Chương 16: Emergency Meeting

Meeting! Meeting! The human brain was using its emergency register. The one it reserved for situations that required immediate committee intervention. How long until the tongue regenerates? [One week at minimum.] Didn't the heart regenerate in minutes? [That was repairing an existing organ. This is complete regeneration.] I was already moving, putting distance between myself and the moth's tube while my mouth processed the absence of something that had been there a moment ago.

The regeneration was working, I could feel it, the slow pull of tissue rebuilding itself from nothing. But it felt like watching grass grow. I can't taste food for a week… Forget about food and think about how we survive this! [Incoming.] I jumped. The tube's mouth passed through the space my torso had occupied a moment before. I caught a branch, swung, and found my footing on the next tree. But it was catching up. [Hold the rock to activate Otter Rock Smash's bonus speed.] I nodded and put my hand on it.

I jumped to the next tree, my body suddenly feeling light, weightless in a way that had nothing to do with how hard I was actually working. I gained distance again. Exactly what I expect from my rock. But we still don't have a way to hit it. The human brain only knew how to complain. Wait, since you won't use fire — which is, I want to note for the record, the correct solution here — use the bow instead. I nodded. The bow was better than fire. I reached back and drew it, and…

how, exactly, am I supposed to nock an arrow? Use your other hand, obviously! the human brain shrieked. I looked at my other hand. The rock sat there, perfectly fitted in my palm. I need a third hand. What the f— The human brain finally realized, but I cut it off. That's not an excuse to say a bad word. I put the bow back and jumped backward, just as the tube struck the branch I'd been standing on. How about the frogs? I asked the committee. Didn't you hear?

The frogs are apparently causing the collapse of an entire ecosystem just by being annoying! I forgot. The frogs were, admittedly, annoying. [If the frogs continue causing damage and the humans connect them back to you, they might send an army to deal with you.] That would be a problem. I made a mental note to deal with the frogs later. System, what's the full description of Otter Rock Smash again? the human brain asked.

[You can now use a rock to smash at high speed, and summon an otter that can do the smashing for you.] The human brain ran the numbers. It considered the threads, gleaming in the afternoon light, razor-edged, layered, and very much still surrounding the moth. It considered what faster would mean against threads that cut things apart before they arrived. It performed the mental calculation of speed versus surface area versus the number of pieces a human could be divided into. Nope.

Speed isn't the answer for the threads… fine. We use fire. We're not using fire. I objected. The tube's mouth split. Not into two. Into three. The original and two new branches, extending outward and curving. One tracked behind me, two already positioned at the branches where my trajectory said I'd land next. Damn it— the human brain cursed. The tube came apart. All three branches of it in the same second. Norman was there, sword already sheathing. Something shifted in my chest. Let's trust our friends.

There was a pause. The human brain, which had spent the better part of several weeks being a human brain in a body that ate flies, kept a rock on its head, and had recently lost a tongue to a moth, seemed to process this statement for a long moment. I cannot believe a salamander is teaching me the basics of being human. I said nothing. I was already moving. Fine, the human brain said. Let's do this. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

I nodded internally and dropped from the branch. I hit the ground at the field's edge and turned to face Xyno, who was watching. I pointed at the moth. I opened my mouth.

"Ue eoeoon." The sounds that came out were not the sounds I had intended. They were the sounds that happened when a mouth attempted to produce language without its primary instrument. Xyno's hand came up to cover her mouth. It did not cover her shoulders, which were moving.

"What are you saying, Ms. Archer-mage? Did you drop your tongue somewhere? Oh. You literally did." AHH— the human brain began.

"Just kidding." The giggling stopped. Xyno adjusted her glasses, reached into her coat pocket, and produced a vial.

"You need an explosion. Yes?" She tossed it without waiting for confirmation. It hit the threads. The explosion didn't need to be large. It needed to be precise, and it was both precise and large. The threads in the impact zone snapped outward and dissolved, and the lattice the moth had spent the last several minutes constructing developed a hole straight through it. Now! The human brain and I said it at the same time. Rock still in my hand. I leaped. An otter appeared beside me midair.

Brown, sleek, holding its own rock. We fell together, accelerating past the rate at which falling was supposed to work. We closed the distance in less time than the moth had available to respond. It looked up. The rock I was holding reflected across its many eyes. Otter Rock Smash. Both rocks came down. My rock connected first, catching the moth square between its eyes. The otter's landed a half-second later, driving into the base of one antenna.

The moth's head snapped sideways, its whole body twisting to follow the motion like a puppet whose string had been yanked from the wrong direction. Dust and dried thread fragments burst outward from the point of contact. A small storm of red and gray was drifting upward. The Bloody Moth dropped. I looked at it. I looked at the otter, which looked back at me. I placed my rock back on my head. The field had gone quiet. Somewhere behind me, our client was either saying something or about to say something.

Xyno was picking up the fragments of my tongue off the grass. Norman was probably standing somewhere no one had noticed yet. My stomach growled. I noted that a week without tasting food was a very long time.

The guild was doing its usual afternoon business when we walked in. Our client was not doing his usual afternoon business. He was doing something with considerably more momentum, crossing the floor at a pace that suggested real intent. He reached Eris's counter and brought both hands down on it with a sound that briefly reorganized the ambient noise of the guild into silence.

"They killed more than half of my sheep. How are you going to compensate me for that?" Eris looked past his shoulder. She found me first. I waved back. Then Xyno. Eris set down her pen.

"The request submitted was for subjugation of the Bloody Moth, which has been completed. Though I do have a hunch."

"You have one, Ms. Receptionist?" Xyno asked, from somewhere behind our client's left shoulder. Eris ignored her. He pointed at Xyno.

"She literally made half of them explode!"

"That was an accident." Her smile told a different story.

"Unfortunately, without solid evidence that the act was deliberate, we can't compensate you, or punish her," Eris explained.

"Can't you see her smiling without a shred of remorse right now?!" His voice climbed another notch.

"This is genetic." Xyno hooked both index fingers at the corners of her mouth and stretched it into an even wider grin.

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?!"

"Ahem." Eris let out a slow sigh.

"I'll be forced to call a guard if things escalate any further."

"But—" He clenched his fist against the counter. His other hand came up to cover his face. His head hung. Eris reached over and patted his head.

"Sorry for your loss." I moved closer too and patted his back. I didn't have the tongue to say anything, but Eris had patted me before, on the days I felt down, and it had always seemed to help. It seemed worth trying the same thing on someone else. He stayed still for a while. Then he straightened, rubbed his face with the back of his hand, and let out a long breath. He patted my rock.

"Thanks." He looked past us, toward the door, then back down at his own hands.

"I need to tend the injury of those who survived." His voice had gone steadier.

"Brenna's probably still shaking." Who's Brenna? I decided not to ask out of consideration. He nodded once and turned toward the door. He walked slowly. He pushed the door open. It groaned the way it always did. Once he'd gone, the guild's ambient noise resumed around us. Eris crossed her arms and looked at Xyno.

"You really do know how to needle someone."

"I won't deny that's a talent I've excelled at. Besides, he should be thankful for the ones that lived." Xyno smiled.

"Right, Ms. Receptionist?" Eris shook her head. Then her gaze moved to me.

"Welcome back." I opened my mouth. Then closed it. Xyno moved closer and leaned toward the counter.

"She dropped her tongue." Eris turned to her.

"What are you talking about?"

"Exactly what I said. Literally." Eris looked back at me. Her eyes moved to my mouth. Then she was around the counter. Then behind the desk. Then standing directly in front of me.

"Are you all right?" Her voice had gone up slightly at the edges.

"Does it hurt? Can you — Show me." I opened my mouth. Eris gasped, hand flying up to cover her own. I made several gestures, each attempt raising her eyebrows a little further than the last.

"Sorry — I can't understand any of that." I looked at Xyno. Xyno acknowledged the handoff.

"Ms. Mage says it'll grow back in a week."

"Is that true?" Eris's hands landed on my shoulders. Then she glanced back at Xyno.

"Wait — how did you even know that?"

"Trade secret." Xyno leaned her back against the counter. Eris's attention returned to me. I nodded. The grip didn't loosen. Eris pulled me in and hugged me.

"Be careful next time, idiot." I stood still. I had been learning, slowly and imperfectly, the vocabulary of human physical contact. What each variation meant. What was expected in return. What the correct response was to each specific situation. I had a working theory by now, built out of trial and error. I had made mistakes along the way. I had, on one memorable occasion, attempted to shake hands with someone who was trying to hug me, and on another, attempted to hug someone who was only trying to shake hands.

This one, I knew. I had learned this one properly. I wanted to point out that idiot was a bad word. I had a clear memory of Eris's position on bad words. A position she had expressed on multiple occasions with considerable consistency. I did not have the tongue for it. I hugged her back instead, both arms, and let the correction wait for a week.