Chương 90: Scaffolding

Ferris's group of Crockern rested, out of breath and horrified, in a tunnel as far away from the ruin of their brethren as they could. Everyone's instinct, Sol's included, was simply to collapse where they stood after the last of the Iron Dead fell, but Ferris wouldn't allow it.

"You won't become like them," he had rumbled.

"But their bodies are still full of iron. We'd start getting sick within the hour." Now, well away from the remnants of this horror, Sol found himself sitting nearby Ferris as the Regent-Elect continued to issue orders, his energy seemingly endless when it came to this mission. Sol took down notes as best he could in the dim light - they had lost one of their phosphorescent lights in the fight.

"Regent-Elect," Sol said finally.

"I would like you to please tell me what this is all about." Ferris grimaced at him, thinking for a moment. Then he shook his head.

"No." Sol spat.

"Why not? I'm down here killing these things with all of you. You know what's going on, and I'm still in the dark!"

"Sol, you seem like a good lad. But I literally met you yesterday. These are matters on which hinges the entire fate of Teilgcheárta. Someone has caused all this mess, and it happened right after you arrived. Trusting you would be foolish and irresponsible." Ferris leaned back against a cave wall, breathing deeply.

"Damn it," Sol said.

"I didn't expect your answer to be reasonable." Ferris barked a loud laugh, startling several of the resting Crockern.

"Sorry, lads. Tell you what, Sol. Let's talk about the nature of this affliction and your relation to it, and perhaps in giving me the answers I want you will learn more about what you want. Agreed?" Sol shrugged.

"Agreed. What do you want to know?"

"Are you somehow like them?" Ferris gestured back in the direction of the slaughtered horde.

"Do you have a sense of similarity?"

"Ehh. A little?" Sol tilted one hand back and forth.

"I can sense their weaves. It's not a full-on analysis skill - at least not yet - but I can tell a lot about a person's fórsa. If I examine myself, I don't have a fórsa flow, but I do have a sort of scaffolding. I have a central - well, brain, I guess? And from that instructions flow to the different parts of my body to keep them moving."

"Incredible," Ferris said.

"I am very curious about how you came to be, but first, the topic at hand. What do you sense different about the Iron Dead?" Sol frowned.

"It's strange. I sense Mind fórsa - but they can't all have been Mind Natures. It's not flowing - again, no fórsa stream, but it is building a similar sort of scaffolding through their bodies. But it's… twisted around the iron. Avoiding it. I think that's why some of them are more agile than others - how well this scaffolding was able to build itself."

"Are they alive or dead?" Ferris asked calmly, but his eyes shone with hurt that he had to ask that question.

"That is a difficult thing to answer," Sol said slowly.

"It won't make sense to you without going in depth into my origins, but I used to actually interact with iron directly. It was situated in Second-Ring wood, and as a result, the material around it was dead. Inert, I mean. I have a dryad friend and she has the ability to move her body through living wood objects. By this, I don't just mean trees - even cut lumber still enjoys the spark of the fórsa that made it. Iron, however, kills that spark.

She could not move through this dead material - it just crumbled under her hand." Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Ferris raised his left arm.

"Like this, correct?"

"Well, I didn't want to be rude and bring it up, but yes. When I look at your fórsa stream, it stops at that arm, and a Mind-powered scaffolding has taken its place." Sol peered at Ferris in the darkness.

"But I'm not telling you anything new, am I?" Ferris huffed.

"No. This affliction. The thing that created the Iron Dead. It kills the body, just as you say. But it's so alien to the Tír, so antithetical to what life here is, that the Mind doesn't understand how to process it. It's almost like it can't see that the limb is supposed to be missing, so it stretches out its control more directly. I've never heard of this happening before, but the Mind… sacrifices itself to continue to animate the body." Sol nodded.

"This is why they seem unintelligent. The Minds that drove them have been repurposed."

"Even I have felt it," Ferris said, looking with disgust at his arm.

"I used to be so focused. I could smith for hours without even noticing time going by, crafting the most detailed of creations. Now I find myself lost in daydreams. Time gone with no memory of the space between."

"Not to be blunt about it but… why keep the arm at all?" Sol looked at his own left arm.

"I would hate to lose it, but better than becoming… one of them." Ferris nodded.

"I agree. I'm ashamed to admit it is only fear that prevents me from taking an axe to this… thing. For the Mind that lives now in that scaffolding… I might not get it back, were I simply to lop it off. The limb I can live without. The Mind… I fear to see it go." This Crockern is wiser than he appears, Solas hissed in Sol's head.

"Do you know anything about this?" Sol whispered, suddenly aware that he had a self-proclaimed master of the Mind living inside of him. I have not seen this. But this scaffolding of Mind introduces many interesting possibilities… Sol felt a little sick at the thought of Solas gaining inspiration from their present circumstances. He shook it off, aware of Ferris's eyes locked onto him.

"I can understand that reluctance," he said.

"But there is something else I have sensed, which might be the main difference between me and these Iron Dead. Well, there are two."

"Please," Ferris said, eager.

"First… my material is not dead. No fórsa stream, for sure, but it is still living fórsa. Second, their Mind scaffolding does not stop at their bodies." The Regent-Elect leaned forward.

"We have suspected this, but it's been difficult to determine. Where does it go?" Sol shook his head.

"I don't know. Somewhere out there in the dark. Just as my scaffolding extends from my core, the thing I would think of as their core… is not inside them. It's somewhere else." Ferris shook his head.

"I have to admit, you're an impressive man, Sol. You have put so much together with so few clues. To be honest it makes me feel like not trusting you is even more the right move. So… if we were to replicate the thing that's inside you and give each of them one… would this return them to themselves?" Sol grimaced.

"I hesitate to guess, but I think… no? The thing inside of me is me. Were you to make another and give it to an Iron Dead - you may find another thinking creature, but I don't think it would be the one it once was. At least if my example is to be the model."

"Ah," Ferris said sadly.

"I had hope for a moment, that a solution could be found."

"Well… I am not an expert," Sol said quickly.

"It just so happens that the man who was instrumental in creating much of me is in Teilgcheárta. He's pretending to be one of the Séarlait contingent. He might have a better solution."

"You mean this Eoin Daithi?" Ferris sat up straight in surprise.

"I admit, I have heard the name before. I was somewhat awestruck when he joined the Séarlaits… and honestly fearful. Among craftsmen, I am known to be a master. But among masters, Eoin Daithi stands alone. To know he has not thrown his lot in with Caolán Séarlait is a great relief, were it to be true."

"It's as true as I can see it," Sol said.

"He's not always been the most trustworthy of men, but he would have the knowledge you need, I'm sure of it. Even if it's to say the task is impossible." Ferris nodded again.

"You are a good man, Sol. At least as much as I can tell. Please. We have another hour that I would let the men rest. I would fill it by hearing of your origin and what brought you truly to Teilgcheárta." Sol thought for a moment, then shook his head.

"No."

"No?" He grinned.

"I only met you yesterday, Ferris. To trust you would be foolish and irresponsible." The Crockern laughed again, actually slapping his knee.

"Ah, that's a good one, lad. Not as naive as you seem." Sol shrugged.

"I wasn't born yesterday either," he said, then considered.

"But to be fair it wasn't that much further back."