking Elenore and the in -agony Durran, who crawled about on the floor beside his bed. Both his hands were balled into tight fists, and he pounded his head with his knuckles. There was a large amount of blood, but Durran seemed entirely uninjured. Then, before his eyes, he saw wounds closing on Durran. It defied his expectations that the fruit had failed if his wounds would close so quickly.

“Help him!” Elenore commanded Argrave, trying to sound authoritative in spite of her worry. “You need to do something, Argrave!”

“Argrave?” Durran lifted his head up, scanning the room. His eyes trembled as if he was bearing an unimaginable weight. He rose shakily, but poor balance caused him to simply lunge at Argrave. He grasped at his knees. “Bastard… gods-damned bastard… get me out of here. Get me the hell out of here.”

Argrave kneeled down. “Focus, Durran. Focus. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Don’t…” Durran bashed his head against Argrave’s knee. “Don’t ask. Just do, do!” He closed his eyes and again screamed, “Shut up!”

Argrave’s eyes danced as he considered his options, then he grabbed Durran’s shoulder. “I’m taking you to Raven.”

“No, no, no! Absolutely not!” Durran crawled away from him like a rabid animal.

“He’s the only one who’ll know what’s wrong, Durran,” Argrave told him insistently.

“I know what’s wrong,” Durran managed coherently, his voice a crying whine. “Just take me away. Far away. Someplace with few people—no people.”

His brain whirled as he processed the strange request, but decided to simply give in. “Alright. I’ll take you to a wide-open field,” he promised.

Durran shook his head frantically, balling up. “People die on plains all the time. No plains. Water plains. The ocean,” he suggested, then latched onto the idea. “Yeah, ocean. Ocean with low people. Ocean between the places. The places we own. Middle of it.”

Argrave tried to translate his gibberish into comprehendible language, and eventually nodded. “The ocean between Vasquer and the Great Chu?”

“Yes, yeah!” Durran nodded frantically.

“Alright.” Argrave stood to his feet. I’ll bring… bring a small rowboat or something, teleport it with us.”

“I’ll find one,” Elenore promised, sprinting out the room the fastest he’d ever seen her move.

“Hang tight, Durran,” Argrave walked around, dispelling nervous energy. “Can I help you right now? Anything I can do?”

“Kill me,” he said.

Argrave nodded. “Any better ideas?”

“No,” he moaned sadly.

With a deep breath, Argrave prepared to figure out what the hell was happening.

#####

Argrave stared at Durran. The two of them sat on a rowboat in the middle of the tumultuous ocean between the Great Chu and Vasquer. Durran, who’d been writhing, had calmed somewhat, and gazed out distantly across the ocean as he sprawled out with limp legs and arms.

“I hate you,” he said.

The words wounded Argrave and he fell silent for a few moments before saying quietly, “I didn’t know it would be like this, Durran.”

“Not you, bastard,” Durran looked at him. “The other guy. Well, come to think of it… I might hate you a little, too. But it’s not the same.”

“You sound coherent. More so, at least.” Argrave rubbed his hands together. “What’s happening to you? You said you knew.”

Durran looked out across the rocking ocean, then used his arms to sit up. He looked exhausted. “I should’ve known. I even told you I couldn’t get luckier, but I had to push it. Pushed my luck, now I’m getting pushed in when I’d just about forgotten this bit of my past.”

“That doesn’t tell me much,” Argrave pointed out. “Listen—we’re going to find some way to fix this. Somewhere, there’s an advantage to what you’re feeling. We can make you right, make you whole.”

Durran shook his head. “I know what I have to do. I just don’t want to do it.”

Argrave grabbed his legs and jostled him. “Just tell me what the hell’s wrong!”

With his hands trembling, Durran clenched his arms until he hugged himself. “…the dead.”

“What about them?” Argrave asked, but he was already guessing.

“I can hear the dead,” he said louder, though his voice still trembled. “I can feel the dead, smell the dead. I can think their last thoughts, take their place, live their life. I can feel the god damned sword piercing my stomach. I can feel it yank out, pulling my guts with it. I can stare up at the soldier—this guy, he’s just a kid, just like me, and he’s terrified. He stabs me again, and again, and I just won’t die! And I’m bleeding, and…” he broke off into a fit of trembling. “Fuck. That fucking fruit. I’ve lived entire lives, Argrave, in moments. I could tell you their mothers, their fathers, their dreams…”

Argrave felt a chill as he looked upon Durran’s face. These weren’t mere hallucinations—it seemed incredibly real to him, incredibly vivid. He was experiencing the last moments of the dead. It must’ve been tied to the location, somehow—and that was why Durran had requested he come here. Incredible guilt welled up at what he’d inflicted upon Durran. He’d made the man die countless times. He’d consigned him to a life of death.

But to experience that which the dead did… to quite literally pry their genuine thoughts from beyond the grave… Argrave already saw immeasurable value.

“Do you speak to them?”

“No,” Durran answered, then said, “Stop laughing. It’s not funny, you miserable...” He caressed his forehead, then looked at Argrave. “No, I don’t speak with the dead. I become them. It’s such an intense bombardment of being that it makes me want to puke. But I can’t puke, for some reason.”

“Upper-level management doesn’t puke, maybe.” Argrave crossed his arms. “Still… you’re speaking to someone right now, aren’t you?”

Durran sighed incredibly deeply, and that was all the answer that Argrave needed. They sat in silence as the ship rocked. Argrave felt out of sorts, but Durran looked as though he was distracted. Perhaps it was the voice in his head. And given all that Argrave knew about who Durran was, and what he’d experienced… and above all, how Durran spoke to the person…

“It’s Garm, isn’t it?”

Durran turned his head to look at Argrave. There was a stretch of silence before, eventually, he nodded.

Argrave covered his mouth with his hand. Garm. A-rank spellcaster, last true surviving member of the Order of the Rose, and a head on a wooden stake. Argrave and the others had found him in the Low Way of the Rose, as his presence was necessary to advance deeper within. They had passed through the whole of that dreadful place, until finally, they came to the Burnt Desert.

Garm was combative, stubborn, narcissistic, and by Argrave’s estimation, quite funny. Along the journey, they’d had their ups and downs. He was even beginning to like the poor fellow, and empathize with his situation. Then, Garm stubbornly chose to die, bestowing his soul upon Durran that he might help him learn magic quickly.

But more than helping Durran, Garm had simply wished to not be a burden upon Argrave.

“It’s been, what… two years and a half?” Durran questioned. “Yeah, I moved on just fine. Just fine. Until…”

Argrave leaned back in the boat, joining Durran in staring out across the ocean as he imagined the totality of how the Fruit of Being would change Durran’s life. Argrave hadn’t noticed exceptional changes to his body. Durran couldn’t escape his. It was quite literally in his head.

“Anneliese and I had agreed to name our first son Garm,” Argrave confessed. “This somewhat complicates things.”

Durran half-laughed, half-cried. “You think you’ve got it rough? Even if I manage to overcome the whole ‘dead people infecting my body’ thing, this bastard might be watching as I try and make my first son.” He leaned in. “How’s that? Do you have any idea how much the course of my life just changed? A damned cyclone slammed into the boat that is my life, and now I’m adrift…. who knows where the hell I am.” He leaned out the side of the boat. “Can I go back? Can I vomit the fruit up and give it to Melanie?”

Argrave hung his head in shame.

“Yeah, you’re back because of a fruit.” Durran paused. “Yes, my mother did teach me not to eat random things. Look at this prick. He’s fine and dandy, and he ate the same fruit,” Durran gestured at him.

“You and he don’t share thoughts, memories?” Argrave inquired.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m still getting used to it.” Durran shook his head, then quieted down.

Argrave studied Durran carefully. Now that he knew, he could see the man listen to Garm intently. Argrave decided to ask, “You said you knew what you have to do, but you don’t want to do it.”

“Yep.” Durran nodded. “It’s like jumping off a cliff into water. It’ll probably be safe. He says that he can leave my body. Considering he died for me once before, I don’t exactly harbor too many doubts about his truthfulness. But what if there’s rocks beneath the surface? It’s dangerous.” He sighed. “But sometimes… sometimes, I guess you just have to do it.”

Durran looked at him intently, golden eyes locking with his. Argrave was a little uncertain about what it was, but he waited patiently for Durran to continue. Then, he saw the white sclera on Durran’s eyes darken, turning gray… then finally, turning to black. With black on the outside, gold on the inside, it reminded Argrave only of a necromantic creation. A chill set in.

“It seems even I can’t kill me,” Garm whispered with intense joy, then examined his limbs. “I’m back.”