Chương 25: Introduction

Shrike smirks at her opponent. Capable with a shield and spear, but weak on incorporating magic into it. As good a time as any to debut her macuahuitl's new form. She projects it into the air next to her. It's longer now, as she takes it in both hands. As she grew more comfortable with the weapon, she found the flexibility in having a free hand was largely wasted since she wasn't channeling heat like she used to. She switched to a longer, two handed version she remembered a fellow eagle warrior using before.

She strikes down with it, the increased length giving her attacks much more power, while the weightlessness of the light keeping it just as flexible. The downside is moving a larger projection requires more energy, but its hardly noticeable for the increase in leverage it gives her. She attacks incessantly, the opponent's spear eventually splitting in two as she tears through it and rips into his shield. She hears the whistle, and dismisses the weapon. A successful test run, for certain.

She didn't even have to use any ranged projections. She waves on the next Counter-Magic soldier that wants to try. Her next opponent hops down from the bleachers, and instead of immediately taking her position, walks directly up to Shrike. Shrike looks at her in confusion, until she speaks.

"Marissa. You get the full name when you win, Shrike." Shrike appraises her. Her spellbook is... not even really a book. There can't be more than five or six pages. How bizarre, she thinks, as the soldier takes her position. Martin blows the whistle. He hopes she gives a half-decent effort, at least. Shrike is currently 8-0 total in these sparring matches, and its getting to her head. Shrike tries to replay what just happened to her as the whistle blows a second time.

Shrike started with few simple volleys of light darts. They were blocked by a shield spell, followed by her being rushed down by a spell that propelled Marissa forward, then a spell that enhanced Marissa's punch, then back to the propelling spell before the enhancement on the punch faded, then the shield spell again and the enhancement spell, and then Shrike was on the ground. Marissa offers her a hand up, which Shrike takes in confusion, to wild cheering from the stands.

Marissa looks Shrike up and down, and walks back to bleachers.

"So what was it like getting your ass kicked?" Martin asks behind him as the Jeep moves off the military base's ground.

"It was a sneaky move!"

"She beat you fair and square. Sorry, but as your boyfriend, I won't lie to you about it."

"She should be out hunting monsters, then, instead of wasting talent amongst Counter-Magic."

"With a book that small? Nope, she's a combat specialist. This is her whole thing."

"Hmph." Shrike leers down at the empty text field on her phone, and starts drafting a message to Krastev. - Marissa checks the time impatiently. She was ordered to come here, she thinks, and the kynde didn't have enough courtesy to show up on time? It's only been a day since the she beat that magical beast thing, and now she has to do it again for some ungodly reason. She sits on the cushioned grass, plucking a strand of it and twirling it in her fingers.

She wonders if the old middle school adage of 'fifteen minutes without a teacher showing up makes me legally allowed to leave' would apply to a military base and a magical beast. Marissa starts tying the grass into a knot, remembering how she had to stand in summer air for 24 hours straight in training, once. No, she muses, probably not getting to leave until the kynde gets here. She opens her 'spellbook', which is really more of a cheap three-ring binder from a dollar store with laminated pages put inside.

Each page has hand-drawn spells comprised of overlapping circles, each one having penciled in and annotated dots at extremely specific points. She checks over today's repertoire again.

The core five: a deflection spell, a spell that sends you in the direction of your feet with a strong burst, a spell that enhances her physicality with a weighted ratio between her hands and feet, a fade spell that makes her entirely intangible for exactly two and two-thirds of a second, and a panic button that would let her teleport a hundred feet at the expense of over half her mana reserves.

Beyond that, a spell that absorbs light in a sphere, a spell that anchors a target to her, a spell that enhances her senses, and a simple magic-fueled projectile. Nine in total, maybe a tenth of what an average Counter-Magic soldier brings. She commits the order to memory again. At last, the kynde and its handler arrive to the field, turning the corner around the bleachers that are closest to the guest parking lot.

The first thing Marissa's eyes are drawn to is an admittedly beautiful outfit: black, white, and gray. The raised banding across the single-piece jumpsuit evokes the idea of a fragile bird skeleton, thin and tapering to sharp points as it traces the kyndes body, with the most intricate detailing on its arms and back Marissa wonders how much of the grim theme is intentional, and how much is simply because of laundry day. She's never seen it in this outfit before, only the same jeans and jacket.

Watching the kynde fight a half dozen times has led Marissa to understand that the kynde doesn't quite grasp the effect it has on people due to an absurd reserve of magic ability and the accumulated mythos around it. Marissa has heard so many rumors about the kynde. It's actually over a million years old, it's in a disturbing three-way relationship with her handler and the second lieutenant, even that it eats the hearts of humans. Ridiculous.

Marissa gets up, watching the kynde's wide, golden eyes race to follow each of her individual limb movements. It seems more focused today. Dangerously focused, automatically taking in her smallest movements without so much as a hello. Marissa stretches each of her knees up to her chest, replacing nervousness with motion. Despite the outfit, the kynde evokes a feathered rifle more than a bird, with its scope firmly affixed on her.

Marissa's spellbook floats above her head, ready for use while keeping her hands free, as the pages flip freely to whatever spell she needs to focus on. After a curt nod to the kynde's handler, he blows a whistle. Immediately, she is surrounded by a vast wave of giant crashing spikes, each one at least six feet long. There's no chance to block something like that, so she fades out, followed by a burst forward.

Spellbooks have a difficult tradeoff: the more spells you have, the harder it is to consciously flip to the page you need. Marissa had devoted herself to always keeping it under twelve spells, swapping them out as needed, to give her the greatest flexibility in switching between the meager amount of options. Its significantly harder since most magicians rely on reflex to cast spells, but she has to consciously chose the page and imbue the right level of energy for all but the core five she always has.

She avoids the barrage before the fade spell ends. The level of raw energy the kynde must have expended there is ridiculous, more mana than Marissa has in total. She has to rely on technique, speed, and wits over simple firepower. Admittedly, its a lot of firepower. Pillars of hard light form a crystalline forest, sprouting from the ground in all directions. She sees the path through, an obvious feint, and decides instead to punch through a pillar with an enhancement spell.

Only, she's met with impossibly strong resistance, a hexagon of dense light, that has Marissa crashing into it. The seemingly random array of pillars suddenly twist, revealing they all align into a tent shape that constricts inward on her. Clever bastard. She hits the very tiring fade spell again after bursting up to the sky, but as she moves forward through the light, she's faced with a sea of points that she's speeding rapidly towards. Shrike had encased a third of trap with another level of spikes.

A completely absurd use of energy from her opponent, but she has no escape here beyond a third fade spell with a burst towards Shrike. Marissa is exhausted already. The distance is closed now, and she casts her anchoring spell on Shrike's location before bursting at an angle to her. The spell prevents her from increasing distance away, but lets her shorten it. Like a tetherball, she passes Shrike, shortening the anchor and aiming for her back. Until she sees what's there.

Some kind of void, a black spot in the light, surrounded by a ring of incredible brightness that was kept behind her back. Marissa has no idea what it is, but she knows when she's caught. Light moves faster than her spellbook, after all. She lets her tether go, roughly tumbling onto the field, Shrike's eyes facing her and squinting. A tell of some kind? Shrike, with a raised hand, clenches her fist tightly, collapsing the void and sending a concentrated beam of light into the sky behind her. Marissa shakily stands.

She was right. The kynde would have killed her with whatever that was, and it didn't even move its feet once the entire duel. Marissa watches Shrike take easy steps towards her, with seemingly endless energy. As the kynde looms over her, illuminated by the sun, it forces her eyes open at Marissa with a clear struggle. She opens her mouth, and asks a simple question with clunky phrasing.

"I am entitled to the surname you have, Marissa." Marissa sits down at a table in the canteen, gesturing for for the Kynde and her handler to sit next to her. She drums her fingers on the table for a moment.

"Specialist Marissa Skeldon, Counter-Magic Individual Threat Management." She smiles weakly, a bit nervous how the kynde will take the information she's an E-4 and not anyone important.

"Shrike." The kynde is smiling slightly, though Marissa can't tell why. Maybe it sees novelty in the situation? Some kind of pride? She remembers the introductory seminar on how to interact with the kynde. Treat it like a normal person, but keep intentions clear and without too much subtext.

"Good to meet you. Thanks for not killing me." Shrike looks... insulted?

"It was sparring. Martin, you should introduce yourself. I am going to attempt either intimidation or persuasion into being given food allocated to soldiers."

"You can just use money," her handler says with a chuckle. The kynde's expression is unreadable, but it makes its handler laugh a bit louder as the kynder walks away. After Marissa is certain the kynde is out of earshot, she turns to its handler.

"Its not... angry, right? I can't get a read on it." Martin tilts his head down slightly, eyes examining Marissa's own expression." She is not, but she couldn't tell that was meant to be a joke. Shrike's not angry, just offended. I'm Martin, her partner. We're MBR hunters, but I'm sure you knew that."

"Offended?" Marissa asks, noting that Shrike's handler treats it like a full person.

"Because I thanked it- her- for not killing me?" Martin's expression doesn't change.

"Yeah. She takes things at face value. Killing you wasn't on the table. From her perspective, you thanked her for not acting like a feral dog during the sparring that she spent hours preparing for." The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Marissa's eyes dart from Martin to Shrike, who is examining the food options.

"Uh-huh... should I leave? I don't want to piss her off." Marissa watches the hunter wipe his face with his hands, before dragging them down his and pressing them together, pointing the prayer-like gesture at her.

"She isn't human, but she's a person. Treat her like one, for my sake."

"You don't have to use beast-handler language with me, like saying she's a person. Unless it has advanced hearing, or something?"

"I'm not using- Look. I don't care if you have to pretend, but please try and understand that she's not an animal before she comes back. You're quite literally the first person who I've seen handily beating her in any kind of actual combat, and she kept talking about how excited she was to meet you. Christ." He glances to his side, and fakes a smile at Shrike as she returns with three trays of food. Shrike sets them down, pushing one to Martin.

"I was unsure of your preferences, Specialist Marissa Skeldon. Please take your pick between these two." Shrike displays two options. One of which is the daily special, a warm stew of some kind. The other is a dry looking turkey sandwich and potato chips. She reaches towards the stew, monitoring Shrike's eyes for a reaction. Shrike shows no reaction, so she moves her hand to the sandwich. Shrike blinks twice. What does that mean? She looks to Martin for guidance, who moves the sandwich to Shrike.

Shrike looks at Martin for a long moment, before her eyes flick back to Marissa.

"I apologize. I believe there is something I missed in regards to the meals. I meant no offense." Marissa chews on her lip in thought. Maybe she should take the handler's advice.

"No, you're fine. I'm just indecisive. Your handler told me you didn't get my joke earlier. I have a very dry sense of humor. I should be the one apologizing. I'm the weird one, not you. You're a normal person. Don't turn this into something it isn't." Shrike's eyes start to darken slightly, her brow furrowing. Shit. Marissa presses her toes to the floor in case things turn ugly.

"Take it easy. Martin, could you handle her?" The kynde's dejection leaks into her voice.

"You do not have to patronize me, Marissa. You only know me from seeing me in combat. I believe this has skewed your perception of me as an individual. I am a more complete person than your experiences and training suggest. Additionally, Martin is not my 'handler' as you put it. He is my equal partner, and I would appreciate you not disparaging us both by referring to him as such." Shrike's expression doesn't change as she takes a bite of the sandwich, looking away. Marissa takes a hesitant breath.

She's human-level sapient, apparently, not just 'magical beast sapient' like a vampire spawn.

"Right... right. Look, we got off on the wrong foot. A bad first impression, I mean, I was using an idiom. I'm not trying to make you upset or angry. I want to keep things calm and pleasant. You are in control of-" Marissa is cut off by Shrike's disappointed sigh.

"I see this is fruitless. You are not bound to this table, obviously. I apologize for giving you that impression. So as not to disrupt you further, I will leave you be. Thank you for your time today, but do not feel obligated to speak with me further, as I take it I am threatening to you." Shrike stands up, taking her tray over to another empty table farther away. Martin gives Marissa a death glare.

"Asshole," he says, getting up and following Shrike to the new table. Marissa sits in silence, trying to figure out what she did wrong.

"Very frustrating. I understand it was artificially induced, but I was hoping to develop a genuine rivalry with Marissa." Shrike carefully scoops away another pile of ash from the fireplace and into a plastic trash bag.

"Instead, I am offended. I was unaware I could be so offended by a near-stranger."

"She's a piece of work. Maybe Counter-Magic is the wrong approach. I bet Ferret could teach you to play chess, that might work."

"No, it has a dissimilar feeling. He is too kind. There is no bite to our dynamic."

"Maybe we move to the glyph, then, since you insist the conopa comes last."

"Yes... perhaps. I admit this is becoming increasingly painful, Martin. Trying to mimic emotions I know I had in the past is... I do not have a word for it. Unpleasant, like I am falsifying myself into a more complete version of me that I once was."

"Yeah. Maybe... the approach is to stop trying. The other kynde hasn't hurt anyone else, so there's no real pressure here." He watches Shrike clean the fireplace. It's methodical. Section by section, like a grid. Shrike scoops away the last of the ashes into the trash bag, tying it closed and getting up to throw it away.

"I suppose. As much as I loathe delaying things, I can't force myself to feel one way or another." Martin smiles to himself, watching her take the trash outside. No, she can't. So take that Marissa. Dumb bitch. - SC: Hello, Caribou! CZ: hey SC: Glad you are doing well. I hope you had a productive trip. CZ: i did. i learned something about myself i already knew for a while. IR: do you ever stop speaking in riddles?

CZ: what annoys me in the morning, irritates me in the afternoon, and should shut the fuck up in the evening IR: its only 3pm so im good for now. glad ur back. Caribou knocks on the apartment door. It has to do something it will regret. It's unfair to put this on Elk, but there's no other human who is close enough. It hears three different locks open, as Elk opens the door. Immediately, his fairly neutral expression brightens. Caribou feels a short pang of guilt.

"Hey! You're back! I've missed you, buddy."

"I imagine so. Hunting without me must be nearly impossible for you." Caribou opens the door fully, walking inside. Elk is a complete slob even when alone, apparently.

"Nah, I didn't have any trouble with the job I had while you were gone. It's just good to see you. I won't pry, I know you're a private person, but I just wanna make sure you're okay after it." Caribou studies Elk through its mirrored glasses. He seems genuinely happy to see Caribou, even doing that thing where he constantly adjusts his glasses when pleased. It makes Caribou sick.

"I am. I visited my kin. Do you know how we ijirait are born?"

"Nope. Wait, was this a lovers retreat or something?" Elk grimaces a bit, trying to still seem excited.

"No. Ijirait are born through kidnapping a human child, no older than ten, and abandoning them in the far north to freeze to death. Once dead, their souls merge with the thin boundary between the spirit and physical world, and are reborn as infant ijirait." Elk slowly sits down, pushing his hair back. He says nothing, but he's stopped adjusting his glasses. Caribou soaks in Elk's internal conflict, and decides to twist the knife.

"I did one myself while I was there. A girl, age of seven. The ideal candidate. She fought for longer than most. Nearly six full hours until she succumbed. The ritual failed, unfortunately. It happens from time to time. I must have forgotten a step." Caribou watches Elk grabs his own scalp. He has no reason to not believe it. He knows what the ijirait are, and what people say about them.

Caribou silently mourns Elk's conflicted eyes, and steps to the fridge, opening it wide, and examining the meager offerings within. He is surprised to see a whole Arctic char in the freezer. The cost is exorbitant for Elk. How foolish of him, Caribou forces himself to think, taking the fish from the freezer.

"This is old." Caribou drops the entire packaged fish into the trash, watching Elk's reaction. Elk takes a deep breath, watching his partner dropping the fish in the trash. He spent a notable amount of his flex budget on that fish for Caribou. He gets up, adjusting his glasses, and looks at Caribou's expression.

"I'm sorry the ritual failed. Please, though, don't tell me about it anymore. I know that's a selfish request, but it... it's really upsetting for me to think about." He bites his lip.

"I have around thirty bucks in my wallet. You can get whatever you want with it. I've lost my appetite." Elk reaches into his pocket, and tosses it onto the countertop. Caribou looks at the wallet like Elk threw his own soul on the counter. Caribou grinds its teeth for a moment.

"So weak-willed. So human."

"Yeah." Elk's eyes cloud over, staring at the ground and his walks to the bedroom.

"I have decided the bed is mine now as well." React, human. Make a move. Do anything. Elk stops in place, sighing in resignation.

"Whatever you want, buddy. Some fresh air would do me good, I think." He turns around and reaches for the door. Caribou grabs his arm, hard.

"Why are you acting like cattle? I am provoking you, human! Where is your rage? Are you so docile?!" Elk lightly tries to pull his arm free, but Caribou refuses to let go.

"Well..." Elk says, hesitantly, "I get where you're coming from. You went to the north. Your way of having kids is... well, its horrifying to me, but I understand the necessity of it for your people. The fish has been in my freezer for a while, I imagine you're used to it being fresher since you could get it at the source. I've been..." He looks for a better word, but settles on the one in his mind.

"... humanizing you too much, right? I get you're only doing this to put distance between us. I respect you enough to accept the intention. If you'll excuse me, I'm going for a walk." He yanks his arm more forcefully from Cairbou, but can't manage to free himself. Elk looks up at himself in Caribou's mirrored glasses.

"Let go."

"You are in no position to make demands of me, you sniveling little-" Caribou feels a piece of cold metal against his stomach, and hears the cock of a hammer. Elk takes a shaky breath.

"I got the message. Now let me go before I fucking kill you. Would that make you happy? Whatever happened to you on that trip, you're a different creature now, either from a personal change or just dropping the mask after all this time. Either way, I can respect that, if you can respect me." Caribou growls, low and resonant.

"You do not scare me. Your bullets cannot harm me. You will o-" a gunshot cracks through the tiny apartment, grazing against Caribou's hip and making it collapse to the ground silently, in more shock than pain. Caribou looks up to see the revolver cocked again, now pointed directly at its head.

"I don't know why you came back here, but that doesn't matter now. You can patch yourself up, and fuck off back to wherever you came from, or find a new partner, or whatever. I'm too 'weak-willed' to kill something I thought was a friend up until five minutes ago. I'm taking that walk now." Elk opens the door, and closes it with a slam behind him, leaving Caribou bleeding on the floor. Elk stands outside his apartment complex's door.

He meets the eyes of everyone he sees, giving a wide berth to the few in sunglasses. He scans for any movement as he creeps up the stairs, avoiding the elevator. Once he reaches his floor, he steps around the corner, eyes darting to make sure there isn't even a mouse near him. Once at his door, he pulls his gun in one hand, and his knife in the other, and quickly turns the handle after pushing himself through the door. The ijiraq sits at the counter, glasses on.

Elk's finger moves to the trigger, inches from pressing it. His eyes are distracted by two things. First, a well-plated and fancy looking fillet of arctic char. Then, a noticeable lack of blood on the recently cleaned floor. The ijiraq gesture across the table, somberly.

"You deserve an explanation, and three apologies." Caribou says, Elk's hand still holding the gun.

"Or you may kill me now, a justifiable reaction." Elk grits his teeth, and puts his knife away, taking his finger off the now-warm trigger but keeping the gun firmly in hand. He sits down across from Caribou, flinching as the ijiraq picks up a fork.

"You may eat, of course. Unless you wish to switch plates or some such." Caribou gestures at Elk's plate with a fork.

"I think I'd rather hear what the hell came over you, first." Caribou grinds its teeth, the sound of scraping bone now familiar to Elk.

"I did visit my people, and told of the method of creating new ijiraq. Those were both true. Beyond that, little was." Caribou takes a bite, its hagfish-like vertical mouth barely chewing the fish.

"I had not performed any ritual. I specifically said I would not. It was a difficult experience, returning. We ijirait are of two worlds, as you know. Half physical, half spirit. We are used to the boundaries, the edges... but I did not expect how little I now fit in amongst my own. It upset me in a way I did not expect it to. I thought, somewhere in my mind's maelstrom, I could justify treating humans with the approach my kin does by upsetting you into rash action.

But you were collected despite the horrors I implied, despite my petty jabs, despite it my show of force. And when I threatened you, you took clean and decisive action." Caribou does not look up from its food. Elk moves the gun to his left hand, and starts eating.

"So what, you have an identity crisis, and your first instinct is to get me to despise you, so you can feel better?" Caribou closes its lips tight. Elk cracks a slight smile.

"That's a new expression. What is that, embarrassment?" Caribou takes a whinnying sigh.

"My explanation has been given, and now I offer three apologies. First, for putting you through this torment less than an hour ago. Second, for being an ungrateful partner throughout. Third, for disappearing for two weeks without clear explanation." Elk looks into the mirrored glasses, seeing past his reflection that looks back.

"Apology accepted. So what's next for you, Caribou?"

"I believe I will wander as a friend of mine does. I am between worlds, more so now than ever." Caribou downs the rest of the char, moving to the small salad next to it.

"How about instead of moping, you just pick one?" Caribou looks up, clearly frustrated by the suggestion, mandibles flexing without pattern.

"Were it so easy."

"It is. Give me one actually disqualifying reason you can't just hang around with humans. I mean disqualifying, not just 'good'." Caribou says nothing, but stops eating, deep in thought.

"I mean, damn. You can just do things, you know. You don't need some elaborate justification for everything. Live a little, o wise beast of the North." Elk rolls his eyes, and holsters his gun.

"Here's your chance to kill me, or wipe my memory, or whatever. I doubt you will, though. Unlike you, I can tell when my partner is bluffing." The ijiraq hesitantly reaches for its glasses. Elk, in response, forces his eyes open with his fingers in mocking readiness.

"Hey, my ijiraq friend!" The blur says, resting in the spirit world.

"Hello, strange blur."

"What's new with you, Caribou?"

"I have decided on humans." The blur flickers like a flame for a moment.

"What do you mean?"

"My issues with humans are not born wholly of resentment to them, but failing to accept myself as I am."

"What does that even mean?"

"In summary? I have never had a fulfilling conversation with a whale." The blur tries to understand the ijiraq, eventually figuring out what its saying.

"Whatever. Of course I find the one human sympathizing ijiraq. You're not even fully physical! What's the point?" Caribou chuckles in that choking, guttural expelling way.

"Two halves equal one whole. A human told me that."